Chalk up another one for "the chamber" - fighter pilots experience with hypoxia - Brief Article

Approach, May, 2002 by Rich Archer

I was a salty RAG student, almost two-thirds through the grueling FA-18 syllabus. After a successful strike detachment, our class had a week to relax before anxiously jumping into the fighter-weps phase of training.

It was Friday, and the only thing between that morning and an epic weekend in San Diego was my first solo BFM (basic fighter maneuvering) hop. I rolled out of the rack in a great mood just after 0930. The hop was in the early afternoon, and I had nothing else on my schedule, other than the Martini Ranch in downtown San Diego at 2100--it didn't get any better than that.

As I drove to the squadron and through the peculiar aromas of Lemoore and Hanford, I couldn't think of anything but my weekend in the big city. I'd make quick work of the poor, helpless instructor who happened to be my wingman for the day, and roll down to San Diego in time to meet my buds for happy hour.

I quickly set up my briefing room and received a few last-minute tips from my friend who had just flown a BFM hop that morning. Unfortunately, my instructor was a bit more long-winded during the brief than I had hoped for. After all, what more could I learn than what's printed in the Top Gun Tactical Manual?

After a few of my typical, RAG-student questions, we finally wrapped up the brief with only two minutes to spare before our walk time. I hastily wrote down a few notes and headed directly for the SDO desk to get our lineup. I was way behind my usual timeline. I still needed to complete the final and mandatory portion of my personal preflight checklist: a head call. My body definitely wouldn't handle 7.5 Gs if I didn't adjust my gross weight before takeoff.

Relieved to have finalized my checklist, I literally sprinted through maintenance to read the book. I went through the PR shop, carelessly threw on my flight gear, and headed directly for the jet. During my cursory pre-flight, I heard the distinct hum of my instructor's APU. He was about to start his engines, and I hadn't even begun to think about strapping in!

I worked my way through the start-up checks much faster than normal but still didn't manage to make up any time. I finally met the impatient instructor, in marshal, after my record-breaking, start-up sequence. He called for taxi and we proceeded to the duty runway. Much to my dismay, tower immediately cleared us for takeoff. I still hadn't finished plugging in my radar sets as I rolled across the hold-short line and set my jet in position.

We launched as a section and pressed toward the working area. My lead pushed me out to combat spread about the time we leveled off at our final cruising altitude. My head still was spinning, but I finally managed to get all my "stuff" in one sock and put out the helmet fire which was burning a giant hole through my skullcap. The transit time to the area proved to be a nice break in the chaos. I took a deep breath and popped off one side of my oxygen mask to grab a drink of water and relax.

As I looked over the notes I had jotted onto my kneeboard card, I began to get that funny feeling: My head felt as if it was buzzing, and I began to have trouble understanding the simple notes I had just written. I vaguely was familiar with this feeling but couldn't quite pinpoint it. It took a few seconds for me to realize I had felt this way three years ago in that silly pressurization chamber and now was suffering from hypoxia.

Without any hesitation, I rapidly snapped my oxygen mask back on my helmet and began to breathe heavily. The strange sensation passed, and my head finally cleared after 15 seconds or so. I glanced at my cabin-pressure gage and was astonished to see it read nearly 21,000 feet. After some simple troubleshooting, I found the obvious cause of the problem--my cabin-pressurization switch was in the RAM/DUMP OFF position. How could I have forgotten to double-check such a simple step in the prestart checklist?

The rest of the flight went without incident, except I ended up being the poor, helpless part of the equation.

I've taken away a few good lessons from this eye-opening incident, which easily could have resulted in a serious mishap rather than a simple Approach article.

Never feel rushed to breeze through your checklists. They are written for a reason and may help you catch a mistake that could save your life. Take a few extra minutes to make sure the checklists are complete.

Keep your mind in the game. My preoccupation with the big weekend definitely contributed to my bonehead mistake. I'm quite certain almost every aviator has been guilty of this fault at one point. I'm not trying to beat a dead horse, but always remember it's not over until you walk out of the debrief.

I broke NATOPS by taking off my mask during the flight. I don't know any TacAir aviator who hasn't been guilty of this at one time or another. If you find yourself wanting to bend the rules, please take a second or two to think before you act.

Finally, the low-pressure chamber is invaluable training. There's actually more to it than just good laughs and bad flatulence.