Air Carolina Part 1

By Ellis M. Chernoff

All Photos by the Author

The year is 1977. It was the year following my graduation from Embry-Riddle Aeronautical University (ERAU). I had returned to California and resumed flight instructing while applying to every airline in the country. During the summer, I bought a bunch of airline tickets and, wearing a nice navy-blue suit, visited the offices of a half-dozen airlines attempting to get my foot in the door. I had a four-year degree, my FAA certificates, and log books full of plenty of hours. Yet, my long-sought goal was not realized. I returned home disappointed that every employer wanted what I didn’t have and didn’t value what I had or my potential.

In September, I received a phone call from one of my fellow university students. Telling him about my recent travels and efforts to get an airline job, he asked, “Do you want a job?” Like a line of ERAU students before us, Lou was flying for a very small commuter airline based in Florence, South Carolina. I couldn’t be choosy at this point and said that I’ll be there as soon as I can drive across country.

I arrived in Florence tired and grubby and was enthusiastically greeted by the executives and staff. Air Carolina was a Piper Aircraft dealer, flight school, and ran a scheduled commuter airline. They also flew on-demand charter, along with a contract with the military. In fact, I was hired to captain a Navajo Chieftain that was in Ohio, operating flights for the US Air Force mainly between Wright-Patterson AFB and Dobbins AFB in Georgia. The passengers were commuting in support of a major modification of the C-5A Galaxy fleet.

Before I could assume my duties on the Chieftan, I had to be trained and certified by Air Carolina on their FAR 135 certificate. I familiarized myself with the operations manual and operations specifications approved by the FAA. Of course, I also studied the manual of the Piper Navajo Chieftain, and I was invited to ride right seat on the scheduled airline flights if an open seat was available. My first opportunity to do this came the second evening with a captain whom I had known at the university. He walked me through the filing of the flight plan, servicing of fuel load, and preparation of the weight and balance form. The process was one I had never seen. It was a series of subtractions from the maximum gross weight of passenger and crew weights, fuel, and whatever was left was considered “baggage”. On paper, we would only carry 20 pounds of baggage, yet we would fill four baggage compartments to the brim. And passengers were all counted at 160 pounds, despite them obviously weighing more than that. This is all “FAA Approved”.

The same authority would allow the airline to train me in a Piper PA-34 Seneca, and that would qualify me to fly any of the Piper twin-engine models. I had obtained my multiengine rating in the Piper Apache, and the Seneca was much more modern and better equipped. Taking my first flight in that plane, something strange was evident. Upon establishing the engines in cruise power, I could only close one cowl flap while the other engine would overheat unless its cowl flap was left fully open. I asked the instructor/chief pilot about this, and he told me that it had been this way since they overhauled the engines.

The next day, my training flight was cancelled because the Seneca was in the hangar for its required 100-hour inspection and maintenance. I gave the plane a good looking over while the mechanics were working on it to be more familiar with its workings. Interestingly, I discovered that the cylinder temperature sensors were not correctly installed. I had worked on airplanes as an apprentice throughout my pilot training years under the supervision of licensed A&P mechanics. I had installed many overhauled engines on multiple types of general aviation planes.

I completed my Seneca checkout but was scheduled for my FAR 135 check-ride in a Piper Navajo B, which I had not yet flown. Again, I was offered a “fly along” the night before, and perhaps the pilot would let me fly a leg if the return had no revenue passengers. I joined Captain Craig in the right seat of N9192Y for the flight to Charlotte on a dark and rainy night. I noticed that he carried no navigation charts and he flew the route from memory.

After delivering our load of mail to the post office at the Charlotte Douglas Airport, we returned to the ramp and he offered me the left seat for the return flight. I started the engines, he worked the radio, and we taxied out for takeoff. I was directed to stop at an intersection of Runway 18. I questioned him about intersection takeoffs, and he responded that they always used that intersection. When I started the engine run-up procedure, he asked why I was doing that. I replied that I always perform a run-up after any engine shutdown.

Cleared for takeoff, we roared down the runway and I selected Landing Gear UP once airborne. Suddenly, the plane swerved to the right. Thinking a throttle had slipped back, I checked that all engine controls were still full forward and they were. About this time, Craig said, “I have it,” and he took control of the aircraft and immediately started a turn to the right. I asked, “What are you doing?” He replied, “Turning back”. At not much more than 150 feet in the air, I was looking through the right side window at the terminal building and the parking lot. Clearly, the right engine was not producing power, and the left engine was trying to flip us over. A turn into the dead engine is exactly what we are all trained to NEVER DO.

I’m looking at the flight instruments as we are in a right bank with speed and altitude decreasing. In this dangerous attitude, we penetrate the overcast and Craig returns the controls to me. Engine out and unusual attitude recovery. Certainly the truest test of my flying. Yes, I get things sorted out, and the Tower asks if we’re having difficulty. Craig says to me, “Look at that!” I asked, “Is it bad?” Of course it was, so I said, “Feather that engine,” which he did. But he didn’t tell the Tower that we had lost an engine, only telling the controller that we wanted to return to the airport. They asked, “What approach would you like?” and Craig looked at me. I replied, “What’s the weather?” The answer only gave the choice for an ILS to Runway 5. The Captain had not brought any charts, so I directed him to set up the radios while I continued to fly.

The approach to Runway 5 was to minimums and I made the single-engine landing. But while taxiing back to the ramp, Craig tried to un-feather the propeller. He didn’t want anyone to see it!

The following day back in Florence, I got a hero’s welcome, but I still had to take the scheduled check-ride. I mentioned that surely my performance the night before, with a real engine failure and single-engine instrument approach to minimums, should suffice to prove my competence. “Did you do a missed approach?” Of course not, so I still had to perform the check-ride.

This was my introduction to big-time airline flying. The next two years would include many more challenges and seasoning that changed me from a pleasure pilot into a professional.

In summary and in reference to the above episode, the Piper PA-31-310 Navajo B is an 8-place executive twin equipped with Lycoming TIO-540 A1A engines that produce 310 hp. The four aircraft of this type in the Air Carolina fleet all had 2-blade propellers. While everyone at Air Carolina assumed the engine that failed on my flight was a high-time engine, in truth, it had recently been overhauled. A piston pin failed and allowed its associated connecting rod to flail in the engine case and punch a hole the size of one’s fist through the top of the case. This resulted in the loss of all of that engine’s oil; the propeller actually feathered itself as a consequence of the oil pressure loss.

Stay tuned for Early Codeshare, Air Carolina Part 2.