Chapter 5 Part 3 THE Trip "Close Encounter of the Wrong Kind"

Charlie Treats the Crew to a Victory Dinner. Photo by JoAnn Sturman

By S.R. Oberst

I awoke to rain splattering against the window of my VOQ room. I met my crew chief LT at base operations and filed a flight plan. The weather officer on duty was a 2nd lieutenant who seemed to know his stuff. He told me since the freezing level would vary between ground level and 1,000 feet, we could expect rain and freezing rain along the planned flight route. Winds were forecast at 30 knots with gusts up to 50. These winds would blow about 45 degrees off our nose as we headed west southwest, further complicating the flight and fuel stop planning. Basically the weather would not be friendly to helicopters; I was ready to cancel. SK also was present for the weather briefing, and he quickly decided to postpone his flight until the next day. As SK was leaving the base ops building, Charlie staggered in looking like he’d had a late night.

I gave Charlie the weather forecast and assumed he would be okay with my decision to cancel. I’m certain that he would have agreed with me, if SK had not been part of the equation. Charlie’s twisted brain concluded that beating SK to Davis-Monthan Air Force Base in Arizona would be a meaningful accomplishment. He looked at the weather map and determined we could head south and outrun the cold front moving through the area. His plan was to fly through Oklahoma and Texas to Amarillo and then finally to El Paso where we would spend the night. His new route added nearly 300 miles to the trip.

We took Charlie’s plan and went to get a weather briefing. The 2nd Lieutenant was dubious about being able to skirt the nasty weather. The forecast for the new route was still shaky. Charlie began browbeating the lieutenant for a better forecast. The poor guy probably had never encountered anyone quite like Charlie. Eventually he gave Charlie the forecast he wanted.

Unleadership moment: Unleaders are bullies. They are experts at browbeating, pulling rank, or whatever else it takes to get their way. Charlie scared the weather lieutenant, but the results of his bullying scared me.

You probably have not spent much time looking at low level aeronautical maps of Oklahoma and Texas. But, if you did, you would discover that there are a lot of tall radio towers in these
states. In fact, there are many over 1,000 feet tall and some up to 2,000 feet. It does not take a math or geometry genius to realize the guy wires supporting these huge towers extend out great distances from the base of the tower. As a result, the danger zone around one of the towers is measured in square miles. Flying a helicopter through these areas at 500 to 800 feet above the ground in poor visibility is insane.

When I objected to the new route and the risky plan to skirt the nasty weather, Charlie called me a weenie. I replied, “I’d rather be a live weenie than a dead pilot.” Charlie then put his operations officer hat on and directed me to get out to the helicopter and prepare for takeoff.

The rain stopped as we flew without incident to some nameless airport in Oklahoma. After refueling we continued to head south. After another fuel stop we turned west towards Amarillo. The weather immediately started to turn ugly as we entered an area full of 1,000 foot and taller towers. The rain began to pound against the windscreen, and as visibility began to diminish, so did Charlie’s ability to navigate using terrain features and landmarks. Due to the low freezing level, a climb to a higher altitude was out of the question. Besides, my confidence level in Charlie’s ability to navigate under Instrument Flight Rules (IFR) was about zero (Charlie’s Check Ride Part 1). So, when we came upon a highway heading southwest, we used the visual flight version of IFR – “I Follow Roads.” We turned and flew parallel to it. Who needs a map? Spotting a road sign ahead, I descended low enough to read, “Amarillo 88 miles.” Things were looking up – we might survive this flight after all.

The rain on the windshield changed to sleet. The weather began to deteriorate rapidly and visibility was getting worse. As a result, I found myself flying lower and lower, until we were only about 100 feet above the ground. In situations like these one advantage of a helicopter over an airplane is that you can land a helicopter just about anywhere. As the ice began to accumulate on the windshield I announced we would land. Charlie objected, but did not stop me. As I landed the helicopter on the Texas prairie, the full force of the storm engulfed us.

The next forty minutes seemed like a lifetime, but the weather began to improve, revealing the surrounding landscape. About 100 feet ahead of us was a huge 15 foot tall concrete block used to anchor a guy wire connected to a tower. From the back of the helicopter LT let out a low whistle and said, “Sheeee-ittt Looo-tenant that was too close for comfort.” Charlie must have realized we had dodged a bullet, for he was uncharacteristically speechless. Later, I discovered the tower was about 1,800 feet tall. Had we continued to fly on course, there would have been one more needless aircraft accident. The realization of what could have happened is vividly etched in my memory, and to this day I believe that God made me land when and where we did.

The weather continued to improve, and we soon were airborne and on our way to Amarillo. From there the trip to El Paso was uneventful. As soon as we landed, Charlie declared that to celebrate the successful mission, he was taking LT and me out for dinner. “Apparently,” I thought, “Charlie has no “Wanda” in the wings in El Paso.”