Prior to my tenth flight in the 1-26 I had stated that I wanted to be
towed out to the northeast, which was dead upwind, so that I could see
some new territory. All my previous flights had been to the northwest
or due west. Bob Smalley was the tow pilot on Saturday and said that he
had to go refuel before launching me, so I sat on the Safety Officer's
cart and shot the breeze with John Braun and Tony Smith. Just to the
southwest of the field we watched the 2-33 with Derrell Doss, Robert
Williams in his LAK and Brian Smith in the Puch climbing steadily. Link
one on the chain was forged. We launched shortly after 4:00. I don't
remember checking the winds since I was last in the hangar hours before.
"I know I said I wanted to go out to the northeast, but I just can't
pass up that lift after watching three planes climb steadily." When Bob
finally returned in the Pawnee I asked him to drop me off under the
2-33. He wisely went well north before turning south and I popped off
tow at 2500' right under Derrell. The LAK and the Puch had moved on to
more interesting spots. While I was climbing steadily up I noticed the
2-33 relocated further north, so I could easily keep an eye on him. I
circled and climbed fairly steadily just to the west of Highway 1 off
the south end of our runway. As I went through 3000' I noticed that the
wind was slowly moving me south but I was staying in thermal and had
plenty of altitude to get back so I went with it. Link two was forged.
After a while I crossed to the east side of the highway and hunted
around the plowed fields due south of FCY. While it wasn't quite as
good a hunting ground as on the west side, I didn't have to work much to
maintain altitude. By this time I was up around 3600' and let the wind
continue to carry me south. "Cool," new territory and plenty of
altitude and lift that even a new student could work. About thirty
minutes into my flight my altitude had dropped back around 3000' and I
was somewhere around Haynes (although I didn't know that at the time
since I haven't learned the local landmarks). Just to the east of the
highway was a distinctive triangle bounded by the highway on one side
and forested land on the other two. I was climbing steadily at 3 knots
and occasionally watched the vario pop up to 4 to 6, although I could
never stay in the strong stuff for a complete turn.
This was an easily identifiable spot, I could see the Mississippi River
in the severe clear and saw a mid-size collection of buildings just
south of me. At the time I wondered if I was looking at Haynes or
Marianna and made the crucial and oh so wrong decision right about
then. I've got plenty of altitude and have found consistent lift all
the way down the highway, thought I. I can make a dash down there and
get back to this distinctive triangle with strong lift even if I don't
find anything down there and back. Link three and my fate was probably
sealed right there.
Back up at 3600' AGL I rolled out of a turn on a SSE heading over a
creek running through some forested land and was gliding toward the
town. I had my sectional in my lap and started trying to identify the
airport just west of the town. In my mind I was looking at Frost and
kept scanning south and east of the runway where I expected to see
Marianna airport. Through this period I was often in zero sink and got
to the outskirts of town around 3000' AGL. No problem, thought I.
About that time I could read the markings on north end of the runway:
17 in big bold numerals. Oh, that must be Marianna. I looked further
right and finally saw Frost further west. Frankly being in new
territory and looking down on the town was quite fun and emotionally
rewarding. I can't wait to do it again more successfully.
After a lazy 360 or two I was abeam the south end of the runway and
really enjoying this new experience. I put the nose down and started
north. Perhaps ten seconds into the return journey I knew that the
winds aloft were even stronger than I had realized while lazily drifting
south. "No problem," thought I. I know exactly where I had easily
gained 2000' on the way down here so I started back up the highway,
hunting and pecking to either side. I put the nose a bit further down
to compensate for the wind. The ship dropped like a rock as mere feet
went by underneath. It felt like a 1:1 glide path. I needed miles and
was getting feet. In my mind I knew that the 1-26 didn't penetrate well
upwind, but I didn't know it from experience. Lesson learned the very
hard way. The pucker factor gapped up very suddenly.
By the time I got back to the triangle on the east side of the highway
near Haynes, I started circling trying to find the center of lift. I
was below 2000', probably below 1800' and still falling. Very nervous
thoughts were creeping in, but I still expected to feel a kick in the
seat any moment now. This was going to make for a great story
afterwards, I thought. I found a few small pops but mostly found zero
sink. I moved over to the west side where a farmer was plowing and
found nothing but sink. I returned diagonally to the east side of the
highway and made a turn or two but got nothing useful for my effort.
Then I looked longingly at the L'Anguille to my west where I had found
an hour's worth of lift earlier in the day. At my current altitude that
detour was a very bad idea. At that point I committed to following the
highway so that if I did land out the retrieval team could get to me.
I put the nose down (not easy at that altitude) and headed north at
about 55 kias which I figured was best glide plus a little for the
wind. As I fell through 1500' I remembered that at this point I was
supposed to commit to a specific landing site and start setting up for a
normal pattern. "Surely something will happen here to save this." I
was lazily moving back and forth across the highway hunting, and finding
nothing but an occasional zero. I could see our field and the hangars
but sucked it up and made my first radio call: "Forrest City Ground,
glider 39S, landing out four south of the field." Silence. I repeated
the call. Silence.
I noticed a field just to the east side of the highway but it appeared
to be plowed into quadrants. The furrows on the north side ran north
and south, while the furrows on the south half ran east and west. The
southeast quadrant was corn, noticeably taller than the rest of the
field. Since I was traveling north and the wind was from the northeast,
I headed for it. I could just pick out a dirt road that ran east from
the highway bisecting the field. That was as good as it was going to
get for a retrieval. I repeated my radio call trying to let someone
know to come get me and got no response whatsoever. Then I heard
someone (the Puch I think) call that they were returning to land. At
least I knew that the receiver worked and someone is on the frequency.
I flipped over to 123.3 and made a call to any glider but heard nothing
but silence. Back to 122.8, one more call to no effect and I dropped
the mic.
As I drew alongside my chosen field I saw telephone poles running east
from the highway bisecting the otherwise perfect spot. "Uh, oh" I was
falling through 1000' and everything else in the area looked much
worse. "This is really not good." Fortunately and for no good reason
that I can explain, I saw that the wires just stopped three telephone
poles east of the highway. OK, I can make a (supposedly) downwind leg
to the east, go past the end of the wires over a patch or tall corn,
turn base then quickly final and be heading west, toward the highway,
aligned with the furrows, alongside a dirt road and south of the
telephone poles. For a bad situation, it couldn't be much better with
less than 800' now to play with. I looked longingly over the row of
trees and wires that separated me from home base but knew that was a
fool's errand. I turned and knew that it was all over now. How this
would turn out was a great unknown. I just had to trust that a plowed
field had no hidden obstructions because I was out of options.
At that point, as I started the turn to downwind, everything got better
emotionally. I had been increasingly nervous during the entire fall
from 2000' down to 800' but once I had started the approach to landing,
it was just that: an approach to landing and I knew how to do that.
Doubt and uncertainty were replaced by procedure. Downwind, turn to
base and and almost immediate turn to final with the tailwind on the
wrong leg. I rolled out on final and fortunately saw that I needed
spoilers and all of them to get down in the short space between me and
the highway.
I landed right on top of a furrow but immediately settled into the
trough and slid quickly to a normal stop. I made one more radio call on
122.8 announcing that I was down and intact and popped the canopy open.
I reached into the pouch behind my right shoulder where I had stowed my
cell phone, turned it on and hit the hangar phone's number stored in
memory. I believer Derrell answered and then the first of my visitors
drove up. I put Derrell on hold and told a very upset couple in a sedan
that yes, I was perfectly all right, no, this was not a plane crash, and
thank you very much for stopping to check on me. Derrell relayed my
message and took my sketchy description of my location. I could see the
hangar but knew that no one there could see me.
Then Trent, Jr., rolled up on his motorcycle. Apparently he had see me
low and well out of position and had given chase. After sitting with me
for a bit he headed off to the hangar to tell the retrieval team exactly
where I was. In that situation there is no such thing as too much local
knowledge. Shortly after he was out of sight up the highway another car
came rolling up the dirt road. A man got out of the driver's side
leaving a woman in the passenger seat. I don't know why, but I
suspected I was sitting in this fellows field on his crop. "Are you all
right?," he called out. As I was stepping over his rows of crops I
replied, "Yes, everything is fine. Is this your field?"
Yes, it was his field and this was not the first MSS ship to land in it,
I learned. I gave him my phone number, apologized for any damage that I
had done or that we were going to do getting the plane out and told him
that I would make good whatever damage was done. After getting
assurance that help was on its way he returned to his car and drove
off. If Steve Lankford (Langford) shows up at the clubhouse, please
give him a demo ride on my account.
A bit later the team arrived with the trailer. I first want to say
thank you to everyone who so gladly extended their day at the club for a
few more hours. Professor Robert Williams took the opportunity to load
up most if not all of the students as well as some of our experienced
high timers to give a lesson in disassembly and reassembly of the 1-26.
Jim Hendrix and Dick Cadieux cheerfully provided their expertise,
muscle, hand tools and vehicles. A couple of hours later we had the
1-26 back in one piece and stowed in the hangar, well lubricated by Bob
Moore's magic red grease.
I have tried to be fairly straight-forward in this account. I am not
trying to explain away any of this nor to make light of it. This could
easily have turned out much worse. The land-out was entirely the result
of my string of decisions. I do hope that others can learn from this
account of my chain of decisions that let to this result without having
to experience it themselves.
Thanks again to all who came to bail me out. I am extremely happy to
have found such a good group of folks to fly with. I still owe the team
those beers and will be at the ready when the next retrieval team heads
out.
Lessons learned:
- The 1-26 really does not penetrate upwind. Trust me on this one. I thought I could coax it upwind and was very wrong.
- The training we receive is the result of other people's mistakes and bad outcomes. If you do what you have been taught, you will put the odds as much in your favor as you can.
- Once you get low, commit to a plan of action and execute it. Don't change your mind once you are committed to landing. Find a safe, soft spot and fly as normal a pattern as you can. Hightimers in slick glass ships can disregard this (I won't presume to teach anyone.) Students in metal and fabric planes should not. Following drilled procedure can push doubt and fear from your mind in the crucial final moments.
- Carry a cell phone with a charged battery on every flight.
