W H AT I L E A R N E D A B O U T F LY I N G Close calls In the first of a new series, one member learns how to land an aircraft By Clive Roberts, Log Board member H ow does anyone learn? Shame if it is only from mistakes those unwelcome visitors that figure massively in that long journey from first solo to the headsets gathering dust. Oldies such as me recall that the RAFs flight safety magazine, Air Clues, sported many articles under this restimulative title (soon amended, however, to the even more accurate: I Flew About, Learning From That). Articles were as funny and unforgettable as they were instructive. For instance, in Malaysia, a Whirlwind pilots sweaty glove got caught in the guard of the activated fuel dump switch while descending vertically onto soldiers in a jungle confined area (so called because one can land only if one can find it). Said troops wisely scattered on being engulfed in a cloud of moderate continuous Avtur. The pilot tore his hand away just in time to grab the lever to cushion the landing. His helicopter was now light enough to take everyone, but worryingly low on fuel to get home. In the 1980s, I was on an exchange tour with the Luftwaffe, flying the UH-1D Huey in the Bavarian Alps. Some RAF mates were on the Bad Kohlgrub winter survival course, so I thought I would show off by visiting their camp. In winter, the Huey has two big load-spreaders fitted to the skids, to avoid sinking into snow but my machine didnt. Rather than wait for them to be fitted, I took off without them. No sweat! (Or nase-nass*, in crewroom jargon.) We flew from Penzing into the glorious Alps, landing near the survival course snowholes. Welcomed warmly by my RAF brethren with accolades such as you jammy sod, how did YOU get such a posting?, I heard a shout, and saw my Huey sinking gracefully, tail down, into the soft snow. Nonchalantly (to conceal my panic), I inspected my steed, noting hopefully that the rearmost fuselage seemed fairly stable on a cushion of snow and the tail rotor would probably just miss the ground. Probably. So I started up, raised the collective lever a bit, and pushed the cyclic gently forward. The tough Huey obediently sank no lower, became horizontal, and we lifted off for home to my great relief. Each year, my Squadron sent a small detachment by B707 to Labrador, providing SAR cover for the GAF Phantom deployments at Goose Bay. Surprisingly, satellite maps were so good that Mk 1 eyeball navigation was simple and accurate. The landscape is beautiful, if monotonous, and is so relentlessly empty that we rudely decided to name it Canada because there is keiner da. Returning from way north of Goose, my air engineer and I discussed our 32 THE LOG Sum 24 pp32-33 What I learned about flying.indd 32 13/06/2024 13:41