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Chapter Seven
THE START
OF IT ALL
Most pilots fly to destinations
chosen by their rostering clerk. In
Qantas, however, pilots have a seniority number according to their rank of
captain, first officer or second officer. Pilots then bid from a pre-published
list of flights for all of the different routes, which adds credibility to the
saying 'life's good at the top'.
In
the previous nine months I had converted from the Boeing 707 to the Boeing 747
jumbo, and I had not stood on the decks of my beauty for some time. Being lower
on the seniority list, and now not being able to choose my trips as before, I
welcomed the offer of a tour of duty with stopovers in Singapore, enabling me
to check on my yacht while it was in transit.
The
first sector from Sydney to Singapore was so pleasant that the pilots should
have paid the passengers for the privilege of flying this magnificent machine.
What a difference from my first flying lesson in a Tiger Moth! Reclining
chairs with adjustable armrests, coffee and tea, or more tea with the press of
a button. Not having to book a seat in the front of the observation car. We
were it!
On
our rest day in Singapore I proudly took the crew to see my yacht tucked up
snugly in the cradle, looking very much out of place perched high out of the
water on the barge. I was jubilant that it was halfway home, and just as
pleased when the check captain I was flying with agreed to give me my
six-monthly flight check on our flight to Perth the following day. I had now
been flying the 747 for six months and was due for my first licence renewal. I
had completed the simulator licence exercises and test with no problems, and
now it was time to show my expertise on the aircraft.
The
captain was a gentleman and made me feel very comfortable when I ordered the
fuel for the flight to Perth. I had previously found it impossible to carry
out this task without the captain making some negative comment; either I had
ordered too much, or not enough. Apart from the fuel allocated under the Civil
Aviation Safety Authority (C.A.S.A.) regulations, any extra fuel was calculated
using the pilot's gut feeling.
As
well as checking on my operation of the aircraft, it was also the check
captain's duty to examine me on the emergency procedures. With perfect weather
and a great friendly crew, I passed the route check with a very favourable
mark. I was pleased that this test was now out of the way, and the three month
conversion and probation period were behind me. The captain flew the return
flight to Singapore, and the atmosphere on the flight deck was as good as it
gets, which in turn makes for a very safe operation. I had been on flights
where friction was experienced between the pilots, and in that tiny workplace
ill thoughts were not conducive to cooperation and safety.
For
the pilots to be able to cope with an in-flight emergency there was an
'emergency procedures' booklet at each crew position. Most emergencies are
divided into two sections, 'phase 1' and 'phase 2', with the pilots being
required to know the phase 1 off by heart so that the procedure is automatic in the event that
it is needed.
On
our return to Singapore we had left the Australian coast and were flying over
the Indian Ocean to our next reporting point, which was about forty minutes away.
Having nothing more to relate to the crew of my various exploits, or perhaps
taking the hint for some quietness, I decided to make good use of this quiet
time by going over the phase 1 emergency procedures in my head. Gradually, I
went through them one by one, passing the memory test - until I came to the
emergency procedure 'loss of all generators'.
To
explain this emergency procedure more, the descent from cruising altitude on
the Qantas 707 and 747 was performed at idle thrust, or very near it. In 1980,
when flying though certain cloud and weather conditions, the Pratt and Whitney
engines on the 747 could flame out due to icing and come to a complete stop,
resulting in a loss of power to the generators, much similar to stalling a car
at the lights on a very cold morning. The 747 'engine shut-down procedures'
must be followed before restarting any failed engine, (for the same reason you don't
normally start a car with the accelerator in the fast position) and these are
written in the phase 1 section of the emergency procedures, which must be memorised. When the phase 1 procedure has been carried out, the
emergency procedures checklist is read out to confirm that the engines have
been shut down correctly, and then the phase 2 procedures are read out to tidy up
the situation and make the way clear to restart the engines.
While
I was going over the phase 1 procedure in my mind, I became terrified when my left hand
involuntarily moved towards the start levers, four little knobs positioned on
the rear of the console between the pilots. The checklist of phase 1 had called for:
Knowing
full well the drama that would result in my involuntary action, I struggled
with the uncontrollable limb as though it wasn't mine. Soon, other muscles in
my arm began to ache from this fight between them; some were trying to push
out involuntarily, while others, with rationality, were trying to pull in. A
horrific pain developed in my stomach as tremors were spreading through my
body. Beads of perspiration instantly covered my body, and it began to shake
uncontrollably as I tried to take control of myself. It was like living a
nightmare that I couldn't wake from.
Had I been taken over by something or someone to want to make me carry
out such a bizarre act?
In absolute terror, my mind blank with fear
and my body still covered with perspiration, I made an excuse to leave the
flight deck, indulging in several cigarettes until I felt calm enough to resume
my seat. Similar to the unnerving,
all-encompassing feeling after a violent thunderstorm, all was quiet and calm -
but would the force reappear with a vengeance if I went outside?
Getting
into a pilot's seat is a tricky manoeuvre, and as I stretched my arm out to
grasp the handgrip to position myself in the chair, my eyes dropped to the
console to look at the instigators of my horrifying episode. There they were - four
innocent knobs - but they were going be my downfall.
Fortunately,
my pain and terror dissipated and I made it to Singapore without being tortured
again. I wanted to talk to someone about my experience, but that evening the
only crew member available was the second officer. During our meal of a dozen
or so satays washed down by what seemed to be as many ales, I explained my
unnoticed episode of what seemed like a fantasy to the bewildered young man.
His lack of interest in my story made me think that he didn't believe me,
although why should he? What pilot in his right mind would want to shut down
the engines unnecessarily? But was I in my right mind?
The
subject was closed, and fortunately the incident slipped from my mind until a
couple of hours into our flight back to Sydney the following evening. Then
wham
like a
shot from the blue it happened again. 'Oh, no!' I thought to myself as all the same symptoms took over my
body. As my body trembled my hand was
being abused by the uncontrollable pull of the start levers.
I
quickly remembered the agony I had been through last time, so without
hesitation I told the captain I didn't feel well and asked if I could call the
second officer back to the
flight deck. At that time a female
passenger was visiting the flight deck, and rather than interrupting his
conversation with her by having to supervise a crew change, he smiled and told
me to put my seat back, and said he would complete my tasks and keep an eye on
me.
Toothache
was nothing compared to the fear and panic I felt. The fear escalated with my being trapped in the seat, and the irritating
voice of the passenger seemed to worsen my plight. I reached the point where I
couldn't bear the terror of my compulsion a second longer; I had to bail out or
the urgent desire to thrust my hand towards those levers would be beyond my
control.
Not concerned about any embarrassment, I turned to the captain and
interrupted his conversation. 'Excuse me, Captain, I've got this funny feeling
that is urging me to shut down the engines. Could I please leave the flight
deck?'
'I
think you had better,' he replied, with a stunned look on his face. After
glancing towards the passenger to see her reaction, he called the second
officer from his rest period.
How
ashamed I felt as I left the flight deck. Suddenly, I was alone and no longer
part of the crew. It was the same sick feeling I had when, due to a misinformed
allegation, I was suspended for a week until being cleared. There goes my job
and my future, I thought, not to mention the bewildered reaction I would again
get from my wife when I told her our livelihood was about to be taken away.
Some
time later I revisited the flight deck and carried out the duties of the second
officer, whose seat was behind the captain. The second officer seemed to relish
the chance of being first officer, and was proudly ensconced in my seat. A rare
treat for him, as the second officer was not allowed in a pilot's seat below
5,000 feet. I, on the other hand, was equally happy to be well away from it.
While the flight was being conducted without my direct input, I wondered what
was going to happen to me - or, more to the point, what had happened to me?
If
I had carried out the phase 1
and shut down the engines, the cabin lights would have gone off and the
emergency lights would have illuminated, which would have startled the
passengers. To give the passengers more palpitations, the normal engine noise
would disappear and they would feel the aircraft descending rapidly, with the
oxygen masks probably dropping down. There would be no explanation over the
P.A. as the captain would have his hands full trying to deal with the first
officer-induced situation, not really sure if it was an emergency or not.
Provided there were no aircraft flying immediately below us, there would have
been no threat of danger and after losing a few thousand feet while restarting
the engines, the flight would have continued quite safely. The paperwork would
have created more problems than the incident, as Air Traffic Control would want
to have their say, the newspaper and TV reporters would have a field day
digging up eyewitness accounts, and what would happen to me? Who knows?
I
now know the outcome of what happened to me by not carrying out this emergency
procedure. A life of misunderstanding
brought on by professionals not wanting to get involved with an illness that
they couldn't see. In hindsight, sometimes I wish I had gone ahead with
shutting down the engines, as that would have been that. I would have been
severely disciplined, had the required treatment, and been able to carry on in
a less demanding career.
As
it was too early to see the Qantas doctor, I was offered a haven in the aircrew
personnel administrator's office. Here, in the company of someone I regularly
joked with, I was now a blubbering disgrace to my profession. His reassuring
cup of tea didn't give me the relief it does in the movies, and an hour later,
still in tears, I walked what seemed miles to the doctor's office, convinced
that every Qantas staff member was witnessing a 747 pilot in uniform crying
like a child. After going over my story in detail, not one ounce of pity or
diagnosis came from the Qantas doctor.
After
a soul-searching taxi ride home from the airport, the sanctity of my home was
as lonely as a prison cell. My life was about to be turned upside down, and the
only comfort awaiting me was our dog. No amount of licking could cheer me up,
and at that point, in a state of mental and physical exhaustion, I was consumed
by sleep.
Sometime
later - afternoon by the clock but the middle of the night by my body - my wife
returned home. When I tried to explain my frightening experiences on the flight
deck to this non-technical person, it meant no more to her than the occasional
747 problems I had spoken about, and therefore I received her standard answer,
'You'll manage to sort it out. You always do.'
Click here for Chapter 8