Travel – A
Inclement weather
~ Ron Pemberton
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“Dive Ron dive or you’re dead!” A voice in my head screamed at me to get out of the clouds. “You have 20 seconds to live – think quick – dive or die!” I lowered my starboard wing to see if I could spot a gap in the clouds. There below me was a possible escape, a bright patch of cloud – a different shade no more – a little lighter than the swirling darkness all around me; I aimed for it.
Our gaggle of Harvard’s, World War II trainers, were heading back to Auckland after a long weekend at the Wanaka Air show. The whole weekend had alternated between cold and wet as sporadic showers swept through the area, now the trip home was proving to be a bigger shambles. The day had been plagued with intermittent showers and before taking off we had received news that an aircraft carrying a family home from the show had crashed at the Lindis Pass, killing all on board. After this piece of depressing news we made a decision to fly up the coast. I was a little apprehensive about going but left the decision in the hands of the more experienced flyers, a decision I had cause to regret.
After take off we gathered together in formation and our leader headed first for the Lindis Pass. Below our wing tips was clear air but above dark brooding clouds threatened our approach to the Pass. They gathered ahead of us, smothering the mountaintops and filling the Pass with an impenetrable darkness against the foolhardy that believed they might enter and survive. We turned for the coast but there below at the mouth of the Pass was the downed aircraft – a crumpled wreck.
Clear fine weather greeted us around Oamaru but as we got further north, around Christchurch, the weather started to deteriorate.
“Shall we stay at Christchurch?” A voice over the radio
asked as we crossed the Rakaia River, south east of the City.
“No we will plug on and see what it’s like at Blenheim. Then, if it gets worse we can stay there the night and cross the strait in the morning.” Another voice answered.
Cumulus-nimbus clouds pushed down on us – our visibility getting less and less as boiling towers of hell filled the sky. Vertical towers of Cumulus-nimbus, those dark menacing clouds of wrath, can suck a light aircraft up to 10,000ft leaving you minus your wings and a one-way ticket to your maker. The storm increased in its fury the further north we went, until we were flying at 150 ft above sea level with the rain falling heavily against our windshields.
“Ron, get up behind the leader as close as you can.” One of the pilots in the gaggle told me over the radio. “We will have to fly in a tight formation in this weather.” I brought my aircraft over from the leaders outer wing to get in behind him, my propeller appearing to be only a fraction away from his tail. One small slip, a little more turbulence, and my propeller was gone, and we would be both heading for the water. I had never flown so close to another aircraft before, my eyes focussed on his tail and the whirling blade of my propeller. The aircraft shuddered in the slipstream, weaving, and buffeting, trying to keep control and position in line astern.
We had been flying underneath the clouds with the Kaikoura coast on our port side, the weather getting worse and the visibility down to less than a kilometre.
The driving rain lashed my windscreen, rain poured in through the gaps in the sliding overhead hatch, my legs soaked, my body surprisingly warm. Murmurs about “bloody ridiculous flying in this weather”, came over the radio from voices in the flight, then, the decision was reached to turn back to the small airstrip at Kaikoura.
“Keep in tight Ron, follow the leader, keep him in sight”
a voice over the radio warned.
The lead aircraft banked to the right, out towards the sea, a difficult manoeuvre as there is no natural horizon to follow as the dark grey rain clouds and the grey green sea blended into one grey nothingness. I followed; it was then I made my mistake. As I turned towards the grey morass of endless sky my aircraft pitched up as I made my turn, it was then I entered the clouds. No more light just a boiling mass of foam – no horizon to keep you level – no landmarks to direct you – no thoughts but death.
One of the most basic instructions when you first learn to fly is: “never enter cloud unless you are instrument rated”. Your mind sends incorrect signals to the brain, spatial disorientation aviators call it, your senses tell you that you are turning one way, which you try to compensate by doing the opposite the more you try the worse it gets, until finally… you are upside down and spinning towards oblivion. The Harvard only has basic instruments so there is no escape unless you have a few thousand feet of clear air between you and the ground to recover; I had 150ft.
The few seconds it took to realise my possible fate and the decision to dive for the light area seemed an age; looking down I saw the light and I put the nose down and dived.
Coming out of the clouds I could see the other aircraft coming at me from the opposite direction, they scattered to the left and to the right giving me room to bring the aircraft under control.
All around me the driving rained splattered against the windshield the wind buffeted the aircraft.
“Fuck Ron! We thought you were a gonna.” A voice yelled over the radio. “Can you see the leader?”
“I can’t see him!” I yelled back, trying not to allow the fear to creep into my voice.
“He’s about twenty five metre’s in front of you and to your right.” I peered through the dark grey rain filled sky straining my eyes for a sight of the leader. “I see him! I see him!” I yelled back.
“ Well aim for him were heading back to Kaikoura.”
I increased power – desperately peering through the maelstrom outside struggling to catch up with the lead aircraft while keeping an eye out for the rest of the flight. I couldn’t see the strip, as the leader started his descent, so I circled overhead. I lowered my starboard wing so I could see the ground and then I saw it off my wing tip. The wind was getting worse I could feel its force; the aircraft jumped and bucked like a mustang on heat as I turned for the runway. I pointed the nose at the Kaikoura strip, luckily the wind was directly down the runway so no crosswind to worry about but the gale continued its assault. Landing at a strange airfield in the best of weather can be a daunting task but in driving rain, low cloud, and gale force wind you make a silent prayer that you don’t have to go round again. I decided to take a long run at the strip allowing myself plenty of time to prepare for a landing. Speaking to myself through pursed lips and clenched teeth that this was it, – “one go – one chance.” The weather was getting worse – vision was impaired by the nightmare of the driving rain – it was almost horizontal – lashing and buffeting the aircraft as I approached.
I held the aircraft steady, my hand gripped the stick in a strangle hold, gear down – check, flaps down – check, “shouldn’t need too much in this weather”, fuel sufficient – check, instruments a OK – check, harness tight – check, carb heat off – check.
“No mistakes now Ron”, that voice in my head spoke again, “steady now.” The aircraft obeying my commands, no thoughts of fear just bloody determination to get on the ground in one piece. Your years of training kicks in – follow the rules – obey the procedure – keep calm… or at least try to. My mind focuses on the task ahead, keep it straight… power coming off, focus… and you’re down.
I looked ahead and there at the far end of the runway was another aircraft turning slowly off the runway. Yelling tersely into the radio, I said, “Who ever is still on the runway, can you please clear, I’m not going around again!” The aircraft cleared with plenty of space for me to finish my roll out. I taxied the aircraft to the pumps and shut it down. I sat there for a few moments collecting my thoughts – my heart pounding – my breath shallow – I closed my eyes while my chest rose and fell to the rhythm of my breathing. Then slowly, I climbed out of the cockpit my legs and arms feeling numb from the mental and physical exertion. I stood quietly, holding on to the wing, my mind going through the events of the last 20 minutes but then I was brought back to earth by some taunts from the others about not entering cloud and other friendly abuse.
We made a decision to stay in Kaikoura for the night. A sound decision followed that night by a good meal a bottle of wine and fitful night of broken sleep as the events of the day sieved through my brain.
The morning dawned with no rain and clear visibility but above, white billowy clouds hung in the sky like crumpled washing their base no more than 800 ft. We crossed the Cook Strait with ease the smooth air giving an untroubled transit but the cloud base started to descend as we approached the coast of the North Island. Flying along the Kapiti coast we descended to a 100ft as the cloud base drove us lower. The visibility was a good 30 Kilometres – no rain – no wind – no fear, the engine purred like a kitten as the adrenalin flowed through my veins. It was exhilarating – it was real flying – your speed exaggerated by the closeness of the ground. No thoughts of fear, only thoughts of joy, an absolute feeling of being alive.
(1,717 words) ©2000
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