Hunting Hugo
In September of 1989, a NOAA hurricane hunter airplane intercepted Hurricane Hugo as it approached the Caribbean islands, just before Hugo's destructive rampage through the Caribbean and South Carolina. The crew of the airplane were the first people to encounter the mighty hurricane--and very nearly became its first victims. The mission remains the most harrowing flight ever conducted by the NOAA hurricane hunters. I served as flight meteorologist on that flight, and feel fortunate indeed to be able to tell the story.
— Dr. Jeff Masters (Chief Meteorologist, The Weather Underground, Inc.)
Pre-flight
The hot tropical sun beats down on me as I cross the tarmac at Barbados's Grantly Adams field. I look to the northeast, scanning the sky for signs of Hurricane Hugo's outer cloud bands, but see only the puffy fair weather cumulus clouds typical of a tropical summer morning. I continue to the waiting aircraft. The flight engineers and maintenance crew are already hard at work, fueling the airplane and completing their pre-flight inspections. I climb the ladder and step into one of the National Oceanic and Atmospheric Administration's (NOAA's) P-3 Orion "Hurricane Hunter" aircraft--NOAA 42, affectionately called "The Princess", my partner in many memorable missions.
SNIP
A second massive jolt rocks the aircraft. Gear loosened by the previous turbulence flies about the inside the aircraft, bouncing off walls, ceiling, and crew members. Next to Terry Schricker, our 200-pound life raft breaks loose and hurtles into the ceiling. Neil Rain fends off screwdrivers, wrenches, and his airborne toolbox with his arms. The locked drawers in the galley rip open, and a cooler loaded with soft drink cans explodes into the air, showering Alan Goldstein with ice and 12-ounce cans. Hugh Willoughby watches as invisible fingers pry loose his portable computer from its mounting, and hurl it into the ceiling, ripping a gash in the tough ceiling fabric. At the radar station, Peter Dodge shields himself and the Barbados reporter from two flying briefcases. Next to them, Bob Burpee grabs two airborne boxes of computer tapes, but has no more hands to grab a third box of tapes that smashes against the ceiling, sending the tapes caroming through the cabin.
A third terrific blow, almost six times the force of gravity, staggers the airplane. Clip boards, flight bags, and headsets sail past my head as I am hurled into the console. Terrible thundering crashing sounds boom through the cabin; I hear crew members crying out. I scream inwardly. "This is what it feels like to die in battle", I think. We are going down. The final moments of the five hurricane hunter missions that never returned must have been like this.
The aircraft lurches out of control into a hard right bank. We plunge towards the ocean, our number three engine in flames. Debris hangs from the number four engine.
SNIP
WE'VE GOT FIRE COMING OUT OF NUMBER THREE!" Terry's urgent cry shatters the stunned silence on the intercom.
"And I see something hanging from number four," adds Sean, his voice sounding strangely calm.
For several eternal terrifying seconds, I watch the massive, white-frothed waves below us grow huge and close. I wait for impact, praying for survival. With two engines damaged, both on the same wing, I know that our odds are not good.
But my prayers are answered by the cool, professional reaction of the cockpit crew. Gerry snaps us up out of the right-rolling dive, a perilous 880 feet from the water. Steve Wade hits the kill switch on engine number three, and the 30-foot long flames shooting out of it die as the flow of fuel chokes off. Lowell and Frank take charge of keeping us in the eye, scanning the inside to size up where our path should take us.
http://www.wunderground.com/education/hugo1.asp 
Printer-friendly format
Email this thread to a friend
Bookmark this thread
(1000+ posts)
Send PM |
Profile |
Ignore
