Bonsai has just had her annual inspection completed at Springs Airfield and we are walking around the aircraft going through all of the work completed. There were no major snags to be fixed nor were any additional issues picked up during the inspection, but we go through each item in the maintenance schedule together. Having just reached 2,000 airframe hours, one such item that was completed was the replacement of the wing bolts. The engine itself is only on 816 hours now, well short of the 1,000-hour overhaul time. Even so, we have scheduled our engine overhaul for next month. We would like to do it early to avoid some of the anecdotal stories we have heard about Jabiru engines failing around the 800-hour mark.
I complete a thorough pre-flight inspection starting with the oil. The level looks good, and I can see that it is clean, having been freshly replaced. I check under the cowl for loose objects or leaks, check the wheels, tires and brakes, test each control surface. I take my time, knowing that the first flight after maintenance is one of the most likely times for something to go wrong. I run through my mental list as I make my way around the aircraft. I finish my checks with the fuel level and inspection of fuel for water or contaminants. I have 30 litres, or half a tank of fuel, which is plenty to get me to Brits Airfield for a few practice landings before I fill up. Tomorrow is the National Spot Landing Competition, and I am looking forward to getting a bit of practice in.
Happy that all looks in order, I jump in and start up. While waiting for the engine to warm up, my Engine Management System (EMS) turns off and on again. That is strange. It does it again. Then again. Hmmm…
Not happy, I turn the engine off again and hop out to discuss the possible cause. I don't want to do a post-maintenance flight without it because I don't have back up instruments to give me oil pressure, oil temperature, cylinder head temperatures, and so on. These are the critical first indicators that something may be amiss.
The instrument panel is removed, and the wiring and switch are checked. It is possible that the wiring could be wriggling loose. It gets a bit of a clean, fittings tightened, panel replaced, and we start up again. The problem seems to be resolved as the screen stays on without another flicker.
I do another walk around the aircraft before I climb back in and start up. Now warm enough to taxi, I make my way to the threshold of runway 03. There is a light wind blowing from the north, no more than 05 kts, almost straight down the runway.
I hold short of the runway to complete my take-off checks, going through them slowly and methodically. There are 2 aircraft in the circuit, and I wait for them to land before I line up. Take off is uneventful and the air feels smooth and clear. Happy that all feels fine, and my temperatures and pressures look good, I fly north, on my way towards Bapsfontein town. Once there, I will request clearance through the 'Pinedene Corridor', a narrow space separating Waterkloof Military Airfield and OR Tambo international airport. Once through this corridor, I can continue in uncontrolled airspace to Brits.
I climb to 6,500 feet, which will take me to approximately 1,200ft above the ground. Waterkloof are quite likely to clear me into their airspace at 6,000ft but while low flying is fun, I prefer to have a bit of altitude on my side. I can descend near Bapsfontein as required.
I have just crossed the N12 highway and nearing the top of my climb, enjoying lots of free lift from the warm day. I have just checked my temperatures and pressures when suddenly a massive vibration starts. Something is wrong…
I take a few seconds to consider the situation, knowing that time is of the essence. I can't think of an obvious reason for the vibration, but I know that I need to get on the ground as soon as possible.
I take a look at the big open maize field on my right and immediately get the idea for a precautionary landing there. There is a busy road leading off the highway and running parallel to me, but it is very busy, and I dismiss the idea almost before it develops.
I know that Petit Airfield is almost directly ahead of me and should be close, but I do not have it in sight yet. I quickly scan my surroundings again. I abandon the idea of looking for Petit because it will mean that I need to fly directly over the built-up area directly in front of me. It is a densely populated township, and I am already starting to fly over houses. The roads are narrow and busy, and every bit of land is crammed full of buildings or people.
As I turn towards the field, I decide to reduce the power setting to see if the vibration improves. Returning towards Springs will require me to fly over other built-up areas, mine dumps, dams and all sorts of other ugly terrain. If the vibration magically vanishes, I may consider continuing there but I have chosen to approach this nice, open field while I have the option available to me.
The reduced power has made absolutely no difference. I have barely turned and am mid-radio call, announcing my intentions for the precautionary landing when “BANG,” the propellor stops dead, suddenly and noisily. An expletive pops out of my mouth before I get my finger off the Press to Talk so all in the area hear my sudden exclamation followed by silence.
The decision has now been made for me, and I am committed to the landing although much sooner than I had hoped and without chance for an inspection first.
It all comes flooding back to me. My brain immediately imagines that I am on a glide approach as if I was at the spot landing competition. I immediately lift the nose to get to my best glide speed of 70kts and then drop it again to hold the speed. I realise I won't make the field I initially hoped for but there is a perpendicular field that will work just as well. It is against the furrows, but it will have to do.
I adjust my heading slightly to position myself on a 'downwind' leg and glance down at my instruments. I could be wrong, but I have a feeling that the restart is not going to be successful, and I really don't feel that I have enough time to try.
I recall the emergency procedures drilled into me during training. I make a mayday call, announcing my engine failure and intention to land in a field. I do not have time to change to another frequency; this one will have to do. Someone responds, asking where I am but I cannot for the life of me recall the name of the town ahead of me. I quickly give a vague description before I become laser focussed on the landing.
I turn onto my imaginary base leg and consider flaps but decide to wait for final approach. I shut off the non-essentials and all electrics besides the radio. As I turn onto my final approach, I notice two ladies walking along the edge of the field. I will be well clear of them but hopefully they will see me and raise the alarm if needed.
Within moments I am flaring for the landing, holding the nose up and hoping for the best as I touch down with my main wheels. The field has been ploughed and has clearly been standing empty for a while. Unfortunately, I am landing directly across the ploughed furrows, but the ground is hard and dry. It feels rather rough, but I am in control. As I bound across the furrows, I notice a rock in my path and think to myself “Don't hit that rock!”
Before I can blink, I come to a stop. It takes me a moment to realise that I am in one piece. I remember to remove my seatbelt before I jump out. I keep the headset on and quickly make a final call from outside the door to state that I am uninjured and there is no fire nor significant damage that I can see before I place the headset on my seat and take a few steps back from the aircraft.
I take another few moments to confirm that I am indeed ok. I can't believe what just happened. I approach the plane again and grab my phone from the door. Who to call first? My dad, I think; he always knows what to do.
“Hi Dad, I had an engine failure, and I landed in a field,” I blurt out as he answers the phone.
“What?” he says, clearly confused.
“I had an engine failure, and I landed in a field,” I repeat. “I am ok,” I throw in.
“Oh!” he says. Sounding rather surprised. “Hold on, speak to Leon.” My mechanic. Of course, that makes sense. I should speak to my mechanic. My dad happens to still be at Springs where he dropped me off to collect the aircraft. How long has he been there chatting, I wonder, as Leon comes onto the line.
“I had an engine failure, and I landed in a field,” I repeat again, this time to Leon.
“An engine failure?” Leon repeats, also sounding very surprised. “What happened?”
They are jumping in the car before I even finish the story. I send a pin drop of my location as I have no idea how to describe how to get here by road. I can see the highway, but I still can't recall the name of the town, even though I have flown over it and used it as a landmark many times before.
Next up I phone my husband Iaan and give him the rundown. He sounds impressed and asks me to send photos. Finally, I phone my mom. I know she worries every time I fly, and this certainly won't help.
“Hi Mom. I am ok and everything is ok,” I say before a sob escapes me, the adrenaline dissipating suddenly and quickly. I get myself together and continue, “Um, I had an engine failure, and I landed in a field.” She is suitably worried, but I assure her that I am ok and that I am not in any danger from any random passers-by while help is on the way. It is then that the thought occurs to me that the ladies in the field continued walking without a backward look…
When I return to my forlorn looking Bonsai once again, I have a few moments of confusion when I notice the key is missing. I can't recall but I must have turned the master off when I got out. “Where would I have put the key?” I wonder to myself.
Then I notice that the master switch is still in the on position and I connect the dots. I find the key on the floor of the passenger side. Bumpy landing indeed. I also clearly hit the rock that I was hoping to avoid as I have broken my left main wheel rim, and the tire is now flat. I start to check for oil or fuel leaking. I see nothing. I check the fuel tank and see that I still have 28 litres, as expected. I suddenly remember that I was recording an activity with my Garmin watch, which I now reach down to stop. It is then that I notice that a mere 15 minutes have passed since I took off. No wonder my dad was still at Springs when I phoned.
Looking back in more detail, I can see that the flight lasted less than 8 minutes in total from take-off to landing. The engine vibrated itself to pieces for less than one minute before it stopped. A mere two minutes later, I was already climbing out the door, having come to a complete stop.
The entire flight
The field with my rock (I am a geologist after all) …. Broken wheel rim
Now that the shock is wearing off, I remember that I need to make more phone calls. First to Search and Rescue, I would hate for them to be searching for me after the mayday call, fearing the worst, when I am safely on the ground. Search and Rescue do a wonderful job of reassuring me and making sure I am ok. They will send paramedics to check on me as standard procedure. They are also quite concerned about looting, an ugly reality in South Africa, and want to send police.
I am still undecided if it is fortunate or not but not a single person approaches that day besides emergency and recovery personnel. Fortunately, there is no danger of looting or worse and I am uninjured and do not need any additional help. Luckily so, as it does not appear that anyone would have come to my aid.
The next calls are to the South African Civil Aviation Authority (SACAA) and my insurance to notify them of the incident and wait for their word on what to do next.
The mechanic and my dad arrive minutes later. Not far behind them are one ambulance and two paramedic vehicles. They give me a once over and after a few minutes in the ambulance, I get the-all clear, confirming that I am left with nothing but a high heart rate. Not unexpected after a major fright.
The mechanic looks around and we see that the prop cannot be turned. The engine has seized. With the cowl off, we cannot see anything obviously wrong. Something must have broken inside the engine, but it isn't making itself clear to us.
No obvious reason for the failure visible
The rest of the day is long and hot as we stand in the open and baking hot field with nothing but an aircraft wing for shade. The heat is coming from both the sky and the sand, and we are all cooked well-done before long. We must wait to get the okay to move the aircraft from SACAA and insurance. With that finally confirmed, we must wait for the rest of the tools to arrive so that we can take the wings off. More waiting takes place as a trailer is located and directed our way.
We have walked up and down the field, measured my landing roll (150m), taken photos, had discussions and taken the wings off when the fire brigade suddenly arrive. They were given a vague location and told there was an aircraft crash. They have been driving around the wrong area for 3 hours, searching for me. I can only thank my lucky stars that I did not need them.
Now that they are here, they are absolutely amazed to hear that I am the pilot and that I was alone. They have never seen a small aircraft like this up close and gather around to look inside and ask questions. Next, they impress me by pitching in to help. This comes at a critical moment as we somehow need to get the aircraft, with no wings, no struts and one flat wheel, onto the trailer, which doesn't quite lower all the way to the ground. They help us get the aircraft up and strap everything down securely all while ensuring nothing gets scratched or bumped as the wings are carefully placed on the trailer. Soon though, they need to leave, and we are left with the final loading. Poor Bonsai looks so sad without her wings, loaded on the back of a trailer.
The fire department helping us load the trailer
I landed around 10:15 and it is now around 14:30. We are all hot, tired, sunburnt and ready to depart when the police arrive. They are friendly but not sure what they need to do so they take my details and a short statement before they stun me by asking if I would like this reported in the news. “Um, no, preferably not, if possible” I manage to stammer out.
I ask where they came from, wondering if they had to travel far to get here. When they say Daveyton, I suddenly remember the name of the town across the road. Daveyton. The police have been almost within walking distance this whole time. Good thing I didn't need them either.
I am immensely grateful that everything turned out the way that it did and that I had so many wonderful people to help. Firstly, my trusty mechanic. This had nothing to do with the inspection and neither of us would have any way to identify the problem before the flight. He took care of every detail on the day and gave up his entire day to assist with the recovery. Secondly to Search and Rescue. They checked on me multiple times throughout the day. What a wonderful group of people with an extremely stressful job on their hands. Then to the fire brigade, trailer owner and driver, my dad and everyone else. It is a rather long list. Thank you all.
As we drive away, I realise that there will be no Spot Landing competition for me this year, however, the training and the skills I learnt for competitions over the last few years have proved themselves invaluable. I have practiced every year to complete landings as flapless glide approaches (amongst other configurations), aiming for a particular spot. The practice means that the startle factor is greatly reduced and I have learnt the feel of catching the best glide speed. I also have a very good idea of how far Bonsai will glide, how much the descent rate increases during a turn, and learnt to touch down exactly where I want even without power.
A closer look at the final 2 minutes of the flight
My watch stats showing some very interesting info including a spike in heart rate when the engine stopped
I glided approximately 4.5km. That radius didn't give me many good options
It will take a while to figure out what happened and what to do next, but one thing is for sure, I will be at that Spot Landing competition again next year and I hope to see you there.
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