DITCHING
Landing an airplane in water is called "ditching" and it's a lot harder than it looks. On Thursday, a U.S. Airways Airbus320 was ditched in the Hudson River, just adjacent to 48th Street in New York. It was quite a sight, to see a commercial aircraft of that size, floating restfully in the river, like an errant whale. The pilot was an Air Force trained airman, also a glider pilot, headed the safety program at U.S. Airways, and, as his wife said, was a "pilot's pilot". I know guys like this at our local airport, Boire Field, in Nashua, New Hampshire. Even after twenty years of flying small airplanes, these are the guys that folks like me, forever neophytes, call upon to seek advice. They are a rare breed, have spent an inordinate amount of their lives in the sky, and are universally always ready to talk flying with anyone.
There's an old salt at Nashua who is in his mid-seventies. Flew in the service, had a stellar career at Eastern Airlines when airline Captains were Gods, and now is a weekend breakfast-warrior, flying a choice Cessna 185 Skywagon. A powerful single, popular in Alaska for it's power and structural strength, and it's ability to get in and out of short strips. The plane is a handful to take off and land, but Leo always let's me try. He has a Yankee dry wit, a steamer trunk full of flying stories, and a willingness to share from his wealth of flying knowledge to help keep a young guy safe from the unexpected.
One morning in late fall, we were leaving Nashua and there was an overcast at about 6,000 feet. "Let me show you how fast an airplane will pick up ice and not want to fly anymore...". Allright, I thought, here comes another hands-on learning experience. It's always much different than the text books. Within two minutes I could see a good layer of rime starting to protrude forward off the leading edge of the wing. Three or four minutes later the airspeed was beginning to decay. "What would you do now, if you were by yourself?" I blurted out that I would execute a 180 degree turn with a shallow bank to account for the increased drag on the wings and airframe, and descend to the above-freezing and clear air from whence we just came. "Good". End of conversation. On other occasions, he would give me the plane and we would be having a nice quiet flight in cruise. He'll reach over and pull the throttle to idle unannounced. "Which way is the wind blowing and where are you going to land. You've just lost your engine. You'll be on the ground in less than five minutes in one form or another." Again, I blurt out my answer, knowing that blurting will take less time than speaking normally and hence will end the exercise that much sooner. You get the idea. This is all part of the camaraderie, of one generation passing the torch to the next.
So this story out of New York struck a special chord. I also thought, watching the passengers standing on the wings, waves lapping at their ankles, that everyone seemed unusually calm. Maybe it's just that air travel has become such an expected nightmare, between security and delays and the ever decreasing focus on the passenger, that the folks on this flight were simply happy that their luggage wasn't lost. It was wet, but it wasn't lost. Indeed, the pilots exceptional skills notwithstanding, the behavior of the passengers was critical to the outcome as well. From most accounts, there was very little panic. Of course, there wasn't a lot of time for panic, either. The flight crew performed remarkably well. Logic dictates, because a plane is not a boat, that time is of the essence. To manage emergency exits, slides, life vests and get 152 people off that plane before it filled with water and sank, was a group effort. There's just no other way.
I see people smirk at me when I fly commercially, and I'm the only one on the plane paying attention through the emergency briefing. Most folks are already reading or fidgeting, or maybe it's just not "cool" to pay attention. Pilot or not, I know that an airplane, at the end of the day, is a mechanical device with lots and lots of moving parts, hoses and wires. There is much opportunity for failure. I also know that, as Southwest Flight Attendants like to say, "in the event that the flight becomes a cruise", I don't want to be reading the lifevest instructions, preparing my children or other passengers, while the plane is sinking or on fire and in pieces on the ground. I make it a point to sit near an exit when I can, not wanting to rely on a hysteric to get an exit open in the event of an incident. The Hudson River Miracle is proof positive that an airliner can be wiggled out of the sky, with no power, and returned to Earth with all aboard intact.
It also reminded me that in spite of the common saying that new, high-tech airplanes will be manned by one pilot and a dog, the pilot to watch systems and the dog to bite the pilot if he touches anything, that when the proverbial doodoo hits the fan, there is no substitute for experience on the flight deck. Years ago there was a famous crash in Sioux City, Iowa. A commercial flight, piloted by Captain Al Haynes, had an engine come apart, and a departing piece of the engine ripped through the tail and severed hydraulic lines. The aircraft had no control to ailerons, elevator or rudder, the three control surfaces that turn, bank and pitch the airplane. Another pilot, Denny Fitch, was a passenger. He knew they were in trouble and he went into the cockpit to offer help. He had experience in this type of aircraft, a DC9 if I remember correctly. I listened to the cockpit tapes, as the three pilots calmly discussed their options, realizing full well that they were in serious, serious trouble. Fitch said to Haynes, "we'll have a beer when this is all over". I'll never forget that. They brought that plane in, using only differential throttle, to a landing at Sioux City. They were using left and right throttle to steer the airplane and to change altitude. Absolutely amazing that they even made the airport, but they came in, unavoidably, very, very fast. The plane came apart and cartwheeled. There were many fatalities, but also many survivors, including Captain Haynes and Denny Fitch. These guys are all testament to a special breed of cat. That's why these stories are so compelling. They are the stuff of which movies are made and, in the case of Thursday's event...history.
Karl From New Hampshire