Worries

 Well, the daring quartet, men and boys, are off on their grand adventure, having arrived at Gander.  And, being the worry-wart that I am, I have been reading accident reports involving the Beech 18.  Some of them I've read before, and most are due to pilot error or are undetermined.  Did you know that Otis Redding and Jim Croce were both killed in crashes involving Beech 18s, as was Osama bin Laden's father?  The Croce crash was clearly due to pilot error, the pilot taking off downwind on a hazy night and colliding with trees at the end of the runway. The Otis Redding crash occurred during landing approach three miles from the airport but the cause was undetermined, though I have my own ideas.  I couldn't find any information on the bin Laden crash other than that it was during landing.

None of those crashes, or others of a similar nature that I found, bothered me. But one crash in particular that made me think involved a Beech D18S forced to ditch at sea when it lost an engine.  From the accident report:

"The pilot stated that the flight departed with all five fuel tanks full and the left fuel selector positioned to the "main tank" position. Approximately 10 minutes after takeoff he switched the left fuel selector to the auxiliary position and remained on that tank for approximately 35 minutes. When the flight was approximately 20 miles east of Bimini, he switched the left fuel selector to the main tank position where it remained for 5 minutes before he added climb power. While about 45 miles east of Bimini, climbing through 2,300 feet with a good rate of climb, the left manifold pressure dropped to 27 inches and the propeller rpm dropped to 1,300. He turned to fly to Bimini, broadcast a mayday call, and reported no unusual vibration; the fuel pressure and oil pressure gauges indicated normal. He repositioned the fuel selector but the left engine would not restart. He then feathered the left propeller and secured the engine but was unable to maintain altitude with full power applied to the right engine. The airplane was ditched...."

I've italicized the parts of the report that caught my eye. I don't like to try to form a definite opinion from an accident report, or to second guess a pilot doing his best in a high-stress situation, but when manifold pressure drops off suddenly when relative humidity is high as it likely was where the plane was flying it is probably due to carburetor icing. Icing can progress almost to the point of engine failure before it is indicated on your instruments unless you are alert. You have to keep an eye on carburetor air temperature.  If ice has already formed, it will cause your manifold pressure to drop.  You counter this by opening the throttles and increasing engine power settings until manifold pressure returns to normal.  If I encountered the situation that pilot did (I don't think I would because I would be constantly scanning the gauges and keeping an eye on the manifold temperature), I would have immediately increased power and added manifold heat (equivalent to carburetor heat on other airplanes).  I might also have switched fuel tanks, just in case, but my first impulse would not have been to do that. Of course, it could have been some other problem. I'm just saying what I would have done. 

I wonder why the pilot could not maintain altitude with "full power" -- 36.5 inches and 2300 rpm?  The plane will fly just fine, even climb on one engine at 33 inches and 2200 rpm, which is typical take-off power (and also the maximum continuous power setting). Climb power is 28 inches and 2000 rpm.

By the way, this plane had five fuel tanks: the fifth tank was in the nose, then two main and two auxiliary tanks in the wings. Some D18s don't have this nose tank (ours doesn't) and only have two mains and two aux tanks in the wings, but ours has four aux tanks, the outer two only used in level flight, but no nose tank.

Well, enough of this girl talk.  I'm sure if you read the word "adorable" one more time you will get the dry heaves.  Adorable!  Heh.

Well the second, I've managed to arrange Space-A  and Space-R (huzzah!) flights to Ramstein, although it took some doing and a call to a flag from my father, also a flag, to ensure I got priority all the way through.  RHIP bitchez!  But considering el jefe's short leave, Paris is out.  We'll just stay at Ramstein.  That will actually give us more time together as he can depart directly from there when his leave is over.  I suppose I could go to Paris on my own but that would be no fun.  I'll just catch a flight to RAF Mildenhall and then go on up to Glasgow to meet my father, who's decided that once my mother goes home with the boys and my brother's leave is up he'll go there and make sure the scareplane is in tip-top shape, fueled, oil topped off (each engine burns a quart an hour) and ready to go.  I'd like to visit the Shetlands since we will be so close and dad says we could fly into Sumburgh, about 260 nautical miles from Glasgow, and spend a day or two, then fly back to Glasgow to refuel and do a final once-over of the plane before taking off for Iceland.  I'd also like to spend a day or two in Iceland, as well, since it's on our way and I've never been.

Humans never cease to amaze me.  Since word has gotten out about us all flying the old Beech across the North Atlantic and back, people have been doing what they can to scare me.  And with this latest crash of an SNJ or T-6, whatever it was, with an aviatrix (!) at the controls, which eight people have rushed to tell me about, their dire predictions have soared into the stratosphere.  Like I care what they say: they are the kind of people who, when they hear about an airplane stalling, assume "stall" refers to the engine, not the wing.  Duh. My uncle says they are just envious, and he says, that he, too, is a little envious. So I said to him why don't you come with me and we can fly back together in the antique flying machine, soaring high over the bounding main.  He looked right and left and then said that he had this thing and...no...he really couldn't fit it into his schedule, but he'd be sure to attend our memorial service when we disappear without a trace over the vast reaches of ultima Thule's dread sea.  Weenie.

The long day wanes: the slow moon climbs: the deep

Moans round with many voices. Come, my friends,

'T is not too late to seek a newer world.

Push off, and sitting well in order smite

The sounding furrows; for my purpose holds

To sail beyond the sunset, and the baths

Of all the western stars, until I die.

It may be that the gulfs will wash us down:

It may be we shall touch the Happy Isles,

And see the great Achilles, whom we knew.

Tho' much is taken, much abides; and tho'

We are not now that strength which in old days

Moved earth and heaven, that which we are, we are;

One equal temper of heroic hearts,

Made weak by time and fate, but strong in will

To strive, to seek, to find, and not to yield.

                              ~ Alfred, Lord Tennyson