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Minus 20-degree temperatures makes unloading tough enough in itself. But add to it a 35-knot, snow-whipping prop wash and the "loads" are forced to empty the cargo hold in a virtual blizzard,
Extremely low temperatures play havoc on engine starts, so the engines are kept running at ground idle. The chill factor within the prop wash at the aircraft's rear can tumble to -75 degrees. Working frantically to unfasten the cargo chains, Phillips' fingers began to stiffen almost immediately in his thin flight gloves, his ears and nose to deaden. You just can't unfasten flesh-stinging tiedown chains while wearing bulky insulated gloves. Under these conditions, any unprotected extremity can freeze in a matter of minutes- The physical pain is easily replaced by the mental frustration. The colder Phillips' hands became, the more they wouldn't function. The 8,000-foot altitude also took its toll. Breathing grew difficult and laborious. It would take a little longer than usual today, but the cargo would be delivered as promised. During the bone-chilling offloading, Captain Stephens, the copilot, made the lonely trek to the radar site building to sweet-talk the chef out of some of his famous ham sandwiches smothered in butter. The hardworking crew still out in the cold would be hungry. The crisp Arctic air did wonders for appetites.
Fenimore stayed at the controls. With
four giant turboprops constantly churning the frigid air, you don't leave the
flight deck unattended. After more than two hours, Phillips and
McKnight reported that the cargo was on the sledge and on its way. Phillips
made his last-minute checks and sealed the crew entrance door just after
Stephens trudged up the steps with a box full of sandwiches. They were a
feast. Fenimore was soon inching the throttles
forward. The aircraft surged and
strained and creaked and groaned, but little else. He tried again, but was
met with an instant replay, "We're stuck," he cursed. The glacier's
icy grip had clamped onto the skis. The ski pressure against the snow had
raised the snow temperature above the freezing point. Refreezing caused a
sheet of sticky ice to weld the aircraft to the snow. Pilots have more than one way to get
out of such a predicament, Fenimore prefers to lower the high flotation tires
to break the seal. Free in a matter of seconds, the "ski bird" was
off and sliding toward takeoff position. Getting stuck is more of a minor
irritant than a major problem. Soon, Raven 91 skimmed down the skiway
in a cloud of blowing snow. Ron Gignac's eyes were glued to the speed
indicator. "Forty
knots!" he bellowed, then "forty-five!" The C-130 suddenly began sliding
sideways |
down the skiway. The faster it went, the
nearer it slid toward the metal runway flags. It one of the prop blades hit a
pole, it could destroy itself first, and the aircraft second. Fenimore, with
Stephen's help, applied full right rudder. Nothing. The aircraft continued
its graceful slide to the skiway's edge. Fenimore yanked back on the
throttles and fought for control, using differential power. Still moving
dangerously toward the flags, the C-130 slowly yielded itself back into the
pilot's firm control. There was no takeoff this time, but Raven 91 was
still in one piece, Flight engineer Gignac, the more
experienced member of the crew, realized what had happened immediately. He
had seen it before. "The last time I saw a C-130 try
to take off with a tailwind component," he said, "the exact same
thing happened," Where the tailwind came from was
anybody's guess. Fenimore told his crew Just why he did
what he did. "Sometimes
they'll [C-130s] start wallowing like that, and if you let it go too far,
you'll completely lose control of the airplane. You can actually do a 180
[degree turn] right on the skiway, but before it does, a ski will dig in and
break off." The only thing for him to do, he said, was to maintain
control and abort the takeoff. He added that the wind turned into a
crosswind at about the same time he decided to abort the takeoff. He was forced to throttle Numbers One
and Two engines into full takeoff power while keeping Three and Four in
ground idle just to keep the aircraft straight. It was one of those
instances that Arctic sages talk about. The fickleness of the Arctic was coldly
apparent, but had relented and shown a meager tolerance of the outsiders. Countering the crosswind that
eventually moved around to blow on the aircraft's tail, Fenimore taxied his
four-engine skimobile.to the opposite end of the skiway, hoping the wind
would remain stable for a minute or so. Once again, he applied full takeoff
power, and off they moved, this time with the nose into the wind. All was normal. Then halfway down the
skiway, the curse of the North struck again. This time it was the terrifying
condition that blends sky and ground into a continuous white mass—a
"whiteout," Out of the snow had crept a thick ice
fog that threatened to engulf the skiway and the
crew's vision. Some liken it to
flying in a ping pong ball or through the center of a marshmallow. Arctic weather can go from VFR (Visual
Flight Rules) with not a cloud in the sky to completely zero-zero visibility
in less than 15 minutes—with absolutely no warning whatsoever. This time the
minute had changed to mere seconds. |
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