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Busselton to Alice Springs,
YBLN - YBAS
Since we have been told that
the Cape Lodge office won't be open until after our leaving
time, we ask Universal to e-mail the final flight plan and
weather briefing to us, and when I check Compuserve upon arising
at about 5:45 a.m., sure enough, all is there. Yea! The tailwinds
that were forecast last night are still looking strong, even
better. But Cape Lodge was nice enough to allow us to have
our buffet breakfast right at 8:00 a.m. and they also provide
some ice for the airplane's cooler and four sandwiches for
us to take. Their breakfast buffet, both days we have had
it, has been really well done…great food and very friendly
waiters and waitresses in a bright and cherry room.
Pat drives us back to Busselton
and we are soon on our way. It's Pam's turn to fly and we
have no problems getting onto the tarmac from the grassy parking
area, not sinking in like when we arrived. The small uncontrolled
airport means that we announce what we are doing but do not
have a clearance until airborne and in contact with Melbourne
Center. We lift off at 0120Z, 9:20 a.m. local time.
We break through some fluffy
broken clouds by the time we reach 5,000 feet and it is clear
sailing from then on. Level again at 27,000 feet we enjoy
a strong tailwind that pushes our groundspeed to over 300
knots. I put a George Strait CD in the player. As I fill out
the airplane flight log, I note that we are on the 27th leg
of this adventure. Unbelievable how uneventful all of our
flights have been! Perhaps this thought is a bad omen. Little
do we know now that the day has some nasty surprises in store
for us soon to come.
We fly out of radar range and
revert to standard position-reporting but with good VHF radio
reception. The earth beneath is the typical red soil of the
Australian interior, stretching as far as the eye can see
in all directions. On the long leg we are flying it is interesting
for me to notice that our magnetic course keeps changing in
a decreasing direction as we follow the shortest, great circle,
path. This is just the opposite of how it changes during a
west-to-east flight in the northern hemisphere. Also, about
two hours into the flight, I observe that the GNS 530s show
184 nm to the nearest airport: It's darn unpopulated in the
outback!
We just nick the corner of the
state of South Australia as we fly from West Australia into
Northwest Territory. About three hours after takeoff we observe
distant clouds ahead and the Stormscope shows quite a bit
of lightening activity north of our course, between Ayers
Rock and Alice Springs. We have about a fifteen degree left
wind correction angle that makes it appear visually that the
storm clouds are to the right of our path, but as we get nearer
they are indeed more to the left, but with some seemingly
sitting on our course.
We mistake another rock formation
for Ayers Rock, but then the big monolith comes clearly into
view. There is an airport nearby that is enjoying nothing
but blue skies and Pam comments that if we had known of that
field and the fact that it had jet fuel, it would have made
a more half-way fuel stop today, not to mention that we wouldn't
now be sweating the relationship of the storms with Alice
Springs. However, since the Stormscope still shows the storms
to be west of Alice and since the radar is not yet painting
any solid lines, we decide to continue with the planned stop,
since that it where the handlers are waiting.
I pick up the ATIS: "Information
Juliet. Runway 30 in use. Wind is 360 degrees at 12 knots.
Cavok. Temperature 30. QNH 1004. Thunderstorm and lightening
observed south and southwest of the airport."
It is time to begin descent,
and Center clears us initially down to FL210 from 270, telling
us to contact Alice Springs tower on 118.3 when 80 miles out.
As we monitor that frequency, we hear the tower give a report
to a single-engine Cessna about wind gusts up to 42 knots.
"Wonder where that is?" I ask myself, since it is so different
from the ATIS, but then, as I feared, it is clear that he
is referring to Alice.
By now we are descending lower
and we enter light rain and clouds but the weather radar shows
plenty of openings and the Stormscope still has most of the
activity to the north of us. But now the rain starts getting
heavy and the clear skies behind us over our right shoulder
are starting to disappear. We decide that it looks best to
deviate south of course and come into the airport from the
south, even though the tower advises he can see lightening
in that direction. We are the only IFR traffic in the area
and he is kind enough to give us carte blanche in terms of
whatever visual or instrument approach we would like.
The airplane is getting bounced
around pretty good when suddenly we can see a clearing off
to our left front, west of the airport. We maintain ground
contact visually and head for the spot, break out into fairly
clear weather, and spot the airport to our right about five
miles away. The tower has advised that the storm has passed
the airport but that the winds are still very strong and gusty.
The longest runway is 12-30,
but the wind is mostly from 210 degrees at 28 knots with gusts
to over 40, and that exceeds the maximum demonstrated crosswind
component of the Super King Air 200. With this much wind,
we know that not much landing length will be required, so
Pam tells me to ask for Runway 21. It total 3,700 feet long
and has about 800 feet of gravel surface initially, but in
these conditions it is more than enough. As Pam maneuvers
east of the airport to get in position for this runway, the
tower gives a wind update that shows it has shifted to a heading
of 190 degrees. This is exactly midway between Runways 21
and 17, but Runway 17 does not have the gravel portion and
is the same length as 21. "Ask for Runway 19," Pam requests.
I do so, and we are told to report on final for that Runway.
In a few moments I make the call and we are cleared to land.
Although we haven't been in rain or clouds for quite some
time now, it is still rougher than a stucco bathtub and Pam
is doing a masterful job of making the airplane do what she
wants. "Give me maximum RPM!" I run the propeller levers full
forward and the RPM rises to 2,000 from 1,600, which gives
her more available power if needed as well as more propeller
drag when power is idled in the flare.
I start calling off airspeeds
and keep my eye on sink rates as we start down the last 500
feet. "130. 115. 125. 105. 115." The speed is dancing all
over the place as the gusty wind affects us. A Super King
Air is a powerful, responsive, airplane with wonderful control
balance and authority. These types of gusts are not at all
beyond the airplane's capability. They just make our job quite
a bit harder. Windshear is the more modern word for what we
are experiencing and we know that a sudden loss of airspeed
is the type of shear that is hardest to correct. This phenomenon
has claimed many lives throughout many years of flying. Surprisingly
enough, propeller-driver airplanes like ours usually fair
better during windshear encounters than do our pure-jet brethren.
As I keep watching the airspeed,
it starts decreasing rapidly. "105. 95. 90." Pam has been
adding power aggressively and is at close to eighty percent
power (about 1,800 ft-lbs of torque) before the airspeed stops
decaying. Nearly simultaneously, the runway end passes beneath
the nose, she smoothly brings the power levers to idle, and
she makes a well-controlled crosswind landing. Without even
anywhere near full reverse power utilization, we are at taxi
speed by half-way down this little runway. Wind can sure be
bumpy, but it sure does cut down on landing distance!
We are directed to parking bay
10. The markings for it are confusing to us, but except for
a couple of Qantas BAE-146s - I guess that are now, what,
RJ-100s? - at the terminal, the ramp is empty so we maneuver
as we want to place the airplane facing into the wind. We
earned our pay on this leg! But it ain't over.
After a quick refueling, coordinated
by Qantas, we taxi out again just 22 minutes after we shutdown.
The storms were still in the airport vicinity as we fueled,
with lots of thunder and lightening around and some light
sprinkles on the field. One nice thing was how much it had
cooled the temperature. I estimate that it was closer to 20
degrees Celsius now, not the 30 that the ATIS had reported,
and the sun was hidden by the buildups, so the ramp was actually
very pleasant.
I am now in the left seat. "Ummm.
What's this?" I wonder, as the Sandel SN3308 EHSI in front
of me flashes a "400 Hz Inverter Lost" message. We appear
to have no heading information on the pilot's Horizontal Situation
Indicator. We pull off into the holding area at the end of
the runway, tell the tower that we need some time to troubleshoot
an electrical problem, and they again tell us, in effect,
to do what we want.
Remember my comments in a previous
journal entry about airplanes behaving at times like cantankerous
kids? "Okay, Airplane. We'll do it your way. We'll shut
down all avionics power and start from scratch. Reboot, in
other words. That usually satisfies you."
But not today. As we reboot once,
then again, we always have the same problem. Even trying to
drive the Sandel from the Number 2 compass system won't work.
For a fleeting moment I am tempted to depart anyway because
I can still see some blue sky in the direction that we are
headed and a big black rain shaft is rapidly approaching.
My better judgment overrides, however, as we realize that
we have lost our window of comfort as the latest storm arrives
at the airport. We know we have no Stormscope and we are not
sure how our autopilot will operate when airborne.
Pam initiates a good discussion
of the pros and cons of going versus staying, after this latest
downpour passes. We already have two major strikes against
us: Radio problems and convective weather. If we depart now,
we are facing a third hurdle before we land: Darkness. No,
it takes very little discussion to realize that the proper
decision today is to hang it up. We may be able to make progress
on fixing the airplane here during the rest of the day but,
even if we are not successful, at least by departing in the
morning we will (1) have daylight guaranteed the whole way,
(2) have less chance of storms, since they typically develop
later in the day due to the heating effect of the sun on the
earth's surface, and (3) we will be much more rested and alert.
It's sad for all of us as we
return to the ramp and shutdown. We aren't on schedule any
longer. World Flight 2001 has now had its first delay of any
type, and it is due to an airplane malfunction. I feel very,
very, low.
To make a long story shorter,
between heavy rain storms that marched over in waves, I get
out our tools, remove the right side avionics access panel
in the nose, and change out the small fuse for the C-14 Compass
System. At one point during our turning on the inverter and
avionics power to check our status, we receive a grim message
on the Avidyne Multifunction display: "Corrupted Disk." This
doesn't sound good at all. Shortly after, whenever the Avidyne
goes through its self-test, it hits a point in which the "Green
Screen of Death" (as we call it) shows up. Without the Avidyne
we have no weather radar. Our predicament deepens. Although
the radar itself is probably operating just fine, we have
no means to display its information. We have NO weather detection
equipment.
It is now about 1:00 a.m. Friday
night/Saturday morning in Tulsa, Oklahoma, where our avionics
gurus reside, but I nevertheless place a call of desperation
to Bob Ferguson there, only to get his answering machine.
Pat - old Never-say-die Pat - pulls a miracle by using his
cousin in Tulsa to track down the home phone number of Weldon
Levacy, the installation genius who designed our new avionics
package. Another miracle: He answers the phone and was even
up and about! We discuss the problem and agree that my replacing
the fuse was a logical step but - Damn! I hate to admit this!
- I replaced the wrong one. The C-14 fuse that I replaced,
in this airplane, powers the Number 2 compass system, not
the Number 1. Weldon directs me to change the Tarsyn 333 fuse,
but I discover there are two of them!
With great foresight, Beech installs
some spare fuses when they build the airplane so I was able
to replace the two additional ones. Back to the cockpit with
baited breath. Will it work? No. No improvement. Now I am
even lower. I am also very angry at myself because I thought
for sure that the airplane's tool kit that I assembled (actually,
it's my own kit, but it's on 982GA for this trip) had a multimeter
electrical testing gizmo, but it wasn't there. Thus, I was
shooting in the dark, not being able to determine if the old
and new fuses were good or bad. (The kit has one now, by God!
This is being written four days after the events being described.)
All four of us help, but the
news for today remains bad. The airplane is wounded - That's
Pat's word and it says it all - and we don't know why. We
get a ride for our luggage and for ourselves to the terminal,
through the rain, where Helen, the kind and helpful Qantas
rep, calls for taxis and makes reservations for us at the
Plaza Hotel. (Ever wonder why Qantas has no "q?" Because it
originally stood for "Queensland And Northern Territory Aerial
Services.")
Every dark cloud has a silver
lining. Alice Springs is an exciting town of 27,000 people
and the Plaza Hotel is modern, clean, with all the standard
amenities. As we pull up, there is a huge mob of people assembled
near the entry. It's Prom night, and the local high school
teens are enjoying it. They are all very nice.
We check in, go to our rooms,
and meet in the bar for our day's debriefing session. Dinner
follows and my spirits start to rise a little. Universal is
notified of the delay and told to re-file our flight plan
to Cairns for tomorrow morning. One of our waitresses, Rachel,
is a wonderful young woman with a direct manner, a remarkable
sense of humor, and the best pair of dimples in Alice Springs.
We love talking to her and she informs us that this wet weather
in not a surprise this time of year. It rarely rains in Alice
from January to September but October to December is the rainy
season. Although we are thinking of leaving near the crack
of dawn, she says that it is typical for the skies to remain
cloudy until about 10:00. Even better, we think! We'll sleep
in a little longer and takeoff at 11:00.
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