Open Writing

Calm weather and blue skies stretched ahead of us making conditions ideal for flying. The week before, Terry had asked ‘How about lunch at Pirie on Sunday? My brother works in the railways up there. He’ll pick us up from the Airport.’

This lunch was going to be expensive, after adding in the cost of hiring an aircraft on top of the meal. I didn’t know what fare we would find up in Port Pirie, a small port and railway town, an hour’s flying from Adelaide’s Parafield Airport

While doing my run up checks I noted that the instrumentation of the Socata Tobago was working as the manufacturer had intended. I set my transponder to 1200, as I intended to fly outside controlled airspace and taxied to Runway Two-One-Right. My stomach rumbled at the thought of lunch.

Earlier, like a curious child, Terry had watched me go through my pre-flight checks. ‘These blades don’t look anywhere near sharp enough to take your arm off,’ he remarked, standing back and showing the propeller great respect, although the magnetos were switched off, ‘You just never know when they might just come to life do you?’

I attempted to keep Terry entertained, by going through the flight plan with him and overloading him with technical information about the aircraft checks in the process. My explanation of the pitot tube’s function in measuring airspeed intrigued him. ‘I wonder who first came up with that idea?’ he asked, adding: ‘For our sakes, I hope that bit of metal in there isn’t fatigued!’

Never having been up in a light aircraft before, Terry’s excitement was palpable as I started the engine and radioed the control tower.

No sooner had I approached the runway, I was cleared for take off. Gathering speed, ever conscious of Terry’s curiosity about aircraft, I said: ‘See! All temperatures and pressures are in the green and airspeed is increasing. Relax—this will be a great flight.’

Everything was perfect, perhaps a little too perfect. At 65 knots I began rotating the Tobago, becoming airborne, much to Terry’s delight. ‘Flaps up at 200 feet,’ I said momentarily looking at the altimeter, which to me read 8,100 feet. Surely my mind was playing tricks on me! I checked the air speed indicator. It read zero! Zero? This wasn’t possible. The ground was definitely moving under me, or at least past me, under the aircraft. I checked the instruments again. No change. Neither my mind, nor my eyes were playing tricks on me. There was something horribly wrong! Glancing at Terry who was blissfully unaware of the precarious situation we were in, I could sense that he was taking in the amazing view from the departing aircraft. Unbeknown to us, a hidden mechanical fault had suddenly caused all the pressure instruments to fail.

‘My altimeter isn’t working,’ I said as calmly as I could. Panicking now was not a good idea and enlightening an ignorant Terry would make a bad situation in a closed space worse. I was fixated with landing an aircraft, albeit with some failed instruments.

‘We can still go to Pirie, can’t we?’ Terry asked, a hint of disappointment creeping into his voice.

‘No, no, no! I’ve got to land the plane right now,’ I said. We had only been airborne for less than 30 seconds.

‘I need to land, my pressure instruments have failed,’ I told the control tower.

‘Okay, cleared for landing Runway Two-One Right.’

I turned cross and then downwind unaware of my true altitude, but much lower than the 1000 feet at which I usually performed this manoeuvre. I worried that my airspeed was too low. At low airspeeds the aircraft was in danger of stalling, followed by a very hard unintentional landing that would probably destroy the aircraft, Terry and me! Not a good thought at a time like this!

With the flaps down I turned base and final, anticipating the stall warning to come to life at any time warning me of danger. I was using my manifold pressure and RPM to estimate my airspeed. I felt incredible relief, as my rear wheels gently touched the tarmac. We were back on terra firma, but still an hour away from Port Pirie and lunch.

Taking another aircraft, after completing the various reports, we departed on an uneventful flight for a late lunch at Pirie. Terry was confused about the drama and my decision to land . . . until I explained it all to him much later.

© Gehan Wijesinha