CHIEF WARRANT OFFICER 2 SHANE INGRAM
1-244th Assault Helicopter Brigade
Louisiana Army National Guard
Hammond, Louisiana
We are often warned about the dangers of allowing mission pressure to affect your decisions and intuition as a pilot, but there is no publication to be airdropped or memorized. My instructor pilots (IPs), both throughout flight school and in my unit, reiterated how important it was to identify and mitigate it if possible. Early in my career, I learned valuable lessons in risk management and the various types of mission pressure that can influence a crew and their decisions. This story is one example.
As a newly appointed Readiness Level 1 aviator, I was ready to take on the next challenge and happy to fly with anyone other than an IP. So, when the opportunity arose to transport a UH-60M cross country, I jumped on the mission. The task seemed simple enough: depart Louisiana, overnight in Lincoln, Nebraska, and end our mission in North Dakota the following day. I had never visited the northern Midwest, nor had I flown over/through snow. I was looking forward to the sights and experience and felt lucky when I was chosen for the flight.
The first leg of the mission was fairly uneventful — blue skies and a slight crosswind persisted out of the west from fuel stop to stop until we eventually reached our overnight for Day 1. I was impressed with Lincoln’s infrastructure while driving around and noted that I would need to come visit when I had more time to truly explore the city. We enjoyed some BBQ for dinner and bedded down for the night, knowing Day 2 would present slightly more of a challenge. We had been monitoring a substantial weather system to the northwest headed our way with no signs of deteriorating.
The next morning, we met in the hotel lobby and made our way to the airfield. The brisk westerly wind during preflight was a constant reminder of the approaching weather, as well as a jab in our sides to get going. Once the aircraft was ready, our pilot in command (PC), our highly experienced crew chief (CE) and I met at the nose to discuss the execution. The system was knocking on our door, making this morning a do-or-die decision. Either we took off in the next 30 minutes and stayed east of the weather or we waited two to four days for it to pass. Yes, it was that large of a system, and the PC had strong opinions about moving forward with the mission. After a brief discussion about potential courses of action, we decided to hop in and prepare for departure.
During runup, the conditions required blade deice tests to be performed. After an initial failure, we performed the tests again, only to obtain the same result (Strike 1). This was certainly unexpected. Being from Louisiana, the deice and anti-ice capabilities are rarely used during missions. Although they are tested regularly, there were no annotations in the ACN for these particular deficiencies on this airframe.
At this point, current conditions and forecasts still called for marginal visual flight rules (VFR) conditions at worst, so we decided to proceed with runup. During this process, we also discovered the windshield anti-ice was inoperable for two of the three panels (Strike 2). The inoperable systems, coupled with the icing significant meteorological information starting at 2,000 feet mean sea level (MSL), essentially eliminated any option for climbing to instrument flight rules (IFR) altitudes for this leg of the mission. Again, after a brief discussion and checking forecasts, we decided to press on.
We departed Lincoln under marginal conditions, praying the ceiling would hold long enough to reach our destination. Unfortunately, our prayers were not heard. About 30 minutes into the flight, ceilings started dropping — 1,200, 900, 700 feet, and we descended with them (Strike 3). Now officially scud-running anywhere from 100-300 feet above ground level (AGL) depending on the terrain, our entire crew was on edge. My duty was navigation and obstacle identification along with our CE, while the PC manned the controls. I was scanning inside and out for any towers, no matter their height. At this point, if it was depicted on the sectional, it was a factor. Even flying over some traditional farm windmills had our CE calling out, either for operational or nostalgic reasons.
Still picking our way northbound, I noticed a few wind turbine symbols surrounded by a dashed line in our flight path. This being new to me, I inquired, and the PC informed me that it was a turbine farm depicted by the dashed outline that should be avoided. I advised him to turn left to a 300 degree bearing, allowing us to circumnavigate the farm on the west side, then continue north. He executed, and I resumed my normal scan. Shortly after, our CE identified a windmill to our right. I began scanning for a traditional farm windmill to the east, like the ones we had seen earlier. What I witnessed instead will forever be engrained as a haunting memory: a solid superstructure pole rising into the low ceiling and, like something out of a nightmare, the tip of the turbine blade spinning out below the clouds, one at a time.
As eerie as the sight was, the turbine’s location was verified via the map and our current heading. We were doing OK considering the circumstances. As we continued, we identified more and more “windmills” to our right, each brandishing that single blade from the cloud layer and making our bodies stiffen. Fixated on my scan sector, our CE suddenly called out a turbine to our left (Strike 4). There was a deafening silence for a second. “There’s no way,” I thought. We were well west of the depicted farm on the map by at least a mile with no other turbine symbols nearby. Luckily, the PC was quick to react, executing a return-to-target maneuver to exit the now-apparent farm we were traversing directly through. He leveled the wings on the exact reverse bearing and continued southeast bound until we were well clear of all turbines.
As we continued south and eventually west, remaining well clear of the farm, we noted the grid for our report. Our entire crew was certain we had remained outside the depicted farm, and we had also verified we had the latest version of maps prior to leaving home station.
Lessons learned
I had several takeaways from this experience. First, never assume unnecessary risks based on weather timing and forecasts. Second, if vital aircraft systems fail, do not proceed if you think it will become a limiting factor. Finally, navigation aids are just that — aids. Trust your capabilities as an aviator and your crew. They may just save your life. Back at home station, we contacted the Federal Aviation Administration and requested a review of the sectional. A few months later, it was updated to accurately depict the farm.