“This Is Captain Humphrys Speaking”

Contents

INTRODUCTION

1

2

3

4

5

6

7

8

9

10

11

12

13

14

ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

FOR MY CHILDREN

BRIAN, SUE, AND JOHN

An airline pilot’s career is one of sheer relaxed delight; interrupted occasionally by concern, or possibly terror.

~ David G. Humphrys~

INTRODUCTION

THIS BOOK BEGAN AS A request from my daughter, Sue, who insisted I should record some anecdotes which she referred to as my flying stories. As a pilot with TransCanada Airlines/Air Canada I enjoyed a lengthy career and often came home with tales of my travels. Growing up, beside her brothers, Brian and John, Sue heard these stories many times (often over the dinner table, or sitting around our cottage bonfire) and somehow they’d made an impression. One day she came to me and asked me to tape them so that she could share them with my granddaughters, Alexa and Rylee. It seemed like a fair request.

As it happened she was instrumental in encouraging me to spend many winter days, in the early 90’s, sitting in the annex (a building which is located on my property at Woodridge) talking into a handheld tape-recorder. The result of my effort was a shoebox packed with cassette tapes that remained on a shelf until they were unearthed 15 years later. When we discovered the tapes were at risk of deterioration—they become brittle with age—a decision was made to create this book.

These stories represent memories of my career. I want to stress that they are entirely true and retold to the best of my ability. I hope you enjoy them.

Air Canada Flight 2604 Viscount lying in foam after a crash landing at Malton (Toronto International Airport)

April 24, 1965

1

EMERGENCY LANDING

ONE OF MY MENTORS, A WWII pilot, had often said to me David, you’ll never know how you are going to react in an emergency—until you’re in the thick of it. His words were ringing in my ears. As a pilot I had been through many years of flight training, which had provided me with the theory behind what I was about to attempt. But I’ll be the first to admit that theory isn’t always reassuring—as I was about to land a full passenger plane with only the right main landing gear extended.

It was 1965, shortly after I had been promoted to Captain with Air Canada, and I had been assigned a return flight from Chicago to Toronto with First Officer Stan Heggstrom. Our second flight of the day—due to increasing demand—we were on the return leg, so we quickly refueled and loaded up the Vickers Viscount at Chicago O’Hare Airport. Every seat was full, and, with 54 passengers aboard, we made a timely departure for Toronto.

Although I remember that I was looking forward to getting home to my wife and children, it had been an otherwise ordinary Saturday, with good weather. A bit of turbulence, due to rain, as we passed over Lake Michigan was the only condition that required me to ask passengers to buckle their seatbelts, and it didn’t last long. I gave frequent updates about geographical landmarks as we flew over, making sure to point out when we crossed the Canadian border. It was a relaxed flight. Of course, I had no idea of what was to come.

As we completed our routine landing check on approach into Toronto, the left gear landing light on the instrument panel did not come on—this is a green indicator light which tells us the landing gear has been successfully deployed. I stared at it—even reached out and tapped it—still nothing. This had never happened before.

Puzzled, I said Stan, let’s run through that check another time—starting from the top. Once again, when we reached that point in the check, the light failed to come on. And, after repeating several failed attempts, our fears were confirmed: the left main landing gear would not extend. I had no choice—I immediately halted our descent into Toronto.

We remained in constant contact with air traffic control, as we climbed up to an altitude above the minimum obstruction clearance to an area of airspace that is out of the way of other traffic. We attempted several maneuvers to remedy the situation, asking and following advice of engineers and maintenance crews on the ground with no success.

At this point, I reluctantly announced Toronto approach, this is Air Canada flight 2604-24—I am officially declaring an emergency landing… I knew that with or without landing gear, I was going to have to bring the plane down. Eventually, we would run out of fuel.

Turning to my First Officer I said, Stan, please inform the flight attendant of the situation—but at this point simply ask her to let the passengers know we are experiencing a delay. If Stan was nervous, he didn’t let on to me.

It was necessary to fly around in the vicinity of the airport in order to permit emergency landing preparations on the ground. Area hospitals were put on high alert—advised that there could be a possible influx of patients—they put out calls to bring in extra staff. The police closed a section of the 401 highway which sits parallel to 5R, the runway we would use. As we circled we used up fuel, in order to lessen the very probable risk of fire and explosion upon landing.

At this point enough time had passed that the passengers sensed something was really wrong—although the flight attendant had prepped them with the news that we were experiencing mechanical problems, their anxieties had been heightened with each passing minute.

Stan returned from another briefing with our flight attendant, Louise Paul, and I said Stan, I’m going to go back to speak with the passengers myself—I know that Louise has explained we are having difficulties but I’d like to deliver the news of the emergency landing myself.

Leaving the flight deck in Stan’s capable hands I walked back through the airplane to reassure nervous passengers. I stopped at each row of seats to speak individually to each person, answering their questions as completely and calmly as I could. This was my job.

I did this so they would understand the technicalities of what would happen during the landing. All of a sudden, I became aware of one young lady when she touched my sleeve—tears were brimming in her eyes when she asked Captain, what exactly is going to happen?

I couldn’t help but smile at her delightful southern accent, and note that she was impeccably dressed in a two piece suit, complete with pill-box hat and little white gloves. This was an era in travel when everyone dressed in their Sunday best—especially when traveling by air.

What is your name Miss? Where are you from?

Sir—my name is Miss Deys, and I am from Lubbock, Texas. Even through her soft southern drawl, I could feel her tension.

Well, you see Miss Deys, as we land, the left wing of the airplane will eventually tip down on to the runway and it will turn the plane towards the left. It may jolt you just a little bit, so you should brace yourself.

It took time to answer their questions, but I hoped that my appearance in the cabin would help to calm their anxieties. Although it was apparent to me that some passengers were extremely apprehensive, everyone remained remarkably composed. Even as I went row by row, explaining over and over again—there was an eerie sort of silence. I was aware that the stripes on my shoulder represented assurance to them of their safety. They trusted me, and I understood this.

Of course, in the back of my mind I also understood what I hadn’t told them—that if the landing wasn’t executed perfectly there was a very real possibility that the wing would dig in, the airplane might veer off the runway and send us cart-wheeling, the subsequent sparks setting off an explosion with any remaining fuel in the tanks. If this happened, I knew we could all burn to death in a matter of seconds, before any intervention could save us. But, as this thought didn’t serve to help the situation—I simply banished it from my mind, and focused instead on the problem at hand.

I returned to my position in the flight deck and gave Louise time to explain the emergency landing procedure. This sort of landing was something we had read about and discussed in flight school, but it certainly wasn’t something we had ever practiced.

Going over a full review of landing procedures, we were as prepared as we could be before starting our descent to the airport. As we touched down on the runway, Stan and I had anticipated that both my hands would be occupied on the control column, thus preventing me from reaching for other levers. We decided that Stan should control the nose wheel steering from his side. We had to work as a coordinated team.

I remember feeling the sweat beading on my brow and knowing I couldn’t reach to wipe it away—if I had removed even one of my hands from the wheel we certainly would have risked the leftwing striking the ground very hard.

We landed with the right main gear down and the nose gear down, the left gear still retracted. As it happened we managed a nice smooth landing, exactly on the centre line of the runway endeavoring to keep the left wing up as long as possible, hoping to slow our speed before the wing inevitably dropped and made contact with the runway. As it did, there was an accompanying sound of metal scraping on asphalt—not unlike the sound of nails on a chalk board. A small fire caused by sparks and friction was instantaneous. In order to starve the fire of fuel, we shut the engines down and the airplane was immediately foamed by waiting fire trucks.

Louise sprang into action, while Stan and I grabbed for fire extinguishers—she flung the main door of the airplane open.

We heard her repeat, Please move directly towards the exit, remain calm, leave your belongings on the plane, they will be retrieved for you…

Passengers quickly followed her instructions and were evacuated through the door, which at this point was near the ground—as the plane was lying over on its belly—listing to its battered left side. The passengers, assisting one another, ran across the tarmac to an awaiting bus, the threat of explosion still very real in their minds. As Captain, I completed a final check of every seat in the airplane and left last—then we were all bussed to the terminal. Not one person spoke during that bus ride—not one word. I think everyone was in shock.

Almost immediately upon arrival at the terminal I received a hand delivered note, requesting me to meet with the brass to go over details of the accident. I paused for a moment, looked at the head office messenger, took a deep breath and I politely refused.

You know, please tell management that I’d just like to go home for the evening—see my family and get a good night’s sleep, and I walked away.

To be honest, I think I was a little shaken up. And it was the first, and only, time in my career that I had defied a request from management. At that moment—I just wanted to go home.

The next day I met with the Vice-President of Aviation Safety and learned that the cause of the accident had been assessed as a broken connection to the pin that locks the landing gear up, which is extracted automatically when the hydraulics lower the landing gear. After this incident Vickers redesigned and improved the system, which was incorporated in all Viscounts to provide a back-up, whereby there was a cable system that could withdraw the pin mechanically so it would never happen again. And it never did.

The airplane was hardly damaged and they were able to jack it up and get the gear down for repair and it was back on the