Bird strike
Like most pilots I've been riveted by the remarkable story of USAir 1549's ditching in the Hudson River. While it will be months before there is a final report from the NTSB as to the cause, the end result was a wonderful feat of airmanship and my hat is off to the entire crew – captain, co-captain and flight attendants -- for getting everyone out alive.
The flight attendants so far have been largely ignored by the press coverage but the accident is a fine reminder that they're there first and foremost to save your ass, not to serve it coffee.
The initial speculation about multiple bird strikes certainly seems a likely cause and regardless of the final conclusion as to the cause of the accident it's prompted some reflection on my part about my experiences with birds.
I've never bothered to keep an exact count but I've probably hit six birds in 1,460 hours of flying, or one on average every 243 hours. I don't know if that's a little or a lot but it's been a frequent enough experience that I don't get worked up about it when it happens.
So far the damage done has been minimal. Usually there's been nothing of note except a telltale streak of blood and maybe a few feathers. One left a slight dent on a leading edge, although there were already enough small dents on that particular wing that it was hard to say for sure it was my bird strike that caused it.
One bird strike in particular stands out however, not because of what happened at the time but because of what happened a few months later to another pilot at my company.
I was headed back from Sioux Falls one night with our operations director in the right seat. Still being new to the airplane I wasn't quite sure something unusual had happened when I heard a faint thump.
We flew along for a few minutes before the DO said “did we hit a bird?”
“I was wondering what that noise was,” I replied.
I looked around as best I could and everything seemed normal. Engine gauges all perfect, the airplane was flying just as sweetly has it had been a few minutes ago and the vibration levels hadn't changed.
Finally I dug out a flashlight and inspected the windshield.
Sure enough there was a long, bloody streak directly in front of the DO. We checked what we could see for damage, shrugged and continued on.
My only thought at the time was “I didn't realize birds flew at night.”
On the ground we looked the airplane over carefully and from the blood and feathers it was evident we'd hit a bird on the nose first and then with the windscreen. There was no damage so I grabbed some cleaner to tidy up the windscreen and thought nothing more about it.
Fast forward a few months.
A different pilot flying the same airplane on the same route after dark hit a duck on nearly the identical spot on the windscreen with dramatically different results.
In his case, the windscreen was destroyed and he declared an emergency then diverted to Redwood Falls and landed with the right side of his face covered in duck parts. His performance was nothing short of fantastic.
I can only imagine what it would be like to one minute be flying along quietly and routinely only to have a cabin filled with a rush of air and a destroyed windscreen the next.
The difference between my totally uneventful bird strike and his full-blown emergency was, at most, 16 inches.
Had the bird I hit been 16 inches higher, or our 310 flying 16 inches lower, the windscreen would have born the full force of the strike instead of bouncing off the nose first. Add to that having a passenger who would have gotten a face full of 180-knot duck and we were, I concluded, extremely lucky.
It's sobering to remember that a UND instructor and her student were killed during a night flight not very far from where we had our bird strike when they hit at least one goose, dislodging the stabilator and rendering the aircraft uncontrollable.
During the migratory season we keep a watchful eye out, at least during the daytime when it might do some good, but the reality is there's not much to be done in terms of prevention. At night, well, there's nothing at all.
Looking back at it, I should have reported the strike to ATC but it was so routine doing so never crossed my mind. I certainly will next time. Not that there was much they could do but at least they'd know the altitude and be able to advise anyone else flying along our route.
Thankfully, most bird strikes result in nothing more than a small mess but seeing pictures of an Airbus being evacuated in the Hudson River reminds me that there are times in aviation where mere inches can make the difference between routine and disaster.
The flight attendants so far have been largely ignored by the press coverage but the accident is a fine reminder that they're there first and foremost to save your ass, not to serve it coffee.
The initial speculation about multiple bird strikes certainly seems a likely cause and regardless of the final conclusion as to the cause of the accident it's prompted some reflection on my part about my experiences with birds.
I've never bothered to keep an exact count but I've probably hit six birds in 1,460 hours of flying, or one on average every 243 hours. I don't know if that's a little or a lot but it's been a frequent enough experience that I don't get worked up about it when it happens.
So far the damage done has been minimal. Usually there's been nothing of note except a telltale streak of blood and maybe a few feathers. One left a slight dent on a leading edge, although there were already enough small dents on that particular wing that it was hard to say for sure it was my bird strike that caused it.
One bird strike in particular stands out however, not because of what happened at the time but because of what happened a few months later to another pilot at my company.
I was headed back from Sioux Falls one night with our operations director in the right seat. Still being new to the airplane I wasn't quite sure something unusual had happened when I heard a faint thump.
We flew along for a few minutes before the DO said “did we hit a bird?”
“I was wondering what that noise was,” I replied.
I looked around as best I could and everything seemed normal. Engine gauges all perfect, the airplane was flying just as sweetly has it had been a few minutes ago and the vibration levels hadn't changed.
Finally I dug out a flashlight and inspected the windshield.
Sure enough there was a long, bloody streak directly in front of the DO. We checked what we could see for damage, shrugged and continued on.
My only thought at the time was “I didn't realize birds flew at night.”
On the ground we looked the airplane over carefully and from the blood and feathers it was evident we'd hit a bird on the nose first and then with the windscreen. There was no damage so I grabbed some cleaner to tidy up the windscreen and thought nothing more about it.
Fast forward a few months.
A different pilot flying the same airplane on the same route after dark hit a duck on nearly the identical spot on the windscreen with dramatically different results.
In his case, the windscreen was destroyed and he declared an emergency then diverted to Redwood Falls and landed with the right side of his face covered in duck parts. His performance was nothing short of fantastic.
I can only imagine what it would be like to one minute be flying along quietly and routinely only to have a cabin filled with a rush of air and a destroyed windscreen the next.
The difference between my totally uneventful bird strike and his full-blown emergency was, at most, 16 inches.
Had the bird I hit been 16 inches higher, or our 310 flying 16 inches lower, the windscreen would have born the full force of the strike instead of bouncing off the nose first. Add to that having a passenger who would have gotten a face full of 180-knot duck and we were, I concluded, extremely lucky.
It's sobering to remember that a UND instructor and her student were killed during a night flight not very far from where we had our bird strike when they hit at least one goose, dislodging the stabilator and rendering the aircraft uncontrollable.
During the migratory season we keep a watchful eye out, at least during the daytime when it might do some good, but the reality is there's not much to be done in terms of prevention. At night, well, there's nothing at all.
Looking back at it, I should have reported the strike to ATC but it was so routine doing so never crossed my mind. I certainly will next time. Not that there was much they could do but at least they'd know the altitude and be able to advise anyone else flying along our route.
Thankfully, most bird strikes result in nothing more than a small mess but seeing pictures of an Airbus being evacuated in the Hudson River reminds me that there are times in aviation where mere inches can make the difference between routine and disaster.
posted by Will at 2:19 PM
5 Comments:
Years ago, we had a guy hit a bird on the lower cowl on takeoff... managed to crack the gascolator bowl. Fortunately the engine kept running, and the pilot came back around for a precautionary landing, only to find out he was leaking fuel like mad upon landing. Had he continued flight, he would have run out of fuel in short order.
Another time, a buddy ate two gulls with an old twin. Managed to plug up the air intake causing it to overheat in short order.
With birdstrikes, a careful watch of the gauges is key, and a precautionary landing for insprection at the next available airport may also be a good idea.
Depending upon location, a bird hit every 200-300 hours seems about right by my experience as well.
Really excellent food for thought Ron.
I've really not given them much thought in the past, which was a mistake.
You can bet I'll make a precautionary landing from now on just to be safe.
One is always learning in this job, which is what's so great about it!
Thanks for sharing!
Many years ago I worked the flight line for the FBO at KERI in Erie, PA. One of the more memorable stories I can tell from that job was when a medical transport Lear arrived from Cleveland's Burke Lakefront airport some 90+ miles to our southwest. The aircraft arrived at our ramp, a co-worker had already buzzed the ambulance through the get and I prepared to "wand" the Lear into a nice parking spot to enable an efficient transfer (a donor organ). As the ambulance sped off to deliver its cargo, I noticed something odd in the left main as I chocked the wheels. We asked the pilot to come over and take a look. "Yeah, Burke tower said it looked like flew through some seagulls on departure but everything ran fine so we continued up here". Lear pilots are so cool about everything aren't they? :D
Guess who got to clean up the smashed, dessicated remains of Mr. Seagull?
Ahhh good times... good times.
Will: Thoroughly enjoyed your account. I love reading aviation blogs and now I get to read your archives. Looking forward to it!
Tim Perkins
Rockwall, TX
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