Peninsula Mission Community Church, North Saanich, BC

Flying on Friday the Thirteenth

Strikes, a CP-140 Aurora and a faulty rudder all add up to more excitement than I was expecting for a routine survey

By

Sheri Rypstra

My biology lab supervisor, and former boss at the University of Victoria, was incredulous when I told him I was flying the following day: Friday the 13^th (September 1991).  Not being superstitious, I laughed it off, and the next morning at 8:30 am, found me in the former float plane company’s office of Cooper Air.  The slightly dusty smelling, one room building set on blocks was perched on the rocky promontory overlooking Patricia Bay (across the road from Victoria International Airport’s Two Seven runway).

Conducting creel surveys in Georgia Strait and training surveyors for LGL Ltd.: Environmental Research Associates in Sidney, B.C., was a part-time job I thoroughly enjoyed and maintained until the B.C. Coast Guard in Vancouver took over in 1998.  The project involves determining the stress on the fish population by sports fishermen and trollers, via statistical analysis, for the Federal Government (Fisheries and Oceans).

On this day, one of many randomly picked days by the LGL computer, I was placing the charts on clipboards for the two separate flights when a pilot informed me the Air Traffic Controllers were on strike.  Fifteen minutes later, laden down with lunch, clipboard and binoculars, my fellow surveyors and I followed the pilots down the ramp to the dock: the white planes with the bold burgundy and yellow stripes made a striking contrast to the dull grey water beyond.  It was a cloudy day, and the salty breeze off the water was cool. Once on board and set to go, the 118.8 VHF information heard through the radio headsets in the Cessna 206 warned pilots to stay on the ground.  I felt slightly uneasy as we took off anyway, bumping along the waves of Pat Bay, then lifting calmly to head north.

There were few planes in the air that day, and things proceeded normally until we were flying the coast past the Air Force Base at Comox.  Unable to gain permission to fly through the restricted air space due to the strike, we continued on as per usual.  It wasn’t long before our pilot noticed an airplane heading straight for us at our altitude of 500 ft.  In spite of repeated attempts to hail them on the appropriate frequency, we were ignored.  We banked to the left just before passing within 30 ft of each other, a Lockheed CP-140 Aurora: impressive, huge.  It was way to close for comfort.  Debugging my eyes, I hoped the rest of the flight was to be uneventful, but it was not meant to be.

Once a month, during the extended summer months, we would land close to the most northern point of our route to pick up data from a surveyor who gathered information from the fishermen.  To this end, after flying through the “Hole in the Wall,” a steep and narrow passage between Maurelle and Sonora Island, we descended to land at the remote fishing resort Eagle Rock Lodge.  As we taxied to the dock, our pilot was having difficulty maneuvering the plane: more than was expected with the light breeze and choppy waves.  We hit the dock with a jarring thump, in spite of his efforts to swing the plane alongside.  Out the door the pilot scrambled to secure the plane and observe the damage.  There was a good size dent, hardly noticeable alongside all the others.

Data collected, pit stop over, we clambered back in to continue the survey down the Sunshine Coast.  The breeze had strengthened during our short break, and as we turned into the wind, the gusts would catch the whitecaps, blow spray into the propeller which atomized it, and with a peculiar Pshht, splatter a fine mist on the side window where I sat.  Heart thumping, it took me a minute to realize what caused the noise and enjoy the unique excitement of the moment.  The engine revved and we endured jarring bumps over choppy water till once again we lifted off into the relatively smooth motion of slicing through air alone.

It wasn’t till we had similar problems approaching the dock in Pat Bay, that it was discovered one of the rudders was jammed in the up position!

When back at UVIC and asked about my flight, I enjoyed seeing my supervisor’s jaw drop while relating my Friday the 13^th experience.

As for me, I’m still not superstitious.  In the following years I continued to enjoy many more flights.  Now, whenever I hear a Cessna drone overhead, whether it’s a clear summer day or a dreary overcast winter day, I look up and with strong nostalgia, remember similar days working as an aerial surveyor.

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