Barry
Meek's Letters
April
2008
Golfing
and Flying Don't Mix
I once witnessed a
dog get chewed up by a prop. It
wasn't a pretty sight, one which has been
depicted on the big screen in a few Bruce
Willis movies where a bad guy meets the
same fate. What you see in
the movies is very close to the real
thing. I attended a fly-in
breakfast at a small, country airport
several years ago, before the time when
security fences and locked gates were the
norm. For the most part, pilots
knew and understood safety around
airplanes, so it was a surprise to see
one fellow bring his dog into the picnic
area which was quite near the turf ramp
and runway.
The morning was
warm, people were happy, the breakfast
was bacon, eggs and pancakes.
Pretty soon the fly-bys started up.
The owner of the dog got invited by
another pilot for a flight around the
patch. He tied the dog to a post
and climbed aboard the tricycle-gear
airplane with his new friend. The
dog got excited, broke the leash and
dashed toward the plane which was by that
time, already running. The
horrified owner of the dog looked on as
it ran straight into the prop, and was
slashed to pieces in an instant.
The sight we'd just
witnessed stuck with me for years.
It didn't cause nightmares or affect my
quality of life. After all it
wasn't my dog, and dogs don't happen to
be on the top of my favorite animal
list. In my work as a paramedic,
the sight of blood and trauma isn't
uncommon. However actually
witnessing the event that causes it is
rare. By the way, we can't blame
the dog for it's own demise. After
all, a dog will usually follow it's owner
anywhere. I only hope this
fellow learned a lesson about looking out
for his animals, and that nobody leaves
their child in his care.
There's a resort and
golf club we liked to fly to on Sunday
mornings for an outing and a
breakfast. The strip was grass and
actually split the course in a way that
golfers needed to cross it twice in 18
holes. The cart trails didn't make
much of a difference to the runway, and
there was almost no air traffic, so the
airplanes didn't interfere with the
golfers. The community around the
course included a few pilots who flew in
and could tie down near their
homes. That was about all the
traffic there was, and naturally it was
an uncontrolled field. There
were "stop signs" with the
warnings about active runways and that
planes could be operating at any time,
posted at the cart crossings. But
the golfers were complacent, and usually
never bothered to look, or even think
about air traffic.
One morning, along
with two friends, I planned a flight into
the resort for lunch. I always
called the manager's office ahead of a
trip there, requesting permission to
land, and to be aware of any special
events they might have planned that would
interfere with use of the strip.
The usual response was for me to be aware
that I'd be landing at my own risk, the
strip is in good shape, and "come on
up, you guys are always welcome."
Photo by Joe Olson
On arrival, we flew
the standard approach, broadcasting
intentions on 123.2, crossed centre field
for a look at the sock, then proceded
through the downwind and final. The
runway was clear at touchdown and part
way through my roll out, when suddenly a
golf cart sped out from the left,
crossing directly in front of the
plane. Judging the speed and
closing distance between us, there was no
way to avoid the collision. The
prop was about to chew into the side of
the cart, slicing through the first
golfer, then with enough momentum, do the
same to the driver.
There was no way I
could get it stopped. The wheels
were locked and sliding on the
grass. Speed was too slow to
fly. By the grace of God, at the
last second I saw the golfer in the
passenger seat look up, then warn the
driver who stopped just as the wingtip of
my Cherokee sped past in front of their
cart.
The vision of what a
prop had done to that dog years before,
flashed into my mind. I
taxied back to the parking area and for
several minutes my knees were so weak it
was actually difficult to stand. My
mouth was so dry, I couldn't speak to my
passengers. I busied myself with
the log book until my nerves could settle
down.
One of the golfers
walked back across the strip to the
parking area to aplogize for their lapse
in judgement. It turned out that
his wife was the driver of the cart, and
they had not seen or heard the airplane
as we flew over centre field, nor on
final approach. When idling, and on
a turf runway, a small plane can be very
quiet. What caused their near-death
experience was that they ignored the stop
sign and entered an active runway without
even a glance in either direction.
A parent teaches a
child is to look both ways before
crossing a street. Drivers do it
instinctively. Pilots check before
entering an active runway. At least
most pilots do. But if you spend
half your life in an environment like a
golf course, or on a quiet country road,
or a retirement village, you're just not
as likely to be on the lookout for
traffic, if for 3 days out of 4, you
never see a car.
That episode could
have ended up with two dead golfers and a
nasty court case. I suspect that it
wouldn't have been difficult for my
lawyer defending me in any action,
given the clear warning signs at the cart
crossing, and the fact that proper
aviation procedures had been
followed. In short, I don't think I
did anything wrong. However, was my
airmanship up to par? Probably
not. I could have been more
vigilant. I could have informed my
passengers of the ever-present danger of
when people are close to runways. I
could have briefed them on the possible
incursions and where and how to look for
them. Having a few extra eyes in
the cockpit never hurts. Intent on
the touchdown, the speed, staying on the
centre of the strip, generally getting us
down safely probably occupied too much
space in my brain that morning.
The golfers were
lucky. I was lucky. In my
minds eye, I saw the golfers being sliced
up as the dog had been. We've all
seen prettier sights. The airstrip
is still on that golf course, which
surprises me. With all the
litigation, people not accepting
responsibility for their own actions and
so on, I always expected that incident
would be another nail in the coffin for
the strip. Maybe it was. But
so far, we can still fly in and enjoy a
meal at their club house.
Barry Meek
at bcflyer@hotmail.com
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As
published in the newsletters of the Thompson
Valley Sport Flying Club
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