Leap of Faith.

By Owen Zupp

Bald Hill at Stanwell Park in Australia is much less than inconspicuous. From a car driving past, if you blink, you'll miss it. Even when you stand upon its crest with the ocean's waves crashing far below it is a small patch of mown grass that very quickly turns to rough scrub and drops away dramatically. Between the strong winds, limited space and the precipitous drop, only the very bravest would dare to gather the family for a picnic at Bald Hill. And yet it is a very special place.

For over a century ago Lawrence Hargrave used this small hill as the launching pad for his pioneering work in the world of aerodynamics. For many Australians, Hargrave was most widely known as the man whose image was to be found on the twenty dollar note, while Sir Charles Kingsford Smith adorned the flip side. With a change in the design of the currency, his image and name has faded in some quarters, but in the world of aviation he remains a true pioneer in the quest for manned flight.

On November 12th 1894 Hargrave secured himself to a chain of his 'box kites' and rose to a height of five metres above the beaches below Bald Hill. A major step in the search for heavier-then-air flight, Hargrave had made significant advances in the study of curved aerofoils, box-kites and rotary engine development. A firm believer in the sharing of scientific knowledge, he never sought to patent any of his discoveries or designs. Consequently, his findings were incorporated in designs all around the world and the history of early manned flight is littered with its pioneers paying credit to Lawrence Hargrave.

Yet for many, Hargrave's name will draw a blank response. Yet as I stand on Bald Hill, his legacy is all around me. In a traditional sense there is a monument to the man, albeit missing its bronze plaque which has mysteriously disappeared. However, his legacy survives in a far more tangible form as Bald Hill is now home to the modern 'bird men'; the hang-gliders. One by one they assemble their basic rigs and leave the grassy knoll for the freedom of the skies. At times the sky is filled with their triangular forms sailing upon the breeze; from a virtual hover to surfing downwind at speed.

As I observe their airborne dance it takes very little effort imagine Hargrave's spectre standing beside me, undoubtedly filled with joy. His scientific mind would have seen the parallels of the aerodynamic form to his early studies and he would have stood in awe of their control and freedom. A sense of the breeze and a shift of weight and the hang gliders soar about the ridge line with the purest form of flight. Airliners climb out overhead bound for the southern states and their backdrop only further highlights the advances that aviation has made. And I think I can see Hargrave's jaw dropping just a touch.

With their landing fields on the beaches far below, I take the land-borne route via the road and await their arrival with my young son. He squints as he scans the bright sky for the colourfully adorned triangles and tracks them with an outstretched, pointing hand. Such a pure form of silent flight, he leans his ear towards the wind as the conversations of those above can be heard as the words waft back down to the earth. We are both entranced by these dancing descendants of Hargrave's humble box-kites as one after the other they position themselves for their return to earth. Their touch-down resembles a bird's return to earth as their graceful flight transitions by means of a pair of legs running along the surface until they slow and once again bear the weight of gravity's burden.

I am in awe of this form of flight and feel the very history seeping up through the grains of sand beneath my feet; the same sands that Lawrence Hargrave once hovered above. I cast my gaze back up to Bald Hill and sight his monument jutting up from the rounded ridge and in my mind's eye I can see Hargrave there still with his kites sailing on the wind. I am brought back to reality serenely as another glider leaves the certainty of the ground and moves into the mystical beauty of the air. Just as Hargrave once had, another seeks to soar above Stanwell Park and make the skies their own through a wonderful leap of faith.

"Late in the Day"

                    "Traffic Ahead." A very popular image on the blog this past week.

Hi All,

Thanks once again for a tremendous week at this aviation blog. Your support just keeps on growing!

The choice of highlighting the most popular blogs is getting more difficult each week as the numbers seem to be rising right across the range of stories. In a news sense, the post on the collapse of 'Air Australia' seemed to strike a nerve. As a series, 'The Practical Pilot' seems to be very popular, so you can be sure that more of that style of content will be on its way. Similarly, the second instalment of 'The Fatal Stall' inspired quite an amount of comment and feedback; particularly given the fate of Air France 447 in more recent times.

I would like to humbly thank Karlene Pettit for mentioning this blog and profiling me at her very popular website. I also received my copy of her book, "Flight for Control", in the mail a couple of days ago and I recommend that you check it out at her website also.

Episode 82 from the lads at the PCDU podcast hit the airwaves where we chatted about topics like 'The Fatal Stall' and the recent Air Test of the GippsAero GA8 for 'Australian Aviation' magazine.

Well, you've probably grasped that it's been another busy week and I'm currently organising content for the seven days ahead. It's a significant task, but the ongoing support of this aviation blog is making it all worthwhile.

Please keep the feedback and comments coming and don't forget to subscribe to this website or 'Like' me on Facebook.

Cheers for now,

Owen

Lighting up the Night.

The four engines hummed hypnotically through night night sky over the Pacific. While Honolulu lay only a matter of miles away, the passengers on board the Boeing 747 were blissfully unaware, curled up beneath their blankets in the darkened cabin. The cabin crew chatted in hushed tones behind the galley's heavy curtains, planning their shopping strategy when they arrived in San Francisco in a few hours time.

On the flight deck the tone was also hushed so as not to disturb the resting crew at the compartment's rear. The aircraft continued to track faultlessly along the magenta line on the instrument flight display as the 'Top of Descent'  indicator and San Francisco edged ever closer down the screen. I called up the latest weather reports through the aircraft's onboard system and shared them with my fellow pilot. It was set to be a beautiful day, but we ran through all of our available options and fuel status to ensure that all the bases were covered.

The first rays of the sun had not yet crept above the horizon but a portion of the upper atmosphere was revealing the first traces of the new day. A light, faint haze met the curved shadow of the earth's outline in an arc that spanned the horizon from left to right. The day was encroaching on the stratosphere, but not yet on the earth below.

The first indication that something special was taking place was not visual in nature. It was the chatter between American crews transiting the busy route to and between the mainland and Hawaii. “Can you see that?”, “What is it?” and “Is someone starting World War Three?” The exchanges peaked my interest, but gave no indication of the location or nature of the commotion. Then there was a hint. “There. On the horizon. Down low. It's brilliant!”

I leaned forward in my seat and peered into the darkness below. Nothing. Resting my arms on the top of the instrument panel, I cupped my eyes with my hands to keep the glow of the instrument panel to a minimum. Then I saw it. A tiny, bright intense light, like the tip of a white hot arc welder. Almost stationary, it was growing larger, ever so slightly. Seemingly in a matter of seconds it grew from a needle point to a distinct flame, growing both in mass and momentum at a rate that was difficult to comprehend.

“What is it?” the other pilot echoed my thoughts, equally astounded. Still it grew each and every second to a brighter and more impressive light, seemingly darting skyward. There was no perspective available to gauge distance or offer an idea of its size; just an ever-increasing intensity. Then someone identified the UFO that was captivating every crew aloft that night. “It's a launch out of Vandeneberg.”

A rocket launch from the US Air Force base on the west coast. Now everything made sense. It was hundreds of miles away, but so powerful that it was clearly seen by every aircraft in the flight levels and as it climbed it seemed to grow in speed as its trajectory could now be viewed in profile. Up through the darkness and onwards towards the illuminated upper atmosphere, the rocket would reach the daylight before the night's end for any of the citizens below. In an absolutely spectacular display of sheer energy, the projectile closed in on the arc between night and day, dark and light. One almost expected it to tear through some barrier between dawn like ripping fabric. And then it virtually did.

Just as its furious flightpath penetrated the arc.

Wooomf!

A flash of light that seemingly lit up the night for an instant before a mammoth expanding ring of vapour exploded across the sky. Like those TV documentaries that show the final burst  of light across the galaxy from a dying star, such was the scope of this amazing sight. In reality it was the rocket jettisoning a stage of its cylindrical being to leave the 'sharp end' to continue its journey into 'earth orbit'. Bound for space and relieved of much of its load, the remaining portion seemed to accelerate ever-faster and ever-higher. I craned my neck to look skyward and follow the lone beacon as it roared away and finally faded from my mere mortal sight.

Wow!

It had departed as quickly as it had emerged. All that remained was the ring across the horizon which was now merging with the moisture to develop into a cloud system of its own, like an atmospheric calling card. Its passage had been silent, but its impact was immense.

Over the years, I have been very fortunate to see many wonderful sights from this treasured vantage point in the sky, but that pre-dawn morning off the west coast of the United States will always rank very highly. In a matter of minutes, a simple light had transformed the sky and left everyone who had witnessed it breathless.

Meanwhile, the four engines of the 747 still continued to hum hypnotically and the cabin crew chatted while the passengers slept, blissfully unaware. But for this boy from Sydney, Australia, I would never look at the night sky quite the same again.

                               .........

This spectacular event was the night referred to in another very popular post 'Moments'. (Click Here)

The day was not so old today when the news of another airline's collapse filtered down the wire. There had been rumours circulating over recent days, but nothing untoward in an industry that is traditionally underpinned by third hand speculation. Even so, when the news was confirmed it was still a shock to the system, particularly for those caught in the cross-fire. Personally, it took me back ten years to when my old employer, Ansett Australia, ceased operations in the wee hours.

On that occasion I was left standing outside the terminal with the passengers as the automatic doors refused to budge despite limitless arm-waving at the sensor. Eventually I gained access under the watchful eye of a security guard, emptied my letterbox and was shown the door. All before 6am. It's a surreal experience to be standing on the footpath, in uniform and unemployed. The thoughts racing through the mind are difficult to harness; action needs to be taken, but what's to be done? Where to from here? Abandonment, vulnerability, confusion and grief all show their faces as the rational half of the brain endeavours to create a strategy to move forward from this mess.

As the announcement of Air Australia's collapse filled the air waves, that day on the footpath did not seem to be a decade ago. The corporate impact hardly registered with me as I felt immediate empathy for the staff. A number of the pilots at Air Australia were my workmates at Ansett, so the blow they have taken must be a bitter case of 'deja vu'. Once again they are asking, “Where to from here?”

For so many, aviation is more than just a job; it's a passion. As such, the loss of employment can be a twisted blend of fiscal uncertainty and a slap in the face by a cold-hearted lover. And similarly, both may take years to fully 'get over'.

If there is any solace, it may lie in the fact that many have been down this road before and have managed to regroup and rebuild. Resilience is so often a by-product of disappointment. It may be cold comfort in these first days when any sense of perspective is difficult to come by, but rest assured that the thoughts and good wishes of many are with you.

To the staff of Air Australia, stay strong and treasure those who really matter the most as they are the ones who will get you through.

Take care one and all.

Thor's Stepping Stones.

This line of storm cells made interesting viewing enroute from Sydney to Melbourne yesterday afternoon. With each growing cumulonimbus cloud building rapidly, they appeared to form the stepping stones for the 'God of Thunder' himself.

...and don't forget to visit the very popular blog titled 'Moments'

Hi All,

Thanks again for your support of this ever-growng aviation blog. By the 3rd of this month we had surpassed the total number of visitors to the blog in December and today we're set to eclipse January's numbers. A phenomenal effort by you all.

As a consequence, I have had a very diverse range of requests for future content; from military aviation to commercial airliners and general aviation commentary. However, a common underlying theme is to discuss certain aspects of learning to fly.

Whilst I have held a flight instructor rating for nearly 25 years, I do not hold myself up as any supreme authority; nor should any individual. We are always learning as long as we fly. However, as there have been so many requests that I will post some blogs on learning to fly with the disclaimer that nothing supercedes any manuals, regulations or the final word of your individual flight instructor or examiner.

These blogs will be a guide to the burgeoning pilot that hopefully provoke some thought as they venture down the aviation road. They will look at such things as the use of GPS, flying an approach and so on, but are neither definitive nor specific to any particular aircraft type. They are there to be read, considered and applied at your sole discretion.

I trust that these 'Practical Pilot' posts, like the others thus far, will continue to encourage our shared interest in aviation.

Cheers,

Owen

Hi All, here's something a little different today.....

The De Havilland aircraft company had a fine tradition of civilian training and touring aircraft prior to the outbreak of World War Two. From Humming Birds and Hornet Moths to Dragons and Albatross, the British company produced a vast range of machines. At the upper end of the speed spectrum was the twin-engined monoplane, the DH88 Comet. Manufactured from wood, the Comet blew away the competition in the 1934 MacRobertson Air Race from the UK to Australia, though just as significantly, it planted the seed for a revolutionary military aeroplane. The DH 98 Mosquito.

The Mosquito was originally conceived as a high speed unarmed bomber. In 1940 with Great Britain facing its darkest hour and a shortage of resources, it needed aircraft and it needed them quickly. Though the Air Ministry had some reservations about the unarmed aspect of the design, it could not argue with de Havilland’s expertise in wooden aircraft production techniques. Additionally, the fact that its construction called for minimal amounts of treasured metal resources offered up a viable alternative.

After a series of changes in the aircraft’s perceived role, the original order was modified to a requirement for 20 bombers and 30 fighters. The prototype initially built in a hangar disguised as a barn at the home of de Havilland, Hatfield. It narrowly missed being destroyed during a successful Luftwaffe bombing raid on Hatfield that did spell the end of a number of materials and over twenty people. However, the Mosquito survived and undertook its maiden test flight in November of 1940 at the hands of Geoffrey de Havilland’s son of the same name. During the subsequent trials the Mosquito’s speed established it as the fastest combat aircraft on either side of the conflict; a title it held for the next two years.

Into the Fray.

The Mosquito’s first operational sorties were in the role of Photo Reconnaissance (PR) in August 1941, a task it was ideally suited to with its high speed. Early in 1942, the aircraft began to see service as fighters and bombers. The Mosquito had far exceeded the original specifications and through minor modifications was able to carry 500 pound bombs in place of the originally planned 250 pounders. The first bombing raid was a daylight strike on Cologne after a “1000 bomber” raid had taken place the previous evening.

The versatility of the Mosquito became apparent and aside from being a fighter, bomber and photo recon aircraft, it successfully served as successful night-fighter and even participated in the “Hunter/Killer’ pairing of Turbinlite operations. The Mosquito was also extensively used in the precision-navigation role of ‘Pathfinder’ where it would fly in advance of the main bomber force to mark the target with incendiary ordinance. BOAC (the forerunner to British Airways) even used civilian registered Mosquitoes during the war to run the gauntlet between Britain and neutral Sweden on a regular air service. There seemed very little that the Mosquito could not do.

Special Roles

In its time, the Mosquito was called upon to fill some rather niche roles that have gone down in folklore. Two of these were 618 Squadron’s use of the bouncing bomb ‘Highball’ and the breaching of prison walls in ‘Operation Jericho’.

While much has been written of Barnes Wallis’ bouncing bomb and the Dambusters raid on the Ruhr Dams, there was an alternate deployment of the bouncing bomb planned for use by the Mosquito. This version of the bomb was known as ‘Highball’ and while the Dambusters used a cylindrical style bomb, ‘Highball’ was far more spherical.  Also conducted under a great veil of secrecy, 618 Squadron was tasked with using the bomb in an anti-shipping role with its number one priority the sinking of the German battleship the Tirpitz. Unfortunately, despite all of the effort and training, 618 Squadron never had a shot at the Tirpitz and eventually the squadron was deployed elsewhere.

A task for the Mosquito that did see notable fruition was ‘Operation Jericho’. Conceived in 1943, this mission involved an attack on the Amiens Prison in France which was holding amongst others, numerous members of the French Resistance who were scheduled to be executed. The daring low level attack took place on the 18th February 1944 and included squadrons from the RAF, RAAF and RNZAF. Its plan was to destroy the prison walls to facilitate the escape of the inmates, with an alternate plan of destroying the prison outright should this fail. It did not, and while there was loss of life, hundreds of prisoners were able to escape.

The Numbers

To quote specifications for the Mosquito is akin to comparing racehorses; there are so many types and so many variables.

In essence, the Mosquito was a twin-engined combat aircraft of primarily wooden construction. It was operated by two crew, including the pilot, and whether the second crewman was a navigator, bomb aimer or radar operator was dependent upon its designated role.

Powered by two Rolls Royce Merlin engines, it could carry nearly two tonnes of bombs deep into the heart of Germany. As a fighter it could carry 4 × 20 mm Hispano cannons in the fuselage and 4 × 7.7 mm (.303) Browning machine guns in the nose. Some photo reconnaissance versions had a service ceiling of 40,000 feet and a number of marques had a top speed in excess of 400 mph.

Ultimately, nearly 8,000 Mosquitoes were built and of these around 6,700 were delivered in wartime. As an aircraft it was not purely versatile, it was truly prolific as well.

The End.

As with all types, a number of Mosquitoes met ignominious ends on scrap heaps at the end of the war. However, several models survived and the Mosquito production line remained open until 1950. They saw service with air forces around the world and saw action with the Israeli Air Force during the Suez Crisis. A less adventurous tasking involved duty as target tugs while others took to the seas as a carrier-borne variant sporting folding wings.

To the very end, the Mosquito continued to fill roles that no other aircraft could. The model continued onto the Mk. 43 which was a trainer with the RAAF, but there were so many variants and marques before the final propeller stopped.

I had the pleasure to be interviewing a ‘Battle of Britain’ veteran who in 1942 received a new posting to a Mosquito squadron with some trepidation. He had heard very little of the new type other than the fact it was wooden and therefore seemingly a backward step in fighter technology.

He went on to fly the Mosquito more than any other aircraft and commanded a Mosquito squadron post war. He never lost his affection for the ‘Mossie’ he grew to love and sixty years later still had a twinkle in his eye when remembering de Havilland’s “Wooden Wonder”.

Hi All,

As the numbers continue to soar on this blog and a new group of readers join us, I thought it would be worthwhile to re-visit five of the most popular aviation blogs thus far. Here they are.

1. Golden Days.

2. So You Want to be a Pilot?

3. The Fatal Stall.

4. A Glimpse of the 'Red Tails'.

5. The Big Bang Theory.......of aircraft engines.

For those of you new to this aviation blog, welcome aboard! And for those that are continuing to come back, thanks for your support and please enjoy the growing list of original content.

Cheers

Owen

In 1994 I was a very junior First Officer in the process of completing line training with the now ‘late’ Ansett Australia. To my left sat one of Ansett’s most experienced training Captain’s on the 737 who had been on the type since the earlier -200 model had been introduced. I was to be the pilot flying on the sector, a simple hop from Melbourne to Adelaide with clear skies and fair winds, ideal for a ‘bog rat’ like myself attempting to master my first RPT jet.

Cleared for take off on runway 27 I pressed the TOGA buttons to bring the aircraft to life. The autothrottles promptly advanced, hunted a moment for the correct N1 and then held steady. Through “80 knots”, “V1” and “Rotate”, the 737-300 eased into the sky with a minimum of effort. I called for gear up and seemingly no sooner than the undercarriage had nestled into their respective bays, we heard a ‘thump’. Wonderfully indistinctive, the sound was significant enough to be met with a mutual and instantaneous turn of our heads. This was followed by one of those dreaded flight deck phrases, “What was that?” We continued to be focused on the safe ‘clean up’ of the aeroplane and Mike scanned the dials for any sign of trouble. There only seemed to be one slight ‘anomaly’.

Sitting at the bottom of the engine instrument stack sat a pair of vibration gauges. The right hand guage spoke on behalf of the No. 2 engine and was flickering around a reading of ‘2’ units. Per our checklists, no action was required until a reading of ‘4’ was evident and all other engine indications were normal. We were all aware, and wary, of information provided solely on the basis of vibration gauges. They had been integral in the loss of a 737-400 at Kegworth in England five years earlier when an engine failure had been misidentified and the incorrect engine shut down. The vibration guage only indicates a level of vibration in the fan, or front, section of the engine so as I flew the aircraft, Mike set about further investigation. He delved into the touch screen on the centre console known as the ACARS (Aircraft Communication And Reporting System) to reveal further details of the engine’s operation. Within the ACARS, the various stages of the engine revealed their individual levels of vibration and again, nothing stood out. As reflected by the guage, there was only a very slightly elevated level of vibration on the fan of the No. 2 engine. We discussed the option of returning to Melbourne but there was no justifiable indication to do so.

As we topped out in the climb and rolled over into level flight, the thrust levers retarded to the cruise setting and all evidence of the vibration disappeared. The vibration guage now read zero. With all seemingly back to normal, we reviewed the event and had another look at the ACARS; still nothing of consequence. We spoke to Engineering and they had nothing further to offer. On such a short sector we continued to manage the flight and pay attention to the housekeeping duties as the marker for top of descent steadily rolled down the Nav Display. As we pitched in to descent and idle thrust was set, we scanned the engine instruments again. Nothing. Zilch. Ops normal. I decided to delay my head scratching and concentrate on the descent profile for runway 05 at Adelaide which called for a crossing of the coast at Port Stanvac and, hopefully, a smooth decelerating arc over the water to intercept final approach. At that time, Ansett procedures had a minimum ‘spool up’ height of 800’ AGL. In essence, the most efficient descent saw the Boeing glide with the thrust levers at idle until the final stage of approach when, by 800’, the thrust levers were set for power on approach. On this sector my training was bearing fruit and the descent went very close to plan.

On final, wings level, configured and coming through about 1200’ I ‘clicked out’ the autothrottle and manually eased the thrust levers up to an appropriate N1. At about this time it felt like some one had started taking to the aircraft with a sledge hammer. The No. 2 vibration flicked full circle and seemed to bounce off the stops. In a blink, Mike called “taking over” and began to retard the right hand thrust lever back with some resultant relief. The runway loomed large, too late for checklists and a go-around seemed far from prudent. We entered the flare and Mike smoothly closed the thrust levers. The shudder was gone and we touched down right on the money as the Captain pulled asymmetric reverse, not wanting to risk the starboard engine. Clear of the runway, all indications were again normal, though we taxied to the terminal without raising No.2 above idle, just in case.

We parked at the bay and completed our shutdown checklists. The ground engineer plugged in his headsets with the accompanying eardrum rupturing ‘squawk’. Before we had an opportunity to say a word he opened up with, “You gotta see this.” The comment somewhat heightened our interest. After the passengers had disembarked we followed suit and made our way to the starboard nacelle. There was blood on the lip of the cowl indicating a bird strike, but further in a number of fan blades were badly bent. Three of them through almost 90 degrees so that they were pointing forward instead of running around the inner wall of the cowling. There was further biological evidence of the demise of a feathered being that, fortunately for us, had passed through the fan blades of the high-bypass engine but totally missed the engine’s core. This had been the ‘thump’ we had heard shortly after take off out of Melbourne.

Airframe and engine vibrations on board aircraft can be very difficult to diagnose. Their severity is often a combination of such things as airspeed, airflow angle, power settings, and the like. In the event of such vibration, many checklists call for a change in altitude, attitude and airspeed as a possible remedy. In our case, the approach configuration and body angle provided the correct mix for the vibration to fully manifest. Having said that, seeing the resultant damage also reflects the durability of modern jet engines, in this case the CFM56.
Perhaps one of the most valuable lessons that day lay in the nature of the engine problems. Prior to entering the airline world I had spent much of my time training pilots in engine failures of all descriptions. Single engine practice forced landings, engine failures after take off (EFATO) and asymmetric flight in all phases and corners of the envelope. The 737 conversion continued its engine failure emphasis with V1 cuts, engine fires, turbine seizures, failures in the cruise and so on. Almost exclusively, there was a distinct loss of power with resultant yaw. This was then followed by textbook procedures, resulting in a textbook outcome. The real world does not always throw up the standard scenario. It may be a partial loss of power, totally contradictory engine indications or any combination of conflicting information. Whatever the case, the first priority is to fly the aeroplane. Don’t rush in, take a breath and attempt to gather as much information as possible and then manage the situation. Many critical errors have been made in haste.

Until the final stage of the approach on our short journey from Melbourne to Adelaide, all we effectively experienced was a ‘bump’ and an ‘in tolerance’ vibration indication that subsequently disappeared. To see the fan blades of that starboard engine you would have expected far greater drama. We are all trained for when things go terribly wrong. We have drills, procedures and checklists in place to keep the most injured aeroplane aloft. Unfortunately reality doesn’t always fall within the guidelines of a syllabus. Be it the crippled DC10 at Sioux City or the more subtle confusion of Kegworth, neither were a ‘standard’ training scenario prior to the event. Certainly, on occasions emergencies are easily read and then again, sometimes it’s the little things.