On a wing and a prayer

Press, 4 January 1988, Page 7

On a wing and a prayer

Wilsons Week...

It was ■ white-knuckle time. Air New Zealand had entrusted me with $l5 million worth of Boeing 767 cockpit and my landing approach to Auckland airport was going well, until the instructor suddenly shut down one of the engines. “Thought we'd make it a little more interesting,’’ he smiled. Interesting! Drinkies in the Koru lounge was interesting, this was one of those Hollywood “Airport” disaster movie plots come to life. Biggies adjusted his flying helmet and goggles, tightened the straps and called to his whitefaced crew. "Afraid this is going to be a pretty sticky party, lads!” The two journalists behind me said little. They were too busy chewing their nails and searching for parachutes. Caught up in the excitement of the moment, we had all quite forgotten this was not 1000 ft above the main runway at Auckland. In reality, we were sitting in a metal box in a big, brick building. It was Air New Zealand’s idea of a good time: invite some journalists to Auckland, give each a turn "flying” a Boeing 767 cockpit simulator, and then chortle as we each sat there, freely perspiring. The sophisticated simulator was linked to computer - generated images so lifelike that we lost count of the

yachts moored in the Waitemata harbour. The cockpit was twisting and shaking, the nicely-arranged landing pattern going haywire, various flashing lights and horns were in full cry, and to make matters worse, I couldn’t find the ash tray. “What will you do next?" asked the calm instructor chappie.

“Panic seems like a good idea,” I muttered. Expert aviators will tell you that there are safe ways to land an expensive aeroplane on one engine. These same aviators have received extensive training and command six-figure salaries to know these tricks.

A journalist with 10 minutes of computersimulated circuits round Auckland knows as much about handling an airliner as Richard Pearse knew about manned space flight. American - designed aircraft cockpits talk to you, in a rather metallic, mechanical way. Hidden tape recordings are triggered at certain points, such as low alti-

tude, a too-steep angle of descent, or w’hen it’s time to have your prelanding boiled lolly. This cockpit kept intoning “Sink Rate” at me, which I gather meant we were gliding like a brick;

sit sparks a thought. Who is this anonymous American gentleman who makes a living voicing cockpit warnings? There can be little career satisfaction for him.

“What did you do at work today, Hirman?” “Oh, nothing much, Martha. Just ‘Sink Rate.’ J.B. has promised me a raise soon. I’ll be able to say ‘Too low, gear’.”

Whoever he was, his little metallic voice began to rise in pitch as we dived toward Manukau Harbour. If the tape recording was worried, what hope was there for the novice at the controls?

A thought raced through my brain. If there’s a computergenerated big shark in that harbour, that’ll be two Hollywood movie plots in a day: “Jaws meets son of Airport.” “Get the nose up,” the instructor calmly ordered as I hauled back on the controls with such force we began to attempt a loop. If this is the end, I’ll take the simulator with me, I thought. Suddenly we were on the runway, simulating a bumpy touchdown, and then rolling along toward

the terminal building. He’d done it, a singleengine landing! That’s it, I thought. A new career ahead of me. Time to practice mumbling into the public address microphone. “Ladies, gentlemen ... captain speaking ... ah, at present we’re cruising about ... on your left, and we’ll be landing at Christchurch ... 30, weather there is ... thanks.”

The Air New Zealand man carefully scrutinised the computer print out chart, gave me his best public relations smile and said, “Stick to journalism.” On the flight home I told the hostess that should any emergency arise, I had just flown their 767 simulator and was available for singleengine landings. She gave me a boiled lolly.—DAVE WILSON