COMPILED BY KNOWLEDGE STAFF
Several years ago, my unit was deployed to Guatemala to aid in hurricane relief efforts. We deployed with a mix of UH-60A and UH-60L aircraft, all fitted with extended range fuel system tanks because of the lack of refuel locations around the country.
Our unit was a mixed bag of aviators from two companies. We were all going to be operating at high altitude and high temperatures for the first time. Even with right-seat rides and several performance planning classes, we managed to have a Class A accident and several close calls — one of which was mine.
We launched out of Guatemala City International Airport as a flight of two UH-60Ls, heading to the town of Caban. It was a typical mission profile of running as much water and food from the location up the valleys to assist the trapped locals. Caban was at about 6,500 feet mean sea level elevation and the temperatures were about 28-30 C. I was an overconfident junior W-2 unit trainer flying with a senior W-2 who had never been a pilot in command and with whom I had never flown.
At Caban, we discussed our loads, which were purposely 1,000 pounds lighter than our maximum payload. We conducted a thorough crew brief on our power available, noting we did not have out-of-ground-effect power. Instead, we had the diagonal width of a soccer field to perform an airspeed over altitude takeoff before we went OGE as the field ended at the side of a cliff and dropped into a valley.
I was confident we had discussed the procedure enough and had a good grasp of the situation. We cranked up the aircraft and prepared for departure. We came to a 10-foot hover and verified our performance planning. It matched what was planned and the weight onboard, so we made our call to trail and my co-pilot began his in-ground-effect acceleration.
As the aircraft accelerated, it dipped slightly and the nose came up just a little, which is normal and easily fixed with a slight application of forward cyclic. However, my co-pilot didn’t apply any more cyclic and, before I realized what was happening, we went from IGE to OGE and had not passed through effective translational lift. We both sensed this at the same time, but our reactions were different.
My co-pilot increased collective and pitched the nose back, killing our airspeed and putting us into turbine gas temperature limiting and drooping the rotor before I could take the controls. I grabbed the controls and pitched the nose forward and, against all natural instincts, pushed the collective down and dove into the valley that was about 200 feet below. I had high ground on the left and right and a set of 20-foot wires along a goat trail at the bottom of the valley. My co-pilot was losing it, saying how sorry he was. He was no help to the crew.
For whatever reason, a conversation with an old standardization pilot ran through my head about a similar situation. He had mentioned how he tried to make very minimal inputs into the controls while he was flying, so I managed to set the controls and checked the situation. Luckily, one crew chief had hopped up toward the center console and began to call my rotor, while the other crew chief monitored the wires we were quickly approaching.
My intention was to get the airspeed up and then add in power, if I had any time remaining. The last rotor call from my crew chief was 88 percent. He said it was starting to climb, so I checked my airspeed and saw it had increased to about 40. I started adding power and hoped for the best. We managed to get enough rotor and speed to stop our descent about 20 feet above the wires. This enabled us to climb over the ridge at the end of the valley and continue with our mission.
Thankfully, the generators stayed online and we had the altitude to use. I never had the chance to jettison the tanks, and my co-pilot didn’t get back to being a crew member for about 30 minutes into the flight. Thankfully, the crew chiefs on board were on their game because without their help, things might have turned out differently.