Caught
in a THUNDERSTORM By
Tom Weeks
There must be a power that intercedes
to protect young and foolish pilots from disaster. That power has interdicted
several times for me in the past 45 years of flying. For instance, as a
teenager, my early flying adventures took place over the long western
That didn't happen this time . .
My 150-mile VFR flight plan was simple, even
for an inexperienced teenaged pilot: Just fly south along the shoreline from the
glacial moraine of
With this advice in mind, I taxied out and
took off in my recently acquired Cessna 140. I got cut off. I returned
immediately to the airport vicinity. By now the boiling, dark clouds began
demonstrating their strength. Strong downdrafts and random sharp gusts defeated
my attempts for a safe landing and tiedown. A handful of seconds later, the
airport disappeared under the rough-looking curtain. Then, the shore
disappeared.
I found myself gazing bleakly at nearly 100
miles of open, ocean-blue water to the east (and nearly 300 miles to the south).
I had no floatation safety devices on board. No ships or boats were in sight. I
decided to climb and turn back toward the storm. Perhaps I could thread my way
between the storm cells, then back to land. I carefully approached the storm's
leading edge. Now, over the flat water the squall line was no longer stumbling
over the trees and hills. Its violence appeared mollified. I was seduced into
making an attempt to scale the wall of the cell.
By using the unbelievably strong updrafts,
the Cessna was whisked up to 9000 feet. the aircraft was still climbing over
1200 fpm when an innocent appearing finger of cloud blocked its climbing turn. I
thought, "I'll only be inside the edge of this cloud for a few seconds,
then out the other side ". There was no
other side . . but there was
horror.
At what point did the sturdy 90 hp
Continental's engine rpms "max out" ! Where did the terrifying
airspeed peak as the pilot's side window was sucked out into the cell ! Who
could know what damage thousands of marble-sized hailstones were rendering to
the wings with the sound of the devil's snare drum !
Who could know the strange flight attitude
and severe wind shear that twisted the Cessna's vertical fin and rudder and
allowed a large hailstone to pierce the passenger's side window ! Who could know
whether a whip stall or excessive negative Gs (used pushing out of a "dead
man's spiral turn") torqued the right horizontal stabilizer and elevator to
an obscene 40-degree angle! But I did know my fear accelerated to
one notch below complete terror. I was locked inside my worst nightmare - in a
small capsule - lost in space.
After one starkly memorable dive, the
Cessna's airspeed crescendoed as my left door window was inhaled into the
tangible violence. Surprisingly, the roar and the feel of the forces pulling at
my shoulder added a semblance of reality. But the bile in my stomach surged as
shock and fear attacked and nauseated me.
I was now staring at a quick death. The
compulsion to panic was strong. But the price was too great. I needed to assess
and react. The fluid compass was a blur of movement. There was no turn and bank
indicator, no artificial horizon to assist. My natural inclination to pull back
on the controls wasn't holding the air speed indicator beneath its ' red line.'
So, I pushed negative Gs.
I flew up against the seatbelt. Something
structural snapped. It was bad, but not all bad. The damage was causing a
speed-brake effect. The aircraft slowed to a more reasonable airspeed. The
altimeter continued to unwind, then began to level out. I now concentrated on
reacting during those few seconds of visibility I expected to have immediately
after breaking out of the belly of the storm. Unassisted, the Cessna would
certainly plunge itself into an unforgiving lake, now close below.
The Cessna fell out of the bottom of the
maelstrom. Chastised, it limped out of the storm's leading edge where, several
miles away, a 900-foot iron ore carrier was muscling its way through deep, calm
water. The aircraft was flying poorly. Almost no control. I mentally prepared to
ditch in front of the long, heavily laden vessel. Scant minutes later, I
gave the ship's crew a mast-high buzz job to attract attention to the crippled
Cessna. A startled, lone deckhand looked up with an open mouth as I accelerated
the engine over his head.
Because of this momentary full power, I
noticed the aircraft was willing to gain a few feet of
altitude. My confidence gained with it. I postponed the water crash landing as I
began to experiment with the severely restricted controls. Too quickly,
whitecaps appeared on the water. Next, the ship was covered over by the dark
wall of storm. The rescue opportunity, unfavorable as it was, vanished.
I pushed forward on the throttle. "Too
many rpms !" The aircraft pitched up into stall mode. " Retard
power ! " The nose of the Cessna fell back toward level flight. At 2150
rpm, the throttle setting seemed to hold altitude. How bad was the damage! I
poked my head outside through the vacant window frame into the 90 mph airstream.
The vertical fin appeared to be twisted and caved in. I tried to move the rudder
pedals. Locked ! Carefully, I removed my seat belt, slid into the
passenger seat and hooked up over there. I opened the door against the airstream
and looked back. I saw a crushed, redesigned tail.
Inches from the fuselage, the horizontal
stabilizer and its elevator were torqued downward at a severe angle. I would
have to fly gently and avoid all further turbulence. This was a forced, new
experience as an experimental test pilot in a newly designed aircraft on its
first flight.
I moved back under the pilot's seat belt. How
would the aircraft react if I reduced power ! The aircraft fell like a pole-axed
beast into a steep dive. It felt as though I had retracted the Cessna's wings.
No assistance from the elevators. " Full power ! " Then, slowly, the
plane returned to level flight. I gently maneuvered the broken Cessna toward
The storm was now a massive wall, as high and
as far north and south as I could see. I urged the airplane to fly south over
vast
I experimented with incremental power and
landing flaps. I altered the position of my body weight, then pushed each door
open hard against the airstream. I needed to precisely understand the limits of
my control. The aircraft maneuvered like a flying body bag.
The squall line finally tapered off toward
the western shore. I altered heading, staying parallel. Twenty minutes later,
the Cessna struggled into the vicinity of
Approaching an airport north of
The controllable steering was connected to
the rudder. The rudder was in a vise of its own making. I would have to
substitute with delicate braking action. Too much brake and the Cessna would
flip inverted into one-half of an outside loop right there on the airport
surface. I was seeing every detail in slow motion. I noticed the grass along the
side of the runway had been recently mowed. I'd land in the grass. It would be
more forgiving.
The Cessna drew the attention of bystanders.
The damage to the stricken aircraft was visually startling. Word of impending
accident spread quickly. A dozen or more vehicles drove out to see the twisted
Cessna destroy itself. I was now consciously rejecting all irrelevant thoughts.
The aircraft was struggling in a 360-degree turn for the final no go-around
landing. All bets were on a single poker chip, and a wide-eyed teenager with 65
flying hours.
Then, I made a near-fatal mistake. I was
purposely flying a high-speed final approach, 25 mph faster than normal. Now, I
was going to overshoot my intended landing point on the grass. I backed off a
bit too rapidly on the power. Instantly, the Cessna dived for a heavily
trafficked highway directly below. " Power ! " I slammed the throttle to full power. Almost too
slowly, the aircraft strained, but returned to level flight, missing a covey of
unaware motorists by 50 feet. Seconds later, the airport grass forgave the
Cessna's directional bias and accepted the 90 mph landing.
"Quickly . . finesse the left brake to
line up with the direction of landing." Power to idle. Switches off. Roll.
Silence. A crowd of people came out of nowhere. Some of the faces were
excited and smiling. I stepped out of the aircraft and found what it meant to be
weak in the knees. Against my will, the muscles in my right leg gave way.
I slipped down to one knee, then got up once again. But life was starkly
detailed with specific colors and smells and sounds. I had out-maneuvered my
death. Was it intuition or interdiction ! Or perhaps both! In any case, I had
been severely tested. In return, I had gained a personal memory bank chock full
of experiences that were useful in later years.
Epilogue
Two months prior to the thunderstorm
incident, the Cessna's annual inspection revealed a 1 1/2 inch crack
near the right wing attachment point. The wing may have been torn away had this
crack not been discovered, stopdrilled and then reinforced. Immediately after
the accident, the aircraft was completely dismantled. Each stressed area was '
magnafluxed ' to discover any hidden cracks. All stressed bolt holes
were measured for elongation.
The aircraft was reassembled and test flown.
As it turned out, I should have asked the aircraft mechanic [also a pilot] to
flight test the results of his work. The next annual inspection was completed 10
months later. The results were startling. The mechanic who had completed the
reassembly had neglected to replace the self-locking nut on the bolt holding the
right wing to the fuselage.
The 3 1/2 inch bolt had worked its way out of
its hole. It was held in position by a few bolt threads. The bolt had been
squirming out of its hole at the rate of one eighth of an inch per
month. Only one-quarter of an inch to go.
In later years, various jet aircraft
mechanics were often curious as to why a certain chief test pilot spent an
inordinate amount of time scrutinizing their work, and then offered them the
opportunity to accompany him on the test flight.
L . ' Tom'
Weeks Plane
and Pilot Magazine & AOPA Flight Safety Magazine
