THE VIRGINIAN-PILOT
Copyright (c) 1994, Landmark Communications, Inc.
DATE: Sunday, November 20, 1994 TAG: 9411190077
SECTION: DAILY BREAK PAGE: E5 EDITION: FINAL
SOURCE: BY STEPHEN HARRIMAN TRAVEL EDITOR
LENGTH: Long : 182 lines
Ladies and gentlemen, good morning from the flight deck of this British Airways Boeing 747 jumbo jet. We are now number one for takeoff, so I suggest that you make sure your seat belt is securely fastened, then sit back and relax because - heh, heh, heh - I am about to TRY TO GET THIS BIG BABY OFF THE GROUND and - guess what? - I HAVE NEVER EVER PILOTED AN AIRPLANE BEFORE.
At the end of London Heathrow's Runway 27 I grip the twin handles of the control column - tighter and tighter . . . the palms of my hands are moist - and make sure my feet are firmly on the rudder pedals below. Sitting here in the cockpit high above the tarmac I feel as though I am a mahout on an elephant's back. And just as unsure of myself.
There are about a zillion lights and dials and gauges and instruments and small computer screens in the consoles in front of me and beside me, another trillion or so in a panel overhead.
None are flashing warnings. That's the main thing. I suppose everything is OK.
Still, I keep waiting for a recorded voice from the instrument panel to say something I heard once a long time ago: ``Get away from that wheelbarrow, boy, you don't know nothing about no machinery.'' I mean, I don't really belong here.
But all is quiet except for the steady drone of the engines. I look straight ahead at the runway and at the terminal buildings off to the sides and push forward the throttles. Well, this is it.
The sound of the four giant Rolls-Royce engines quickly builds from a whine to a roar. The thrust pins me back against the seat as we accelerate down the runway. I am trying to keep this 250-ton elephant headed more or less down the centerline of the runway with the rudder pedals as the speed builds, but my touch is not very gentle and we seem to be lurching and staggering and weaving badly.
My mouth has gone dry; I can scarcely swallow. I believe I can hear my heart beating over the roar of the engines; I know I can feel it. I am sweating. I wish I had taken off my jacket. No time for that now. Concentrate. Concentrate.
I hear the command, ``Rotate!'' The moment of truth. I pull back on the stick. The runway disappears below and there is nothing but sky in the windshield ahead. We are airborne, climbing to cruising altitude. I have done it. And I am more than a little astonished.
This is only a drill. A simulation, actually.
I feel obliged to say that, lest you think someone at British Airways has gone completely BONKERS and allowed a travel editor with thick glasses and suspect reflexes to maneuver one of their world's largest commercial passenger jets over the tarmac at Heathrow, the world's busiest airport, and take it up into the air over London.
But what the officials of BA have done is take me to Cranebank Training Centre at Heathrow where they train and retrain their pilots, and those of other airlines, to fly the various Boeing aircraft in their fleet of state-of-the-art flight simulators. To have a go at it.
There are 20 computer-driven, full-flight simulators here, three of them for the 747-400 series, the latest version of Boeing's jumbo jet. They look like some sort of automated creatures from the ``Star Wars'' trilogy without the long legs, and they cost about 8 million pounds (somewhere around $12 million) each.
These are NOT toys, not arcade games. They are known as ``zero flight time'' machines. That means when a pilot qualifies in one of these simulators, he can sit down at the controls of one of the real things and take it up and bring it down . . . and do everything in between.
Flight crews come here every six months to hone their skills and to demonstrate their competence at dealing with the sort of emergencies they are seldom, if ever, likely to encounter in actual service. Engine shutdown, for instance. Here, every emergency can be practiced in complete safety.
Inside each simulator is a precise reproduction of an actual cockpit. Beneath it is a complex of powerful hydraulic rams that replicate every ``movement'' of the aircraft. Computers replicate intense turbulent conditions, rain, snow, fog, wet runways and what they call ``conflicting traffic.'' That is aircraft in the same flight pattern. There are all of the sounds that accompany flight, and on the windshield the computer can display, in ``virtual reality,'' scenes surrounding any of the world's airports into which British Airways pilots fly.
The parallel landing strips on London Heathrow look virtually real as I begin my approach. Very tiny, but growing ever larger. I can see the headlights of traffic on the Great West Road at the end of the strip. The flashing strobe beacons show me the way home.
Landing, it has always seemed to me, has to be a more difficult thing than taking off. I am even more nervous now. But I am being ``talked down'' by Ken West, manager of Cranebank's simulator department.
I am trying to line up this monster on the runway dead ahead - oh, that's a bad expression - and remember everything else that must be done. Landing gear down. Flaps back. Throttle back.
``Pull up! Pull up!'' a recorded voice warns. It's an American voice, not British. I am coming in too low. I think I am also too far right. We are rocking back and forth as I overcompensate with the controls, trying to get the correct alignment. Now I am TOO HIGH. ``Beep-beep-beep.'' Another warning from the control panel. My stomach is in a knot.
I will never do this. Yet I have to. What goes up must come down.
Then there is the comforting ``squeek-thump'' as the wheels touch tarmac. I am down, but I have come dangerously close to overshooting the runway. Now I must keep this monster on centerline again, and try to get it stopped before we go off the end.
West applies the reverse thrust, and the engines scream. I apply the breaks HARD as the the grass at the end of the runway approaches fast. At last we stop. If I didn't touch grass, it was a very near thing.
My only thought: Thank goodness this wasn't Hong Kong.
That was just a warmup. I switch to another simulator now - the 747-400 - and meet Cranebank's chief instructor, Captain Elliott Stenhouse.
Stenhouse is from Central Casting. He is tall and trim in his dark blue uniform with wings on the chest. He has the gray hair of maturity and a quick smile that is reassuring.
In another time and another place not far away - perhaps outside the hangers along a grassy strip at Biggins Hill or some place like that - he would have been introduced as RAF squadron leader Stenhouse, and he would have listened to reports of approaching Luftwaffe and smiled and said, ``Piece of cake.''
But now, as we enter the simulator, I look through the windshield and am slightly taken aback by what I see. ``Captain, isn't that. . . .''
``Right,'' he answers with that reassuring smile. ``Hong Kong.''
He does not say this is a piece of cake because it is not. Kai Tak International on the British island colony of Hong Kong is not exactly a carrier landing. But it's close. So hazardous is the approach into Kai Tak that pilots must qualify for a special endorsement on their licenses.
The airport, jutting out into the harbor, is virtually surrounded by mountains and, up close, high-rise buildings.
A year ago, a China Airlines jumbo skidded off the rain-slick runway and landed in Hong Kong harbor. Twenty-three of the 296 passengers aboard were reported injured. There was a similar incident in 1988. The worst accident in Kai Tak's history occurred in 1967 when a Thai airliner plunged into the harbor and 24 people died.
The approach is slightly diabolic. You take aim at Checkerboard Hill, a steep, rocky outcrop with an enormous red-and-white painted billboard marker. Then, at just the right moment, seconds before touchdown, you bank sharply right and follow the flashing strobes that, from up high, resemble a giant fish hook, down between the high-rises to Runway 13. An appropriate number.
``Some people call it the washing-line approach,'' Stenhouse says. ``As you bank, you feel as if your right wingtip is going to catch on the washing lines below. I've watched planes land from down there. You feel as though you could toss a tennis ball up and it would bounce off the plane.''
Now I have the checkerboard in sight. Stenhouse has us on auto-pilot and he tells me the adjustments to make on final approach. Calmly and ever so polite.
``If you will, make the heading zero-one-zero. Now come down to 3,000.
``If you will, now make the heading zero-five-zero.''
We are beginning a turn. I can hear the engines purring. I am calmer than I thought I would be.
``If you'd like to press the approach button now, that locks us on to the beacon.''
A voice from the instrument panel tells me we are at 2,500 feet.
``If you'd like, put the wheels down.''
Right, I'd like that.
``If you will, flaps back to 20 . . . speed back to 170 . . . flaps back to 30 . . . speed back to 150.''
I'm doing it! I'm going to land at Hong Kong!
``If you'd like, swing left a bit.''
But that's taking us off the beacons.
``Cathay Pacific pilots say that's the best approach. They're based here.''
I swing a bit left and then make that sharp dip to the right. I want to look out the side to see if I've caught a washing line, but I don't dare.
The voice from the instrument panel continues to count down the altitude: 100 . . . 50 . . . 30 . . . Squeek-thump! We're down!
``Now, if you will, reverse thrust.''
I clamp my fingers over the thruster guard to release it and firmly pull the throttles back. The engines scream. I press down with both feet on the brakes. We slow and then stop. On the tarmac. Amazing.
I'd love to say ``piece of cake,'' but I know better.
These simulators stay pretty busy - about 20 hours a day - with all the pilot training that is required, but they are occasionally made available to aviation enthusiasts. The price, though, is rather steep.
British Airways can, by arrangement, accommodate parties of up to four visitors for ``flights'' aboard a simulator at Heathrow, including ``hands-on'' experience. The experience is not intended to be any sort of computerized entertainment show, but rather to provide an insight into ultra-modern training techniques.
The cost varies according to which type of simulator can be made available. Training schedules, of course, have priority. Typical cost is about 300 pounds or about $450 per hour.
I heard that one amateur pilot was so impressed by the facilities that he booked some 65,000 pounds (nearly $100,000) worth of lessons. His reward was a full commercial pilot's license to fly 747s.
For information on visiting British Airways' Cranebank simulator unit at Heathrow, call 011+44+ 081-562-5248. by CNB