It finally clicked!

Approach, April, 2002 by Seth C. Gagliardi

We left North Island Naval Air Station on a night and NVD-requalification mission off of the Southern California and Mexican coast. The flight turned out to be anything but standard. Flying H-46s off San Diego is usually a relaxed event, the weather is reliable, and there are plenty geographical landmarks and lights. For an H2P, who had been around the squadron for a while, night and NVD flights off the coast were a regular occurrence (especially since I was slated for a 'Gator cruise).

Tonight, we had the added benefit of company traffic going with us; the two aircraft would fly loose form out to the ship and take turns using the deck for our requal events.

At the brief, we discussed several issues that concerned us. We would be low-light all night, and the weather was clear, with a ceiling of 800 feet. The ship, while still within our mandated range for flights from shore, was farther out than usual, around 70 to 80 miles.

We received pigeons to the ship before launch and began the flight unaided. The ship was off the coast of Mexico, farther south than normal. It was working its way north at a snail's pace toward W-291, our operating area. We were able to reach Beaver control and requested flight following. As we flew closer to the ship, our altitude limitations, because of weather, would make it hard to communicate with Beaver control. We set a bingo and kept our primary TACAN dialed up (our reference for the pigeons we had received).

The frequency for ship's center was set in our bottom radio, and we tried to contact them. We still were no-joy on the ship when TACAN information from the primary station was lost. We set in the ship's TACAN channel, but it wouldn't lock on. All attempts to check with Beaver control for updated pigeons were unsuccessful. As predicted, our limited altitude hampered our ability to maintain communications. With 15 to 20 minutes before our bingo, we advised our playmate to dial up the squadron's back-door frequency. The two HACs decided to press on until we reached bingo, and, if we still hadn't established comms or a TACAN lock, we would turn around.

After 10 minutes, the ship's TACAN began to come in; the DME showed first; and the spinning needle eventually settled down to indicate the ship was 20 degrees farther west. We reevaluated our fuel situation and decided to continue. We told the second aircraft we had the ship's TACAN and again attempted to contact the ship. After two minutes, the ship responded, and told us we would have a green deck on arrival and provided their numbers. We continued inbound, landed and fueled.

After fueling, we coordinated flight operations with the ship. The scenarios would progress from unaided to aided operations. Although we had encountered a variety of minor problems on the flight out (loss of comms with Beaver control, no reliable TACAN for about 10 to 15 minutes, and the ship's course being more northwest than north), we concentrated more on our immediate training. However, we failed to talk about how those factors might affect our return flight. I was one of three pilots requaling and wasn't scheduled to be in the cockpit for the return trip, but my failure to think about possible contingencies almost came back to bite me.

We dropped off the two other pilots, who had been in the back of the H-46, so they could relax in the wardroom. The plan was to conduct a night vertrep to the aft spot of the LPD, while the other aircraft would cycle in to the forward spot for DLQs. However, the ship did not yet have a staged load, so we took turns on the forward spot and waited to break off for the night vertrep. There were no problems throughout the training, and we soon began the night vertrep. Once that was completed, we advised the ship and our other aircraft we would be off the ship's starboard side, working low and doing doppler approaches. The horizon was nearly non-existent, but the HAC and I had flown together several times, and we felt comfortable.

After knocking out the required number of dopplers, we climbed out and decided it was time to refuel and swap out pilots. They then could get on with their unaided work before both aircraft started aided ops. We had 50 minutes of gas left and advised tower we were inbound for a hot pump and crew swap. Just after they acknowledged us, the ship disappeared. Nothing. No lights, other than our partner's anti-smacks (they had been the port side of our now nonexistent ship, wrapping up their low work). We attempted to contact the ship, no luck. Then we called the other aircraft and asked if they saw or were able to contact the ship--no luck on their part, either.

We began to evaluate our options. The last time we had checked, North Island was 80 miles away. I hoped we now were closer, but the ship had been heading west as well as north, so there was no guarantee on that. We had no pigeons, no comms with the ship or Beaver control, no ship's TACAN, and no lock on any of the shore stations. The one divert field that usually could be relied on, San Clemente Island, was farther away than North Island because of the southern position of the ship. The only GPS available were the handhelds we carried, and they are known to have trouble acquiring signals in flight. To get them to work, you must hold them out the cockpit window at an angle and hope they pick up on signals that come in under the rotor arc. It seems the rotor arc tends to obscure, or, at least delay, any reliable input.