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F18 NIGHT CARRIER EMERGENCY
bullshot
Member Posts: 14,731 ✭✭✭✭
A pretty interesting account of a carrier emergency by the pilot.
Hey, I felt the need to share with you all the exciting night I had on the
23rd. It has nothing to do with me wanting to talk about me. It has
everything to do with sharing what will no doubt become a better story as
the years go by.
So, there I was... Manned up a hot seat for the 2030 launch about 500
miles north of Hawaii (insert visions of many Mai-Tais here). Spotted just
forward of the navigation pole and eventually taxied off toward the island where I
do a 180 and get spotted to be the first one off cat I (insert foreboding
music here). There's another Hornet from our sister squadron parked *
over the track about a quarter of the way down the cat. Eventually he gets a
move on and they lower my launch bar and start the launch cycle.
All systems are go on the run-up and after waiting the requisite 5-seconds
or so to make sure my flight controls are good to go
(there 's a lot to be said for good old cables and pulleys), I turn on my
lights. As is my habit, I shift my eyes to the catwalk and watch the deck
edge dude, and as he starts his routine of looking left then right, I put
my head back. As the cat fires, I stage the blowers and am along for the
ride.
Just prior to the end of the stroke there's a huge flash and a
simultaneous boom and my world is in turmoil. My little pink body is doing 145 knots or
so and is 100 feet above the Black Pacific. And there it stays - except
for the airspeed, which decreases to 140 knots. The throttles aren't going any
farther forward despite my Schwarzzenegerian efforts to make them do so.
From out of the ether I hear a voice say one word: "Jettison." Roger
that! A nanosecond later, my two drops and single MER - about 4500 pounds in all -
are Black Pacific bound. The airplane leapt up a bit, but not enough.
I'm now about a mile in front of the boat at 160 feet and fluctuating from
135 to 140 knots. The next command out of the ether is another one-worder:
"Eject!"
I'm still flying so I respond, "Not yet, I've still got it."
Finally, at 4 miles, I take a peek at my engine instruments and notice my
left engine doesn't match the right (funny how quick glimpses at
instruments get burned into your brain). The left rpm is at 48% even though I'm still
doing the Ah-Nold thing. I bring it back to mil. About now I get another
"Eject!" call.
"Nope, still flying."
Deputy CAG (Carrier Air Group) was watching and the further I got from the
boat, the lower I looked. About 5 miles, I asked tower to please get the
helo headed my way, as I truly thought I was going to be shelling out. At
this point I thought it would probably be a good idea to start dumping
some gas. As my hand reached down for the dump switch I actually remembered
that we have a NATOPS prohibition regarding dumping while in burner. After a
second or two I decided, "hell with that" and turned them on. I was later
told I had a 60 foot roman candle going.
At 7 miles I eventually started a (very slight) climb. A little breathing
room. CATCC chimes in with a downwind heading and I'm like: "Ooh. Good
idea," and throw down my hook. Eventually I get headed downwind at 900
feet and ask for a rep. While waiting I shut down the left engine. In short
order I hear "Fuzz's" voice.
I tell him the following: "OK Fuzz, my gear's up, my left motor's off and
I'm only able to stay level with min blower. Every time I pull it to mil I
start about a hundred feet per minute down."
I continue trucking downwind trying to stay level and keep dumping. I
think I must have been in blower for about fifteen minutes. At ten miles or so
I'm down to 5000 pounds of gas and start a turn back toward the ship. Don't
intend to land, but don't want to get too far away, either. Of course, as
soon I as I start in an angle of bank, I start dropping like a stone so I
end up doing a 5 mile circle around the ship. Meanwhile, Fuzz is reading
me the single engine rate-of-climb numbers from the PCL, based on temperature,
etc. It doesn't take us long to figure out that things aren't adding up.
So why the hell do I need blower to stay level!?
By this time I'm talking to Fuzz, (CATCC) , Deputy CAG (turning on the
flight deck) and CAG who's on the bridge with the Captain. We decide that
the thing to do is climb to three thousand feet and dirty up. I get
headed downwind, go full burner on my remaining motor and eventually make it to
2000 feet before leveling out below a scattered layer of puffies.
There's a half a moon above which was really, really cool. Start a turn back toward
the ship, and when I get pointed in the right direction, I throw the gear
down and pull the throttle out of AB. Remember that flash/boom! that
started this little tale? Repeat it here. Holy poop! I jam it back into
AB, and after three or four huge compressor stalls and accompanying
deceleration, the right motor comes back.
This next part is great. You know those stories about guys who dead-stick
crippled airplanes away from orphanages and puppy stores and stuff and get
all this great media attention? Well, at this point I'm looking at the
picket ship at my 11 o'clock at about two miles and I say on departure
freq to no one in particular, "You need to have the picket ship hang a left
right now. I think I'm gonna be outta here in a second." I said it very
calmly but with meaning. The LSO's said that the picket /immediately
started pitching out of the fight. Ha! I scored major points with the heavies
afterwards for this. Anyway, it's funny how your mind works in these
situations.
OK, so I'm dirty and I get it back level and pass a couple miles up the
starboard side of the ship. I'm still in minimum blower and my fuel state
is now about 2500 pounds. Hmmm. I hadn't really thought about running out of
gas. I muster up the nads to pull it out of blower again and sure
enough...flash, BOOM! Damn!
I leave it in military and it seems to settle out. Eventually, I discover
that even the tiniest throttle movements cause the flash/boom thing to
happen so I'm trying to be as smooth as I can. I'm downwind a couple miles
when CAG comes up and says "Oyster, we're going to rig the barricade."
Remember, CAG's up on the bridge watching me fly around doing blower
donuts in the sky and he's thinking I'm gonna run outta JP-5 too. By now I've
told everyone who's listening that there a better than average chance that I'm
going to be ejecting - the helo bubbas, god bless 'em, have been following
me around this entire time.
I continue downwind and again, sounding more calm than I probably was, I
call paddles. "Paddles, you up?" "Go ahead" replies "Max," one of our CAG
LSO's.
"Max, I probably know most of it but you wanna shoot me the barricade
brief?" (Insert long pause here). After the fact, Max told me they went
from expecting me to eject to me asking for the barricade brief in about a
minute and he was hyper-ventilating. He was awesome on the radio though, just the
kind of voice you'd want to hear in this situation. He gives me the brief
and at nine miles I say, "If I turn now, will it be up when I get there? I
don't want to have to go around again."
"It's going up now Oyster, go ahead and turn."
"Turning in, say final bearing."
"Zero-six-three" replies the voice in CATCC. (Another number I remember
- go figure).
OK, we're on a four degree glide slope and I'm at 800 feet or so. I
intercept glide slope at about a mile and three quarters and pull power.
Flash/ boom! Add power out of fear. Going high. Pull power. Flash/boom!
Add power out of fear. Going higher. (Flashback to LSO school....All right
class, today's lecture will be on the single engine barricade approach.
Remember, the one place you really, REALLY don't want to be is high. Are
there any questions?) The PLAT video is most excellent as each series of
flash/booms shows up nicely along with the appropriate reflections on the
water. "Flats," our other CAG paddles is backing up and as I start to set
up a higher than desired sink rate he hits the "Eat At Joe's" lights. Very
timely too. [note: wave-off lights - a guts-ball decision]
I stroke AB and cross the flight deck with my right hand on the stick and
my left thinking about the little yellow and black handle between my legs. No
worries. I cleared that sucker by at least ten feet. By the way my state
at the ball call was 1.1. As I slowly climb out I say, again to no one in
particular, "I can do this."
Max and Flats heard this and told me later it made them feel much better
about my state of mind. I'm in blower still and CAG says, "Turn downwind."
Again, good idea. After I get turned around he says, "Oyster, this is
gonna be your last look, so turn in again as soon as you're comfortable." I lose
about 200 feet in the turn and like a total dumbpoop I look out as I get
on centerline and that night thing about//feeling high gets me and I descend
further to 400 feet. I got kinda pissed at myself then as I realized I
would now be intercepting the four degree glide slope in the middle.
No poop fellas, flash/boom every several seconds all the way down. Last
look at my gas was 600-and-some pounds at a mile and a half. "Where am I on the
glideslope Max?" I ask ask and hear a calm, "Roger Ball."
I know I'm low because the ILS is waaay up there and I call "Clara." Can't
remember what the response was but by now the ball's shooting up from the
depths. I start flying it and before I get a chance to spot the deck. I hear
"Cut, cut, cut!" I'm really glad I was a paddles for so long because my mind
said to me, "Do what he says, Oyster," and I pulled it back to idle. The
reason I mention this is that I felt like I was a LONG FRIGGEN WAYS OUT
THERE - if you know what I mean (my hook hit 11 paces from the ramp, as I
discovered during FOD walkdown today).
The rest is pretty tame. I hit the deck, skipped the one, the two, and
snagged the three and rolled into the barricade about a foot right of
centerline. Once stopped my vocal chords involuntarily yelled "Victory!"
on button 2 (the 14 guys who were listening in marshal said it was pretty
cool.
After the fact I wish I had done the Austin Powers' "Yeah Baby!" thing.)
The lights came up and off to my right there must have been a ga-zillion
cranials. Paddles said that with my shutdown you could hear a huge cheer
across the flight deck. I open the canopy and start putting my poop in my
helmet bag and the first guy I see is our Flight Deck Chief, huge guy
named Chief Richards and he gives me the coolest look and then two thumbs up. I
will remember it forever. Especially since I'm the Maintenance Officer. I
climb down and people are gathering around patting me on the back when
one of the boat's crusty yellow-shirt chiefs interrupts and says, "Gentlemen,
great job but fourteen of your good buddies are still up there and we
need to get them aboard." Again, priceless.
So there you have it fellas. Here I sit with my little pink body in a ready
room chair on the same tub I did my first cruise in 10 years and 7 months
ago. And I thought it was exciting back then!
P.S. You're probably wondering what made my motors poop themselves and I
almost forgot to tell you. Remember the scene with the foreboding music?
When they taxied that last Hornet - the one that was over the cat track -
they forgot to remove a section or two of the cat seal. The [flight mishap]
board's not finished yet, but it's a done deal. As the shuttle came back it
removed the cat seal which went down both motors during the stroke. During
the waveoff, one of the LSO's saw "about thirty feet" of black rubber
hanging off the left side of the airplane. The whole left side, including
inside the intake is basically black where the rubber was beating on it in
the breeze. The right motor, the one that kept running, has 340 major hits
to all stages. The compressor section is trashed and best of all, it had
two pieces of the cat seal -one about 2 feet and the other about 4 feet long,
sticking out of the first stage and into the intake. God Bless General Electric!
P.P.S. By the way, the data showed that I was fat - had 380 pounds of gas
when I shut down. Again, remember this number as in ten years it will
surely be claiming, FUMES MAN, FUMES I TELL YOU!
Oyster out...
This is a good story that describes what most of us don't see/hear about
from those out there on the pointy tip of the spear. Sleep well at night
because the good guys are out there keeping things safe for us here at
home.
Hey, I felt the need to share with you all the exciting night I had on the
23rd. It has nothing to do with me wanting to talk about me. It has
everything to do with sharing what will no doubt become a better story as
the years go by.
So, there I was... Manned up a hot seat for the 2030 launch about 500
miles north of Hawaii (insert visions of many Mai-Tais here). Spotted just
forward of the navigation pole and eventually taxied off toward the island where I
do a 180 and get spotted to be the first one off cat I (insert foreboding
music here). There's another Hornet from our sister squadron parked *
over the track about a quarter of the way down the cat. Eventually he gets a
move on and they lower my launch bar and start the launch cycle.
All systems are go on the run-up and after waiting the requisite 5-seconds
or so to make sure my flight controls are good to go
(there 's a lot to be said for good old cables and pulleys), I turn on my
lights. As is my habit, I shift my eyes to the catwalk and watch the deck
edge dude, and as he starts his routine of looking left then right, I put
my head back. As the cat fires, I stage the blowers and am along for the
ride.
Just prior to the end of the stroke there's a huge flash and a
simultaneous boom and my world is in turmoil. My little pink body is doing 145 knots or
so and is 100 feet above the Black Pacific. And there it stays - except
for the airspeed, which decreases to 140 knots. The throttles aren't going any
farther forward despite my Schwarzzenegerian efforts to make them do so.
From out of the ether I hear a voice say one word: "Jettison." Roger
that! A nanosecond later, my two drops and single MER - about 4500 pounds in all -
are Black Pacific bound. The airplane leapt up a bit, but not enough.
I'm now about a mile in front of the boat at 160 feet and fluctuating from
135 to 140 knots. The next command out of the ether is another one-worder:
"Eject!"
I'm still flying so I respond, "Not yet, I've still got it."
Finally, at 4 miles, I take a peek at my engine instruments and notice my
left engine doesn't match the right (funny how quick glimpses at
instruments get burned into your brain). The left rpm is at 48% even though I'm still
doing the Ah-Nold thing. I bring it back to mil. About now I get another
"Eject!" call.
"Nope, still flying."
Deputy CAG (Carrier Air Group) was watching and the further I got from the
boat, the lower I looked. About 5 miles, I asked tower to please get the
helo headed my way, as I truly thought I was going to be shelling out. At
this point I thought it would probably be a good idea to start dumping
some gas. As my hand reached down for the dump switch I actually remembered
that we have a NATOPS prohibition regarding dumping while in burner. After a
second or two I decided, "hell with that" and turned them on. I was later
told I had a 60 foot roman candle going.
At 7 miles I eventually started a (very slight) climb. A little breathing
room. CATCC chimes in with a downwind heading and I'm like: "Ooh. Good
idea," and throw down my hook. Eventually I get headed downwind at 900
feet and ask for a rep. While waiting I shut down the left engine. In short
order I hear "Fuzz's" voice.
I tell him the following: "OK Fuzz, my gear's up, my left motor's off and
I'm only able to stay level with min blower. Every time I pull it to mil I
start about a hundred feet per minute down."
I continue trucking downwind trying to stay level and keep dumping. I
think I must have been in blower for about fifteen minutes. At ten miles or so
I'm down to 5000 pounds of gas and start a turn back toward the ship. Don't
intend to land, but don't want to get too far away, either. Of course, as
soon I as I start in an angle of bank, I start dropping like a stone so I
end up doing a 5 mile circle around the ship. Meanwhile, Fuzz is reading
me the single engine rate-of-climb numbers from the PCL, based on temperature,
etc. It doesn't take us long to figure out that things aren't adding up.
So why the hell do I need blower to stay level!?
By this time I'm talking to Fuzz, (CATCC) , Deputy CAG (turning on the
flight deck) and CAG who's on the bridge with the Captain. We decide that
the thing to do is climb to three thousand feet and dirty up. I get
headed downwind, go full burner on my remaining motor and eventually make it to
2000 feet before leveling out below a scattered layer of puffies.
There's a half a moon above which was really, really cool. Start a turn back toward
the ship, and when I get pointed in the right direction, I throw the gear
down and pull the throttle out of AB. Remember that flash/boom! that
started this little tale? Repeat it here. Holy poop! I jam it back into
AB, and after three or four huge compressor stalls and accompanying
deceleration, the right motor comes back.
This next part is great. You know those stories about guys who dead-stick
crippled airplanes away from orphanages and puppy stores and stuff and get
all this great media attention? Well, at this point I'm looking at the
picket ship at my 11 o'clock at about two miles and I say on departure
freq to no one in particular, "You need to have the picket ship hang a left
right now. I think I'm gonna be outta here in a second." I said it very
calmly but with meaning. The LSO's said that the picket /immediately
started pitching out of the fight. Ha! I scored major points with the heavies
afterwards for this. Anyway, it's funny how your mind works in these
situations.
OK, so I'm dirty and I get it back level and pass a couple miles up the
starboard side of the ship. I'm still in minimum blower and my fuel state
is now about 2500 pounds. Hmmm. I hadn't really thought about running out of
gas. I muster up the nads to pull it out of blower again and sure
enough...flash, BOOM! Damn!
I leave it in military and it seems to settle out. Eventually, I discover
that even the tiniest throttle movements cause the flash/boom thing to
happen so I'm trying to be as smooth as I can. I'm downwind a couple miles
when CAG comes up and says "Oyster, we're going to rig the barricade."
Remember, CAG's up on the bridge watching me fly around doing blower
donuts in the sky and he's thinking I'm gonna run outta JP-5 too. By now I've
told everyone who's listening that there a better than average chance that I'm
going to be ejecting - the helo bubbas, god bless 'em, have been following
me around this entire time.
I continue downwind and again, sounding more calm than I probably was, I
call paddles. "Paddles, you up?" "Go ahead" replies "Max," one of our CAG
LSO's.
"Max, I probably know most of it but you wanna shoot me the barricade
brief?" (Insert long pause here). After the fact, Max told me they went
from expecting me to eject to me asking for the barricade brief in about a
minute and he was hyper-ventilating. He was awesome on the radio though, just the
kind of voice you'd want to hear in this situation. He gives me the brief
and at nine miles I say, "If I turn now, will it be up when I get there? I
don't want to have to go around again."
"It's going up now Oyster, go ahead and turn."
"Turning in, say final bearing."
"Zero-six-three" replies the voice in CATCC. (Another number I remember
- go figure).
OK, we're on a four degree glide slope and I'm at 800 feet or so. I
intercept glide slope at about a mile and three quarters and pull power.
Flash/ boom! Add power out of fear. Going high. Pull power. Flash/boom!
Add power out of fear. Going higher. (Flashback to LSO school....All right
class, today's lecture will be on the single engine barricade approach.
Remember, the one place you really, REALLY don't want to be is high. Are
there any questions?) The PLAT video is most excellent as each series of
flash/booms shows up nicely along with the appropriate reflections on the
water. "Flats," our other CAG paddles is backing up and as I start to set
up a higher than desired sink rate he hits the "Eat At Joe's" lights. Very
timely too. [note: wave-off lights - a guts-ball decision]
I stroke AB and cross the flight deck with my right hand on the stick and
my left thinking about the little yellow and black handle between my legs. No
worries. I cleared that sucker by at least ten feet. By the way my state
at the ball call was 1.1. As I slowly climb out I say, again to no one in
particular, "I can do this."
Max and Flats heard this and told me later it made them feel much better
about my state of mind. I'm in blower still and CAG says, "Turn downwind."
Again, good idea. After I get turned around he says, "Oyster, this is
gonna be your last look, so turn in again as soon as you're comfortable." I lose
about 200 feet in the turn and like a total dumbpoop I look out as I get
on centerline and that night thing about//feeling high gets me and I descend
further to 400 feet. I got kinda pissed at myself then as I realized I
would now be intercepting the four degree glide slope in the middle.
No poop fellas, flash/boom every several seconds all the way down. Last
look at my gas was 600-and-some pounds at a mile and a half. "Where am I on the
glideslope Max?" I ask ask and hear a calm, "Roger Ball."
I know I'm low because the ILS is waaay up there and I call "Clara." Can't
remember what the response was but by now the ball's shooting up from the
depths. I start flying it and before I get a chance to spot the deck. I hear
"Cut, cut, cut!" I'm really glad I was a paddles for so long because my mind
said to me, "Do what he says, Oyster," and I pulled it back to idle. The
reason I mention this is that I felt like I was a LONG FRIGGEN WAYS OUT
THERE - if you know what I mean (my hook hit 11 paces from the ramp, as I
discovered during FOD walkdown today).
The rest is pretty tame. I hit the deck, skipped the one, the two, and
snagged the three and rolled into the barricade about a foot right of
centerline. Once stopped my vocal chords involuntarily yelled "Victory!"
on button 2 (the 14 guys who were listening in marshal said it was pretty
cool.
After the fact I wish I had done the Austin Powers' "Yeah Baby!" thing.)
The lights came up and off to my right there must have been a ga-zillion
cranials. Paddles said that with my shutdown you could hear a huge cheer
across the flight deck. I open the canopy and start putting my poop in my
helmet bag and the first guy I see is our Flight Deck Chief, huge guy
named Chief Richards and he gives me the coolest look and then two thumbs up. I
will remember it forever. Especially since I'm the Maintenance Officer. I
climb down and people are gathering around patting me on the back when
one of the boat's crusty yellow-shirt chiefs interrupts and says, "Gentlemen,
great job but fourteen of your good buddies are still up there and we
need to get them aboard." Again, priceless.
So there you have it fellas. Here I sit with my little pink body in a ready
room chair on the same tub I did my first cruise in 10 years and 7 months
ago. And I thought it was exciting back then!
P.S. You're probably wondering what made my motors poop themselves and I
almost forgot to tell you. Remember the scene with the foreboding music?
When they taxied that last Hornet - the one that was over the cat track -
they forgot to remove a section or two of the cat seal. The [flight mishap]
board's not finished yet, but it's a done deal. As the shuttle came back it
removed the cat seal which went down both motors during the stroke. During
the waveoff, one of the LSO's saw "about thirty feet" of black rubber
hanging off the left side of the airplane. The whole left side, including
inside the intake is basically black where the rubber was beating on it in
the breeze. The right motor, the one that kept running, has 340 major hits
to all stages. The compressor section is trashed and best of all, it had
two pieces of the cat seal -one about 2 feet and the other about 4 feet long,
sticking out of the first stage and into the intake. God Bless General Electric!
P.P.S. By the way, the data showed that I was fat - had 380 pounds of gas
when I shut down. Again, remember this number as in ten years it will
surely be claiming, FUMES MAN, FUMES I TELL YOU!
Oyster out...
This is a good story that describes what most of us don't see/hear about
from those out there on the pointy tip of the spear. Sleep well at night
because the good guys are out there keeping things safe for us here at
home.
"Just because you're paranoid doesn't mean they're not out to get you"
Comments
I'm glad he saved the plane.
He should have received an air medal for that.
Thanks for posting!