It’s not ignition that’s the issue… it’s the lack of a starter motor.
Small jet engines have an electric starter-generator, which takes energy out of a battery and spins the compressor blades until enough air is passing through the engine to turn on the fuel and igniters. These aircraft are self-sufficient, provided they have a charged battery.
In bigger engines, a battery just won’t cut it-- you’d have to carry several hundred pounds of cells and motors to supply enough juice, and every bit of weight saved translates into extra range or capacity. So, compressed air is used. On the ground, either an internal (usually in the tailcone of the plane) or external (on a tractor-pulled cart) auxiliary power unit (APU) – a essentially, a small jet engine-- feeds compressed air into the first engine to be started. Once the first engine starts, compressed air can be bled off it to start the others.
It’s not a problem to restart a single engine while airborne, as you can just bleed air off the remaining engines. Lose them all, and you’re left with a different issue. An external APU isn’t available in the air, and internal APUs aren’t designed to work at altitude. However, you have airspeed and altitude, and a 300-knot relative wind blowing though an engine is as good enough as any APU.
Could be, and I sure as hell hope so…but at least then, I was told engines on jet planes did not have the ability to re-ignite once they were in the air. I am sure there is someone reading this that can enlighten me.
I have had several scary incidents including being in a small plane that was struck by lightning. It punched a large hole in the nose and we had to do an emergency landing at the closest airport.
The scariest incident was when the company plane I was in had engine failure shortly after take off. The pilot was not able to restart the engine and attempted to make a 180 to the field. We ended up coming in on a wingtip and nose and cartwheeled. The pilot’s back was broken but I walked away from the crash with just a cracked sternum.
Spoiled my love of flying, although I have flown at least 500,000 miles since.
Um, about three weeks ago, on a flight from Keflavik Airport (Iceland) to Baltimore Washington International. I was travelling alone with the two little flodnaks. The little one, who is two, was horribly fussy and I was trying to get him to sleep. He finally fell asleep with about an hour and a half left of the flight, and I put him back in his own seat and tried to relax, forgetting that neither of us was buckled in at this point. (Flodjunior was - good for him!)
About five minutes later the plane fell about six miles straight down in ten seconds. :eek:
Just our luck, to arrive at a time when most of the Northeastern US is experiencing a serious drought, but land the one night when the area was lighting up with thunderstorms! We flew around the worst of it, but had to land in a storm, bumping around and watching the flashes through the windows, almost an hour late after an exhausting transatlantic journey. I didn’t throw up but another passenger mentioned that I looked distinctly green. Totnak slept through it all.
How I made myself get back on an airplane only three weeks later I do not know, but here I am, safe and sound and hoping for rapid improvements in matter transfer technology.
But let me say a few things, as a pilot to passengers: I find it really annoying when pilots scare the crap out of their passengers for no good reason. I try to be very careful about passengers who aren’t pilots when I take them up in little airplanes because, after all, they don’t know what’s normal and what’s not, what’s safe and what’s not, and it’s entirely reasonable to fear being a long way above the ground when you aren’t certain how those things stay up in the air. And it goes beyond telling them how to strap in and where the barf bags are. I tell them that when I make a turn is might look steeper than what they see in a big jet, but it’s not (and I make sure it’s not). I explain that the engine makes the most noise at take off, but when we level off not to get anxious when they hear the noise reduce and the nose come down, everything is under control. If they’re concerned about all the other airplanes up there I explain about how we all keep separated and have them do some of the watching for traffic. I point out landmarks so they have some idea where they are. Before we arrive for landing I explain that I’ll reduce engine power a lot, but the engine will still be runing (just a lot quieter) and again, everything is under control. I do explain that, if for some reason I think it a good idea we may not land the first time (I have had deer run onto the pavement, and kids with go-carts, and other weird stuff) in which case the engine gets loud again and we go up again. If they ask why that may happen I explain about the rare deer, and about how wind can change after you take off and I’d rather go around again than have to do any really steep turns to reach the runway or anything else they might find unnerving, that it’s not my intent to show-off but to give them a really safe and enjoyable flight. Pilots should not do “scary stuff” on a person’s first ride, or any ride until they are really comfortable, and need to remember that much of what they consider normal is scary to the non-flying public.
Of course, if an emergency comes up I may have to do really scary stuff to keep everybody in one piece - but I’ll only do that if I have to. I’d much rather avoid those problems in the first place.
I also thought I’d comment on some of the stuff that scared people, trying to explain some of it. I don’t know if it will make you feel better or not, but maybe you’ll understand why it happened, at least.
Yep, that’s a standard crosswind technique. There’s another one, but non-pilots often find it even more alarming than the “flying sideways” effect. It must have been a pretty good wind for it to be that noticable, but that’s the way they do it
This won’t be reassuring, but… yes, you can lose that much altitude in a very short time. Normally only happens at very high altitude, where there is nothing to hit so you won’t be having a mid-air collision, but if you’re not belted in good you could get hurt slamming into the ceiling. Unless you’re getting up, it’s a good idea to keep the belt on and somewhat snug (just don’t cut off the circulation) More likely to happen over mountains than plains or ocean, and in thunderstorms as opposed to clear days. Still, can happen in a clear blue sky (hence the term “clear air turbulence”) but, as I said, usually you’re high enough not to worry about the airplane hitting anything.
Turbulence down low is usually less extreme, but more frightening because you have a better view of the ground and how fast you’re descending. But boats experience simillar rocking motions, and folks usually don’t worry so much about it, and you’re car going over a rough road can rattle you just as much, it’s just that it’s a more famillar environment so you’re less anxious. When you drive over a dirt road you get bumps but you don’t worry about losing control. Likewise, the pilot up front is experienced in dealing with these conditions and is not going to lose control of the airplane, either.
By the way - an “air pocket” is a downdraft. It’s air pushing down instead of sideways, like you’re used to the wind doing.
Yes, it’s safer to come in a little fast and hard in gusty conditions. There’s a moment in take off or landing where the airplane isn’t quite flying yet, and yet isn’t really on the ground where the wheels can help either. It’s a really bad point at which to get hit by a gust of wind, so you want to minimize the length of that moment. By coming down a little hard the plane goes almost instantly from flying to rolling, with its weight on the wheels so it’s stable on the ground, which increases the safety even if it can be alarming. It probably does add wear and tear to the landing gear, but it’s better than the wear and tear you get from sliding off a runway out of control.
OK, I don’t want to say bad things about your dad, but this is seriously uncool. This “full engine stall” thing is bogus. First of all, what pilot’s call a “stall” has nothing to do with the engine, it’s when the wing no longer generates enough lift to hold up the full weight of the airplane (yes, that sounds scary - and it can be - but done properly it’s not an emergency). What your dad did was turn off the engine, which is NOT encouraged at all in flight training (although some instructors do it) and, in fact, is discouraged by the FAA. I almost cold-cocked a flight instructor who pulled that on me once. He should NOT have done this with a passenger in the plane, much less a C150 which is already too small for most people’s comfort (Actually, the Cessna 150 is a GREAT airplane, very sturdy and reliable, and my favorite for emergency off-field landings).
Well… it was 1974 in the Philipines. I was flying out of Subic Naval airstation in a P-3. I always liked to get a window seat and today’s draw was over the right wing. Crap, vision obscured by a couple hundred square feet of shiny aluminum. At least I was flying. We taxied out and I debated reading or watching the take-off. The engines revved up and as usual my eyes locked outside as the landscape began to rush by. The nose lifted and we were in the air. I watched as we climbed to about 500 feet. I had just about turned away when my mind was riveted to a sight just feet away from where I sat. The inboard engine was belching a mix of black, brown, white, and red liquids that flowed down the wing and turned into a grey mist in the turbulence. The plane lurched toward the side I was on and simultaneously the propelleor was feathered and came to a standstill. Perhaps 30 or 40 seconds had passed and I just didn’t have time to feel afraid. (I also knew that three other tuboprops were milling away at METO power and we actually sped up!) The pilots flew a big 180 turn and in a couple of minutes we landed without incident. So anticlimatic. I talked to the pilots after we had landed and the furor had ebbed. “Pretty hairy up there, huh?” He peered over his aviator shades at the geek in his way, “Nah, same engine did that a couple weeks ago”
Many years ago, I took a few lessons in flying gliders down in Florida. I was on a week’s worth of vacation, so I didn’t get far in the training. On my last flight, I didn’t get usual flight instructor, I got some other guy. We got towed up to about 3000’, then let go of the tow. (And they never tell you that due to all the tension on the tow line, it sounds like a 12 gauge shotgun going off when you let go) I did some turns, and some practice stalls, but the guy in back must have been getting bored (this was a Schwitzer 2-33, the standard glider trainer, it has 1+1 seating, usually with the student up front) So he asked me if Mason, the regular instructor, had done any unusual attitudes with me. I didn’t even know what an unusual attitude was, so when I said “No”, he said “Let me have it”. And he proceeded to do a manuover called a “hammerhead”. He dove straigt down for speed, then pulled the stick into his stomach. We must have pulled about 3 gs, and as soon as the aircraft was pointed staight up, he center the controls - instant 0g. The only thing I could feel was the shoulder straps of my 5 point harness. As our airspeed decayed towards 0, he pushed full right rudder and spun the plane until we were pointed straight down again. Pulling out the dive, he executed another one, this time rolling off to the left instead of the right at the top. Mind you this was over Clearwater Florida, and every time we were pointed straight down, I was looking at the house we were going to eat if we didn’t come out of the dive. When the plane was finally level, I had huge, uncontrollale shakes. Jeez, he could have warned a guy!
Coming home from a caving expedition to Costa Rica, flying on Lacsa, out of San Juan on a 737. San Jaun is about 5000 feet above sea level, there is not an empty seat on the plane, we’re flying four hours over the ocean, so we probably have a full load of fuel, and I know for a fact that not all the baggage got weighed. Never mind how I know, but I know. Having flown on 737’s several times before, I was alarmed at how slight the setback force was when the pilots applied full power to the engines. I mean, usually a 737 will put you back into the seat a bit, but this aircraft was displaying all the acceleration of a '74 Pinto. It took forever to get any decent speed up, and I began to become concerned about the length of the runway. Sure enough, I saw a single stripe flash past the window - only 750 feet to go to the threshold. As the doubles went buy, the nose gear finally lifted, and only as the triples went buy - 250 feet left - did the mains finally lift off the runway. Then the runway threshold went by and moments later, not 50 feet below us, was grass. I had visions of the pilots up front rocking to and fro, beads of sweat on their foreheads, pushing the power levers forward as hard as they could, whispering, “Go baby, go…”
In 1985 I got my Private Pilot’s license. Not long after being approved for solo flight, I took off for some practice alone. About 500 feet in the air, suddenly a tremendously loud, very fast rythmic banging noise started from behind the seat! Looking around, expecting to see the plane disentigrating out from under me, I saw my excess shoulder belt - what was left after I pulled it tight - was headed out the gap between the door and the fusalage. I’d belted up before closing the door- the cockpit on a 152 is really cramped - and the end of the belt was now hanging out the door, banging against the side of the plane! I grabbed it with both hands and yanked it in, and the banging immedately stopped. 10 seconds of pure terror!
Nearing the end of my pilot training, I’m going over my log book with my instuctor, and we see that I have only 2.5 hours and five full stop landings at night. You need five and ten when you take your private exam, or they stamp your license “daytime flight only”. ('85, may be different now) So we planned a nighttime cross country out of Ashland-Boyd County Airport in eastern Kentucky, to Portsmouth, Oh, and on northward in Ohio to Martin, Co, Ross Co, and Pickaway airports, before returning to Ashland Boyd. It would take us about 3 hours, and I’d get the 5 full stop landings I needed as well. Well, it was pitch black - we did this flight on a new moon over flat rural terrain, so this was almost like an instrument flight. The horizon was all but impossible to distinguish, and the density of stars seemed just about equal to the density of houses on the ground. I landed in Portsmouth, where there is a big hill between the city and the airport, so no big lights beyond the runway - just blackness. We taxied to the far end, rolled out onto the runway, and I gunned the engine. Seconds after rotating off the runway, there was a tremendous BANG and the entire plane (Cessna 152) shook like someone had hit it with a sledgehammer. We couldn’t have been more then 100 to 200 feet off the ground, the absolute worst time to have a disaster, as I didn’t have enough airspeed/altitude to turn back to the runway if we lost the engine, and I could not see anything in front of me - no way to pick an emergency landing site. As I scanned the instruments (in terror), and seeing nothing out of the ordinary, my instructor was shining his flashling along the wings and tail, making sure we still had wings and a tail. I concentrated on flying the plane, and when nothing else happened, and everything was geen, and the plane responded normally to all control inputs, we decided to contine the flight. A week or so later, the plane got a 100 hour inspection, and when the spinner was pulled off, some feathers came out. We’d hit a bird with the prop! The only damage to the plane was the tear in the seat as they crowbar’ed it out of my ass after the flight!