High Wind

There are times when an agricultural pilot must make instant decisions. Sometimes he makes the right decision and sometimes it is definitely the wrong decision. These quick wrong choices can result in bad stuff happening. Here is an example of a quick wrong decision.

I was working for an ag-operator in the state of Washington. The owner, whom I will call Watkins, was a pilot himself. He would take a hired hand with him in his Cub-type aircraft and fly out to a field that was to be fertilized. He would land in the field if it was not muddy and they would then walk to each end and commence to flag for the planes that were sprinkling the dry fertilizer pellets on the field.

The terrain was not at all level but more like rolling hills and swales. Watkins had parked his plane on top of one of these smooth rolling hills. He walked about 150 yards to his end of the field and began waving his flag. While this operation was going on as planned, suddenly a weather frontal boundary struck. The wind switched to the north and began to blow with increasing velocity. 

Watkins could see his Cub on the next small hill as the wind rocked it, making it bounce rather more than was safe. Watkins dropped his flag and began making tracks to his plane. He was a short man, maybe five foot five or six and a little on the beefy side in weight. As he was running and puffing toward the plane, the wind was rapidly increasing. When he finally reached it, the ship was actually leaving the ground with each big puff. He had set the parking brake before he left so he quickly set the throttle and went to the front of the plane to swing the propeller to start the engine.

The engine started on the first swing and he ran around to the right side of the Cub to climb in. Just as he was climbing in, the wind made a mighty blast and the little plane left the ground. He was half in and half out when he made the quick decision to grab the throttle and open it, hoping it would help stabilize the airborne machine. 

The reverse happened. With the high wind and the thrust of the engine the plane rose straight up vertically and then suddenly fell over on it’s back - kerblam! 

Watkins was thrown out on the wing which was now lying upside down on the ground. Somehow he landed on his feet. Both feet burst through the fabric covering.

When the other pilots doing the fertilizer flew over and saw he wasn’t injured, they burst out in gales of wild laughter. Watkins stood there knee deep in his upside down airplane, shaking his fist at them. He couldn’t hear the laughter but he could see the grins on their faces.

Fast Money

In the cropdusting field, military surplus planes eventually began to be replaced with newly manufactured aircraft that were designed especially for ag-flying. Piper came out with the Pawnee, Cessna Aircraft Co. started producing the Ag-Wagon, Grumman got into the action with its Ag-Cat. The Leland Snow Company developed the Snow Aircraft, later to be called the Thrush. These planes were much more efficient and productive than the old converted military types, but they were expensive and not necessarily as tough as the old military trainer. We still had engine failures from time to time.

I was proud to be sitting in the middle of a brand new Cessna Ag-Wagon one day and it was noon. I usually carried a lunch bag with me and ate in the plane so I didn’t have to stop. This particular day I had eaten my peanut butter and jelly sandwich and was chomping on an apple as I took off of a muddy strip with a load of dry fertilizer to be spread over a wheat field.

I climbed up to about two-hundred feet or so and as I leveled off there was a sudden silence. The only noise I heard was me chomping on the apple. The engine had shut down as if I had turned the switch off. 

I quickly turned to the right toward an open field and at the same time hit the dump lever and pulled full flaps, preparing to land in the mud. It had rained the night before. The field I had chosen was a wheat field that lay up the side of a hill. I hardly got the flaps down when I touch down and my wheels were sinking in the mud. 

Fortunately, I landed going uphill and the hill was steep enough that it kept the plane from going over on its back. But the wheels were hub-cap deep in the mud and I went up the small hill plowing deep tracks. I arrived at the top of the hill and there was a fence. I stomped on the left brake and full left rudder and the plane slewed around just shy of the fence and stopped. 

I was so rattled that I forgot I had opened the dump gate to get rid of the load of fertilizer. The problem was dry fertilizer does not dump out as quickly as a liquid. The stuff was still pouring out of the hopper and when I climbed out of the plane, I saw I had a huge pile of fertilizer beneath the belly. Oh well, at least the plane didn’t end up lying on its back.

My boss had taken off right behind me in another plane and had seen the whole thing. He landed, got in his pickup, and drove up to get me. It turned out that my practically-new engine had shut down because a small shaft in the air intake had broken and fallen out, closing off the engine. Cessna soon changed the design after we filed a Malfunction & Defects report with the FAA.

As I climbed into the boss's pickup truck, he stuffed a hundred dollar bill in my shirt pocket. Surprised I looked questions at him. "That’s for not bending my new airplane," he said. The thought went through my mind, "Hmmm, that’s the fastest money I ever earned... but I don’t believe I want to do it again!"

Runaway Aircraft

Back in the woahgie days, most small aeroplanes did not have electric starters.  The onliest way to start the engine to internally combust was to spin the propeller by hand.   Early on several techniques were developed to do this little chore safely.

The most common method required at least two people - one to sit in the cockpit and handle the controls, and the other to spin the propeller.  The routine went something like this.  The man at the propeller called, "Switch off, throttle set, and prime." The cockpit man called back, "The switch is off, throttle is set, a couple shots of prime."  Whereupon, the propeller man would grab the propeller and pull it through several blades in the proper direction, thereby filling the cylinders with fuel-laden air ready to be ignited.  Then the prop man called, "Make it hot."  That meant the cockpit man was to turn the magneto switch to the "on" position. The cockpit man called back "Switch is on."

The man at the prop carefully took the upward slanting blade in hand, swung his left leg forward and up, then heaved his body and leg downward and back as he pulled the prop blade through a revolution.  This maneuver hopefully cranked the engine as it also took the prop man safely clear of the spinning blade.  Sometimes this had to be repeated several times before the engine came alive and started running.

Now, ya got the picture?

I have observed several incidents where one or more of these parts of the above mentioned procedure were not carefully observed or were somewhat modified with - shall we say - interesting results. There were times when one had to crank the engine with no one else around to help. The procedure then was slightly changed. The airplane was securely tied down to the ground with ropes or straps, usually to a concrete block with a metal loop on top to receive the tie-down rope.
 
In one instance that I recall, the tail-wheel tie-down was not fastened and the right wing tie-down came loose.  When the lone individual cranked the engine by the prop, the plane launched a quick circle around the left wing tie-down and struck the twin-engine aircraft tied down next to it, and chopped the twin nearly in half.   Hope the pilot had liability insurance!

Another occasion that I witnessed, the plane was prop-started with no tie-downs at all.  The throttle had been set about half open.  The plane was completely out of control and loose!  It cut three or four quick circles with several men chasing it.  If it wasn't so serious, it would have been highly comical.  The men were chasing the plane and then whoops! The plane, after a sharp change of direction, was chasing the men!  This chaotic scenario was repeated several times until the wayward Aeronca Champ slammed into the side of a hanger.  Ouch!  What a mess!

George (name changed to protect the guilty) and I were spraying brush out in West Texas.  We were using a landing strip out on a ranch which sloped downward to a small lake on the south end.   We were flying Piper Cub-type aircraft, neither of which had an electric starter.  I was tall enough to stand on the right side of the engine cowling behind the propeller and with my right hand-prop my plane.  I could set the throttle at a low setting and when the engine started, I could quickly reach into the cockpit with my left hand and reduce the RPM.  No problem.

George was a small fellow and could not do this so I usually did the honors while he sat in the cockpit.  For some reason this particular morning he decided to set the parking brake on his ship and went round in front of the plane and cranked it by propping it himself.  He had set the throttle a leetle too high.  The brake didn't hold.  The plane began to move forward. Being very agile, George quickly jumped to the side and then made a leap for the cockpit.  He didn't make it.  Instead he tripped on the wing strut and tumbled over and landed on his back just in time for the tail wing (stabilizer) to pass over him.

He did manage to grab the tail-wheel strut as it passed by.  The plane dragged him quite a ways as he struggle to regain his feet.  The little Cub seemed bent on taking a dip in the lake at the end of the runway.  George hung on and, after clawing his way up the length of the fuselage, scrambled to the cockpit and closed the throttle.  The plane rolled to a stop about fifteen feet from the lake.

About that time the boss-man came driving up to find me lying on the ground laughing my head off.  He wasn't laughing.  It was a wonder he didn't fire the both of us.

Over the years I witnessed a number of these runaways. With the advent of electric starters, this excitement seldom happens anymore. These incidents were very serious, of course. But almost always hilarious...as long as it wasn't my plane!   

Tail Dragger

I wrote this poem for a flying magazine many, many years ago. It was written to poke fun at a friend of mine who had never flown a tail dragging aircraft.  I guess it sort of went viral although at that time there was no viral.  It seems to keep popping

  up in strange places from time to time.  Thought Y'all might enjoy it.

Taildragger, I hate your guts,
I have the license, ratings and such.
But to make you go straight is driving me nuts.

With hours of teaching and the controls in my clutch.
It takes a little rudder, easy, that's too much.

You see, I learned to fly in a tricycle gear
with one up front and two back here.
She was sleek and clean and easy to steer
But this miserable thing with wires and struts
Takes a little rudder, easy, that's too much.

It demands your attention on the take-off roll
or it heads towards Jones' as you pour on the coal.
Gotta hang loose, don't over control.
This wicked little plane is just too much.

With a lot of zigzagging and words obscene
I think I've mastered this slippery machine
It's not that bad if you have the touch
Just a little rudder, easy, that's too much.

I relax for a second and from the corner of my eye,
I suddenly realize with a gasp and a cry
That's my own tail that's going by.
You grounding looping wretch; I hate your guts,
Give a little rudder, Great Scott, THAT'S TOOOO MUCH.