Tuesday, February 28, 2006

My Sweet Baby

A Hard Landing

When you make a deal with the Devil, you should expect trouble.

I was in the air about 300 miles south of Georgetown, Guyana, heading south. The sky was partly cloudy and the white, cottony cumulus were pretty to look at, but rough to fly in and around. The late spring tropical air was warm and getting warmer as the late morning approached noon.

I stared at the fuel gauge.

My Maule was specially designed for short landings and takeoffs, and had oversized tires for operating on rough, unpaved runways. She carried 73 gallons of fuel and burned nearly 9 gallons of that fuel each and every hour.

I hadn’t named the aircraft, I never do, but I knew her intimately and cared for her as you would care for the most precious loved one. She would get me to my destination and she would get me back. She would be faithful to me. She would respond to my delicate touch and strain with every ounce of her power to get me in to and out of rough landing zones. She was always a lady.

That deal with the Devil? I had 412 nautical miles to go from departure to destination. I had 412 nautical miles to get back. I was going to burn 49% of my fuel to get to my destination. There would be no room for error.

Back in the good ol’ U S of A this flight wouldn’t be legal. I would be required to carry a 30 minute reserve of fuel. I figured I might have ten minutes reserve, best case, when I returned to Georgetown.

To conserve fuel, I had throttled back to 60% power and was barely making 100 knots. The four hour flight seemed to last forever. And time was precious. The longer it took me to get to the banks of the Isherton River in the far south of Guyana, the more the air heated up. And the more the air heated up, the more turbulent it became. And the more turbulent it became, the higher the towering cumulus grew. And it all led to the potential for powerful afternoon thunderstorms.

I had intended to depart two hours earlier, but Paulo had been late with an invaluable set of maps and surveys the company had sent from Houston. I had paced and paced waiting for him, trying to decide when the go, no-go decision had to be made. Paulo arrived 5 minutes before I would walk away and try another day.

And now I bumped along through the turbulent air, following directions from my GPS, taking a great circle course to my destination.

It was all about oil, you know. There is no place so remote that a good capitalist wouldn’t want to nail down the drilling rights to a new field. It was my job to asses the geography and make recommendations.

Thirty miles out I began the decent. I had started out with the aircraft loaded to its maximum capacity. I would land about 200 pounds lighter, the result of fuel burn. Once I arrived, I would have to locate the best landing spot and get down in a hurry, there was no room for error with such a tight fuel ration. I had studied satellite images with Rob at headquarters and we had determined the most likely place to land an airplane. I only required 500 feet to get down and stopped. My GPS was pointing me directly to that spot.

Rain began to pelt my windscreen as I flew beneath a cumulus that was no longer going to hold its reserve of water. I continued to descend. Though I was directly beneath a dark cloud, I could see patches of sunlight on the ground, sunlight which filtered between the buildups.

I checked the GPS. I was two miles out. I was flying at 500 feet AGL ans straining my eyes to find my landing zone.

I saw lightning hit the ground directly ahead and the boom of thunder filled my ears. A large cell was directly over my landing zone. I looked down at an area that looked flat and landable and decided that this would be a good time to get out of the sky. Careening out of the sky, I flew a tight circle and cross-controlled by jamming a hard-left rudder and heavy right aileron. My baby dropped like a controlled rock. Rain swept across the windscreen as the storm caught up with me. I pushed the Maule to the ground and made solid contact. I bounced. Then I bounced again. The landing zone was rougher than it had looked. I dialed in full flaps and pulled hard back on the elevator, attempting to create as much drag as possible, hoping to slow the plane to a stop quickly.

I hit a rut, the plane lurched, bounced, and rain continued to pelt the windscreen. The right tire found a sizeable hole, dropped in and spun the aircraft in a 270 degree arc. Ingloriously, I was down and stopped.

I was slightly dazed by the abruptness of the landing and a little concerned about the condition of the landing gear. I sat for a minute or two as the rain subsided. A sick feeling hit the pit of my stomach. This was no place to have structural difficulties. There might not be another human being for 200 miles in any direction, or if there were, they would be a tribal people and not of much use for things such as aircraft maintenance and repair. I had a radio, but it was doubtful I could raise anyone directly from such a great distance. I might be able to raise a commercial flight overhead, assuming there were any, and have them pass along a message to the company. One way or the other, having a broken plane would put me in a tough spot.

I descended into a deep loneliness. The storm rumbled off in the distance and faded. Now all was quiet. I stared at the instruments, all displaying no readings of consequence since I had killed the engine. Gloom was settling in and I dreaded getting out of the aircraft.

Silence.

Loneliness.

A tap on the pilot’s side Plexiglas startled me and I nearly hit my head on the ceiling of the cockpit. I wiped the condensation from the Plexiglas and looked into the face of a woman.

Her dark, straight hair was pulled back and she stepped back as I opened the door and stumbled out of the aircraft.

With a grin and hands on her hips she merely said, “Nice landing, Ace.”


Faithfully submitted,

Teddy Packer