Author: David Jacobson

Conscientious airplane walk-arounds are never a waste of time

Conscientious airplane walk-arounds are never a waste of time

The pre-flight walk-around inspection of an aircraft, by the pilot or a trusted crew member is a time-honoured, vital facet of good airmanship. Generations of great pilots have always taken the time and trouble, in all weathers, to take a good look before taking off. The evocative expression, ‘kicking the tyres‘ (to listen for a different tone from one –  indicating a possible discrepancy in tyre pressure) harks back to the ‘good old days’, when there was substantially less engine noise around tarmacs. In approximately 20,000 walk-arounds, over 55 years, only 3 paid a bountiful dividend – but the rest were never a waste of time.

This is the sixth article in a planned occasional series, sharing some most memorable and treasured experiences. This one is another from my own career : We do plan to feature other highly esteemed pilot friends and colleagues, who are only too willing to share their collective aviation experience. The crucial lessons that we learned along the way are just as valid today. They contribute, in no small way, to that intangible but essential quality known in aviation as ‘airmanship’.

Of all the walk-arounds I ever performed, only 3 of them ‘worked!

 

1. 1967 : The Auster

The first of my ‘big 3’ occurred in August 1967, when employed as a 20-yo junior flight instructor. I was tasked with flying a wonderful antique Auster J5L to a nearby country airfield and wait most of the day, while a 100-hour engineering inspection was carried out. Around 1600hrs, the engineers wheeled the airplane out of their maintenance hangar and handed me the new Maintenance Release. “Jump in”, said the chief maintenance engineer,“we’ll give you a swing on the propeller.” (The de Havilland Gypsy Major engine, fitted to the Auster, didn’t have a starter motor.)

“Hang on“, I replied, “I haven’t carried out a walk-around.”   “Mate“, said the engineer, grinning smugly  to his colleagues, “She’s just come out of the 100-hourly!“

I was thinking, ‘All the more reason’, but I returned, simply, “Thanks, but I have never yet flown an airplane without having first walked around it and I don’t intend to vary that policy, today“. “But there’s some nasty weather headed this way – hop in and we’ll get you going.“ I ignored this last entreaty, totally; it was 1600 hrs on a Friday afternoon and these guys simply wanted me gone, so they could have a beer, before heading off home. I surveyed the sky and there was some approaching low cloud and rain showers; my outbound track back home was reasonably clear and the showers were still about 20 minutes away.

I circumnavigated the airplane. I had witnessed it being pushed out of the hangar after a supposedly-thorough 100-hourly maintenance inspection. It should have been perfect – yet I discovered 2 unbelievable derelictions of care and responsibility:

1.  The right aileron cable was disconnected and was lying loose and visible, below the fabric-covered wingtip; and
2.  The engine oil cap was missing : An apprentice engineer was dispatched to the hangar and he located it on a workbench.

While these 2 blunders were being remedied, the other engineers had formed a small semi-circle and, like me, were awaiting their boss’s response to these serious lapses: There was no apology, no contrition, just, “Well, fellers, there’s a careful pilot for you!” I was dismayed and disgusted. I just strapped myself in; someone swung the propeller for me and I just taxied away and departed for home, trying hard to put it out of my mind.

Had I departed without completing that walk around, I would have undoubtedly had the character-building experience of a certain engine failure or seizure on or after take-off, followed by the twin challenges of executing a full forced landing with an oil-covered windscreen and partly functioning or, worse still, jammed aileron controls – in approaching bad weather.

My employer never again returned to that maintenance organisation, yet I was instructed not to submit an air safety incident report. I still regret not doing so. Their collective negligence could have proved fatal – to me.

 

  2.  1984 : The DC-9-30

October 1984 found me completing my command upgrade to the beautiful DC-9-30. On a regular Melbourne to Hobart return flight – MEL-HBA-MEL – my training captain and I were on the turn-around, in Hobart. While executing a second walk-around inspection (following my initial one, completed in Melbourne prior to departure), I was circumnavigating anti-clockwise around the DC-9, dodging the usual collection of obstacles such as refuelling hoses and pump vehicles and heading for the left wheel well, when I noticed something ‘odd‘ sticking out at an odd angle, from the leading edge of the left main landing gear door section, fastened to the gear leg. The door edge was well-silhouetted against the clear sky and the view was foreign to my eyes. I moved closer, to investigate.

Almost simultaneously, our very conscientious ground licensed aircraft maintenance engineer -LAME – was homing in as well. We just looked at each other, as the reality dawned on us: the object projecting out from the door’s leading edge was an almost-separated 100mm/4-inch-long section of the stainless steel strip, fastened along one edge of its curved profile, that is pressed against and forms a seal with the underside of the wing, when the doors close during the landing gear retraction cycle. This particular section had fatigued from normal wear and tear and was hanging on only by a 1/4 inch/6mm ‘thread’. The engineer broke it off and I asked to keep it, as a souvenir.

For what we had both realised from the outset, was that on the next take-off – our departure from Hobart – or a subsequent one, that loose fragment was very likely to separate completely – and it was perfectly aligned with the intake of the left engine, mounted on the aft fuselage. On initial take-off rotation, with the main landing gear still on the ground and the engines much lower than usual – and a 135 kt/270km/hr air blast tearing at it, that little fragment could have totally destroyed the left engine and given this commander-under-training a very real-world ‘engine failure/fire/severe damage’ situation to deal with, instead of a routine simulator training exercise.

That fragment has resided on the wall of my study, ever since.

 

3.  2002 : The B737-800

My First Officer and I had already flown from Melbourne to Brisbane, to crew a further night B737-800 service – in a different airplane – to overnight in Cairns, in far North Queensland (FNQ). I was waiting on the tarmac, as our second aircraft taxyed in and shut-down, at 2030hrs AEST.

As soon as the rotating beacons were extinguished, I commenced my walk-around inspection under the tarmac lighting, proceeding anti-clockwise around the airplane from the nose, as was my habit, differing from the published clockwise recommendation. (It always made more sense to me to proceed anti-clockwise, as the light switch for the main landing gear (MLG) wheel wells was located on the left-hand side and, at night, could provide the necessary illumination at the earliest opportunity. Even armed with a torch, the full illumination was very helpful.)

The B737 doesn’t have doors to enclose the wheel wells when the MLG is retracted, only small doors fitted to the MLG legs : the MLG wheels and tyres, themselves, form the wheel well seal, following retraction. Ground access into the wheel wells is relatively simple, if a little challenging, to avoid the black tyre rubber ‘skid marks‘ on one’s uniform shirt, resulting from brushing up against the rubber sealing panels for the tyres, that line the circular wheel-well opening.

The space inside the main gear wheel well is subdivided, longitudinally by the substantial ‘keel beam‘, which, as in a boat or ship, forms the basis of the longitudinal strength of the entire structure, much like a spine. Measuring some 300mm/12 inches wide, at this point, its flat top surface serves as a platform to support a number of component parts, such as hydraulic lines, electrical cable runs and some various other small component assemblies. It looks a bit cluttered but after many years and many walk-arounds, it had for me the familiar look of an untidy desk; ‘it could be tidier but, at least, I do know where everything is‘, I was thinking. But amongst the familiar clutter, something seemed different.

I took a second look around the L wheel-well, without satisfying my initial curiosity and exited back out, to continue my walk around the left wing and engine. ‘I’d take a fresh look, when I reached the other wheel well on the right side’, I figured. After checking the tail and right wing and engine, I ducked under the wing centre section and stood fully upright again, taking in the space from the opposite side. Again, everything seemed familiar and intact –  no leaks – nothing out of place – until …

I looked closely at the central keel beam, again. My initial thought was confirmed: there was something different – a small can, something like the size, shape and silver colour of an airline-sized can of ‘Diet-Coke‘, but not that, resting happily on the keel beam. On top of it, lay a 1/2in drive socket open-ended spanner head and a thread of steel wire protruded from a small aperture, beneath the spanner. The canister, itself, was sitting against one of the hydraulic line runs that was acting as a ‘safety railing’, about 30mm/1.5in, above the keel beam. Otherwise, it was totally unrestrained to the left, forward, aft and vertically. In other words, loose. I realised that it had been in its present location when the airplane landed, just before 2030hrs, as no other person had been near the wheel wells, except me. I picked up the intruder, spanner included and the weight impressed me, for such a relatively small item. It was a virtually full canister of 0.0030 inch stainless steel locking wire, used by engineers to secure nuts and other assemblies.

I exited the wheel well again, just as a ground maintenance engineer approached. “Oh, thanks“, he said, offering to relieve me of it; “We’ve been looking for that!”

“No“, I replied, “This is mine, for now – where is your tarmac foreman’s office located?” He indicated. I walked over and into the office, holding up the canister and the spanner head, in each hand.

“Oh thanks, Captain“, said the tarmac foreman, as I handed them to him. “We’ve been looking for those two items, since midnight, last night – they were not accounted for : Where did you find them?”   “On the keel beam of the -800 over on Gate 23, when I was completing my walk-around“, I replied. “Didn’t that airplane just arrive – from Cairns?”   “Yes“, I said. He consulted the airplane’s movements for the day, on his computer. “Then” he said, looking quite shocked, “those bits have been sitting on that keel beam ever since midnight, last night – for over 20 hours. The airplane has done 4 return trips to FNQ, so far today. Somehow, they haven’t fallen out, or been jolted out on landing and not one crew member or ground engineer has noticed them, until now.” 

I was already thinking of just some of the many variations of possibilities that could have ensued, during the 8 previous flight, such as:

• The maelstrom of airflow around the open wheel wells, on any of the 8 take-offs or landings conducted before I noticed those foreign objects, could have dragged increasing lengths of the lock wire out of the canister, forming a ‘spider’s web‘ of stainless steel lock wire which, on landing gear retraction or extension, could have wreaked havoc on any of the hundreds of innocent and unsuspecting electrical and hydraulic components, anywhere in that wheel well; it would undoubtedly led to a very difficult situation for the operating crew, trying to troubleshoot, sifting through a litany of false warnings as well as real ones.

 

• Either the spanner head, or the canister itself, could have been jolted or simply fallen out, as the airplane manoeuvred after takeoff or, especially, on approach to landing, over the cities of Brisbane or Cairns. As weighty projectiles, they could have easily killed someone, or crashed through a building window or vehicle windscreen.

 

• Either item, or both, could have fallen out onto a tarmac, taxiway or runway and caused a foreign object hazard for the engines or tyres of the next-passing airplane : Remember the fatal Concorde tragedy?

On this occasion, after conferring with the Company Flight Safety Manager, I did submit an Aviation Safety Incident Report (ASIR) on this significant lapse in standard maintenance procedures. Nevertheless, I did have some nightmares about the various possibilities, for some time, in the months that followed.

The major lesson I learned from these 3 incidents, roughly 20 years apart over those years, was that no matter what time constraints may be present, the simple walk-around inspection is non-negotiable and must be conscientious, even if you end up finding nothing wrong. 3 problems, in 55 years and approximately 20,000 walk-arounds, is a very low score; but it is still 3 more than it should have been. They underscore the overwhelming need for standard operating procedures (SOPs) to be followed by all who commit – and support aviation, in all its facets.

 

Wishing you many safe landings

 

Captain David M Jacobson FRAeS MAP

 

Would you care to experience that unsurpassed sense of accomplishment, derived from executing consistently beautiful landings, more often?

For starters, Download the FREE Jacobson Flare LITE, our no fuss/no frills introduction. Here we demonstrate, step by step, the application of the Jacobson Flare on a typical grass airstrip at Porepunkah, YPOK.

 

We invite you to browse the consistently positive comments on our Testimonials page. Many pilots, of all levels of experience, have downloaded our Apps. Read about their own experiences with the Jacobson Flare technique and the App.

Then download the COMPLETE Jacobson Flare app – for iOS. You’re already possibly paying $300+/hour to hire an aeroplane: You’ll recover the cost of the app, in just ONE LESS-NEEDED CIRCUIT. Moreover, you’ll have an invaluable reference tool, throughout your entire life in aviation.

Download the COMPLETE Jacobson Flare App for iOS devices now.

 

We invite you, also, to review our new, FREE companion app,

offering a convenient way of staying abreast of our latest blogs.

 

Download the Jacobson Flare NEWS App for iOS devices now.

Non-normal checklists don’t always cover the situation

Trust your instincts – your natural Master Warning system

Trust your instincts – your natural Master Warning system

Nearly 30 years ago while suffering from sinusitis, I had been on a few days’ sick leave. The lessons I learned, from a premature return to my airline flight duties as a B737 Captain were well worthwhile : and well worth sharing. Sometimes, things just don’t feel quite right …

This is the fourth article in a planned occasional series, sharing some most memorable and treasured experiences. This one is also from my own career : We do plan to feature other, highly esteemed pilot friends and colleagues, who are only too willing to share their collective aviation experience. The crucial lessons that we learned along the way are just as valid today. They contribute, in no small way, to that intangible but essential quality known in aviation as ‘airmanship’.

After about 5 days off duty, I telephoned Australian Airlines’ crewing department and advised that I was fit for reserve duty ‘tomorrow’. The response, “Great, DJ, but it’s not reserve duty anymore: It’s a Melbourne-Sydney return (MEL-SYD-MEL), early tomorrow morning.”

In the middle of a course of antibiotics, I returned to our kitchen to help my wife prepare dinner and promptly sliced my thumb, instead of an onion! Four hours later, with a freshly-stitched and bandaged thumb, I rang crewing back and advised I was back on sick leave for one more day, feeling well able to commence a 2-day trip on the following morning.

Two mornings later, while I was driving out to Melbourne Airport, I realised that I’d forgotten to pack my anti-biotic tablets. ‘Oh well, it’s only a 2-day trip – bad luck‘, I thought.

After parking and making my way to the MEL terminal, I signed on and prepared to flight plan our first day’s flying: Melbourne-Adelaide-Alice Springs-Darwin (MEL-ADL-ASP-DRW). As I reached in my jacket pocket for my reading glasses, I realised that I’d left them at home, too. ‘Oh we’ll, we’re only flying 6 sectors over the 2 days and only one is at night‘, I reasoned. ‘I do have my second, tinted pair of sunglasses and my first officer can fly the last leg: I’ll just crank up my cockpit lighting!’

We completed and filed the flight plan, headed for the gate, to pre-flight our B737-300; we even managed to push back on time – a minor miracle of logistics, I always thought!

After some time after take-off, well-established in the climb, we both became aware of a somewhat disconcerting irregular and intermittent noise that seemed to emanate from outside and under the nose of the aircraft. I thought it sounded ‘mechanical‘, like the ground engineer’s access panel for the headphone socket; my FO thought it sounded more like some sort of odd electronic signal, coming from the cockpit aural warning speaker, situated on the side of the centre pedestal, between us, by his left knee. We couldn’t resolve the issue, either way. It certainly didn’t seem serious and we wrote it up in the aircraft technical log, for the engineers in ADL to assess.

After arrival and engine shut-down in ADL, my first question to the receiving engineer after he plugged in, was whether or not the access panel was open on arrival. It wasn’t, so we started exploring other possible causes of the unusual sound we had experienced. In the middle of that discussion, he asked us to confirm our fuel uplift for the next sector to Alice Springs. I gave him the figure from memory, without first confirming from our flight plan.

The penny dropped as we were completing our cockpit preparation, while our passengers were still boarding: I had given the engineer the wrong fuel figure. 8.00 tonnes, not 11.0, as planned. There were no weather considerations, but we had planned to carry Mount ISA, in Queensland, the then nearest alternate aerodrome, as Alice has just one usable runway. Many experienced pilots take this precaution, in such circumstances: it widens the options. I asked the FO to radio our company and request the refuellers back to top us up to 11.0 tonnes.

The first officer seemed reluctant to do so; I asked again. He said, “We’ll be delayed”. I replied, “I don’t care, I want the fuel“. He kept pushing: “But 8.00 tonnes is legal.” “But is it safe?”, I asked. He kept on resisting my request to call the company. We needed a circuit breaker.

I said, “Just give me a minute: I want to meditate.” “You want to WHAT?”, he asked. “I want to meditate.” I closed my eyes briefly, ignoring him and everything else, while I re-capped the day’s progress, so far. I’d left my tablets and my glasses at home, We still had the noise issue, unresolved by the engineers – and – I’d caused the wrong fuel figure to be loaded. After about 30 seconds, I opened my eyes and looked at my watch. It wasn’t even 0900 hrs.

The B737 Master Warning light would not have been any clearer than the instinctive message I had received: I turned to my FO and asked of him, “How many events does it take to create a decent incident, or even an accident?” “Oh, say 5-7?”

“That’s right”, I said, “We are already up to 4: Do you want to try for 5, or 6? I’m not enjoying today, so far. Now, are you familiar with the term, ‘Command Decision’?”  “Yes, of course”, he said.  “Well mate, this is one of them. Now please – call the company – I want that fuel.”  We had to wait ages for the tanker to return and we finally departed about 17 minutes late, self-chastened, but feeling much more comfortable. The paperwork could wait until later. (The unusual ‘noise’ issue was never actually resolved by the engineers – but neither did it re-occur on the subsequent 2 sectors.)

The leg above the Simpson Desert to Alice Springs was clear and as beautiful as ever and we commenced our descent into Alice.

This is absolutely true: As we passed through 7000 ft at about 25nm out and still at 300kts IAS, the Tower controller called us and asked, “What’s your fuel endurance (fuel remaining, expressed in minutes), right now?” My FO responded (- we had plenty of fuel to hold and/or to divert to ISA). “Oh, that’s good”, replied the controller, “Because we have a disabled aircraft on the runway, right now.”

The expression on my FO’s face was incredulous. “How did you know that was going to happen“, he asked, “Because you did know, didn’t you?” I replied, “No, I couldn’t have known that a Piper Navaho light twin was going to blow a main gear tyre on landing, but the signs were there, that something along those lines was bound to happen. They just stood out, like that Master Warning red light can.”

We had to hold above Alice Springs for about 50 minutes, so we took the opportunity to do some scenic flying around Alice and the famed McDonnell Ranges in the ‘red centre’, while engineers worked to remove the disabled Navaho from the runway, so we could land. A rival company’s B727, behind us and still well south of Alice, didn’t have any extra fuel to hold and had to return to Adelaide.

On shut-down, the company Traffic Officer boarded and she commented, “We saw the ‘delayed-departure-Captain-wanted-more-fuel’ report in the computer and wondered, ‘What’s he want more fuel for? There’s not a cloud in the sky! Then, we learned about the runway being closed. How did you know that was going to happen, because it hadn’t, at the time of your departure?”

There was nothing concrete that had warned me of that impending event.

I didn’t need it: My instincts had arced up, after I had recognised the way in which  the pattern of our day was unfolding. I was far from comfortable, so I insisted on recovering the situation with something that you can never have too much of: Fuel (- unless, of course, you are on fire!) Our original, flight-planned fuel figure was well researched, as it turned out.

The clear message is: ‘Learn to trust your instincts‘. They are an invaluable and innate Master Warning System: Something we were all born with. They cost nothing and they do work.

Sometimes, things just don’t feel quite right … it may well be that they’re not.

You can practise developing them further, by applying them as a cross-check of your more conscious thought processes, such as when ordering from a restaurant menu. (How many times have you had an initial instinctive impulse to order a dish, ignored it and then lived to regret it?)

The other great and obvious take-out for me, from this day, was ‘do not return to flying duties (or any critical work) from sick leave, until you have fully recovered‘.

 

Wishing you many safe landings

 

Captain David M Jacobson FRAeS MAP

 

Would you care to experience that unsurpassed sense of accomplishment, derived from executing consistently beautiful landings, more often?

For starters, Download the FREE Jacobson Flare LITE, our no fuss/no frills introduction. Here we demonstrate, step by step, the application of the Jacobson Flare on a typical grass airstrip at Porepunkah, YPOK.

 

We invite you to browse the consistently positive comments on our Testimonials page. Many pilots, of all levels of experience, have downloaded our Apps. Read about their own experiences with the Jacobson Flare technique and the App.

Then download the COMPLETE Jacobson Flare app – for iOS. You’re already possibly paying $300+/hour to hire an aeroplane: You’ll recover the cost of the app, in just ONE LESS-NEEDED CIRCUIT. Moreover, you’ll have an invaluable reference tool, throughout your entire life in aviation.

Download the COMPLETE Jacobson Flare App for iOS devices now.

 

We invite you, also, to review our new, FREE companion app,

offering a convenient way of staying abreast of our latest blogs.

 

Download the Jacobson Flare NEWS App for iOS devices now.