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In the early postwar era, the Beech 18 was the pre-eminent “business aircraft” and “feeder airliner”. Besides carrying passengers, its civilian uses have included aerial spraying, sterile insect release, fish stocking, dry-ice cloud seeding, aerial firefighting, airmail delivery, ambulance service, numerous movie productions, skydiving, freight, weapon and drug smuggling, engine testbed, skywriting, banner towing, and stunt aircraft. Many are privately owned, around the world, with 240 in the US still on the FAA Aircraft Registry in August 2017.Over 9,000 units were produced, making it one of the most successful aircraft of its era.
The Twin Beech is powered by two Pratt & Whitney R-985 Wasp Junior radial engines, each producing 450 horsepower. This enables the aircraft to reach a cruising speed of 190 mph with a range of approximately 1,200 miles. Its maximum takeoff weight of 9,300 pounds and large cabin space made it suitable for cargo, passengers, or specialized equipment.
After the war, many surplus aircraft were repurposed for civilian use in business aviation, regional airlines, and bush operations.
After the war, many surplus aircraft were repurposed for civilian use in regional airline operations.
One of the companies that had acquired surplus Beech 18s had secured a long term contract to carry auto parts from Oshawa to Detroit for General Motors and almost every night around 9 pm, one of those flights would head west full of parts and usually with only the one pilot on board. These were non-pressurized aircraft affectionately nicknamed “Bug Smasher” or “Twin Beech” or by their ex-military name C-45 or “Expeditor”. It was known that the hapless pilots were usually junior and, no doubt, underpaid taking on all odds to gain the necessary experience for a coveted airline career some time in the future. Such it was in those days. The equipment was often not much modernized from the military days so the pilots likely hoped for good weather as they filed their flight plans.
It was common practice for tower controllers to monitor the area control centre enroute frequency.
It was a winter night shift in a Western Ontario air traffic control tower. One controller on duty was the norm on most snowy nights when most of the flying activities had ended for the day. The snow plow operators were happy to be able to go about their clearing operations without having to hold short or vacate runways to wait for arrivals or departures. I was the one lonely controller with the console lights turned down low monitoring the area control centre frequency. My ears perked up when the centre frequency voices took on a new note.
It was common practice for tower controllers to monitor the area control centre enroute frequency even with the volume down low. The airport was central to the region and was well equipped as an alternate with long runways and an ATC control tower staffed with trained controllers from 6 am until midnight every day. The longest runways had front course and back course ILS (Instrument Landing Systems) and an on-field VOR that provided navigation and approach capabilities for aircraft on instrument flights.
The Tower had no radar. Radar was available at the area control center about 77nm to the east at CYYZ (Toronto) and, due to its limitations in the ‘70s, it was “line of sight”—meaning the farther away from the centre radar transmitter the aircraft flew, the higher it needed to be for the radar controllers to “see it” on their scopes. The next radar facility was across the international border to the southwest and it too had similar coverage limitations. Enhanced radar with digital tags attached to each aircraft target was still being developed and not yet available in Canada. So a westerly IFR flight would typically fly at 6,000, 8,000 or 10,000 feet, in order to remain in radar coverage for most of the flight. Of course, altitude was also necessary to maintain strong navigation signals from the ground-based aids to navigation—years before GPS satellite navigation.
In the ‘70s, enroute navigation was usually on VOR Airways (Very High Frequency Omnidirectional Radio). Instrument flights were conducted between these navigation beacons along airways (often called highways in the sky) and a flight’s progress was measured by crossing intersections (beams from other navigation aids), or in some cases by DME (Distance Measuring Equipment) signals sent out from some VOR stations. Not all VOR stations provided DME and not all aircraft had the necessary Equipment on board.
I guess it was the tone in the voice that alerted me to pay closer attention to the enroute controller and a pilot conversation. Pretty quickly, and after a confirming conversation by telephone with the ACC controller, the situation became clear.
The pilot was unable to climb his Beech 18 to his planned cruising altitude of 6,000 feet. He had encountered a rapid build-up of ice on his aircraft which had the combined penalty of increased weight and decreased maneuverability. He was in cloud at a low altitude unable to climb higher and becoming very afraid, judging by the tone of his voice.
Still east of the airport flying westward, it was becoming clear from the conversation that he was not going to make it to destination in the US with his load of car parts plus it had become clear he was the only person on board his aircraft. This was a single pilot flying on instruments and in real trouble unable to maintain altitude due to the ice load his aircraft was struggling to carry. The centre controller was losing his radar signal on the aircraft due to the diminishing altitude and distance away.
This was one of those situations when I knew just what this pilot was going through—from my own experience.
About four years earlier, I was a first officer on a Pilgrim Airlines Twin Otter. We had departed Windsor Locks Hartford airport for New York’s JFK and our weather briefing had predicted a narrow layer of ice that we could out-climb and settle above it at 5,000’ cruising altitude. With 10 passengers and luggage on board the airplane, it was well under gross weight, but it soon became apparent we could not out climb the ice buildup. The Twin Otter is very powerful, but its fixed landing gear, wing struts and various hinges, plus the thick high lift wing gave lots of places for the ice to accumulate.
About four years earlier, I was a first officer on a Pilgrim Airlines Twin Otter.
It wasn’t long before the controls became sluggish and the rate of climb fell off. There was not enough power available to continue the climb. The next issue was the ice flying off the twin propellers when the de-icing boots were activated. The ice slamming into the cabin walls echoed around inside and the passengers were becoming very agitated and afraid. The wing icing boots needed to be inflated at just the right time to break off leading edge ice and the timing was tricky.
It was soon obvious our New York destination was out of the question. We requested and were granted diversion to New Haven— about half way.
With our diminished flight controllability and heavy ice load, we received vectors to swing out over Long Island Sound and turn carefully to approach straight in from the south on the north/south runway. We were able to break out of the clouds on long final approach; however, forward visibility was virtually impossible due to the windshield being almost totally covered with Ice. Except for a small defrosted area about the size of two American silver dollars in front of me in the right hand seat, there was no visibility to land. The Captain in the left seat handed over control to me and we completed the landing successfully.
Once on the terminal ramp, it was time to look over the airplane and try to decide how to break off the ice—as much as six inches on all the struts and even worse on the high tail and vertical stabilizer. It was quite a load of extra weight, but as important was the disrupted airflow over the control surfaces and wings. There is no telling what that would do to the stall speed.
This experience was a fresh memory and now there was another pilot in trouble and he needed help.
In the tower we had a device we referred to as a VHF DF or Direction Finder. With a digital readout, it would provide a bearing triggered by an aircraft pilot’s voice transmission and with a button, the bearing could be reversed and show a heading to fly to the airport. Often a count to five was necessary to lock on to a particular target if more than one aircraft was in the same vicinity. We could also select the ACC frequency and, in this situation, I had been following this aircraft radio conversation with the ACC controller. I had a good idea what track the airplane was flying relative to this airport. The centre controller was losing radar contact as the flight moved westward but was still able to provide a fairly accurate distance estimate.
The pilot’s navigation capability was falling off with the ice buildup on his antennas, but I was able to receive a strong bearing from his voice transmissions. The centre controller advised the pilot it was time to contact me in the control tower. From then, I was able to begin the process of guiding him to the airport following headings I provided. He was at full power but slow and unsure what would happen if he pulled power back. He was sure his wing flaps were covered with ice and not operable, but he did think his landing gear would lower.
His heading indicator was functioning so he was able to hold a heading. It was clear that he was not able to maneuver to circle to the longest runway so a straight in on the east/west runway was his only option. Terrain clearance became my biggest concern with only an estimate of his distance to the east. In the meantime, of course, I had cleared the snowplows away and discussed the situation with the Fire Hall. They had moved to their strategic waiting position close to the landing runway threshold. I had already cranked the runways lights up to setting five knowing the glow through the clouds might help to locate the runway.
Finally, out of the low cloud the airplane appeared from the east. From there, the pilot was able to advise runway lights in sight. Not knowing how much the pilot could see, I eased the runway settings down a couple of notches to reduce the glare. Closer in, he reported the landing gear appeared to be down. He was able to fly onto the runway and pull off the power to coast to a stop. He was able to taxi to a parking spot and that was it for the night. My guess is he had had enough for one day! We never spoke after that.
As a final note, The VHF DF was a wonderful tool and very useful even in non-emergency situations. Before radar was widely available, pilot position reports were often augmented by a bearing from the airport and “heading to fly” advice was quite useful to pilots in reduced visibility situations. Controllers would practice use of the device and it would be valuable in “triangulation” to locate a disoriented pilot if two ATC facilities could key on the same radio transmission.
When I look back I think I was lucky to have had my flying background. In this and a number of other occasions, it gave me a bit of extra experience to fall back on. If you have ever been on the receiving end of a GCA approach, you might sense a bit of what I am trying to say. There is great comfort in knowing someone else is there with you. There was a time when controllers were encouraged to learn to fly if they had not already and I think that was a good idea.
He has over 2,000 hours and a type rating in the DeHavilland Twin Otter. He also holds a Canadian Air Traffic Control License and was an ATC Control Tower Chief in Ontario,Canada.
No longer current, he had been known to call the local flying club to hire an instructor and a Cessna
172 – just to remind himself there are three dimensions.
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