Playing hyd and go seek on an emergency divert - hydraulic system failure

Approach, Nov, 2001 by Brick Imerman

I had been out of the cockpit for four years and, statistically speaking, was about as high risk for a mishap as you could find. I completed a quick Cat. IV FA-18 syllabus at the FRS. While an FRS student, I also was conducting XO duties, travelling to Hornet Executive Steering Committee meetings, attending SHARPs, and fulfilling the requirements of XO charm school.

One night when no VFA-147 JOs were available to fly a red air (adversary support) sortie in Superior Valley, I was called to fill in. I was grateful for the flight time and glad to be back in the squadron where I had served my department head tour. I was reassured to see I was flying on the wing of one of the community's strongest sticks--the 2000 Carrier Aviator of the Year.

While the flight lead prepared the tactical portion of the brief, I double-checked the weather and NOTAMS. The NOTAMS were OK, but the weather was marginal. When airborne, we would check if the range was useable for the strike coming in off the USS Constellation. Since we were in the midst of fog season, I also checked NAS China Lake, our primary divert. Everything seemed fine, until I realized I had no clue what time their field closed. I queried the Argo ODO, and he said China Lake should be open until midnight.

His "should" didn't reassure me very much, so I pulled out my IFR Supplement, got the phone number, and called China Lake Base Ops. "Field shuts down at 2230," was the reply. That was good info to know, as the strikers had a TOT of 2220 to 2230, aligned precisely with when we should be flying by China Lake on our way home.

We headed over the mountains toward Superior Valley. The weather-guessers were right: There were thin layers of milky clouds from 5,000 to 25,000 feet. As we passed the mountains and hit the desert target area, the weather lifted enough for us to clear the range and work the low end of the 10,000-to-15,000-foot block. With no moon and working under a hazy overcast, it was dark as could be.

The strikers were late getting to the target area. After a 10-minute delay, they called inbound, and we commenced our run. We hadn't gone 30 seconds when I heard that familiar deedle-deedle of the master caution.

The DDI showed a hyd 1A caution, but the pressure still checked good. I reported it to the flight lead, and he promptly knocked off the run and passed me the lead.

As luck would have it, our run had us headed almost directly for China Lake. However, the first thought that crossed my mind--a thought which numerous aviators have had in this situation--I knew better. As if my flight lead sensed my internal debate, he said over aux freq, "You are going to China Lake, aren't you?"

"Affirmative," I replied.

It was as dark as the ace of spades. As I reached for my nav bag, I saw the hyd 1A caution flip to hyd 1B. "Oh great," I thought. "I'm losing fluid and the system doesn't know where from, so it's trying to isolate the leak." I sucked the left engine back to idle to conserve remaining hydraulic fluid. The good news was I was now only 20 miles from the field, and hyd 2 was holding strong; this was going to be a no-brainer.

I fumbled through my nav bag and grabbed my China Lake approach plate. I knew I wouldn't have to shoot an approach, but I needed to know the minimum safe altitude in all sectors, since the hills around the field were invisible in the darkness. "Got it--that's my min alt," I said.

Then I was back in the nav bag, fumbling for my NATOPS pocket checklist. After what was only a moment but seemed like an eternity, I found the hydraulics section.

Suddenly a sickening thought hit me. What time is it? I looked at my clock--2229. Quickly, I called China Lake Tower on 340.2.

"Tower, Jason 41, 15 southeast on an emergency divert," I called.

"Roger, Jason 41. I was just turning the field lights off. Are you in need of an arrested landing?" tower responded.

"Negative, I just need to put it on deck," I responded.

"Roger, controllers have gone home, but I'll keep the lights on for you. Landing runway 14," tower said.

Whew! I went back to my pocket checklist. The hyd 1B was accompanied by a FCS caution light and a left-leading-edge flap channel 1 and 4 failure. I knew there were warnings in the NATOPS about such a situation, but I couldn't remember whether or not they called for resetting the FCS. I fumbled in the darkness, flying with one engine at idle, trying to set up on the duty runway, which was 180 degrees out from where we were, trying to read the checklist, that promptly slid off my kneeboard and fell to the deck.

I was now officially behind the jet.

Then I remembered: aviate, navigate, and communicate. With a good hyd 2, all I had to do was get my landing gear down and fly to touchdown.

With this simplified plan, I slowed below 250 knots and dropped the gear handle and flaps. Problem was, I neither heard nor felt the familiar clunk. I looked for gear indication; none down. Bright red light in the gear handle. I looked again at the gear handle and double-checked hyd 2 pressure. Handle down, 3,000 psi.