Free Flight Video Magazine

The NTSB are investigating a near miss between an Airbus 320 with 90 passengers and a Beech 99 cargo plane who had less than 100 feet separation when they passed each other at 1,500 feet. The Airbus heard the other aircraft (that really is damn close) but the pilot of the Beech was apparently unaware of the near miss.

NTSB Press Advisory

On September 16, 2010, about 6:49 a.m. CDT, US Airways flight 1848 (AWE 1848), an Airbus 320, was cleared for takeoff on runway 30R en route to Philadelphia, Pennsylvania, carrying five crewmembers and 90 passengers. At the same time, Bemidji Aviation Services flight 46 (BMJ46), a Beech 99 cargo flight with only the pilot aboard, was cleared for takeoff on runway 30L en route to La Crosse, Wisconsin. Weather conditions at the time were reported as a 900-foot ceiling and 10 miles visibility below the clouds.

Immediately after departure, the tower instructed the US Airways crew to turn left and head west, causing the flight to cross paths with the cargo aircraft approximately one- half mile past the end of runway 30L. Neither pilot saw the other aircraft because they were in the clouds, although the captain of the US Airways flight reported hearing the Beech 99 pass nearby. Estimates based on recorded radar data indicate that the two aircraft had 50 to 100 feet of vertical separation as they passed each other approximately 1500 feet above the ground.

---

A Saratoga landed on the Interstate in Atlanta during rush hour. The pilot is fine but it sounds like the plane is a write-off. I’m not sure why the plane landed with the wheels up (the Saratoga undercarriage is electric but has a manual override for emergencies like this).

Owner Of Interstate Plane Talks To CBS Atlanta – Atlanta News Story – WGCL Atlanta

Dominic Ottaviano said never thought he’d receive a call like the one he got Monday.

“Said, ‘Hey, did you see the news? Your plane is on the interstate.’ And it wasn’t really funny,” said Ottaviano.

Ottaviano watched the scene unfold on I-85 near Shallowford Road. He’s one of three owners of the single-engine six-passenger plane that landed on the interstate in the middle of rush hour.

---

Alaska Dispatch has a fascinating piece about the survivors of a Cessna 185 which crashed in a remote area of Alaska. They were quickly rescued thanks to one of the passengers who was carrying a satellite messaging device.

When the plane goes down, the good gadget is the one that gets you found

After the crash, after everyone pulled themselves out the wreckage of the single-engine airplane in the Alphabet Hills north of remote Glennallen in Southcentral Alaska on Sunday, 30-year-old Wayne Humbert reached into his pocket and pulled out a yellow, six-ounce, palm-size satellite messaging device called “Spot.”

On its face there were four buttons. A battered Humbert, knowing he and three friends in the airplane now a tangle of metal in the wilderness were in trouble, pressed the one that said “help.”

---

Vincent posted this YouTube video on Plastic Pilot which plays the radio interaction when a Lancair Legacy engine fails at high altitude in bad weather over high mountains.

Mark Patey, the pilot wrote:

I couldn’t ask the controllers to tell my wife this or that, heck, it would take a lifetime to say what you would want to say. But maybe, just maybe, if they knew all my actions, they would know, it was just my time. I was going away, calm, still myself, at peace with who I was in life, and in the end, I had done all I could do… Did ATC really need pireps on icing? No, I needed someone to talk to. Did they need to know my window was icing up on the inside? No, they can’t scrub it for me. In life’s emergencies, others can’t do it for you; they can provide direction, some warnings about upcoming obstacles, a calming voice with words of encouragement, and IF we are willing to listen and take action we just might make it. I can think of quite a few Sunday school lessons and analogies that could come from this at this point. Anyway, in the end, it’s up to you to fly the plane. The government, your neighbors, your family and friends, even your flight instructor can’t fly the plane for you and there is only so much time to finish the flight, maybe not even as much time as we think. In the end, did we do all we could do? If so, Someone else will make up the difference! I’m eternally grateful for the fact that I was not alone up there.

---

And this just in: Sandown Airport on the Isle of Wight is not closing after all. The airfield was due to close on the 1st of October but according to the County Press Online, there has been a high court injunction preventing Sandown from closing.

Delight at High Court airport order

This week, a high court judge sided with Mr Woodhouse and Mr Williams, who own the surrounding land, as well as the Specialist Flying School, and served an ex-partae high court injunction preventing the airport from being closed for the foreseeable future.
Mr Woodhouse said: “It’s absolutely brilliant the injunction has been served. We applied for the injunction because we had heard the runway was going to be ploughed so it couldn’t be used.
“We have rights on the runway and taxiway and the judge was satisfied with those rights. The airport has to be saved.
“This weekend we have got more than 100 aircraft flying in to show our solidarity. We have got some exciting plans for the future, including an event with vintage cars, stalls and a visit from a parachute team.”

---

Via Mikel, I found that the NTSB has completed a preliminary finding regarding the JetBlue A320 that blew out its tyres landing at Sacramento. Their conclusion? The aircraft had its parking brake on for the landing.

WPR10IA430

According to airplane recorded flight data, the parking brake had become engaged during the landing approach approximately 5,100 feet mean sea level, and it remained engaged throughout the landing. During interviews with the flight crew, neither pilot recalled any abnormal indications or warnings associated with the braking system prior to landing.

---

Source: Sylvia

cheap london hostel lodgings

Mike Newman was piloting a glider at the Shoreham Airshow last weekend when the unthinkable happened: he crashed the glider in front of his audience while in the circuit to land.

Shoreham air show crash pilot escapes as stunt glider smashes into runway | Mail Online

This is the moment when a stunt glider slammed into a runway in front of 15,000 horrified fans at an airshow.

Amazingly pilot Mike Newman, 35, crawled out of the wreckage of the high performance Swift S-1 aircraft after the cockpit broke up on impact.

The former racing driver suffered three broken vertebrae in the accident, but doctors expect him to make a full recovery.

Amateur photographer Rob Yuill released this photo as a part of a full set of unbelievable photographs which have been released to various UK newspapers.

Swiftteam Airshows have released a statement:
Swift Aerobatic Display Team : Team News

Mike’s crash at Shoreham was probably one of the best recorded glider accidents in history as it was in front of not only the crowd, but the Airshow Press Tent and the flight was at the start of the airshow on Sunday. Many of the country’s best aviation photographers had their lenses directed towards the glider.

High definition video and high resolution photographs have already proved valuable to the AAIB in understanding some of the circumstances leading up to the crash. We are hoping that further analysis will benefit all pilots in the future to better understand many of the factors that lead to an accident so they can be avoided.

Here’s the YouTube video referenced in that article:

In response to a commenter on the Scotsman asking how “walk away from the wreckage with minor injuries” can turn out to mean “crawl out of the wreckage with his back broken in three places”, a reader posted:

In skydiver talk, “he’s OK” means he’s not dead. Same idea here.

Absolutely true – well done Mr. Newman and a speedy recovery!

Source: Sylvia

I have been collecting my essays, articles and blog-posts into a single volume to see if it would read well as a book. This is the introduction: how I ended up studying for my Private Pilot’s Licence out of a grudge rather than actual interest. It didn’t take long before I was hooked!

I posted about my motivation a few weeks ago: “You don’t need a real licence”. The following day, I arrived at the airfield…

The next morning, we were each to go up one-by-one in the Cessna 172s to do some general handling: get a feel for the controls and how the plane actually worked. As I was the late-comer, I agreed to go last, which gave me a few hours to flick through the manuals and wake up. By the time everyone had had a go, I was actually excited about my turn in the cockpit. Somehow, I’d forgotten about the problem we’d discovered the day before.

My feet still didn’t reach the pedals.

We pushed the seat up as far as it would go but it was no use. I needed a booster seat. Oliver, an enthusiastic training instructor who looked about half my age, sent me into the building to ask for a pillow. I walked into the dark bar, where ancient Andalucian men sat drinking café solo and watching the news on a spluttery old television. They didn’t waste a glance on me as I stole a cushion from the sofa pushed against the wall and took it out to the plane.

With it placed behind my back, I pressed the pedals to the floor with my heels, which Oliver said was necessary for steering on the ground and applying rudder, whatever that meant, in the air. I still couldn’t comfortably see over the dashboard but Oliver climbed in after me and buckled himself into the right seat; he seemed to think that wasn’t as important. We rolled along the taxi-way, Oliver waving his hands about as he manipulated the steering with his feet. At one point he twisted completely around to point at a helicopter passing through the valley.

“Shouldn’t you keep your eyes up front and hands on the controls?”

He laughed as if I were being deliberately witty and then straightened out on the runway and revved the engine up.

“You aren’t afraid of planes, are you?”

Not a chance. I couldn’t remember a time when flying wasn’t a part of my life. My first time on a plane was at 6 months old, a Boeing 707 taking me and my parents from the little house in Mannheim, halfway around the world to southern California where we remained for the next 16 years. Flying was as much a part of my childhood tapestry as tea parties with my stuffed animals. Every summer, I watched the morass of houses and bright blue pools surrounding Los Angeles International disappear, signalling hours of boredom until we reached the darker buildings and massive forests surrounding Frankfurt.

I understood that there were people who were afraid of flying – the same as there were people who didn’t speak German, or who had brown eyes. It was clearly possible but I couldn’t imagine what it might be like. Flying was transportation, yes, but also a fresh start, shifting into a different language and culture and respite from the day-to-day issues which I’d just left behind. Flying was freedom.

I summarised this for Oliver with a nervous shake of my head.

“Great. Let’s go,” he said. The engine roared and we were flying.

My heart began to race as soon as the Cessna pulled away from the asphalt runway. I watched an old man strolling through rows of olive trees. A toddler in a bright red dress looked up from her games on the porch and waved. I expected the detail to disappear into the distance as we climbed to unimaginable heights but this was it – we’d levelled out at 1,000 feet above sea level. Oliver followed the path of a dusty river bed to the coast. I could see the cars, the houses, the people sitting on the beach. My nose pressed against the cool plastic of the window. I was mesmerised.

“Are you ready to take the controls?”

We were only 1,000 feet above the ground. I could see the waves crashing on the beach. I stared at him, aghast.

He smiled and wiggled his fingers at me. “You have control.”

I grasped the yoke. We didn’t immediately fall into a nose dive. Oliver twiddled at knobs, the roar of the engine increased.

“Pull it towards you,” he said. White-knuckled, I pulled towards my chest. My head fell back against the seat, all I could see was sky. “Perhaps not quite so much,” said Oliver, pushing the control forward again. The plane pitched down into a gentle climb. My fingers clenched around the black rubbery handholds of the flight controls.

“Now level out,” said Oliver. I was afraid to turn to look at him, afraid to take my eyes off the sky in front of us, as if a small child might rush into our path, endangered by my lack of attention.

We spent an hour over the coast of Torre del Mar as Oliver gently took me through the paces – climb, descend, gentle turns, straight and level, using the horizon as a spirit level. Then he took control again and left me to look at the view below while he flew us back to the airfield. But the white buildings clustered on hilltops and tiny farm plots in the valley no longer thrilled me. I’d discovered fear.

Next: In the Cockpit

Source: Sylvia