By John House
Have you ever watched something unfold before your eyes that you knew was not going to end well but were powerless to stop? Like watching I Love Lucy and you know she’s about to do something really dumb? Or maybe traffic stopped suddenly ahead of you and, while you had time to brake, the muttonhead in your rearview mirror is looking down at his “smartphone.” As an aside, why is it called a smartphone? I contend they make people dumber. Can you recite your children’s phone numbers? I didn’t think so, but I digress.

I recall an incent years ago while on a work party at our airport. Even though the airport was privately owned, it was not uncommon for us on occasion to solicit the pilot community to help with projects on the grounds. There was a group of about ten guys, and we were on the southeast side filling potholes and sealing cracks on a small apron. As is usual with work parties, there were three guys working while the rest supervised or stood around trying to keep their shovels and rakes from getting dirty.

It was mid-winter with an overcast sky and a biting wind from the north. The runway in use was 36 which had a right pattern. From where we were working, we had a clear view of the entire pattern of the 2,600 foot long 35-foot-wide runway and were about 60-100 feet from it. The traffic that morning was light, so any aircraft movement was watched intently by the gang-of-seven.

As is customary in groups of pilots, one guy calls out, “Looks like a Cherokee”, to which another would correct, “nope, that’s a Musketeer.” I looked up from working, and interjected, “You’re both wrong, that’s a Cheetah or Tiger. The trailing edge of the rudder goes straight up and there’s a cat on the vertical stab.” “How the h*** can you see that?” someone piped in. “Not all pilots need a big watch,” I replied.

I went back to work while the airplane made its way around the pattern. I wasn’t watching but I looked up when I heard an aircraft add full power. I saw the Cheetah/Tiger on very short final but with a high angle of attack. Its descent rate looked like it would drive the landing gear through the wings. It hit the runway and bounced about 20 feet in the air with the engine screaming. The aircraft dropped and hit the runway again tail low. It bounced back into the air and the nose dropped as it started porpoising. The pilot kept full power and it struggled back into the air in ground effect.

The Cheetah/Tiger slowly gained airspeed and started a shallow climb. Obviously, the pilot had elected to go around and not try to keep it on what little remained of the runway. Good choice. We were close enough to the runway for me to see the orange & black decal on the tail that confirmed to me it was in fact a Gulfstream American AA-5B Tiger.

The events of the last 30 seconds waylaid any and all thought of pothole repair as everyone chirped incessantly about what they’d witnessed. The aircraft worked its way back around the pattern, but it just didn’t look right from where I was standing. Ten sets of eyes were glued to the little white airplane with blue and gold stripes.

As the Tiger approached the runway for its second attempt, it looked to be having issues. The descent rate was again excessive, and the nose of the aircraft was well above the horizon and it was carrying a lot of power. It was clear to me it was on the backside of the power curve. The pilot needed to shove forward on the controls and apply full power, but it was running out of altitude. Just then, the power came up and it slammed onto the runway.

In addition to a busy road at the end of runway 36, there were Oleander bushes about 8 feet high. I’m positive that bush saved many a car from having two rows of tread marks left by a pair of Goodyear Flight Customs across the roof. We never trimmed those bushes, but we did routinely pull branches of it from landing gear. The Tiger was going to need a “bushectomy” from its tail as well as the landing gear.

The airplane hit on its mains and bounced back into the air. The airplane floundered as the pilot tried to maintain some semblance of control. The nose of the airplane was very high, and the engine was screaming as it was drifted away from the runway towards a row of parked aircraft and wooden t-hangars. To this day I’ve no idea how the aircraft made it back into the air and climbed slowly away. I’ve heard God looks after drunkards and fools and at that moment I figured the pilot might be both.

Everyone was incredulous as the airplane made the turn from crosswind to downwind and looked to make a third attempt to land here. Personally, I would have left the pattern if for no other reason than to clear my head. Actually, if I were having as much trouble with the short, narrow runway that it was having, I would have flown somewhere with a long, wide runway. You know, like Lincoln.

When I was a kid, Phoenix Field (O11) was in the middle of nowhere. The surrounding area was filled with oak trees, olive orchards and open fields. However, like so many airports, planning departments allowed development to encroach ever closer. By the early 80s, the area next to the airport we called Honda Hills was filled with houses. It was called that because of all the trails we used to ride our Honda Trail 90s, 70s and Minis. The whole area had become suburbia.

The final approach course to runway 36 overflew a housing development located 1/3 mile from the runway. Between the houses and airport was a Little League ball field and a small open area. At that time, the open area was protected by the county due to what was thought to be the only place on earth where a particular flower grew in Vernal pools. Today, it’s a park with soccer fields surrounded by trees. Back then, the open field was difficult to even walk through as it was filled with swales and mounds.

The pattern the Tiger flew was significantly lower than the normal 1,000 AGL. It looked closer to 600 AGL on downwind and continued with a linear decent as it turned base and then final. Again, the nose of the airplane was high, and it was coming in slow and very low. If any of the houses had had a tall aerial, it would have ruined that evening’s viewing of The Love Boat. I literally shouted out loud, “ Oh S**T, it’s going to crash.”

The airplane was descending like it was made of brick. I saw the nose come down slightly and a second later I heard full power. It was too late though. The airplane descended into the field about 1,000 feet short of the runway. It skidded and bounded across the top of a couple mounds and nosed into the side of one. The prop was curled back and the nose gear collapsed under the smashed cowl.

In high school I was a pretty good runner – able to cover a ¼ mile in under 50 seconds. While, long past school age, I still could move at a pretty good clip. When I knew the airplane was going in, I leaped over the waist-high fence and ran for the airplane. I got to the plane and could see movement from inside. I stepped up on the wing on the passenger side and yelled if they were okay. I tried to unlatch the canopy, but I couldn’t get it to budge. The front-seat passenger was a small kid I would guess about 10 years old. The pilot was a small, middle-aged woman and in the back were two people. The kid appeared alert, but the pilot looked dazed.

I rapped on the windshield near the latch and yelled for one of them to unlatch it. It was obvious the kid didn’t know how, and he poked at his mom(?) to get her to help. She started to come around but was still in a state of shock. She reached up and between the two of us we got the canopy to slide back. I wanted to get everyone out of the airplane. There was no fire, but I wasn’t taking any chances. By now most of the gang had arrived and we helped everyone out of the airplane. I was beginning to see why the pilot was having so much trouble landing.

When I went through my flight training years before, I learned about this thing called CG. This pilot must have missed that lesson. She was small at maybe 110 pounds and the kid was smaller still. In the rear seats were two middle-aged women, that were, how do I put this politely? Let’s just say they were bringing a lot, I mean a lot, to the party. They were wedged in rather tightly. After getting the ladies out of the back, I noted the baggage compartment was filled with suitcases. Not the overnight type but the Samsonite ones they used to give to gorillas at the zoo to play with. Those of you from my generation will understand.

I looked around the now empty airplane and noted the elevator trim was nose down. I can’t think of a time in more than 50 years of flying that I’ve landed an airplane with nose down trim. Yikes! These folks are lucky to be alive much less walking away simply bruised, battered and dazed.

We got them to the airport lobby, and someone called the fire department. I called the Sacramento FSDO and they asked me some questions about any injuries, aircraft damage, etc. I filled them in with what I knew and was asked if I could secure the airplane and the area around it. I told them about the “load” in the airplane and was asked if I could remove the baggage and weigh it before anyone took anything.

Securing the airplane in the field would not an easy task. The FAA indicated it may be the next day before they could get someone there and I wasn’t interested in spending the night. An airplane in a field along a busy road is a magnet. I got some help to get everything out of the aircraft and slid the canopy closed. The police had arrived and I told them the FAA wanted the area secured. Passing the buck as it were. The officer told me they couldn’t do that. Oh well.

Looking over the airplane, it survived the crash rather well. The wings, fuselage and empennage appeared to be relatively unscathed. Outside of the prop, cowl and nose gear, the aircraft was in remarkably good shape. I was impressed.

I weighed the five bags I had taken out of the baggage compartment and the total was over 150 pounds. Being an inquisitive sort, I hunted down a POH for the airplane. As I remember, the baggage limit was 120 pounds, both front and rear seat were 400 pounds and fuel capacity was 51 gallons. I could only guess at passenger weights. I wasn’t wearing my charter pilot hat, so I didn’t feel comfortable asking the ladies what they weighed. But raising a finger to the breeze, I feel safe in saying the aircraft was over gross with an extreme aft CG. Captain Obvious here.

I spoke with the pilot the next day when she arrived to meet with an insurance rep. She told me they had left Fresno to drop off the two other women at Phoenix Field before continuing to Benton where her grandson lived. She said the airplane flew fine in cruise but when she would reduce power to land, the nose would come up.

I asked why she didn’t go to a bigger airport after finding the airplane difficult to control. She said she didn’t think they would make it to another airport. “Because you were low on fuel?” I asked. Her reply was, “No. We had breakfast at Denny’s before we left and the waitress kept filling our coffee cups. Everyone had to pee really bad.”

For want of a pee, the kingdom was lost?