35 Miles from Shore (13 page)

Harry called San Juan Center. The following is the recorded transcript of the communication between ALM 980 and San Juan Center. (Note: Both Balsey and Harry were talking on the radio. There is no way to determine who was talking at any given time. However, it would be safe to assume that whenever a transmission was made in the first person that it was likely being made by Balsey. Some of the communications have been edited out due to redundancy. Times are based on UTC—Coordinated Universal Time—1900 = 3:00
P.M.
Atlantic Time. The flight was operating in the Atlantic time zone, which is equivalent to Eastern time when the U.S. is on Daylight Savings time.)

By now the low-fuel status was on the minds of everyone in the cockpit. All eyes were glued to the spinning fuel totalizer. Balsey knew that he was burning through his precious fuel at an alarming
rate. Each thousand feet higher he could get meant a little less fuel burn. Also in the back of his mind was the idea of getting to an altitude that even if he did flame out he could possibly still make it to the airport. He turned to Hugh and asked him to get the charts out to see if there was anything closer than St. Thomas. Hugh glanced at the chart and said that it looked like St. Croix was closer.

Balsey turned to Harry and asked him to get the approach charts out for St. Croix. Harry fumbled with the chart books trying to find the correct one. “They're in the Caribbean Jep book!” Balsey snapped. Harry grabbed the Caribbean chart book and quickly thumbed through to where the St. Croix charts were supposed to be. The St. Croix approach charts weren't there. Harry held the book up for Balsey to see that the charts weren't where they were supposed to be. The charts were most likely in the book but misfiled.
Balsey didn't have time to look through the chart book himself. He'd have to get the information from the controller later.

At some point after getting the clearance to St. Croix, Wilfred Spencer opened the cockpit door and asked if anyone had called him. The red flight attendant call light had come on, indicating a call from the cockpit. Someone in the cockpit said that they hadn't called him, and Wilfred closed the door and returned to his seat. Later during questioning, neither of the three cockpit crewmembers could remember this incident. While the three men in the cockpit were busy with multiple tasks, Wilfred was not so preoccupied. He is certain that the call light came on and that he was turned away from the cockpit. The incident is important in the final outcome because precious seconds would pass before Wilfred would once again be called to the cockpit—seconds lost that could have been used in preparing the cabin.
*

As they approached 7,000 feet, the ride improved and the fuel totalizer indicated a steady 550 pounds. A few seconds later a yellow caution light on the annunciator panel blinked on momentarily. It was on just long enough for Balsey to see that it was the right fuel inlet pressure light. Balsey reached up and turned on all the boost pumps, then opened the fuel crossfeed, which allowed all four fuel tanks to feed fuel to the engines. He wanted to squeeze every drop of fuel out of the tanks. If Balsey had any doubts about the accuracy of his fuel readings before the light came on, he didn't have any now. For the first time since departing St. Maarten, Balsey seriously considered the possibility that he might have to ditch the aircraft. He turned to Hugh and told him that he'd better get the purser up to the cockpit. One of the three men
pressed the flight attendant call button. Hugh, who had already come to the same conclusion as Balsey about the seriousness of the situation, grabbed the spare life vest from under the jump seat and was in the process of ripping open the plastic packaging when Wilfred opened the cockpit door. Hugh looked at the startled Wilfred. “Problems,” Hugh said, shaking his head, “we're running out of gas.” Wilfred stepped into the cockpit and closed the door behind him. “We're running out of fuel,” Balsey said. “We might have to ditch the aircraft.”

Wilfred could tell by the look on Hugh and Harry's faces that the situation was serious. Several seconds went by without anyone making a comment. When nothing else was said, Wilfred asked, “Shall I inform the passengers?” Once again the cockpit fell silent. Up until this point, everything that had transpired could be chalked up to bad luck. If they were to make it to St. Croix, it would probably be the last any of them would hear about the whole incident. But telling the purser to prepare the cabin for an emergency landing was a different matter altogether. Regardless of the outcome, there would be some explaining to do.

Finally, Harry Evans turned toward Balsey. “Captain, I think we have to inform [them] now.”
*

“Go ahead, Spence,” Balsey said. “Inform the passengers.”

Pilots in emergency situations often draw on past experiences to help them deal with their current crisis. An engine failure, for example, might be considered a minor problem to a pilot who has had prior engine failures. Balsey was a flight examiner. He was a former Air Force pilot with over 12,000 hours of flight time. He had experienced
numerous emergencies in his career. One emergency in particular flashed through his mind. He was flying a DC-6 on a MATS flight from Europe across the Atlantic. An hour or two into the flight, Balsey noticed a decrease in airspeed. The aircraft felt unstable. Balsey turned his wing lights on and discovered that they were loaded with ice. He was having trouble maintaining his altitude. The anti-icing equipment was already turned on, but the ice was accumulating faster than the de-icing equipment could discard it. The aircraft began vibrating so severely from the ice on the wings and tail that Balsey felt that he might have to ditch the aircraft. He called the flight attendant forward and told her to prepare the cabin for ditching. Upon hearing this unfortunate news, the flight attendant promptly fainted. Balsey asked the navigator to assist the flight attendant; he then sent the navigator in back to help get the cabin ready for the possible ditching. Balsey finally got the aircraft stabilized at around 10,000 feet. He was able to maintain that altitude until reaching Harmon Air Force Base, where he landed safely. If there was any reluctance on Balsey's part to inform the purser of the possibility of having to ditch, this prior incident was most likely a factor in his hesitation.

As soon as Wilfred left the cockpit, Balsey picked up the mike and radioed San Juan Center.

Balsey knew that he was in serious trouble. He had maybe five to seven minutes of fuel on board if he was to believe the 550-pound figure. At 250 knots, he was traveling at just over four miles a minute, not accounting for winds. That gave him about twenty to thirty miles of flying before the engines quit. He had been seventy miles away from St. Croix the last time he had talked to San Juan. The numbers weren't adding up, and he knew it.

He looked outside and saw only clouds and rain. He was passing through 7,000 feet in the climb to 12,000. He had no idea what the bases of the clouds were, but he knew that he didn't want to make a power-off descent in instrument conditions and then try to ditch the aircraft. He turned to Harry and Hugh. “You know, we don't stand a chance if we flame out at altitude. We're going to have to get this thing down.”
¹

Balsey had the second radio tuned to St. Maarten's tower frequency. He decided to give the tower operator another call, thinking he might be better off going back to St. Maarten. The St. Maarten tower operator reported the weather as 800 scattered, 1,000 broken to overcast, visibility 2 nautical miles. He then added, “it looks as if it is deteriorating.”

St. Maarten was definitely out, Balsey concluded. It was going to be St. Croix or the water.