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 My
Second Ejection
1st June
2003
Ejection from Hunter
G-BVVC
On the afternoon of Sunday the first of June 2003 I
had reason to part company with Hunter Mk 6 G-BVVC before I had
otherwise intended to.
Previously I had said that a good pilot is defined
as one having the same number of take-offs in his log book as landings,
that was on recounting the story of my ejection from Lightning XS921 on
September 19th 1985. Now that I have 2 more take-offs than
landings in my log book, I can add some more wisdom to the tale; having
ejected once does not make you exempt from further intervention by the
fickle finger of fate.
The flight in question was supposed to be the end of
a fine weekend’s flying displays at the Portrush Air Show in Northern
Ireland. The jet had been operating out of Blackpool to assist in the
overall logistics. Following the display the intention on this day was
to fly directly back to Exeter where the jet was normally based before
driving back to my home near Warton in Lancashire.
The aircraft had been troubled with some electrical
problems, but these were suitably mitigated it was thought. Nothing in
this mitigation however could cope with the fact that at 25,000ft over
the middle of Wales the engine flamed out. Prior to the flame out the
electrical system had packed in completely and the battery had become
exhausted leaving me without communications. In anticipation of this
happening, ATC had been warned that I might loose the radio and as a
result I was following my flight planned route with the intention of a
landing at Exeter without radio using visual signals only.
Out of the blue the was a slight shudder felt
through the airframe not too dissimilar from the normal IGV (Intake
Guide Vane) chatter familiar to all “big engine” Hunter operators. I
thought this to be somewhat strange as this shudder was not at the
normal RPM where one would expect it; indeed the engine was in
essentially steady state cruise conditions. It took some time before
the realization dawned that the engine had actually stopped. I guess I
had always imagined that when the engine stops in a single engine
aircraft it will all go very quiet (like it does on the ground after
shutdown). However, the noise level in the cockpit was essentially
unaltered. This was due to the fact that the engine was windmilling
satisfactorily and predominate noise was from the pressurization system
and external wind rush.
Anyway, on acceptance of the fact that the engine
had quit and I was now in a brick, the following events unfolded. First
off I set course for the general direction of Llanbedr in the hope of a
dead stick attempt onto the runway there. It quickly became apparent
that I had insufficient altitude to glide that far. I discounted
jettison of the external tanks primarily because I could see the banner
headlines if they landed in someone’s back garden or worse. I really
didn’t want to jeopardize future ex-military jet operations following an
outcry about my tanks landing somewhere inappropriate. The same concern
was true when it came to planning my exit from the jet – which was
slowly beginning to dawn on me as inevitable.
My previous ejection from the Lightning had been a
bit of a rushed affair, a control restriction had robbed me of the
ability to control my destiny and in a very short time (less than 10
secs) I went from flying along happily to going for the handle. Since
that experience I have said many times that I was thankful that I didn’t
have a long time to think about things, but here I now was with a long
glide running up to an inevitable ejection.
There was very little thought involved with attempts
to get the engine going again, I had no electrical power therefore now
way to get the flame lit again – its kind of hard to get a jump start
for a plummeting brick! My attentions were then focused on the best
course of action for me, the jet and the unsuspecting population below.
Having determined that Llanbedr was out of the equation I set about
making for the coast line in an effort to jump and dump into Cardigan
Bay, it looked like this would be possible. I elected to stay with the
jet below the recommended height for a premeditated ejection of 9,000 ft
for the reasons of potential third party damage I have already
mentioned.
As the glide progressed it became clear that it was
going to be a very close run thing, but I had the consolation that there
was an estuary running along my flight path, just prior to the coast.
My personal preference has always been the water landing rather than
smacking into the ground, or trees, or buildings. We get dropped into
the water twice a year for practice, but we don’t get the same exposure
to the risky ground landing.
The time during the glide was taken up with
tightening straps and going through in my head the drills, posture and a
lot of swearing. Why was this happening to me… again. I think I was
really annoyed at the fact I had a lot of time to think about it, but
the inevitable was fast becoming a reality.
In the end the final moment came a bit sooner than I
expected. I quite suddenly spotted a village coming into view from
behind a mountain spur. The village was Borth and it was clear to me
that my ejection point at or near the coast was going to leave a
pilotless aircraft to make up its mind as to its final resting place in
close proximity to the village. As I was currently over the estuary and
could see some sparse marshland ahead, that was my subliminal message to
go for it. I pulled the seat pan handle. I had descended from 25,000
ft to 2,000ft during the preceding 5 or 6 minutes.
In comparison to my previous experience where I have
no recollection from the point of pulling the handle until the time I
was sat in the helicopter, this one is in crystal clear Fuji Colour.
There was a huge, massive explosion and the most enormous force acting
on my behind. There was a pain in my back like I had been hit by a
plank of wood. I watched the cockpit disappear from around me and I
watched from above as the jet flew on without me, I saw it pitch up
steeply and I saw it start to wing over at the apex of its short climb,
that was the last I saw of it.
During this time I was aware of the various seat
mechanisms operating and being jerked around like a rag doll as the
drogue and then the main chute left me hanging. This was accompanied
with a feeling that my legs had swollen to enormous size and the pain in
my back was now excruciating. I did what I could manage of my parachute
descent drills and managed to reason that as I could still wiggle my
toes the pain in my back could not be that serious. I was aware that
the water below me was rushing up at quite an alarming rate, it was at
about this time I realized that I was still attached to the seat, man
seat separation had not occurred. I was able to release the appropriate
harness and the seat fell away I could not have been at more than 300 ft
when this happened. I will return to this fact a bit later.
Just prior to hitting the water I took a deep breath
and closed my eyes and placed my hands in position to release the
parachute harness on water entry. I next recall being desperate to
release my breath, but not being aware that I had floated back to the
surface. I opened my eyes to find that I was in all of 8 inches of
water. I had hit the water as the tide was out and all my best
intentions of a soft landing were gone in an instant. I was dragger for
a short distance before I released the parachute harness.
It was a lovely warm afternoon. The pain in my back
was awful, but if I lay still it was bearable. I could not move my
legs, but I could once again wiggle my toes, I could therefore believe
it was not a broken back – but it was. I was able to remove my helmet
at after some time managed to get myself into a position that was
“comfortable”. I was now lying on a sandbank with the water receding,
the sun was shining, my back was broken and I was about a mile from the
nearest shoreline. I got out my Oakleys and even got out my mobile
phone. I had the intention of calling my wife to let her know I had
banged out (again) but was alive – luckily the phone was soaked and did
not work. I could do nothing but wait to be rescued. I could here
sirens from various directions around the shoreline, I had no worry that
I would be rescued, I had no place to go and no way of getting there.
It was about 45 mins before the first person arrived
on scene. A man out walking had seen the jet and my ejection and had
waded, swam and walked from the shore over to me. We established that
he could do nothing on his own but he did have some water which was a
gratefully received. Next on the scene was an off duty policeman who
had called the emergency services before he too had made his way to me.
Shortly thereafter I could hear the sounds of a boat repeatedly getting
grounded on the sandbanks as the estuary continued to drain, this was
the RNLI from Borth making their way to me. Very soon the sky was
filled with choppers and the RAF Valley and Chivenor aircraft arrived on
scene closely followed by the North Wales Police helicopter. Quite soon
there was a fairly large group of people on the sandbank to keep me
company and get me to hospital. As you would expect the professionalism
of this bunch and in particular the winchman was exceptional and I was
strapped to a back board and winched into the helicopter and on my way.
Without going into vast reams of medical details
about the days, weeks and months that followed, the force of the
ejection resulted in a
burst fracture of one of my vertebrae. The fragments of bone embedded
themselves into my spinal chord. The result of this was to effectively
paralyze me from the waist down. The spine was fixed by the
introduction of yet more metalwork in the form of a supporting cage
around the burst vertebrae. I have been able to regain the use of my
legs but am still devoid of feeling and function below the waist. My
days of flying bang seat equipped aircraft are over, but I guess it was
time to grow up and find a proper job. As those of us who fly know all
too well, it could have been worse. I’m still here to tell the tale.
Returning to the fact that I found myself still
attached to the seat at a late stage of the descent and the apparent
failure to achieve man-seat separation this was investigated. This
appears to have been a result of my tightening of the lap straps
possibly a little over-zealously. The mechanism worked as advertised
and released the lugs in the seat pan, but the tension from the straps
acting at 90 degrees to the release direction has resulted in a
geometric lock being set up. This was only released when I was able to
activate the QRF and the seat dropped away.
The AAIB said this accident was a salient reminder
to those operating old aircraft that any snags which are being carried
must be carefully considered and that my injuries may have been lessened
if I had elected to use the face screen handle instead of the seat pan
handle. This, they suppose, would have given me a better posture. An
interesting observation, most modern seats have only a seat pan handle.
I presume the move away from “bang” seats to “rocket” seats has resulted
in a transition from good posture afforded by the face screen handle
against the more rapid access of the seat pan handle. With gentler
(relative term only) rides from rocket seats the importance of posture
has diminished in favour of more rapid egress. I never even
contemplated the face screen handle as an option. My routine training
has always been to use the seat pan handle.
I have many people to be thankful to in getting me
from there to here. The rescue services, the surgeons, nurses and
physiotherapists who helped to patch me together physically. My friends
and work mates who helped keep my spirits up. But most of all to my wife
and family who once again I am forever indebted to, without their love
and support this would have been far, far worse than it already was.
Craig Penrice
August 2005
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