It's More Romantic if You Can Keep it Up!

I've always loved helicopters. I still have my copy of The Big Book of Real Helicopters, worn from many readings. So when I finally got my commercial rotary wing certificate, I couldn't wait to go out and get some hours. I was lucky to find an base which, after a thorough checkride, agreed to rent me its Hughes 300C at a good rate.

I was in business giving sightseeing rides!

Of course, I didn't quit my real job, since customers were sporadic. But I soon set up a couple of interesting tours of the LA area. I designed small ads to bring in some business.

I had learned to fly helicopters in a Bell 47, and still remember my wide-eyed smile the first time we took off. As a child, I had dreamed I could fly by flapping my arms, and this was much the same sensation. Because of these memories, it was extra exciting to see my clients' faces as we would lift off; their eyes getting wide, mouths open in wonder as we transitioned from a high hover to forward flight, seeing the earth as a bird would, with a bird's freedom from airways and most altitude restrictions. I marketed to first-time passengers for that reason.

Imagine my pleasure when I received a call from Rick, who wanted to suprise his girlfriend Wendy with a flight on Valentine's Day! We spent some time on the phone setting it up, and I asked him to make sure she would be up for the idea, not frightened by it. After all, he planned to bring her to the aircraft blindfolded. He assured me she had wanted a helicopter ride for some time and would not be scared.

The romantic day arrived, and as arranged, I preflighted the helicopter and got the intercom ready. Rick planned to plug a portable tape deck into it to play some mushy music. Oh well, some people are more into romance, I guess. I was there for the flying!

Rick and Wendy arrived right on time, and she squealed with delight when he removed the blindfold. I'm sure she had some idea what was happening from all the airplane noise, but little did she know what treats were in store... nor did I realize the flying lesson I was about to receive.

We strapped in and Rick connected the tape deck. I started the engine and did my checks. As I slowly engaged the rotors, "Ride of the Valkyries" came over the headphones . I've always thought this way of starting a helicopter -- first starting the engine, then engaging rotors -- was dramatic, but the music made it really exciting. I ended up hooking my headphones directly into the radio, so their music and conversation wouldn't interfere with my communications. Flying out of Long Beach through the surrounding congested airspace took some radio alertness.

We began with my "LA" package. We followed the LA River into downtown, near the police station to see their "cop" -ters take off and land. Then we'd fly over some skyscrapers, ending with a mock approach to the Arco Tower, where I used to work. I have landed on aircraft carriers and done some actual instrument approaches solo, but to me, approaching a downtown skyscraper is the most exciting flight for me. Perhaps it's because of the view, looking directly down the "canyons" to the ant-like people and cars below.

I could see my passengers were also suitably impressed, for they stopped their romantic cooing and held each other tightly as we descended toward the building, then transitioned to hover, then back to flight. As we passed over the big white "H" on the roof, we felt a slight turbulence from the cooling tower exhaust, followed by the cloud-like mist and smell as we passed through its plumes.

Rick checked his watch, then gave me the "OK" sign. This meant it was time to continue with the second half of our flight, the "Beach" route. We followed the so-called LA "river" (dry every time I've seen it) past Long Beach and to the Pacific Ocean, then turned south down the coast, heading for Huntington Beach.

Next was a suprise Rick had arranged for Wendy. Little did I know I was in for one, too.

As we turned toward the designated part of the beach, we could see some of the couple's friends, gathered around some large object on the beach. As they saw us, they began to wave. I descended to about 500 feet and planned a direct approach to the friendly crowd.

They parted as we got near, and there below us was a red heart sculpted in the sand, with the lovebirds' initials in the center, pierced by an arrow. As we transitioned to a hover, Rick put in a Barry Manilow cassette, then picked up a camera and began to shoot photos. Wendy was crying by this time, and my eyes weren't exactly dry either.

Unknown to my passengers, however, I began to struggle with the aircraft. Although I had hover power set and was otherwise stable, we were slowly sinking. I couldn't understand it; a scan of all gauges showed nothing unusual, but as I fed in more power, we still were sinking. The cylinder head temperature gauge was beginning to enter the yellow area, then the red. Why did I need so much backstick and collective?

I must explain that helicopters are not magic machines, though we who fly them sometimes believe so. Hovering is a maneuver which the helicopter is designed to perform under a specific range of conditions. So while my teary-eyed passengers were living their romantic moment, I was finding that for some reason the helo just wouldn't hover level - the one maneuver for which it was designed!

I decided that we just couldn't afford to lose more altitude, so at about 250 feet, I began to transition to forward flight, hoping we could climb. If not, we'd have to land in the sand!

To my relief, as soon as we regained forward flight, the little Hughes began to fly as advertised, and the temperature needle slowly headed for the green. We slowly circled for a few final waves, tears and photos. As I got near the picture zone again, we again sank a little, but I expected this and kept the helo moving.

As we headed back for our base, I noticed my breathing return to normal, my hands unclenching from the controls, and the sweat beginning to dry from my face. Rick happily patted me on the shoulder and Wendy smiled at me through her tears. Me? I couldn't wait to get back to Long Beach and land!

As we made our final approach into the wind, I straightened my cool sunglasses and began to smile my helo-pilot smile once again.

After landing, as I slowed first the blades, then cooled and cut the engine, I took some deep breaths.

Rick and Wendy thanked me happily and handed me my check, waving as they strolled off arms around each other.

I sat and thought for a moment, then began to chuckle. I figured out why we had not been able to hover at the beach. It was a problem all student helicopter pilots learn about, and which, in the emotional moment, I had simply forgotten.

As I said, there are limits on how a helicopter can hover. One limit is density altitude. This was not a problem in this case, as Long Beach in February is at such a low density altitude that the hover limit is about 5,000 feet indicated. I had entered the hover at only about 500 feet. So why couldn't we hover? Why had the helicopter heated up and started to sink?

Well, there is a limit on how fast a helicopter can fly; it's different in each direction. As a rule of thumb, one should keep sideward, and especially rearward flight, below about 20 knots, preferably less than that. Actual limits are dictated by nearby obstacles, control deflection, pilot skill and local winds. A crosswind during a hover is equivalent to flying the helicopter into the wind at the exact speed of that wind so you're stationary over the ground.

Hovering with a tailwind is hardest. The helicopter tries to turn like a weathervane. We also avoid hovering with a tailwind or flying backwards because the wind doesn't cool the engine very well. There's also a danger that the rotor could hit the tail boom. That would really ruin a flight!

So, what had really happened to our photo op? As I had approached the heart in the sand, I forgot what we should always do before landing: Check the wind direction! This is easy, since during the day, the wind comes in off the ocean toward land.

Instead, I had forgotten the wind. Instead, I fixated on the romantic couple and my desire to help Rick get some good photos. With the brisk tailwind, I was not really trying to hover, but to fly backwards at about 30 knots!

Hovering, as with most helicopter maneuvers, is done by feel. You really fly better when you make control inputs unconsciously. It's sort of like riding a bicycle; you can't learn it by thinking about it.

That feel is one of the fun things about flying a helo. Forgetting that was also why I didn't notice the non-standard flight condition I was in. The helicopter did all it could to comply with my inputs, but couldn't maintain altitude and fly backwards at that speed. The temperature indication and high power setting were hints that this was an abnormal situation, but I was too inexperienced to "get it" until after we landed.

No real danger though, right? Not quite. Helicopters have a safety limit shown by a graph called the "Height-Velocity" curve. This tells us whether the helo can safely land from a particular velocity at a given altitude above the ground if the engine quits (and the pilot reacts instantly). A forced landing from a hover at 500 feet AGL was OK per the chart, but once we had sunk below about 450 feet, I should have had about 20 knots of forward speed to still safely land; more than that at 250 feet.

Guess what: There is no chart for a forced landing from flying backwards. Minus 30 knots is 'way off the page!

Luckily, we all ended up with happy, fond memories of that romantic Valentine's Day flight. Little did my passengers know how tense and humbling it had been for me!