lessons learned

Summer Lifties

A last-minute lesson from a flight school instructor comes to mind 16 years after an Air Force pilot finds himself in a risky, life-or-death situation during training.

Density altitude is what it’s called. Those who have been through flight school should recall the class. My instructor essentially taught us air gets thinner as it warms. In practical terms, this means longer takeoff rolls, reduced allowable takeoff weight, reduced rate of climb, and less aircraft energy for maneuvering. Yeah, yeah, we all nodded while we looked at the clock. But his last words were prescient: “Just remember to watch out for those summer lifties.”

It took 16 years for those words to fully register. During training at the National Training Center at Fort Irwin, Calif., we practiced maneuvers and used weapons designed to simulate shooting down aircraft. On my next training mission, I decided to “attack” a known “enemy-held” radar site and film its “destruction.” I was to lead a four-ship formation of A-10s in support of an armor advance. I briefed my plan, and we took off up the valley in 105-degree heat. My fangs were out; I wanted to get on film my destruction of that site.

My plan was simple: I would leave the other three aircraft in my formation at the hold orbit and split off down the valley to approach the site from an unexpected direction — and then attack. About 5 miles from the site, the radar operators detected me. My aircraft was flying great, but the airspeed was low for the power setting.

I was heading directly at the site at about 200 feet above the ground. I needed more altitude, so I pulled up my nose 30 degrees. I climbed to 3,000 feet and started my attack. I rolled inverted and pulled my nose through the horizon. When I was pointed at the site, I rolled to wings level so I could pull my nose up to point at it for the “kill.”

The aircraft was about 20 degrees nose low and descending rapidly. I pulled back on the stick — and nothing happened. I looked at my airspeed: 230 knots. My brain went into overdrive. I realized what had happened — what my instructor had tried to prepare us for: the summer lifties.

Within seconds of hitting the ground, I had two options: try to fly the aircraft out of this mess or eject. I put one hand on the ejection handle and, with my other, pulled back on the control stick one more time. The aircraft began to respond and the nose began to rise. I gingerly nursed the nose back above the horizon and stopped my rate of descent. I have no idea how close I came to the ground, but I climbed back to a safe altitude to regain my composure. I had forgotten about the summer lifties. I put those memories in the “never again” file.
MO

— Darrel Whitcomb is a retired Air Force colonel and a MOAA Life Member. He lives in Fairfax, Va. For submission information, see page 6.

correction: “Summer Lifties” ran previously with an incorrect author attribution. We regret the error.

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