C replied - "No." Which spawned a negotiated series of suggested-dates and counter-dates before Thursday the Fifth was decided upon. This, of course, after first ascertaining why a date needed to be settled on in the first place – Cf and her husband, J, had bought, at silent auction, a trip in a private plane and wanted to take C & me to a neighbouring town, called Edson, for dinner.
So it was arranged, Cf & J – along with the pilot R – would fly from their town to our city and then land and pick up C & me and then we’d head off to points beyond for dinner.
What is it that they say about best laid plans?
C & I arrived early and waited in the Passenger Lounge, an interesting cross between a Bus Station and a dilapidated waiting room in a doctor’s office. We sat and waited, both eager, both prepared; C with his camera and a spare set of batteries, me with my camera and a couple of sturdy plastic bags in my purse.
I saw a small red and white plane taxing towards the “Lounge” and said – “That’s probably ours.” And it was! After hand-shakes, introductions and group photos (accompanied with jokes about taking pictures first, before we look green) we were settled into the plane and on our way!
The plane was a small, six-seater “Piper Lance”. J was seated next to the pilot, I was behind the pilot and C was next to me with Cf behind him, alone in the back row. All of us, with the exception of Cf had headsets with voice-activated microphones that allowed us to keep in touch over the sound of the engine. I donned my ill-fitting head-gear just as we began to take off.
We were all smiles and snaps as our heads swivelled around and camera buttons were pressed. R even let J fly for a while and we peppered R with questions about how long he had been flying for
Everything was fun and fine until we got to Edson.
We were flying over the airport and R was pointing out suggestions for dinner.
R started circling around for runway approach and then his voice crackled in my headset: "Oh, don't do this to me now". My focus turned from the scenery to the scene in the cockpit and watched as he began pressing buttons and checking switches.
His focus seemed to be on a triangular set of small green squares and on closer inspection (done discreetly over his shoulder) I saw they read (from left to right, & from bottom to top): “Rear Left”, “Rear Right” and “Front” – two of these buttons were lit, the third – “Front” was still dark.
“Hmm, Edson, I think we have a problem,” my brain announced.
The front landing gear wouldn't go down. Or at least the indicator in the cockpit that is meant to light up when the landing gear was successfully locked in “wheels down” position wouldn't light up.
Which left us all wondering, is the landing gear engaged or isn’t it?
R swapped the buttons around to make sure it wasn’t the indicator that was malfunctioning, nope – top indicator still dark.
R decided it was time to address his passengers and told us what I had already surmised – there was no guarantee that we had front landing gear. He explained that he could attempt to land in Edson, but what he’d prefer to do is head back to City Centre and attempt the landing there as it was closer to his home airfield and there was emergency crews on standby.
“Emergency Crews!?!” My brain yelped as I silently gave C a worried glance. He smiled in response.
As if on queue, an alarm started to sound and a red orange indicator lit up in on the centre of the console “Warn. Gear Unsafe”
Gee, thanks, we hadn’t noticed.
C took of his headset and turned to Cf to tell her what was going on – for Cf, without a headset, was blissfully, or rather confused but not alarmed by our actions.
R got on the radio with Flight Control and told them his intension.
R then said to us that he’d prefer to land on grass, “no sparks”, he said.
“Sparks?!?” my brain yelped and an even more worried expression crossed my face. C was blithely taking pictures out the window.
A minute later FC came back on the radio and explained that City Centre no longer had emergency crews on standby and would we prefer to divert to the International Airport where they do have emergency crews. R replied that that might be better and we made our course correction bearing slightly more to the South.
R dug into his pockets and pulled out his cellphone and began making a call. He stuck the phone under the right ear of his headset. “T, it’s R, I’m having an issue with the front landing gear, don’t know if it is just the light or the landing gear. Give me a call when you get this, thanks.” He hung up and handed the phone to J – “here, if it rings, answer it.”
R metioned to FC his desire to land on the grass and asked if FC knew if there was enough contiguous grass at the International to allow us to land. FC said they’d check and came back a couple of minutes later and said no.
By this time, the air traffic control tower at the International had been informed of our intension and had started to talk to R. Peppering him with questions he seemed a little overwhelmed by.
R and the International Tower agreed that R would fly low along the runway and get the Tower to inspect the front gear to see if they looked down and locked.
C looked at me an grinned, taking off his headset and covering his mic he said to me; “how often do you get to buzz the Tower of the International Airport?”
In a false state of bravado and with was probably my last fleeting bit of humour I replied; “Why do I have the Top Gun theme running through my head?”
An air traffic controller hailed R on the radio and began arranging for us to pass low over runway two and that all traffic would be held for our pass. We could overhear the ATC talking to a plane on the taxiway – asking him to hold his position as we did our fly-by.
And would the pilot mind, ATC asked, having a good look at our front gear and see if it looked down properly.
We all listened as we passed along the runway.
Pilot: “It doesn’t look down, it looks dog-legged and pointing backwards. I don’t think that’s right.”
ATC: “I agree, it doesn’t look down.
R said he’d get back to them shortly and pulled away from the airport and climbed in altitude as instructed by the ATC.
By now, R had thought he might like to just take us back to his airport of origin, which had, as he pointed out, several advantages: 1. we could land on the grass, 2. his mechanic could be right on the runway to examine the gear as we did a low fly by of yet another airport. 3. he wouldn’t have to worry about getting the plane towed anywhere and 4. since R, Cf and J all lived there, C and I could get a ride home easily enough.
R asked, what would we like to do.
“Land without blowing up” my wholly unhelpful brain replied.
We all agreed, that heading back to Camrose Airport was the best plan.
R radioed our plan to ATC and FC, they wished us good luck and the helpful voices at FC asked if we needed to have emergency services alerted, as they didn’t have anyone on standby there either. R said he’d call emergency services himself if need be.
C removed his headset, handed it to Cf and asked R to explain again, what his plan was.
“We’ll head to Camrose, T will be there to examine the landing gear, we can fly lower and T can have a good look. If they don’t look down, we will fly around for about an hour or so to use up some fuel, so there isn’t that much in the tanks when we land.
“I’ll try to land the plan holding the nose up for as long as possible and I’ll cut the engines just before touchdown in the hopes that the propeller stops rotating in case the nose gear doesn’t hold.”
“..thereby having us do a face plant in the grass sending shards of propellor through the windscreen and into me.” My wholly unhelpful brain added. “before we burst into flames.”
Cf handed C back the headset. C grinned at me, put his headset on and went back to taking pictures.
R put the plane on Autopilot and pulled out a binder from the pocket beside his seat, “Maybe there’s something I haven’t tried,” he said to J. “Keep an eye out for other planes for me, thanks.” He said and then opened the binder and began flipping though the pages.
It took us about 30 minutes to get to Camrose Airport, in that time, T did call back and arranged to be at the runway for our fly-by.
C had silently examined the plane for emergency exits and had planned his safe exit from the plane in all scenarios.
My brain and I had discussed the shortsightedness of having C be the only person to know where my Will is; how inconvenient it would be to be injured a week before I was to run a half marathon and how unfortunate it was that we never got to switch seats.
Cf wondered how long it would be before she could get to a toilet.
J vowed silently to never again get on a small plane.
As we approached the airport we could see two small collections of people awaiting our arrival. We were in radio contact with T by this time and he instructed us to fly about 150 ft above the ground and he’d have a good look at the gear.
We flew past and T got on the radio “Yeah, your nose gear is definitely not down, have you tried pumping the lever?” (referring to the emergency lever that looks like a hand break (possibly due to the fact that is it identical to a car’s hand break in both appearance and location – between the pilot’s and co-pilot’s seats)).
R replied he’d pulled on it a couple of times but not pumped it. He’d climb to a safe altitude, slow the plane down as much as possible and give it a try.
C, Cf, and I took pictures of the setting sun over the waterlogged farmland.
Climbing to a reasonable altitude, R slowed the plane and began pumping the lever. After about half a dozen pumps the green “Front” light popped on and R cheerfully reported this to T.
T and R agreed that the prudent thing would be to do another fly-by to have a look at the gear again before we attempted to land.
We headed back to the airport and performed another fly-by, in front of a bigger crowd of on-lookers.
T reported that the gear looked down and suggested we attempt to land.
R circled around for a final approach.
C took pictures.
I braced for impact and kept telling myself not to put the pilot’s seat in a death grip (which I did manage not to do, just grabbing it slightly as the front gear touched down and a split second before I knew it wasn’t going to collapse under the weight of the plane).
R had cut the engine before we landed, thought the prop. was still turning when all three wheels touched ground and bounced us along the runway. After a couple of attempts, he got the plane restarted and we taxied to the hangars.
As we headed towards R’s hangar, he apologized for not being able to fly us back to City Centre as his other plane was being worked on and wasn’t flight-ready.
My brain said there was no way in heck it would get on a plane again tonight, and I silently and wholeheartedly agreed with it.
We came to a stop, the doors opened and we all piled out.
Cf was the last to exit and she when down on her knees and kissed the ground. T, who was waiting at the hangar laughed and said he was waiting for someone to do that.
Cf and I made a bee-line for the bathrooms and left the men to examine the plane.
Upon our return we all agreed on dinner at a local restaurant before Cf and J drove us back to the city.
Happily sitting around the table in restaurant; T and R regailed us with storied of mechanical difficulties and near misses and safely on terra-firma, we could laugh and enjoy the stories.
R apologised again for not being able to fly us back to the city and I told him that’s ok, “because there is no way in Heck you’d get me back on a plane tonight.” Everyone laughed and R asked if I had been scared and I admitted I had been a bit, yes.
As Cf and J drove us back to the city, C tried to sleep and I tried to relax. C held my hand and I began to smile.
I smiled, partially because I was safe on solid ground but mostly because I was holding hands with C who, when faced with a stressful situation (while I worried about where my Will was), looked for the exits and the practical way out.
I could not be in better hands.
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