Rotor in the Green - Prologue
In order for the second publishing of Rotor in the Green by Xulon Press in 2007 to more reflect his Christian walk as opposed to his flying exploits, Ray chose not to include this Prologue taken from the original publishing.
It is however included here for those who may appreciate reading about the conduct of an actual search-and-rescue mission.
The HMAS Dubbo Incident
1758 hours. The hooter connected to the emergency phone line sounds and the adrenalin rush starts. As the on-call helicopter pilot I make my way to the operations room while trying to suppress the familiar feeling of anticipation. Statistically I know there is a greater chance of the “callout” being one for our aeroplane as opposed to the helicopter, so there’s no point in getting too excited.
“OK guys, what have we got?”
“It's a helicopter job Ray. We've had a call from the DOA with a request from the HMAS Dubbo to recover an injured crewman. The ship is at anchor near Orpheus Island about forty miles away. You're to pick up Dr.Pat Naidoo at Queens Park as soon as possible; he’s got the medical details. Here are the co-ordinates of the ship. Have a good one.”
Each callout is unique in that it presents the crew with different challenges depending on the situation at hand and I’m sure this will prove to be no exception. I gather the weather and briefing information and begin to plan the mission. In the meantime the other members of the crew tow Bell 412 VH-NSV from the hangar.
It is an unfortunate fact of life that emergency services exist because of other people’s misfortune, but they play an important role in society. Belonging to an organisation like the National Safety Council, operating the best of equipment and working with highly trained personnel, gives crews the confidence that the odds are in their favour for a successful outcome under most circumstances.
For this reason the sound of the hooter causes a sense of elation in me insofar as someone out there is in trouble and we’ve been called upon to respond using our combined experience and expertise to alleviate the situation. To utilise one's skills to save human life or reduce suffering is the most personally satisfying experience possible; definitely the ultimate in job satisfaction. To actually get paid for it is simply a bonus.
1801. HMAS Dubbo a Fremantle Class Patrol Boat is located at S18°38’ E146°29’. Plotting the co-ordinates gives me a position bearing 330° from Townsville at forty nautical miles, or about twenty minutes flying time for the Bell 412 cruising at 120 knots. It will also take about five minutes to fly to Queens Park to pick up the doctor prior to departing for the ship. Weather conditions yesterday were perfect but today there has been nothing but poor visibility in drizzle, and there is only twenty five minutes until end of daylight.
The Bell 412 has an all up weight of 5,400kg and a maximum fuel load of around 1,100kg. For such a relatively short flight time to the ship, maximum fuel would make us too heavy to hover with any power margin on arrival. For this reason the aircraft normally carries a standby fuel load of only 680kg, which gives an endurance of 120 minutes. This allows us the option of a speedy departure for a rapid response, or a delayed departure if extra fuel needs to be taken on. The question arises; for this set of circumstances - a round trip flight time of forty-five minutes, fifteen to twenty minutes for the patient retrieval, and the current weather conditions, is standby fuel adequate? The answer, I feel, is “Yes”. I grab the flight plan and head for the helipad.
1805. Copilot David Croal is preparing the aircraft for start as I strap in. In the back crewman Mark “Stork” Craig, an ex-navy SAR diver, is readying the 270kg capacity rescue hoist for a functional check as soon as power is applied. Down-The-Wire-Man (DTWM) Garry “Gazza” Wybenga is outside the aircraft double checking all the panels for security and waiting to give the all clear for engine start. The crew is all on intercom, including Garry who is attached to the aircraft by his "wander" lead, so I give them all a quick briefing on the mission.
“Dave, I'll start the engines if you could get the GNS up and running and plug in the ship’s co-ordinates. It should be located about forty miles north-west from here. Confirm the float pin is removed?”
It would be pretty embarrassing to have to ditch in the sea and not have the emergency flotation system work because of the metal safety pin with its red tag attached still inserted.
“Confirmed, and the pre-start checks have been done up to ‘engine start’.”
The date is 14 August 1987 therefore based on the odds-and-evens system I will start engine number two first. This date is particularly significant to the Townsville base of the National Safety Council of Australia (NSCA) as it is the official opening by The Hon. Paul J Clauson MLA. Although the NSCA had been present in Townsville for some time, it was only with the completion of a large new hangar and office complex that this presence on a more permanent basis became apparent.
For the occasion the NSCA Board from Melbourne deemed it appropriate that they attend and hold their annual general meeting in conjunction with the official opening. The formalities began at 1230 and concluded at 1300 with a sumptuous buffet lunch for the dignitaries and staff. A more informal function for the staff, their families, and the board members was set down for 1800.
1808. “Confirm clear to start, Gaz?” “Clear to start”.
I start engine number two and bring the generator online before starting engine number one. With both engines burning Dave gets the current airfield surface conditions while I continue with functional checks on the fuel, hydraulics, and electrical systems. When all is ready I ask, “All set?”
“Set on the left. Wind is 110° at twelve knots, QNH (pressure setting) 1003, four oktas of stratus at 800 feet, three oktas of cumulus at 1,500 feet, visibility 12km reducing to 6km to the north.” That'd be right; just our rotten luck to have the weather deteriorating in the direction we will be heading.
“Set in the back, both doors are open.”
1811. Dave calls for taxi clearance, “Townsville Ground, Rescue 716 taxiing for Queens Park, POB four, request taxi clearance.” The DOA has designated a block sequence of Rescue call signs to the NSCA. These are allocated to all its operational aircraft for emergency use only.
“Rescue 716, clear to hover taxi, time 1811.”
I slowly raise the collective and the big Bell gently lifts from the portable trolley on which it sits. As I hover taxi to the large grassed area immediately ahead Dave runs through the pre take-off checks. I give a captain’s brief on the course of action I will take in the event of an engine failure on take-off then Dave calls the Tower.
“Tower, Rescue 716 is ready.”
“Rescue 716, clear for take-off, track direct to Queens Park.”
1812. With our distinguished guests and family members, still not sure if this is all a set-up for their benefit, gathered at the hangar door to see us off I “pull pitch” and we launch in the direction of Queens Park.
1815. We land at Queens Park just two blocks down from the Townsville General Hospital (TGH) only to find that the doctor has not yet arrived.
1820. The doctor has still not arrived and we are burning fuel that has not been calculated for, albeit at a reduced rate. On landing, the engines are normally reduced to idle so the aircraft burns minimal fuel. Ideally the engines would be shut down completely and the rotor blades stopped, but in this situation when time is of the essence the temptation is to keep them running. For surely if we were to shut the engines down, as soon as we had done so the doctor would come running around the corner and precious time would be lost getting them re-started.
1826. Dr. Naidoo arrives. Fortunately, as a regular on some of our missions, he only requires a quick refresher safety brief by Garry, then is fitted with a life jacket and strapped into the aircraft.
1828. It is now dark as we prepare to depart from Queens Park. By manipulating the appropriate switches on the collective head I arrange the placement of the beams from the aircraft landing and search lights to illuminate the area ahead of us. I hover taxi to one corner of the park as taking off diagonally across the park will give us maximum clear area, and also offer a slight headwind component to assist in clearing the trees in the far corner. Finally airborne from Queens Park I commence a turn onto the direct track for the Dubbo, with the GNS giving us an ETA of 1850. Once established in the climb I hand the controls over to Dave before turning to the doctor.
“Welcome aboard Pat, what can you tell us?”
“The accident happened about an hour ago. Apparently the casualty was doing some painting below deck when he came into contact with faulty electrical equipment. He was thrown across the room and slammed against a bulkhead but somehow managed to raise the alarm before falling unconscious. The ship’s doctor felt the sailor required rapid hospitalisation so the call went out and here we are. They did say that the weather in the area is not good and that they have poor visibility in drizzle.” Oh great, that’s all I wanted to hear. This isn’t going to be any picnic!
We enter cloud at about 1,000ft on climb to 3,000ft with a LSALT of 2,800ft. The aircraft radar is giving us a good paint on Palm Island, and our track, shown on the screen from information fed from the GNS, has us transiting about five miles to the west of it. Likewise the coastline is showing up quite clearly on our left so we know where we are with reference to nearby land masses.
1835. Time to give the Dubbo a call. At 3,000ft they should have no problems receiving us from thirty miles out, so I dial up Channel 16, the marine distress channel, and establish comms.
“Warship Dubbo, this is Rescue 716, do you read?”
“Rescue 716, this is Warship Dubbo, reading you loud and clear.”
“Rescue 716, roger our ETA is 1850. Go ahead your current weather conditions.”
“This is Warship Dubbo. The wind is calm; visibility is reduced to about five kilometres in drizzle, cloud base unknown.”
“Rescue 716, thanks. We'll call again when we get closer.”
“This is Warship Dubbo, roger.”
Enroute to the ship Mark gives us a good description of a patrol boat based on his navy experience; length 150ft, displacement 240 ton, the location of aerials and other objects of concern to helicopter pilots. On the stern of the ship is the “vertrep” or vertical replenishment point where goods and personnel are transferred to and from by helicopter.
1840. Ten minutes to go before we reach our destination and I finalise my plan on how to approach the situation before us. The weather in the area is dangerously poor so by using the radar I will maintain the aircraft over water between Orpheus Island and the coastline and descend to 500ft. If we’re not clear of cloud by then we may have to think in terms of aborting the mission. If we do break clear of cloud I then need to think about my approach to the ship at night and in poor visibility.
Once established over a clear area of the ship Mark will hoist Garry down with the doctor then hoist him up again to send him down with the stretcher. When Garry has disconnected from the hoist cable and established comms with us we will fly off and loiter close by. This will minimise any noise and confusion on the ship due to the helicopter’s presence. Garry will call when ready for a pickup, then it will be back to base for dinner.
“OK, here’s the brief...” and I outline the plan I have formulated in my mind based on the information to hand, before asking, “...any questions or concerns?” Everyone seems pretty happy with the plan of action but I know as situations change I have to be flexible enough to accommodate modification to it if required. Now it is time to consider individual roles.
Dave, who is flying at the moment, will relinquish the controls to me once we commence the descent. As the non-flying pilot he will then become responsible for all comms from the aircraft. In the hover he will monitor the instruments and systems and advise me accordingly. Mark, a good, experienced crewman, is removing the stretcher from its stowed position and preparing it for the job at hand. He will then ready the rescue hoist for the difficult task that lies ahead.
Because I am sitting forward of the rescue hoist I cannot see the point over which I am required to maintain a steady hover, therefore I must rely on Mark to “con” the aircraft over the required position and to maintain it there throughout the delicate operation. He will be my eyes; accurately guiding me by means of the intercom using “forward/back”, “left/right” calls, combined with appropriate “distances to run”.
Garry, as DTWM and on his first operational mission, is yet to develop the relaxed confidence which comes from experience. He assists Mark in readying the stretcher, checking the security of items in the cabin prior to hoisting, and double checking his own harness which will soon be put to the test.
Doctor Pat, who must feel a bit like a duck out of water by this time, does not start earning his keep until we get him safely on board the ship. Although he has been with us on a number of occasions, Pat is not complacent as to the dangers involved in being hoisted to and from a hovering helicopter, especially at night. Hippocratic oath aside I’m sure he would prefer to be back in some sterile hospital ward than sitting in a helicopter that has to; at night, over water, in poor visibility, descend to break clear of cloud, find a 150ft battle ship and lower him to a small area on the back of it to treat an electrocuted crewman. He then has to be hoisted up again and flown back to Townsville in the same foul weather, all before the helicopter runs out of fuel. Fortunately any trepidation felt by the doctor is not shared by the remainder of the crew; I hope.
1843. Cruising at 3,000ft and descending to 500ft means losing 2,500ft. At 500ft per minute this will take five minutes. ETA is 1850 therefore descent is to commence at 1845. Our radar still has a good paint on the coastline to our left and Orpheus Island to our right front. But where’s the ship? Surely if the radar can pick up the land masses so well a 240 ton ship should stand out quite clearly. Dave and I complete the pre-descent checks as we prepare for whatever the night may bring.
1845. “Taking control Dave. Could you give the ship a call and find out the latest on the weather please?”
“Roger.”
“Warship Dubbo this is Rescue 716, we’re commencing descent now. Request an update of conditions.”
“Rescue 716 this is Warship Dubbo. There is no change to the previous conditions, and we have all our lights on maximum illumination.”
“This is Rescue 716 roger, thanks.”
Continuing descent... 2,000ft... 1,500... 1,000 and still in cloud; 900.. 800.. still no sign of cloud break; 700ft and starting to arrest rate of descent to ensure we don’t pass through 500. Descending through 650ft and the cloud is starting to break up. By 600ft we’re below the main cloud base but there are still lower patches around. I level out at 500ft.
1850. Now I’m in a dilemma. I know we are in the vicinity of the ship but for some reason it is still not showing on our radar screen and I obviously have to do some manoeuvring to locate it. Herein lays a problem. We have the dark sea below us, a cloud base just above us, and are passing intermittently through patches of lower cloud as signified by the reflections from our navigation lights.
With no visual horizon for my eyes to tell my brain which way is up I have to rely entirely on the aircraft instruments, which fortunately include an artificial horizon. Normally when flying on instruments I am guaranteed at least 1,000ft clearance above any obstacles in the vicinity, but here we are flying on instruments at 500ft trying to find a ship anchored next to an island with a 560ft hill on it!
1900. Precious time, and fuel, is being lost trying to locate the vessel and discounting several sightings of smaller fishing boats. Dave calls up the Dubbo and by this time they have turned on their radar and give us headings to fly and distances to run to their position. As we get closer the realisation hits me; the reason we can’t pick up the ship on radar is because it is moored so close to the island. The radar returns from the ship and the island have, in effect, merged. As it turned out the Dubbo was anchored only a quarter of a mile offshore.
1910. All of a sudden there she is in all her glory and lit up like a giant Christmas tree. The Dubbo has an eerie haze around her, a product of the drizzle we have to contend with.
Many years later Garry recalled his first impressions of that moment, “...sitting in the middle of a bright halo of light was this patrol boat in the misty rain.”
Our first encounter with the Dubbo involves flying a circuit to familiarise the crew with her layout and to locate the vertrep. I determine the best approach direction and brief the crew accordingly. Downwind checks are completed and as I turn for final approach Dave fires up the 30million candlepower Nitesun searchlight; instantly turning night into day.
1915. Approaching the ship, “Losing sight Mark, you have the con.”
“Roger Ray, fifty to run... forty... thirty.. lines good.. twenty to run.. ten.. five.. three, two, one, steady. Come right five, four, three, two, one, steady. Position’s good, height’s good, and we’ve got about fifty foot rotor clearance from their HF radio antenna. Maintain your own clearance for the moment; just getting the guys ready in the back. They’re moving out onto the skid... they’re ready to go.. we’ve just drifted off slightly, come forward.. two, one, steady, and right.. three, two, one, steady. Clear to hoist?”
“Clear to hoist.”
1917. Garry and the doctor are at last on their way down to the deck of the ship. It is just over an hour since we pulled pitch back at Townsville and nearly two hours since the incident occurred. The pressure is not off completely but at this stage it seems the worst is over. We’ve located the ship and the doctor is soon to start treating the patient.
“...position is good, ten feet to the deck ... five.. four..” A sailor appears on deck and starts poking the two helpless characters as they descend.
To quote Garry later, “...a man in a fire suit looking like some sort of space monster began poking at us with a big stick.” Garry knew about the static electricity a helicopter can generate as it flies, especially the Bell 412 with its fiberglass composite rotor blades. This static electricity can produce quite a shock when the helicopter, or anything hanging from it, is finally earthed. What he couldn’t have known though was that it is standard navy policy for any helicopter, or anyone or anything being hoisted from it, to be earthed before it comes into contact with the deck of a ship. It was the job of the “space monster” with his big stick and gloved hands to achieve just this.
“..three, two, one, they’re on the deck.”
The doctor is whisked away below deck to the patient.
1919. Garry is hoisted back up and returns to the deck with the stretcher. He releases himself from the hook and Mark begins hoisting in the slack cable. After a successful comms check Garry is ushered into the bowels of the ship with the stretcher.
1920. Time for a re-assessment of the whole situation. At this stage we should fly off somewhere close by and “loiter”, or fly around at an economical power setting, as briefed. Loitering in the Bell 412 is done at an airspeed of sixty knots, which gives a reduced fuel consumption accordingly. It is a quirk of aerodynamics that helicopters actually require more power to hover than they do to fly. The problem is that low cloud and poor visibility still exist, and the prospect of returning to and flying around in these conditions again does not appeal to me at all. So I move the aircraft off to the side of the ship instead and take up a position from where I have a good hover reference. We are now safely established in a hover next to the ship, with plenty of illumination, and can react as soon as the patient is stable and able to be transferred.
We have had a number of delays which have dug into our fuel reserves, and are now down to around 380kg. Remaining in the hover is burning fuel at maximum rate but we really have no choice so I nominate a fuel state by which we must leave in order to make it back to Townsville with any sort of safety margin. The figure I choose is 250kg, or in about twenty minutes. The doctor has begun his treatment so at least the patient is in good hands. If we have to depart the ship before they are back on board the helicopter the chances of us returning after taking on more fuel are remote.
There's not much we can do now but wait.
1935. Fuel state is approaching 300kg, but where are they? A number of radio calls to Garry are in vain; his radio not able to receive us below deck. We'll have to leave in about ten minutes.
1938. Finally they appear on deck and I hope there are no last minute holdups because we really can’t afford to mess around from this point in time. The patient is hoisted with the aid of a tag-line connected to one end of the stretcher to prevent it from spinning as it is being raised. This spinning is caused by the downwash from the main rotor system and is particularly horrendous with the Bell 412.
1941. The patient is safely on board and Mark sends the empty hook down to retrieve Garry and the doctor.
1943. Garry and the doctor are on board; we wait while they help secure the stretcher to the hard points on the floor of the aircraft by means of cargo straps. Meanwhile Dave and I prepare for the transition back onto instruments and the return flight to Townsville. Townsville now has a visibility of six kilometres in drizzle and cloud of three oktas of stratus at 600ft, two oktas of stratus at 1,000ft, and three oktas of cumulus at 1,200ft.
1945. We depart the HMAS Dubbo with 235kg of fuel, tracking 150° on climb to 4,000ft with an ETA for Townsville of 2011.
“Townsville Base this is Rescue 716.”
“Rescue 716, Townsville Base, go ahead.”
“We’re departing the Dubbo at this time and estimating Townsville around quarter past the hour. Due to weather and fuel considerations we’ll be unable to land at Queens Park. Could you please notify the ambulance to meet us at the airport on our arrival?”
“Roger. Anything else”
“Yeah, how’s the dinner going?”
“Great, the prawns are huge; we’ve saved some for you. See you when you get here.”
2002. Once inside the Townsville radar environment we are offered, and accept, radar vectors for a runway 19 instrument approach which can take us down to 560ft if necessary. Dave and I go through the brief for the approach and complete the appropriate checks.
2010. Tracking inbound at 3,500ft we commence descent at thirteen miles. With 200ft to run to our minimum descent altitude we are still in intermittent cloud. Finally the lights of Townsville appear before us and we break visual at 600ft.
2017. Amidst the flashes of the media cameras and the spotlight from the local TV crew we touch down on the trolley and I roll the throttles to flight idle. The fuel gauge is showing less than a desirable amount of fuel remaining, but we are back safely and everyone breathes a sigh of relief.
2019. The throttles are closed and the rotor brake is applied as the patient is removed from the helicopter. The ambulance reverses on to the helipad and the patient is transferred to the ambulance stretcher and rushed away to TGH.
The board members are delighted to have seen “their boys” in action and are quite vocal in their praise. We put the aircraft to bed and enjoy a late supper. I know from experience it will take a long time to get to sleep tonight; for whenever we have performed well and the mission has been successful, especially under trying conditions, it always takes a while to come down off the adrenalin “high”.
Overnight the HMAS Dubbo made her way into Townsville Port. The following morning the ship’s captain, LtCdr. John McAree, extended an invitation to the helicopter crew to have a look over his ship. A lot of interest was shown in the vertrep where most of the action had taken place the night before. A few comments were made regarding the small size of the area involved, but at the time it didn’t seem such a major concern.
We enquired as to the well-being of the injured crewman and were advised that he had responded well to his initial medical attention and subsequent rapid hospitalisation.
Later that day we reciprocated and a number of the Dubbo crew joined us in the hangar to help demolish the remaining food and drink from the previous night. LtCdr. McAree presented us with an appropriately engraved ship’s plaque and expressed his thanks for a quick response under difficult conditions.
The fact that the mission was successful was in no way attributable to any one member of the crew. Individually everyone had drawn on their training and experience to produce their best performance when called upon to do so.
The demands are great but the rewards are greater.
