Most unusual aviation story

boondr

boondr

Penalty Vectorer
Looking for the weird, not necessarily scariest or most exciting.




Mine:
I had to give an aircraft a go around because a kangaroo on the runway during a joint training exercise in Australia.
 
When I first began my training, I found a spider on two consecutive times when I sumped the fuel.
 
I don't know if this fits under "unusual," but it's one of my favorites (from the book "Sled Driver"):

There were a lot of things we couldn’t do in an SR-71, but we were the fastest guys on the block and loved reminding our fellow aviators of this fact. People often asked us if, because of this fact, it was fun to fly the jet. Fun would not be the first word I would use to describe flying this plane. Intense, maybe. Even cerebral. But there was one day in our Sled experience when we would have to say that it was pure fun to be the fastest guys out there, at least for a moment.

It occurred when Walt and I were flying our final training sortie. We needed 100 hours in the jet to complete our training and attain Mission Ready status. Somewhere over Colorado we had passed the century mark. We had made the turn in Arizona and the jet was performing flawlessly. My gauges were wired in the front seat and we were starting to feel pretty good about ourselves, not only because we would soon be flying real missions but because we had gained a great deal of confidence in the plane in the past ten months. Ripping across the barren deserts 80,000 feet below us, I could already see the coast of California from the Arizona border. I was, finally, after many humbling months of simulators and study, ahead of the jet.

I was beginning to feel a bit sorry for Walter in the back seat. There he was, with no really good view of the incredible sights before us, tasked with monitoring four different radios. This was good practice for him for when we began flying real missions, when a priority transmission from headquarters could be vital. It had been difficult, too, for me to relinquish control of the radios, as during my entire flying career I had controlled my own transmissions. But it was part of the division of duties in this plane and I had adjusted to it. I still insisted on talking on the radio while we were on the ground, however. Walt was so good at many things, but he couldn't match my expertise at sounding smooth on the radios, a skill that had been honed sharply with years in fighter squadrons where the slightest radio miscue was grounds for beheading. He understood that and allowed me that luxury. Just to get a sense of what Walt had to contend with, I pulled the radio toggle switches and monitored the frequencies along with him. The predominant radio chatter was from Los Angeles Center, far below us, controlling daily traffic in their sector. While they had us on their scope (albeit briefly), we were in uncontrolled airspace and normally would not talk to them unless we needed to descend into their airspace.

We listened as the shaky voice of a lone Cessna pilot asked Center for a readout of his ground speed.

Center replied: “November Charlie 175, I’m showing you at ninety knots on the ground.”

Now the thing to understand about Center controllers, was that whether they were talking to a rookie pilot in a Cessna, or to Air Force One, they always spoke in the exact same, calm, deep, professional, tone that made one feel important. I referred to it as the “HoustonCenterVoice.” I have always felt that after years of seeing documentaries on this country’s space program and listening to the calm and distinct voice of the HoustonCenterControllers, that all other controllers since then wanted to sound like that ... and that they basically did. And it didn’t matter what sector of the country we would be flying in, it always seemed like the same guy was talking. Over the years that tone of voice had become somewhat of a comforting sound to pilots everywhere. Conversely, over the years, pilots always wanted to ensure that, when transmitting, they sounded like Chuck Yeager, or at least like John Wayne. Better to die than sound bad on the radios.

Just moments after the Cessna’s inquiry, a Twin Beech piped up on frequency, in a rather superior tone, asking for his ground speed.

“Ah, Twin Beach: I have you at one hundred and twenty-five knots of ground speed.”

Boy, I thought, the Beechcraft really must think he is dazzling his Cessna brethren.

Then out of the blue, a Navy F-18 pilot out of NAS Lemoore came up on frequency. You knew right away it was a Navy jock because he sounded very cool on the radios.

“Center, Dusty 52 ground speed check.”

Before Center could reply, I’m thinking to myself, hey, Dusty 52 has a ground speed indicator in that million dollar cockpit, so why is he asking Center for a readout? Then I got it — ol’ Dusty here is making sure that every bug smasher from Mount Whitney to the Mojave knows what true speed is. He’s the fastest dude in the valley today, and he just wants everyone to know how much fun he is having in his new Hornet.

And the reply, always with that same, calm, voice, with more distinct alliteration than emotion:

“Dusty 52, Center, we have you at 620 on the ground.”

And I thought to myself, is this a ripe situation, or what? As my hand instinctively reached for the mic button, I had to remind myself that Walt was in control of the radios. Still, I thought, it must be done — in mere seconds we’ll be out of the sector and the opportunity will be lost. That Hornet must die, and die now.

I thought about all of our Sim training and how important it was that we developed well as a crew and knew that to jump in on the radios now would destroy the integrity of all that we had worked toward becoming. I was torn. Somewhere, 13 miles above Arizona, there was a pilot screaming inside his space helmet.

Then, I heard it. The click of the mic button from the back seat. That was the very moment that I knew Walter and I had become a crew. Very professionally, and with no emotion, Walter spoke: “Los Angeles Center, Aspen 20, can you give us a ground speed check?”

There was no hesitation, and the reply came as if it was an everyday request: “Aspen 20, I show you at one thousand eight hundred and forty-two knots, across the ground.”

I think it was the forty-two knots that I liked the best, so accurate and proud was Center to deliver that information without hesitation, and you just knew he was smiling. But the precise point at which I knew that Walt and I were going to be really good friends for a long time was when he keyed the mic once again to say, in his most fighter-pilot-like voice: “Ah, Center, much thanks. We’re showing closer to nineteen hundred on the money.”

For a moment Walter was a god. And we finally heard a little crack in the armor of the HoustonCenterVoice, when L.A. came back with, “Roger that Aspen, Your equipment is probably more accurate than ours. You boys have a good one.”

It all had lasted for just moments, but in that short, memorable sprint across the southwest, the Navy had been flamed, all mortal airplanes on freq were forced to bow before the King of Speed, and more importantly, Walter and I had crossed the threshold of being a crew. A fine day’s work.

We never heard another transmission on that frequency all the way to the coast. For just one day, it truly was fun being the fastest guys out there.
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boondr said:
CLASSIC


Center must have better stuff than us though as we can only see GS in multiples of ten.
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Boondr, how long did it take you to get hired as an ATC after you really started trying? Is there anyway to get hired and know what tower/approach you'll go to? Ie, not tracon. I'm looking for anyways to get a job in Midland :p

Sorry for the off topic, you can PM me if you want.
 
On one of my first flights as a CFI, we hit a hawk as we were turning final in a 172. I've had 3 bird strikes in my career, but this one was unusual because the hawk hit right on the vent opening of the cessna and puked feathers and guts into the cockpit. Pretty disgusting.
 
I'm a low timer, so I don't have many weird stories but one night I was coming back from CLL after making the short trip for some Freebird burritos. We were coming into a small uncontrolled field around Waco and shortly after touchdown I saw a deer standing on centerline staring right at me. I figured that some venison filets were in my immediate future. Now I'm not a hunter, but I have heard stories of spotlighting deer. Something inside my head must have clicked so I slapped my landing lights off and the deer immediately ran off just missing us. I don't know if my actions really did anything special, but I didn't have a deer strike that night.
 
Ajax BU said:
I'm a low timer, so I don't have many weird stories but one night I was coming back from CLL after making the short trip for some Freebird burritos. We were coming into a small uncontrolled field around Waco and shortly after touchdown I saw a deer standing on centerline staring right at me. I figured that some venison filets were in my immediate future. Now I'm not a hunter, but I have heard stories of spotlighting deer. Something inside my head must have clicked so I slapped my landing lights off and the deer immediately ran off just missing us. I don't know if my actions really did anything special, but I didn't have a deer strike that night.
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See I think is good stuff.


Be careful though someone might report you for landing with you lights off!!!!:eek:
 
One time I flew a night cross country to Spokane, Washington with a student pilot. Long story short, we couldn't find anywhere to eat, so we ended up getting a pizza delivered to the sidewalk at 11:30 at night. After sitting on the sidewalk, eating pizza, we climbed back in our mighty C-152 to fly home. The starter was dead. We ended up spending the night in the plane.

On another occasion, I delivered a Cherokee Six from Nebraska to a buyer 10 hours away, in Connecticut. The transaction appeared to be a done deal, contingent on the buyer's mechanic giving the final ok. The mechanic found an oil leak in the crankcase of the engine, along with improperly repaired firewall damage. The needed repairs could have potentially totaled more than $30k. After two days of haggling and inspecting, the deal was called off and I flew the stupid machine 10 hours back to Nebraska.

Another time I landed at a small town airport in eastern Kentucky, planning to refuel. I was told by a woman who was barefoot, had curlers in her hair, and smoking a cigarette, that they had run out of fuel. About a year ago. Thankfully we had enough gas to get to the next major city for fuel.

I've had all sorts of adventures, but I'm sure there are stories much more unusual than mine.
 
jrh said:
One time I flew a night cross country to Spokane, Washington with a student pilot. Long story short, we couldn't find anywhere to eat, so we ended up getting a pizza delivered to the sidewalk at 11:30 at night. After sitting on the sidewalk, eating pizza, we climbed back in our mighty C-152 to fly home. The starter was dead. We ended up spending the night in the plane.
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Were you at GEG or SFF?
 
Easy. The most surreal moment in aviation happened when I was ferrying a Mooney to San Antonio, I don't even remember what airport I stopped at except that it was in LA but it was night and I wasn't in a hurry. I was alone in the FBO, even the guys who worked there were nowhere to be seen.
I was hungry, and trying to convince myself that I was hungry enough to look for the clerk to get the keys for the courtesy car, but I was kind of lazy. I distinctly remember thinking that delivery would be nice, and I wonder who would deliver to the airport at this hour.

Here is the surreal part... Not 30 seconds after that internal monologue did a USMC black hawk set down right in front of the FBO, didn't even stop engines just put the rotors in low pitch. Someone hopped out, walked straight to the FBO, saw that I was the only one there, came over to me and handed me a pizza box and said, "Your pizza, sir." I was a little shocked so all I said was "huh... Thanks?" he grinned and nodded, turned around, got back in the crew door and they took off into the night.

I sat the pizza on the counter and 5 minutes later the night clerk showed up. I relayed the story and he laughed and filled me in. Apparently they were regular visitors to the airport, especially at night (NVG training?) and there was some kind of bet involved. He said I could have the pizza. It was cold, but it was free and tasted of freedom!!
 
I found a dead human body on a runway one morning, while taxing out to take off. Used it to great effect as a TMAAT story during my interview for SJA.
 
TMAAT when you found a dead body...
"Well, found isn't really the word I would use... Hid is more accurate....Oh crap, you tricked me!"
:)
 
Cessnaflyer said:
Were you at GEG or SFF?
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Well, that was part of the long story, actually.

It was in the summer, so sunset wasn't until after 9 p.m. We originally went to GEG, only to find the FBO closed at 10 p.m. and no way to exit the ramp. We couldn't get out, and even if we'd called security to let us out, we didn't know if we could get back in. Way too much security at that place. So we flew over to SFF, only to discover it's in an industrial part of town and miles away from food.

I loved flying in the pacific northwest, but I have to say, flying on the east coast and midwest is MUCH nicer for doing anything after hours. 24 hour FBOs every few miles, etc.
 
TMAAT where you had a conflict with a co-worker...etc HR questions. I hate them.

Last time I interviewed that had real HR questions, which was a while back, they asked me "Tell me one of your weaknesses." and "Answering HR questions." came out of my mouth before I could stop myself, but it did get a laugh.
 
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