Fly-In Follies - military pilot deals with turbulence - Brief Article

Approach, Dec, 2000 by Rick Pawlowski

The lead did his best to keep the flight out of the clouds. Turbulence violently rattled the formation.

I've never believed that we stop making mistakes when we get older, or that we ever get too old to learn from the mistakes we do make. I tend to make smaller mistakes these days, but I still make my share. Let me tell you about one I recently made as senior pilot in our command.

We had just finished a highly successful combat cruise to the Gulf, and the final task at hand was to bring all of the aircraft and aircrew home safely during the fly-in. Like everything else I do, I take my senior-pilot responsibilities very seriously. I scrutinized the plan beyond reason. I took every precaution, and we worked out even the smallest details with each of the pilots before the event. The plan was to take all four Hummers overhead the field for a diamond fly-by, then depart and re-enter as a division in starboard echelon for the break.

As with most careful plans, this one started off with deviations from the standard fly-by. To begin with, we were actually doing two separate fly-ins, at two different airfields, neither of which was our home field. Add the fact that we would be doing one of them on Friday at North Island and the other on Monday at Point Mugu. As a result of BRAC, all the West Coast Hawkeye squadrons had been relocated to NAS Pt. Mugu. We were the last Hummer squadron to move up from Miramar, and, as a result, most of the squadron's families were still located in the San Diego area. The North Island fly-in was added to resolve conflict and try to make everyone happy in both locations.

It should have been a no-brainer, doing both events over the span of a weekend homecoming. But just in case, I briefed all contingencies. I made sure each pilot thoroughly understood what was expected and knew when to call "uncle." After we briefed both events, I reminded each pilot that the very last thing any of us wanted was to have airplanes bump together overhead the field in front of spouses and children. If looking good and getting there on time ever caused a problem, we would make the tough call and err on the safe side. We all nodded our heads.

The weather overhead North Island was perfect for the first fly-in, and the event went flawlessly. We spent the weekend feeling good about our accomplishment, enjoying San Diego and our families. We spent little time worrying about the next fly-in; after all, we were just going to do the same exact thing up at Point Mugu. Monday morning came around and we once again gathered for the same brief. We again went over the event and all the possible problems in excruciating detail. Again, I left them with the very same speech, and, again, I got the collective head nods from all the aircrew.

This time the result wasn't so pretty. We took to the air, flying our trusty Hummers, looking as good as any eight Cuisinarts in close formation could look. We made it up to Point Mugu without too much trouble; the weather had pressed us to a much lower altitude than we had briefed. Turbulence at low altitude made it hard to keep the formation tight, but no one said they were having any problems keeping it tight or sticking to the plan. When we arrived at Point Mugu, things started to come apart. The controllers gave us their own version of a low-altitude "Hummer Dance" by spinning the entire formation through a hairpin turn only, four miles from the field. The weather and turbulence made it very hard for the slot Hawkeye to keep position, and we struggled in tot the (somewhat) diamond fly-by. As planned, we moved the formation to starboard echelon and tried to re-enter for the break. Once again, we were directed by tower to keep it inside three miles of the field. The lead did his best to keep the flight out of the clouds. Turbulence violently rattled the formation. We struggled in for the break, and each of us breathed deep sighs of relief when we finally touched down and brought our individual aircraft to a stop.

While most of the spectators failed to see much more than a loose formation fly-by, the pilots knew how perilously close they had come to making this a really memorable event for everyone. The plan had been successfully executed; however, it had not been done safely or in accordance with the brief. I was the senior pilot and had taken great pains to make everyone feel that this event would be done safely, and that we would not be taking any unnecessary risks. I failed my flight by not speaking out when I knew things were deteriorating. I failed to put myself in the shoes of the pilots flying the more difficult positions, and I continued to press with the plan. We had done this maneuver only two days earlier, and had done it spectacularly. This time, the conditions were such that we needed to call "uncle," but none of us did.

We have all talked this event through many times since that day, and we all agreed that, despite the poor headwork, we had managed to escape real trouble only because we were at the peak of our flying game. I am now much more confident that our pilots will call "uncle" when conditions drive them into a questionable situation. I still learn from the mistakes I make. Of course, the smartest pilots are the ones who learn from the mistakes others make.