Ray's Corner
|
Ray's Corner
|
A Bad Year For Helicopters.
Part 1
During the
earlier part of my career I had a couple years in which I had a relatively
intimate relationship with helicopters, a certain Bell-J2 being the prime
contact. My first contact with this particular machine was on the 16th of May,
1967 when I boarded her to do some aerial recon geology at I had
flown into the base camp the afternoon prior in the back of a twin-engine
“Beech -18”, scrunched in on the top of a load of camping gear and
groceries. The temperature was in the 90’s but many of the lakes were still
ice covered. Every time we went from black spruce to ice the plane dropped about
30 feet straight down; on the north side of the lake as we made the transition
back to black spruce we reversed the process and gained our 30 feet back. This
active flying as a passenger did not sit too well with my body, in particular my
stomach. Upon disembarking after a trip of about an hour and a half in the
“Beechcraft from hell”, I crawled up the bank from the dock and spent an
hour or so getting my land legs back in shape. You can now understand why this
Nova Scotian selected the stable After
about an hour doing tight circles in the J2 the next morning, I sensed I needed
another opportunity to put my feet on terra firma. A walk of about an hour and a
half through an alder swamp did wonders for my constitution and I had no more
difficulty with motion sickness for the rest of the summer. About the
last week of June our helicopter every once in a while would develop a slight
coughing jag that would last for a minute or so. The pilot would put the machine
down, kick out the passengers, and see what would happen when he again applied
power. Inevitably it was nothing, and everyone would climb on board and get on
with the job. However on the third time this happened the pilot said
“Enough!” and left the machine on an outcrop near the shore of a small lake
and permanently went back to civilization. Our resident engineer twice combed the machine
thoroughly looking for the problem. A second pilot/engineer came in with a Bell
G4 and they repeated the process together. Still nothing. A new
wunderkind pilot arrived in camp with a total of 90 hours of commercial time
under his belt - all off the tarmac at Expo ‘67. He and I and the engineer
flew over to the machine, and the pilot spent about 45 minutes in the air with
the J2 putting it through its paces. Nary a falter! The engineer signed the
machine as airworthy and the pilot and I took off to the west at about 1.30 in
the afternoon. It just happened that our assignment for the rest of the day was
to get into an area along the Manitoba/Ontario border that was lacking in both
outcrop and landing spots, map whatever outcrop we could find, and return to
base camp. We had tried to access the area several times in the past but
weather, fuel, or darkness had inhibited our access. Everything
was going swimmingly as we cruised west. Our intention was to fly directly to
the border, check out some outcrop visible on the photos, and then work our way
back. The plan was good! We were just coming up to the border at about 300 feet
when I spied the low outcrop ridge we were seeking. I was in the process of
pointing out to the pilot a small open swale which looked like it could safely
handle the machine, when the aircraft suddenly started to cough, and shake, and
loose altitude. I can still vividly recall how quickly the white spruce on the
low ridge were coming up to meet us, and me bracing my feet on the door frame
and the pilot’s seat. There was no panic, just simple preparation for the
inevitable! What I
hadn’t anticipated was that our 90-hour wonder from the Expo site had simply
excellent instincts as a pilot, instincts he demonstrated not only that July 15
but later in the summer and afterward with some of the largest helicopter
companies in Canada. Those instincts managed to somehow allow us to auto-rotate,
accompanied by the odd serge of power, right into the middle of the small swale.
We found out later it was the only landing site within about a two mile radius,
and it was just large enough to comfortably accommodate two small helicopters.
How we missed getting our tail caught in some of the bordering alders I have to
this day not yet figured out. Even
though the helicopter was on floats, it hit hard! Dust that had accumulated over
a number of years suddenly took flight from its hiding places and totally
obscured visibility within the bubble. When the dust cleared we found ourselves
jarred, but unhurt. The landing had been quite successful and from what we could
see the machine had suffered no visible damage. When the
pilot shut the machine off I opened the door and stepped off the float on to the
grass and sedges of our little meadow home. I immediately sunk up to my waist in
the floating bog. Crawling back on the float, I surveyed our surroundings and
sadly noted that if we intended to make solid ground we were likely going to
have to crawl part of the way on our bellies. Somehow the situation didn’t
seem that serious! Besides, the horseflies were the size of humming birds and as
ferocious as killer bees, and discretion suggested that our best strategy for
the moment was to escape back inside the bubble. That we did. Next on
the order paper was to check our radio (didn’t work!), our emergency rations
(a kit that appeared to be at least 5 years old given the melted state of the
chocolate!), and other supplies (a pencil flare kit, and a first aid kit).
Neither of us had used a pencil flare previously and as we were not sure whether
these flares were in working order, it became obvious that we needed to run a
test. Being captain of the ship the pilot proceeded to do the honor and also
proceeded to blow the end off his thumb, which he had inappropriately curled
over the end of the pencil. As a result we moved to a test of the first aid kit! About 4.30
in the afternoon we saw a Beech-18 heading north a few miles off to the west. We
found out later that the plane had just blown an engine and was in decent to the
nearest lake. About the same time I realized it was my wife’s birthday and I
knew she would not have been pleased to know the circumstances in which I was
celebrating that auspicious day. Beyond the horseflies we had no other action
until about 9.45 in the evening when we heard a plane off to the east. One flare
later we recognized our Cessna 180 banking low over the edge of our swale and
turning back east toward camp while they still had enough light to get home. We
assumed we had been seen. During the
day the pilot had tried three times to see if he could get the machine off the
ground. It would start and operate well until he tried to apply power and then
the shaking and coughing would return. The next
morning we were awakened about 8.30 by the familiar thowak, thowak, thowak of a
helicopter, and a Bell G4 with our resident engineer and another from Ontario
Hydro settled in our little swale. At about 10 am I was lifted out of the swale
and transferred to one of those beautiful deserted sandy beaches that we all
dream about and never see. Later in the day I was transported to the Nursing
Station at So what
had caused the difficulties with the J2? Well to make a long story short that
helicopter's engine was torn down twice over a two week period in that little
swale in Manitoba before they found the cause of the coughing and shaking. It
turned out to be a chip out of an intake valve that was about the size of the
point of a lead pencil. When the intake valve was replaced the machine reassumed
its airworthy status and headed back to base camp to take us onward to other
summer adventures. A
Bad Year for Helicopters
Part
II
When we
last left our hero, he had just been safely delivered back to base camp after a
near-disaster in a float-equipped Bell J2 helicopter on the Ontario-Manitoba
border. When the J2 finally came home after being repaired, it immediately left
to provide air support for another section of the field crew about 100 miles to
the east. Things
went well for about a week when, during a refueling stop, the pilot noted that
the drive shaft to the tail rotor was slightly bent. The machine stayed on the
ground until another drive shaft could be acquired in With the
helicopter back in the air things went smoothly for about two weeks when the
pilot, at another refueling stop, noted a crack in an engine mount. More calls
to It was now
mid-September and time to fold up the operation and head back to civilization.
As is always the case there remained a few select outcrops to be mapped and
sampled, some that had been inadvertently missed during the summer, others which
had, because of the unfolding geological picture, become critical pieces in the
jigsaw puzzle. Yours truly drew the short straw and had the good fortune of
checking these outcrops out on the way south; but my geological interest was up
and it seemed like a nifty assignment. The pilot
and I left early for we knew we had a long day ahead. As the day progressed we
had the good fortune of securing easy access to most of the outcrops needing
examination, and found ourselves at about 4.30 in the afternoon finished with
our scientific endeavors and cruising west over Sandy Lake to the Hudson Bay
store and our last refueling stop before heading south. Because of a 30 mile an
hour headwind the pilot had leveled the aircraft off at about 30 feet above the
rolling lake surface. About 8 miles from the There was
no fancy circling to finesse a landing. It was “Wham, bam, and thank you mam!”
as the pilot slapped the machine on the embankment in front of the HBC and cut
the power. He immediately got out his trusty oil can and squirted each of the
cylinder heads. Even to my untrained eye it was obvious we had been working
three cylinders short. When the engine was torn down later in the week it was
revealed that a piece of exhaust valve about the size of a thumb nail had broken
loose and had completely demolished two cylinders on opposite sides of the
engine, and had begun demolition of a third. Discretion
being the better part of valor, about an hour later I left the pilot and his J2
in front of the HBC and caught the Beech-18 sked run back to civilization. I
couldn’t see any advantage in my taking a third chance in that machine that
summer! |