It'll never happen again; I learned my lesson. I'm posting this here so you'll think twice when it happens to you, so no flames, please. Here's the story...
It was day three of of a four day trip. We were only flying two legs with a late afternoon pick-up from the hotel, so the fatigue that so often sets in after a long day was not a factor. Our flight so far had been uneventful. In fact things couldn't of been better. We left the gate five minutes early, had no delays on the taxi, cleared direct to the destination when we contacted Center, nothing but smooth air, and a strong tailwind to top it off. The sun setting in the city smog as we took off was breathtaking. It was one of those flights that make you appreciate the fruits of your hard work to become an airline pilot, albeit only getting paid $30 an hour.
Total darkness had set in as we started the descent into our destination located in the heart of the Blue Ridge Mountains. The airport was desiganted as "special" by the FAA, so we reviewed the pictures and read the corny text about the surrounding area. The approach breifing was short and sweet - "it'll be a visual backed up by the ILS." We were coming from the north and planned to land to the south, so we anticipated a straight-in.
I checked on with approach a few times before the controller acknowledged. He was very busy with numerous military practice approaches (a huge pet-peeve of mine) while working the tower, ground, and clearance frequencies. He cleared us to 4,600 feet for the downwind leg. The wind was calm and the military was practicing their approaches to the north, so he wouldn't let us land straight in. We complied and descended to 4,600. It was a clear night and we had the airport in sight.
Here we were, fat, dumb, and happy, just doing what the controller said to do and all of the sudden...TERRAIN, TERRAIN!!. The GPWS sensed something was wrong. When you here those words spoken in a stern voice as you fly along in a mountainous area, it'll give you a shot of adrenaline, I guarantee. But what should your reaction be? It's a clear night and you can see the lights of the city well below you. My first thouhgt was, "what the hell does that mean?" A few seconds later as I comprehended what the airplane was telling us I said to the captain "maybe we should get higher." That's it. I was still a little stunned. His response - "I'm not going to pull up if I can still see the ground underneath us." Well, it was pitch black dark outside, you couldn't really see much besides the lights of the city.
I turned to the side and looked at the approach plate. At our assigned altitude of 4,600 feet we were flying over mountain peaks about 400 feet below us. I informed him of that, but it didn't really seem to phase him. Since the warnings subsided and we were about to turn on our base leg, I didn't say anything else. We intercepted the localizer and continued in and landed. We didn't call the tower and ask him why he had us on a downwind 400 feet above the terrain, we didn't file any ASAP reports or NASA forms.
While on the way to the hotel, I thought about the American crew down in Cali. They heard the same things we heard that night. Their reaction was the same as ours. They did nothing [until it was too late]. They thought that they were smarter than their equipment and there was no way that they could be in danger. With the American crew, unfortunately it was their goof that
caused the accident. In our case, it was the controller's. We have the assumption that controllers will never let us get close to mountains. Don't forget, they are humans and are prone to mistakes also. His was most likey due to the high work load caused by the numerous military practice approaches. Our mistake was obvious, complacency.
As we took off the next morning, we watched as we climbed above the mountains that we could have been a part of. Some of the peaks rose above 6,000 feet. If we had been just a few miles east of course, I probably wouldn't be here typing this now.
The moral of the story is this: if you ever hear the words - TERRAIN, TERRAIN!, please react. Your GPWS most likely has more situational awareness than you. And by all means, be more assertive than I was. I chalk this up as a lesson learned and for now on, I don't care if I'm over the Gulf of Mexico, if I hear those words and I'm not in severe clear daylight, the throttles are going through the EICAS and the nose will be pointed at the moon. That's the way it should be.
It was day three of of a four day trip. We were only flying two legs with a late afternoon pick-up from the hotel, so the fatigue that so often sets in after a long day was not a factor. Our flight so far had been uneventful. In fact things couldn't of been better. We left the gate five minutes early, had no delays on the taxi, cleared direct to the destination when we contacted Center, nothing but smooth air, and a strong tailwind to top it off. The sun setting in the city smog as we took off was breathtaking. It was one of those flights that make you appreciate the fruits of your hard work to become an airline pilot, albeit only getting paid $30 an hour.
Total darkness had set in as we started the descent into our destination located in the heart of the Blue Ridge Mountains. The airport was desiganted as "special" by the FAA, so we reviewed the pictures and read the corny text about the surrounding area. The approach breifing was short and sweet - "it'll be a visual backed up by the ILS." We were coming from the north and planned to land to the south, so we anticipated a straight-in.
I checked on with approach a few times before the controller acknowledged. He was very busy with numerous military practice approaches (a huge pet-peeve of mine) while working the tower, ground, and clearance frequencies. He cleared us to 4,600 feet for the downwind leg. The wind was calm and the military was practicing their approaches to the north, so he wouldn't let us land straight in. We complied and descended to 4,600. It was a clear night and we had the airport in sight.
Here we were, fat, dumb, and happy, just doing what the controller said to do and all of the sudden...TERRAIN, TERRAIN!!. The GPWS sensed something was wrong. When you here those words spoken in a stern voice as you fly along in a mountainous area, it'll give you a shot of adrenaline, I guarantee. But what should your reaction be? It's a clear night and you can see the lights of the city well below you. My first thouhgt was, "what the hell does that mean?" A few seconds later as I comprehended what the airplane was telling us I said to the captain "maybe we should get higher." That's it. I was still a little stunned. His response - "I'm not going to pull up if I can still see the ground underneath us." Well, it was pitch black dark outside, you couldn't really see much besides the lights of the city.
I turned to the side and looked at the approach plate. At our assigned altitude of 4,600 feet we were flying over mountain peaks about 400 feet below us. I informed him of that, but it didn't really seem to phase him. Since the warnings subsided and we were about to turn on our base leg, I didn't say anything else. We intercepted the localizer and continued in and landed. We didn't call the tower and ask him why he had us on a downwind 400 feet above the terrain, we didn't file any ASAP reports or NASA forms.
While on the way to the hotel, I thought about the American crew down in Cali. They heard the same things we heard that night. Their reaction was the same as ours. They did nothing [until it was too late]. They thought that they were smarter than their equipment and there was no way that they could be in danger. With the American crew, unfortunately it was their goof that
caused the accident. In our case, it was the controller's. We have the assumption that controllers will never let us get close to mountains. Don't forget, they are humans and are prone to mistakes also. His was most likey due to the high work load caused by the numerous military practice approaches. Our mistake was obvious, complacency.
As we took off the next morning, we watched as we climbed above the mountains that we could have been a part of. Some of the peaks rose above 6,000 feet. If we had been just a few miles east of course, I probably wouldn't be here typing this now.
The moral of the story is this: if you ever hear the words - TERRAIN, TERRAIN!, please react. Your GPWS most likely has more situational awareness than you. And by all means, be more assertive than I was. I chalk this up as a lesson learned and for now on, I don't care if I'm over the Gulf of Mexico, if I hear those words and I'm not in severe clear daylight, the throttles are going through the EICAS and the nose will be pointed at the moon. That's the way it should be.
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