Crashes from ashes … to ashes from crashes which way is up? Flight Hazards come in all descriptions

Flying Safety, Nov, 2004 by Tom Reichert

Several months ago I lost a brother warrior and friend in an aircraft mishap on our local training range. He apparently became spatially disoriented on a clear, VFR day. All of us who knew him wondered how this could've happened to such a talented aviator. Recently I had the uncomfortable distinction of finding out ... firsthand.

I was performing an F-16 functional check flight (FCF); the weather was "clear and a million." A front had passed through the night before. The large amount of rain, unable to be absorbed by the hard sand, had created a shallow lake over much of the area. This lake was as smooth as glass ... in fact, it acted like a mirror, perfectly reflecting the surrounding mountains and sky. Overall it was a beautiful day to be flying.

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I was "in the groove," well ahead of both the jet and my checklist. All of the engine checks were completed and the jet was performing flawlessly. I was going to have extra JP-8 ... and there were always other flights of F-16s from my unit on the range. A little Red Air in a slick Viper is always fun.

One of the required FCF maneuvers is the FOD check. This involves rolling the aircraft upside down (a la Thunderbird 5) and holding it there for several seconds. Any foreign objects will "fall" to the top of the canopy, where they may be retrieved. This can be a bit challenging, retrieving objects while maintaining inverted level flight, but it is not impossible.

I normally perform this check just prior to exiting the airspace, at about 10,000 feet MSL (5000 feet AGL in the area I was working). Because I was so far ahead of my flight profile I elected to perform the check before departing 20,000 feet. I rolled inverted and bunted to hold level flight. I wasn't surprised when a rubber band flew up in front of my face; it was the nickel and the half bag of M&M's[R] candy that caught me off guard. I managed to pin both the coin and rubber band against the canopy with one hand, but as I took my hand off the stick to grab the M&M's[R], things started to go downhill ... in more ways than one.

The candy exited the opening in the bag, further distracting me from what should have been my primary task (maintaining aircraft control). Since both my hands were occupied, I was no longer actively flying the jet and my Viper did what Vipers are wont to do ... seek 1G flight. The nose dropped and, as it did, the FOD began to fall "up" into my lap. I was moving my "brain bucket" rapidly in an attempt to keep track of the FOD.

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I now have a better understanding of all those flight surgeon lectures regarding the inner ear and spatial disorientation (SD). I was completely "eyes in" the cockpit, the jet was inverted and falling at 1G, I had no outside horizon reference, and the bottom of the jet was blocking the sun (strong "up" cue). About this time (less than 10 seconds from the beginning of the maneuver), I glanced up to check my attitude. Remember the rain, the lake, and the perfect mirror on the desert floor? It looked (and felt) like I was in 10-15 degrees of climb, with nothing but blue sky above me. Since I felt I had the aircraft under control, I continued to retrieve the FOD in the cockpit.

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About now (15 seconds according to a review of my HUD tape), the hairs on the back of my neck began to stand up. How had the jet gotten upright? I didn't remember rolling it back that way. I looked outside again and was comforted by the view of the blue sky above me. Then I looked at the HUD ... it didn't look like it was supposed to. I crosschecked the attitude indicator and what I saw shocked me--and made me drop the FOD I had collected. All I saw was brown ... and the numbers were upside down! I executed the unusual attitude recovery procedures (you know ... those "worthless" exercises they make us do in the simulator) and brought the jet back to level flight just as my cockpit "line in the sky" altitude alert sounded (set at 11,500 feet MSL for this mission).

I flew straight and level for a minute or so and then carefully finished the check profile. I sheepishly took my extra JP-8 home with me and landed. When I reviewed the tapes, I discovered I'd initiated the recovery 60-degrees nose low and in 175 degrees of bank, and I'd lost about 8000 feet of altitude from start to finish. If I'd have performed this check at my normal 5000 feet AGL I might not have recovered prior to ground impact.

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I shared this episode with my squadron at our next pilot meeting. I figure if an instructor with over 3000 fighter hours can tell everyone this can happen to him, maybe it will get others thinking about SD and how it can happen to anybody ... even to them ... even on a clear day.

I have no idea what was nagging at me after looking outside the jet and convincing myself all was well ... when it wasn't. Maybe it was my T-37 IP, who beat instrument crosscheck procedures into my skull all those years ago. Maybe it was the unusual attitudes I had to perform during my last instrument simulator mission. Maybe it was all those boring flight surgeon lectures on SD. Or maybe it was just my friend's way of telling me there were no fighter cockpits open in Heaven's Air Force just yet ... and making sure someone could answer the question of how SD can happen on a beautiful VMC day.