|
FAU 571 “Ghost”
It
was a glorious autumn morning, with clear, deep blue skies and a warming
golden sun. Mount Rainier stood tall on the horizon with its snow-covered
summit as a gatekeeper to the city of Seattle.
It was late September 1992 and the benign weather was just perfect for
flying in Washington State, a common thought to flyers confronted with
welcoming skies. Whilst preparing a flight bag my grey matter provided a
virtual checklist “license, medical certificate, logbook” and the hotel
room’s coffee brewer provided a steam engine sort of background noise, as
the brown colored liquid exited its nozzle. “ Not so bad” I thought after
the first sip, Seattle being the land of “Starbucks” and all…but the weak
American coffee was not easily accepted by my Latin veins, used to
stronger Arabica beans and fulfilling café con leche of my Uruguayan
childhood.
After arriving from London the night before operating as a cabin
crewmember on a 747-436, I was promptly on the phone to a flying school
based at Boeing Field, to book a local flight and check ride. It would be
an opportunity to see the local sights and stay proficient on the recently
acquired FAA CPL/IR.
From my hotel I caught the almost empty bus to Boeing Field a few miles
away. Few use public transport in the land of the automobile and 10 lane
highways, like the one connecting the city centre and Seattle Tacoma
airport (Sea-Tac) whilst bordering the historical Boeing airport, like a
giant snake hugging its prey. This historical
aerodrome is home to the Boeing “Museum of Flight” and the place where Mr.
Boeing or the plane maker to the world began producing flying machines
1916. The old wooden shacks gave way to large concrete monster buildings
surrounding the Boeing works supplying its ferocious appetite for the
whole range of aviation parts that keep the production lines alive at the
field and further afield in nearby Everett.
My head, early morning puffy eyes included, was glued to the window
attempting to spot aircraft types along the long single runway, from jet
airliners to light aircraft, to a few AWACS and their top early warning
radar dishes comparable to a flying paella dish!
“This is your stop, Sir,” advised the driver. Quick thanks exited my lips
but no eye contact to the kind man as I had only eyes for what I just
spotted on the distance. There on the airport tarmac, amongst many others,
standing proud outside the hangar was a unique type: a Fairchild-Hiller FH
227. Nothing strange here except the writing “FUERZA AEREA URUGUAYA”
written with big capital letters underneath the main passenger windows. My
initial though was: What is this she doing her? They wouldn’t do any
maintenance here! I knew as an ex FAU mechanic that most repairs on type
were done at home in the Brigada de Mantenimiento y Abastecimiento at
Carrasco and failing that major inspections could be done in neighboring
countries.
“Wait
a minute” I though, the FUERZA AEREA URUGUAYA writing was removed when the
aircraft got the CX civilian registration and started operating domestic
sectors for the Uruguayan state carrier Pluna, so the color scheme was not
contemporary. A further headshake – it most be the coffee I wandered -
convinced me of my correct eyesight: Artigas flag on the rudder fin, white
fuselage top, grey bottom, it is one of ours!
I allowed my brain to reminisce and take me back in time. I have fond
memories of Mr. Fairchild machines for it was FAU 570 (another FH 227D on
service in Uruguay) the first airplane I ever set a foot on and would take
me away from my country. The date my family and I emigrated to Brazil:
19th July 1973. Our father had gone ahead to our neighboring giant,
seeking new professional opportunities, and he would find them in Rio de
Janeiro where we, like our Italian-Spanish ancestors did in the 19th
century, find a welcome land to start anew.
I remember the cold winter morning in our Buceo apartment in Montevideo
just before our departure. My busy stepmother Teresa was rushing my eldest
brother Fidel and I to get ready, as the two oldest of the clan and to
assist caring for our younger brothers 18 months old Ariel and 3 months
old Paulo. We said good-bye to our memories and got into the black and
yellow taxi under the cover the July morning darkness. “It’s zero degrees
this morning”. – said the driver- trying to make small conversation,
however none of us was on the mood to converse. At Carrasco International
Airport we waved farewell to our relatives, tears flowing in some, of the
many family members that usually accompany departing loved ones in Latin
airports the world over.
My excitement grew as I walked into the tarmac to board, my young eyes
widening, as they glanced at the FH 227D silhouette in the dusk. The
lights of FAU 570 seemed for me, 11 at the time, alike to a poorly lit
Christmas tree. The same illumination would turn in later years into cabin,
position lights and anti collision beacons. The purple taxi- way lights
showed us the way to the runway and we left native soil under the growling
sound of the two Rolls Royce Dart engines at fine prop pitch. Cotton was
made in heaven I thought, as we later thundered through stratus clouds
leading into clear blue skies above and the shy but ever raising winter
sun. As my now grown up senses felt the smell of the cabin all those years
ago, my brain landed back at Seattle, 1992.
My eyes turned back to the aircraft I’ve just seen and were filled with
sense of disbelief. Its military registration number was 571. I shocked my
head and looked again: 571. Impossible I wandered.
Let
me explain: In October 1972, a Uruguayan FH-227 was being used to fly from
Montevideo to Santiago via Mendoza in Argentina. It was part of the Air
Force’s TAMU fleet (Transporte Aereo Militar Uruguayo) that at regular
intervals would link many Latin American cities whilst transporting
civilian fare paying passengers, at a nominal fee. On this flight most of
the 45 customers were teenage students from the Old Christians catholic
school on a rugby tour to Chile. Captain Julio Cesar Ferradas was in
charge joined by co pilot Dante Hector Lagurara and a flight mechanic
doubling as a cabin crewmember. Ferradas was an experienced Air Force
pilot who had a total of 5117 flying hours and 29 flights across the Andes
Mountains under his belt. Following takeoff from Mendoza, the aircraft
climbed to 5500m and followed the Airway G17 across the Andes. While
flying at an altitude of FL150 in turbulence the right wingtip hit a
mountain and broke off. The right wing folded over the fuselage and cut
off part of the tail. The left wing also separated and the fuselage hit a
mountain slope and skidded through the snow. The true causes of the
tragedy are unknown. FAU 571 had been built in 1968 and had only 792
airframe hours.
The
survivors spent more than two months in the mountains with no food, water
nor cold weather equipment to survive the hostile elements of the peaks at
the Argentine/Chilean border where FAU 571 ended his days. Christmas Eve
1972, was the date when the boys were found, thanks to their heroic
enterprise to surpass great odds, walking many miles through the mountains
to obtain help, after the official search was called off and few had hopes
of finding anybody alive: The miracle of the Andes was born as out of 45,
16 compatriots returned home. The courage of a few Chilean Air Force
helicopter pilots who risked their lives to collect the survivors on their
Bell UH-1 to bring them back to the world and their hopeful families will
never be forgotten.
Still numbed I proceeded to flight school and completed my check ride.
Stalls, general handling, touch and goes etc. My instructor did not know,
when asked, what this FAU 571 version was doing so far from its resting
place (the 571 in the Andes was burnt down by rescuers and a cross and
remembrance plaque set in place). On completion of the flight I walked
towards her with reverence, curiosity and a feeling of respect to obtain
further details and photograph the machine. The details were perfect, as I
remembered them and I knew them well.
Apart from my first ever flight this
trustworthy planes shuttled FAU staff between Montevideo – where I lived -
and Durazno (Air Force Base 2) where I was based as a technician with
Grupo de Aviacion 2 and I had more hours as a passenger on type that I
care to remember.
A
local technician approached me, and seeing my curiosity and many pictures
later, he would finally reveal nearly all to me: “It was used on a film or
something earlier this year. Now is just here for sale”. Late 1992 that
year, Disney studios movie “Alive” was released, telling the story of the
crash and the Andes survivors Hollywood style. Some of the spectacular
flying scenes were shot north of Seattle over the Canadian Rocky mountains
thus all was revealed as the motives of this aircraft presence at Boeing
Field.
I proceeded to explain, to my puzzled companion, what this aircraft
represented to my country, its air force, its people and me. These words
probably fell on deaf ears, as the gringo could not appreciate the
emotions felt by me plus the fact that the aircraft facing him was not a
collective of alloy, wires, grease, fuel, and rubber. No, that chunk of
metal represented a sort of time machine that took me back to the news
bulletin seen in the old black and white TV that October 1972, when three
million Uruguayans were told that one of their aircraft was missing in a
distant, hostile region of their continent, at that time our worst air
disaster. That lump of metal took away some fine countrymen, military and
civilian alike. The former would be colleagues in spirit, years later when
I joined their ranks at the Air Force (I still remember the picture of the
in-flight technician onboard FAU 571, placed above the entrance arch on
the dormitories of Grupo de Aviacion no.3. non commission officers) The
latter and the survivors would be a beacon of hope to my generation,
showing what can be accomplished with persistence and determination in the
presence of unsurpassable odds, and set our minds to attain a common aim.
But on a happier note that portion of metal was the pillar of my flying
dreams igniting the desire to be surrounded with aviation, as I would
aspire and dream of being in the air following that very first flight.
That chunk of metal was responsible for my return home to Uruguay from
Brazil (against my father’s will) and later enrolment in the FAU in 1978
as a cadet for the Escuela Tecnica de Aeronautic later graduating as a jet
engines mechanic. The feelings set in motion on my young impressionable
soul carried me through the arduous academic and physical training, the
cold long duty nights, the time away from my dear family and sweet heart,
the feeling of duty accomplished, of service to our nation and after
loosing my typically teenage naïve smile – that many time caused me
problems on the serious military environment- for the final transformation
from child to man.
But most important of all, Mr. Fairchild’s graceful machine place me where
I’m today. Thirty years on after my first contact with aviation magic,
several jobs later (most in aviation), tears, smiles, flying hours later,
the FH 227 unknowingly, placed me closer to God’s face and gave me all
these memories, after all memories is all we take with us to the next
level.
Let us pray for 30 or more years of happy flying memories and………………..no
more ghosts!
Ernesto Blanco Calcagno
|