Okay, so it's been a week. My mind has had time to wrap around it a little bit... I'm still saddened and enraged (an interesting cocktail of emotions) and memory is not precise so maybe online isn't a great place to vent... but we tend not to talk about these kinds of things at work outside of training rooms because we might as well scream MacBeth in a theater.
As I have said in a previous post, a coworker asked me to help out at his flight school when I can. A week ago today, winds were pretty gusty but pointed generally down RWY 31. An acquaintance of mine (and former renter of the school) came in with an out-of-town instructor to get some time in the airplane he had just proudly bought a month ago. We exchange pleasantries, ask after familiars, etc. He goes out to greet the instructor, who had flown in, and they head down to his hanger at 1:44.
Fast-forward to 2:07, a convoy of emergency vehicles rides up to the terminal building. A county sheriff's deputy leads the charge into the building and we are asked where the site of the accident is. After a moment of shock and shared glances, we all indicate that we hadn't heard of anything. The county airport has a confusing layout even for those familiar with it. Something is mentioned about the departure end of RWY 31 near a helicrane business and they are so directed.
Power-on stall on take-off, departure of controlled flight, wing-over spin, aircraft struck trees and broke up.
Firefighters create sparks cutting through property fence, ignite 100LL fuel spilled in crash. Site burns for several minutes while foam is applied. Aircraft found in five closely-spaced sections at the foot of a wooded area. Close spacing of aircraft wreckage indicative of high vertical component and low horizontal component, meaning that the plane stopped flying and fell out of the sky. Two occupants found strapped to their seats, thrown clear of fuselage, perished in accident...
2:30, news media are already converging on the accident site. Fine. The First Amendment guarantees freedom of the press, and I generally support that. However, immediately the word is spread that we have no comment, no opinion, know nothing, and are content to await the findings of the FAA and NTSB investigators that are on their way.
First van pulls up to the terminal. Eyeball News. The reporter comes in first without a camera crew. He introduces himself and asks about the incident. I give him the line and direct him to the crash site. He is polite, thanks me, and expresses some touching off-record concern before he makes his way to the van.
Second news van is from the Peacock. They immediately realize that this is not where they need to be and depart to the proper location before stepping out of the van.
Sly Critter News is next, pulling right up to the terminal doors. The reporter steps out with a camera crew, they fire up their various instruments, he says some things into the camera, and they come charging in, the hot light of the camera already active. I'm the first human they see. Microphone and camera shoved into my face.
"What do you know about the crash this afternoon?" The crash. This afternoon. The one that occurred probably forty minutes ago.
Me: "Ah, we don't know anything yet. The NTSB is on the scene investigating now."
Him: "You are a pilot, yes? Any speculation to offer?"
Me, knowing that speculation at times like this is not helpful, useful, or wise: "Not at this time."
Him: "With the recent spate of plane crashes, a lot of folks are starting to question the safety of small airports like this and schools like yours. What can you say about that?"
Me (spate? safety questions? Schools like this one that I don't own? What is this BS?!): The accident aircraft was not associated with us in any way, nor was the instructor on board an employee of the school. Other than that I have no comment."
Done but not defeated, he gives the cut. They pack up and roll out. Conversational comments are made as they depart to the effect that small airplanes are death traps and that those operating them have no clue what they are doing.
The pilot's wife arrives with her adult daughter. It is only then that it sinks in that the man I had shaken hands and joked with just an hour before was one of the two killed in the accident. There is a news crew from the Alphabet right behind her. My coworker's spouse walks up to her and they hug and cry it out under the white lights of news cameras. As their embrace breaks, the wife is immediately set upon with questions about her husband and his competency. Come to learn, the instructor killed in the crash was their nephew.
Around 3:15, a pair of news helicopters from the Critter and the Peacock are buzzing around the departure end of RWY 31, which is still open and active. The helicopter pilots, who should know better, are not on the CTAF (common traffic advisory frequency) and so aren't able to hear area traffic communications (the field is not towered, so local air traffic control his handled by pilot advisory). They are also hovering at traffic pattern altitude, so within the operating area of fixed-wing aircraft. Another accident is narrowly avoided when one of our planes with a student aboard aborts a take-off after one of the news choppers zips over the departure end on his take-off roll.
I go home and watch the news. Crash is reported, thankfully without excess drama. One channel uses footage and photos from two separate crashes involving two different aircraft types. Grumbles are for naught.
The following day and I'm back because I'm not due in to Real Work for another couple days. Despite our superstitions, it is the only thing many of us can talk about. Many knuckles are touched to whatever wooden surface we can find. We start speculating out loud to each other based on what photos we've seen. Stall-spin, definitely a stall-spin. Wonder what caused it? Well, you know that type of plane is underpowered for its weight. Etc. We become aware of another presence (aviators are supposed to have excellent situational awareness. We all failed the test in that moment). It is a guy in an Eyeball polo, furiously scribbling notes on a pad. We all go quiet.
He looks up at us, suddenly aware that his invisibility cloak has failed. Without missing a beat, he says "this type of plane, the underpowered one, was that the aircraft type involved in the crash?"
We all get silent. My coworker is there, too. He's has a four-day starting the following day. He pipes up "well, the NTSB has the information. The investigators are all out at the crash site," and he points, essentially inviting the man to leave. We have nothing for him. He folds his note pad and pockets it. "I was just wondering if you were talking about the accident plane."
Throughout the day, we play host to folks from NTSB, FAA, the aircraft manufacturer, engine manufacturer, instrument manufacturers, and a host of other entities. It is discovered that the crashed pilot got his training and license through this school. The owners and his instructor are questioned, his student folder is bandied about, and his logbooks are poured over. Standard stuff.
The pilot's two brothers and sister-in-law, parents of the nephew instructor, arrive. They tearfully ask us if we would consider ferrying the nephew's plane back home. We say that if they need us, we will. After they leave, we look out at the subject airplane and agree that if they ask us, we do the job for no charge.
Media types are in and out of the terminal all day. One reporter hangs out in the lobby and asks anyone who comes in if they have heard of the plane crash and if they have any comment. One of those questioned is a new student, along with his wife, coming in for his very first lesson. After an hour of these questions, we ask the airport authority to have him removed for disrupting our operations, and he is.
The recovery truck makes a wrong turn and ends up at our terminal. I agree to go with the driver to the crash site, which is where I see the wreckage for the first time. It is all within an area not much larger than the aircraft itself. Crumpled by a fence, it is hardly recognizable as an airplane. The fuselage is separated into three parts. The nose, including the engine and firewall, the cabin, and the empennage. The wings are broken off. Bizarrely, the nose section includes the cockpit instrument panel. The fuselage was sliced open beneath the cockpit seats. Somehow, they had managed to hit the only copse of trees dividing two fields. The feeling is otherworldly. I had seen this very plane just yesterday, whole and operational, taxiing out to the runway. I had heard the pilot's voice on the radio minutes before this happened. I had looked into his eyes and laughed with him, still high on being a first-time plane owner. I had touched him, shook his hand, in greeting just minutes before this. My palm felt sweaty and I wiped it on my trousers, like I was trying to wipe the last feeling of that handshake off.
This week sucks, and they deserve a do-over.
As I have said in a previous post, a coworker asked me to help out at his flight school when I can. A week ago today, winds were pretty gusty but pointed generally down RWY 31. An acquaintance of mine (and former renter of the school) came in with an out-of-town instructor to get some time in the airplane he had just proudly bought a month ago. We exchange pleasantries, ask after familiars, etc. He goes out to greet the instructor, who had flown in, and they head down to his hanger at 1:44.
Fast-forward to 2:07, a convoy of emergency vehicles rides up to the terminal building. A county sheriff's deputy leads the charge into the building and we are asked where the site of the accident is. After a moment of shock and shared glances, we all indicate that we hadn't heard of anything. The county airport has a confusing layout even for those familiar with it. Something is mentioned about the departure end of RWY 31 near a helicrane business and they are so directed.
Power-on stall on take-off, departure of controlled flight, wing-over spin, aircraft struck trees and broke up.
Firefighters create sparks cutting through property fence, ignite 100LL fuel spilled in crash. Site burns for several minutes while foam is applied. Aircraft found in five closely-spaced sections at the foot of a wooded area. Close spacing of aircraft wreckage indicative of high vertical component and low horizontal component, meaning that the plane stopped flying and fell out of the sky. Two occupants found strapped to their seats, thrown clear of fuselage, perished in accident...
2:30, news media are already converging on the accident site. Fine. The First Amendment guarantees freedom of the press, and I generally support that. However, immediately the word is spread that we have no comment, no opinion, know nothing, and are content to await the findings of the FAA and NTSB investigators that are on their way.
First van pulls up to the terminal. Eyeball News. The reporter comes in first without a camera crew. He introduces himself and asks about the incident. I give him the line and direct him to the crash site. He is polite, thanks me, and expresses some touching off-record concern before he makes his way to the van.
Second news van is from the Peacock. They immediately realize that this is not where they need to be and depart to the proper location before stepping out of the van.
Sly Critter News is next, pulling right up to the terminal doors. The reporter steps out with a camera crew, they fire up their various instruments, he says some things into the camera, and they come charging in, the hot light of the camera already active. I'm the first human they see. Microphone and camera shoved into my face.
"What do you know about the crash this afternoon?" The crash. This afternoon. The one that occurred probably forty minutes ago.
Me: "Ah, we don't know anything yet. The NTSB is on the scene investigating now."
Him: "You are a pilot, yes? Any speculation to offer?"
Me, knowing that speculation at times like this is not helpful, useful, or wise: "Not at this time."
Him: "With the recent spate of plane crashes, a lot of folks are starting to question the safety of small airports like this and schools like yours. What can you say about that?"
Me (spate? safety questions? Schools like this one that I don't own? What is this BS?!): The accident aircraft was not associated with us in any way, nor was the instructor on board an employee of the school. Other than that I have no comment."
Done but not defeated, he gives the cut. They pack up and roll out. Conversational comments are made as they depart to the effect that small airplanes are death traps and that those operating them have no clue what they are doing.
The pilot's wife arrives with her adult daughter. It is only then that it sinks in that the man I had shaken hands and joked with just an hour before was one of the two killed in the accident. There is a news crew from the Alphabet right behind her. My coworker's spouse walks up to her and they hug and cry it out under the white lights of news cameras. As their embrace breaks, the wife is immediately set upon with questions about her husband and his competency. Come to learn, the instructor killed in the crash was their nephew.
Around 3:15, a pair of news helicopters from the Critter and the Peacock are buzzing around the departure end of RWY 31, which is still open and active. The helicopter pilots, who should know better, are not on the CTAF (common traffic advisory frequency) and so aren't able to hear area traffic communications (the field is not towered, so local air traffic control his handled by pilot advisory). They are also hovering at traffic pattern altitude, so within the operating area of fixed-wing aircraft. Another accident is narrowly avoided when one of our planes with a student aboard aborts a take-off after one of the news choppers zips over the departure end on his take-off roll.
I go home and watch the news. Crash is reported, thankfully without excess drama. One channel uses footage and photos from two separate crashes involving two different aircraft types. Grumbles are for naught.
The following day and I'm back because I'm not due in to Real Work for another couple days. Despite our superstitions, it is the only thing many of us can talk about. Many knuckles are touched to whatever wooden surface we can find. We start speculating out loud to each other based on what photos we've seen. Stall-spin, definitely a stall-spin. Wonder what caused it? Well, you know that type of plane is underpowered for its weight. Etc. We become aware of another presence (aviators are supposed to have excellent situational awareness. We all failed the test in that moment). It is a guy in an Eyeball polo, furiously scribbling notes on a pad. We all go quiet.
He looks up at us, suddenly aware that his invisibility cloak has failed. Without missing a beat, he says "this type of plane, the underpowered one, was that the aircraft type involved in the crash?"
We all get silent. My coworker is there, too. He's has a four-day starting the following day. He pipes up "well, the NTSB has the information. The investigators are all out at the crash site," and he points, essentially inviting the man to leave. We have nothing for him. He folds his note pad and pockets it. "I was just wondering if you were talking about the accident plane."
Throughout the day, we play host to folks from NTSB, FAA, the aircraft manufacturer, engine manufacturer, instrument manufacturers, and a host of other entities. It is discovered that the crashed pilot got his training and license through this school. The owners and his instructor are questioned, his student folder is bandied about, and his logbooks are poured over. Standard stuff.
The pilot's two brothers and sister-in-law, parents of the nephew instructor, arrive. They tearfully ask us if we would consider ferrying the nephew's plane back home. We say that if they need us, we will. After they leave, we look out at the subject airplane and agree that if they ask us, we do the job for no charge.
Media types are in and out of the terminal all day. One reporter hangs out in the lobby and asks anyone who comes in if they have heard of the plane crash and if they have any comment. One of those questioned is a new student, along with his wife, coming in for his very first lesson. After an hour of these questions, we ask the airport authority to have him removed for disrupting our operations, and he is.
The recovery truck makes a wrong turn and ends up at our terminal. I agree to go with the driver to the crash site, which is where I see the wreckage for the first time. It is all within an area not much larger than the aircraft itself. Crumpled by a fence, it is hardly recognizable as an airplane. The fuselage is separated into three parts. The nose, including the engine and firewall, the cabin, and the empennage. The wings are broken off. Bizarrely, the nose section includes the cockpit instrument panel. The fuselage was sliced open beneath the cockpit seats. Somehow, they had managed to hit the only copse of trees dividing two fields. The feeling is otherworldly. I had seen this very plane just yesterday, whole and operational, taxiing out to the runway. I had heard the pilot's voice on the radio minutes before this happened. I had looked into his eyes and laughed with him, still high on being a first-time plane owner. I had touched him, shook his hand, in greeting just minutes before this. My palm felt sweaty and I wiped it on my trousers, like I was trying to wipe the last feeling of that handshake off.
This week sucks, and they deserve a do-over.
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