In the Peanuts comic strip, they have a Kite Eating Tree, in Kachemak Bay, we have a Plane Eating Runway. The FAA calls Nanwalek's airstrip at about 800 usable feet, but the pilots that operate there know to eek out extras from the ends. All flat-ish surface is stretched parallel to the beach in a curve, and a mountain of reckon-able size looms on one end. The strip is surrounded by water on three sides and a village at one end. If the excellence in urban planning were not already apparent, a manhole cover sticks up about a foot above the gravel at one end, driving the obstacle course home. So, properly done, you have two options to get to Nanwalek: a steep turn on short final to avoid the mountain; or, from the other direction, landing on one wheel, in a turn, avoiding the manhole cover and stopping before the mountain.
Of course the prevailing wind is from a lagoon on the wrong side of the curve, constantly pushing aircraft towards a very cold ocean. In the winter, the gravel strip is covered with ice, snow, and slush. Any time of year there are dogs, children, and four-wheelers running across the strip. Almost all supplies and passengers in and out of this small village go by small airplane.
On Thursday, three pilots were in Nanwalek in 206s, there was a lot of slush on the runway and a crosswind out of the lagoon. One of those 206s didn't make it out. Conditions were worse than "normal" and we could conjecture for hours on the how and why of the crash, but, the basics are: the airplane got off the ground, lost flying speed over the water, and went into the ocean with four souls on board.
The initial gossip was that the pilot "stalled into the water," but those of us who know what a stalling aircraft looks like can't reconcile that with how upright and gently that plane touched the cold ocean. All passengers were unscathed, and everyone climbed out of the aircraft and was able to swim safely to shore.
I had the privilege of talking to the pilot yesterday and I learned something: he said when he knew he was going to hit the water, he committed to the crash, pulled the power and flared. He landed that plane in the water. He didn't crash it. I was amazed. Why? Because I don't think I ever would have done that.
We all know I have a fear of commitment, and committing to crashing seems difficult indeed. But, it might have been what saved the passengers. My instinct would have been to keep trying to shove the power past the firewall, asking the airplane for just a little bit more than it had to give; to keep trying to save it beyond the point of hope; to ask the impossible from a piece of machinery. What beautiful grace: to accept that you are going to fall out of the sky, and be able to turn your attention to landing on your feet.
Of course the prevailing wind is from a lagoon on the wrong side of the curve, constantly pushing aircraft towards a very cold ocean. In the winter, the gravel strip is covered with ice, snow, and slush. Any time of year there are dogs, children, and four-wheelers running across the strip. Almost all supplies and passengers in and out of this small village go by small airplane.
On Thursday, three pilots were in Nanwalek in 206s, there was a lot of slush on the runway and a crosswind out of the lagoon. One of those 206s didn't make it out. Conditions were worse than "normal" and we could conjecture for hours on the how and why of the crash, but, the basics are: the airplane got off the ground, lost flying speed over the water, and went into the ocean with four souls on board.
The initial gossip was that the pilot "stalled into the water," but those of us who know what a stalling aircraft looks like can't reconcile that with how upright and gently that plane touched the cold ocean. All passengers were unscathed, and everyone climbed out of the aircraft and was able to swim safely to shore.
I had the privilege of talking to the pilot yesterday and I learned something: he said when he knew he was going to hit the water, he committed to the crash, pulled the power and flared. He landed that plane in the water. He didn't crash it. I was amazed. Why? Because I don't think I ever would have done that.
We all know I have a fear of commitment, and committing to crashing seems difficult indeed. But, it might have been what saved the passengers. My instinct would have been to keep trying to shove the power past the firewall, asking the airplane for just a little bit more than it had to give; to keep trying to save it beyond the point of hope; to ask the impossible from a piece of machinery. What beautiful grace: to accept that you are going to fall out of the sky, and be able to turn your attention to landing on your feet.
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