"Rockcliffe traffic, Challenger India
Papa Victor Tango rolling on two seven, straight out westbound, climbing
to two thousand en route to Pembroke."
This was another eagerly anticipated flight for Stephen in his brand
new Challenger ultralight. He had spent the last three years carefully
saving and acquiring the kit section by section and now the all-yellow
bird was his pride and joy. He was as meticulous in flying it as he had
been with its construction.
An aeroplane rated pilot with 30 hours on type,
including six hours dual with an experienced check pilot, Stephen was becoming
cautiously comfortable with his Challenger's performance characteristics.
Today's cross-country was marked by clear blue skies, unlimited visibility
and light winds from the northwest - a beautiful late winter day in the
Ottawa Valley.
The little yellow bird approached two thousand feet in less than
two minutes. Easing back on the throttle, Stephan checked his climb, quickly
scanned the engine instruments and nailed the altimeter to 2000 feet. He
was diligent in his airmanship, a discipline he acquired while training
for his ticket.
When he was a renter pilot Stephen had envied the independence that
aircraft owners enjoyed. However he was also realistic about the acute
need to support his family. Aircraft ownership would have to wait. When
he saw an ad for the Challenger, one thing that caught his attention was
the marketing claim of the plane's low operating cost.
After more research he began to see the feasibility of owning such
an airplane. Stephan decided to take an intro flight with a local dealer
and then realized that driving his own set of wings was within reach. That
was history and now he was enjoying his dream with a routine cross-country.
Or so he thought!
Constantly scanning the airspace and terrain was second nature for
Stephen as he passed over the mouth of the Gatineau River. At this time
of year the local waterways were still choked with ice but there were sections
of fast-moving currents and white-water that never froze. As he headed
west over Deschenes Quarry something towards the Ottawa River caught his
eye. He turned his head and noticed a large ice floe in the middle of the
river with two dark spots at its centre. Something told him to have a closer
look.
He banked hard left and headed for the river, descending to 1400
feet to get under the Ottawa TCA. As he got closer, he could see the ice
floe moving at a rapid clip as the fast moving current carried it towards
the rapids. Instinctively Stephen pulled back the power, cranked in some
flaps and slowed down for a better look. What he saw gave him a start.
The two dark spots took form as a child and dog! Without hesitation,
he dumped another 500 feet and leveled out to 40 mph. He was skirting Ottawa's
control zone and in a flash he flipped the frequency on his radio to Ottawa
Tower.
"Mayday Mayday Mayday! Challenger India Papa Victor Tango at
nine hundred feet over the Ottawa River, west of the Champlain bridge,
left-hand orbit over a child on a disintegrating ice floe. Require immediate
assistance!"
"Papa Victor Tango, this is Ottawa Tower, we check your situation,
please give aircraft type and squawk ident if able."
"Papa Victor Tango is a yellow two-place Challenger ultralight,
negative transponder, continuing left-hand orbit." The Challenger
was able to turn and hold directly over the child in a very tight radius.
Stephen saw that the piece of ice was approximately 120 feet square
and that it was drifting towards the Quebec shore. This is where the rapids
were largest and he realized that the current's grasp would bring the ice
to turbulent water and break it to pieces. The child was in grave and imminent
danger! Stephen noted the time. In seven minutes, maybe nine on the outside,
the platform of ice would hit rough water.
Stephen relayed this information to the controller and asked for
a chopper. He correctly figured that a boat rescue was too hazardous and
too slow to reach the victim. As precious seconds ticked by, he noticed
a crowd gathering on the Ontario side of the river. There were police vehicles
and an ambulance but no sign of a rescue craft.
"Papa Victor Tango, this is Ottawa Tower, we have a civilian
helicopter airborne and inbound to your location from Montebello, ETA twenty
minutes."
Stephen's instant reply surprised even him: "Ottawa Tower, Papa
Victor Tango, we need a rescue helo with a sling & hoist from Uplands
now. This kid has less than five minutes to live."
Silence from the radio. There were probably no armed forces helicopters
at the nearby military base and the only helicopter in the vicinity was
too far away. Was he about to witness a tragedy?
The
child and dog, it seemed, remained motionless in the middle of the ice.
It dawned on Stephen that the ice floe presented itself as a 120-foot runway
with patches of wind-blown snow on its surface. Its longest axis was oriented
into the wind. Could he attempt a landing and extraction?
He had to think fast. His mind was racing, remarkably swift in assessing
the risks. Can the aircraft land on such a small target, a moving one at
that? Would the ice hold the added weight? And how stable was the floating
ice mass? The child and dog were obstacles. Would they be struck by a wing
or perhaps run into the airplane?
The surface looked sound with patches of bare ice, but would the
wheeled aircraft sink in the snow? And, if the landing was successful,
would he be able to lift off in time with the added weight of a passenger?
He saw his own daughter in his mind as he orbited the moving sheet of ice.
"Ottawa Tower, Papa Victor Tango is setting up for a rescue
landing. Standby with emergency response team at the International. If
we don't get off and the ice breaks up, we'll have a fighting chance by
remaining with the aircraft. Please notify rescue authorities downriver
near the mill and on the Quebec shore to standby."
Again, he was surprised at the clarity and authoritative barrage
of his transmission. He was noticeably focused and composed. Nothing mattered
now but this rescue.
"Papa Victor Tango, this is Ottawa Tower, will do and God speed.
Winds are currently …" Stephen wasn't listening.
He had no time to waste with a perfect circuit. The altimeter now
read 500 feet but he knew he was at about 400 feet AGL. On downwind, he
set up the aircraft for a short field landing. He was well aware of his
aircraft's STOL capabilities. Its flaperons served as flaps and ailerons
and they covered the entire trailing edge of each wing. With their full
extension he was able to slow the ship to 30 mph, giving him a 5-mph safety
cushion before stall. He'd bleed off more speed on final and with the headwind
he figured he would touch down at less than 20 mph.
His circuit resembled a teardrop as he kept the moving island in
sight. Once on final, he removed a little more throttle and pulled back
the stick. He was 300 feet from his landing spot, which was about 10 feet
from the edge and about a wing's span to the right of where the child was
standing on the imaginary runway. But the button kept moving and he realized
that his approach path was becoming dangerously diagonal due to the moving
ice. Cursing his poor judgement, he quickly applied power and S-turned
to match his arrival with the fictitious centre-line. He noticed large
waves with white caps pass under him and then he was in ground effect with
the ASI reading 22 mph.
He felt the plane stop almost on touchdown. In an instant he noticed
a little girl in front of the plane with her arms around the neck of a
visibly shaking yellow lab. No time to waste. He shut the engine down,
jumped out of the aircraft and ran towards the girl. Only then, did he
hear the roar of the violent water. All of his senses were heightened and
his mind felt razor sharp. He assimilated the situation during every anxious
second. The takeoff run from the icy aircraft carrier looked much shorter
than it did from above.
But half the battle was over. The ice floe felt relatively firm with
compacted snow offering good traction - probably a result of being wind-blown
and hardened over the long winter months. As he approached the girl, about
9 or 10 years old, he saw that she was wearing a blue cover-all type snowsuit,
winter boots, toque and mitts. He figured her weight at about 80 pounds
in total. The dog bolted with its tail between its legs and made a wide
arc away from the pair as Stephen reached out for the girl. Would she resist
his actions? Would she see him as a stranger to be shunned rather than
a would-be rescuer?
"Hi, my name is Stephen and I'm a pilot. I've come to get you
off the ice in my airplane and bring you home to your family. We have to
go quickly before the ice starts to break apart. What's your name?"
His words were soothing and he used the right mix of reassurance and fear
to get her to cooperate.
"Rachel," she replied softly.
"Follow me Rachel, we have to go now."
"We have to take Tawny too," she cried.
Stephen conceded in his mind that he might have to take the dog if
the girl insisted but knew that the added weight was a detriment. It was
a small female lab, maybe 55 pounds. He'd drape the dog across the girl's
lap but he couldn't afford to waste time in getting a terrified animal
into his plane. If the dog didn't come willingly under Rachel's command,
he'd have to forcibly lift her into the passenger seat and leave the dog.
It's something he didn't want to do.
"Tawny, come here," Rachel yelled. The dog skulked towards
the little girl as the three of them reached the Challenger. Picking Rachel
up, Stephen firmly but gently strapped her in. The dog was nervous and
circled away as Stephen grabbed for it. The girl called out for her pet
again and as it approached the plane Stephen's hold was good. The squirming
dog resisted but he simply heaved it across Rachel's knees.
"Hold her tight Rachel, we're going flying." Climbing into
the pilot's seat, it felt as if an eternity had passed. The Rotax engine
started instantly when Stephen felt a sudden jolt. To his amazement the
left half of the ice island broke away and disappeared beneath the waves.
The ice was breaking apart and beginning to turn clockwise away from the
relative wind. Every ounce of headwind was needed for the takeoff!
Brakes applied, he cranked the flaperons fully down for a short field
takeoff and then advanced the throttle smoothly to full. He waited for
the tachometer to max out and then held it there for several microseconds.
Releasing the brakes and simultaneously checking the yaw with rudder, he
danced on the pedals to keep his line true.
The Challenger leapt forward as Stephen held the throttle to its
stop. He wished he had practiced his short field takeoffs. As he looked
down the runway he saw to his amazement, the distant shoreline moving to
the left. The ice was beginning to spin. He eased the stick back to reduce
drag on the nose-wheel as he fixated on the raging water in front of him.
The ASI needle was moving but not fast enough for his liking.
Deftly manipulating the stick, he felt it become more responsive
as speed built and the wings began to lift their payload. A quick glance
at the airspeed indicator told him he was in ground effect and on a borderline
stall. Stick forward, he bought precious airspeed as he skimmed the waves
and then the Challenger's superior climb performance kicked in. Shooting
up like a rocket, the altimeter wound up at a phenomenal rate in the cold
air. He felt as if he was on his back as he nursed his airspeed to the
best climb angle and away from danger. He glanced back at Rachel.
"Are you OK?" he yelled. She nodded weakly. In the climbing
left turn he looked below to see the island that they were on just moments
ago disappear as it fragmented into its primal state.
Catching himself concentrating on what might have been a watery grave,
Stephen snapped back into flying mode. He realized that his passengers
were probably finding the steep climb angles and banks unsettling so he
eased the stick forward and leveled out at a thousand feet. He oriented
himself and called Ottawa.
"Ottawa Tower, Papa Victor Tango, at a thousand feet over Deschenes
Quarry. Two souls …correction ... three souls safely on board and uninjured.
Requesting landing at the nearest emergency apron at your discretion."
Stephen, heard a screeching whoop through his headset.
"Papa Victor Tango, this is Ottawa Tower, if you have the airport
in site approach straight in. Cleared to land on runway one-four. Maintain
this frequency until shutdown. Report on final. Winds are …"
"Papa Victor Tango, copy, straight in and cleared to land on
one four."
As Stephen adjusted his altimeter setting, he asked Rachel for her
full name and home phone number so her parents could be notified. Still
shocked, she couldn't remember her number but Stephen called in her name
and full description, dog included.
Runway one four was the longest at Ottawa International. Stephen
noticed a bevy of emergency response vehicles with their flashing lights
so he touched down adjacent to them. The winds were light and variable
and his landing roll was short. As he turned onto the nearest taxiway,
police cars, ambulances, fire trucks and vans with rotating beacons surrounded
the plane.
As soon as he shut down Rachel was whisked away into the arms of
the emergency care people. Somebody leashed the dog and it disappeared
into a waiting car. One by one the crowd dispersed until he was alone on
the taxiway. No aircraft were flying due to the airport's closure for his
landing.
Stephen was spent. The grave and imminent danger was over. Tears
rolled down his cheeks. He wanted to go home. As he composed himself he
tried to maintain his professional flying decorum by instinctively listening
to the ATIS and then calling up Ottawa Ground to request taxi clearance
to the active runway. Switching to the tower, Stephen was granted immediate
takeoff clearance. The pros at the other end of the mike didn't question
his intentions or advise him that the authorities, the press and heads-of-state
would want to talk to him. He saved a little girl's life today and that's
all that mattered.
With full power he climbed into the blue sky as he patted his little
yellow plane, proud to be a pilot-in-command.
Webmaster's Words: If, dear reader, you haven't
figured it out by now, Paul Tomascik's "Ice Floe Rescue" is a
work of fiction! His
story was published in the March 2000 edition of COPA / Canadian Flight.
Owners of some of the 24 Challengers attending the 10th annual Winter Rendezvous
at Chateau Montebello the previous month were particularly struck by the
authentic ring of the tale. They had flown over that exact same area and
had indeed noted the hazardous ice floes upriver of the rapids!
Paul has a commercial pilot licence and, after
writing this story, has started acquiring his Challenger in sub-kits. He
now writes regularly for COPA under the banner "Pilot In Command".
Paul hopes one day to publish his short stories into an aviation anthology.
We'll certainly look forward to it!
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