‘No airline would ever hire me’
The Logan Flood story
The flight that would so alter Logan Flood’s life was supposed to be an unremarkable, early morning cargo run.
Logan Flood before the accident.
The trip from Lincoln, Nebraska, to rural Valentine in a Beech 58 Baron took place every Wednesday morning, and for Silverhawk Aviation flight crews, the delivery of medical supplies meant a 5:30 a.m. departure into the cold, winter darkness for a relatively short 90 minutes of flight pay. But for Flood, then a flight instructor, the trip was another step toward his goal of becoming a corporate or airline pilot.
In 2001, then 22 years old and a recent University of Nebraska graduate, Flood would ride in the Baron’s right seat on the first leg of the trip, a Part 135 charter. Then he’d switch to the left seat for the trip home under Part 91 and add to his total of 45 multiengine hours as pilot in command. After a few more familiarization flights, he would start making such flights on his own.
Flood also welcomed the chance to fly with Rajagopal Samasundaram, 29, a highly regarded corporate pilot and flight instructor who came to Nebraska by way of Singapore.
“Raj was one of the best pilots we had,” Flood said. “I only had about five hours in the Baron, and Raj had hundreds—so I knew he could teach me a lot.”
“Raj was one of the best pilots we had,” Flood said. “I only had about five hours in the Baron, and Raj had hundreds—so I knew he could teach me a lot.”
The two launched into early morning murk, and they soon started picking up traces of ice at their cruising altitude of 6,000 feet. A cold front was forecast to come through later that day, but the pilots expected to finish their flight well ahead of it.
“It was light rime ice,” Flood said.
“Every time I clicked on the de-ice boots, it fell right off.”
They went up to 8,000 feet, but the situation didn’t improve. Then they listened to the ASOS at their destination and it reported freezing rain—a grave danger to aircraft. The Baron they were flying wasn’t certified for flight into known icing conditions, and the pilots immediately altered their plan.
“We’re not going there,” Samasundaram said. “Let ATC know we’re diverting to Ainsworth.”
Ainsworth, a non-towered airport, was behind them on the route they had already traveled. About 45 minutes by car from Valentine, hospital workers could drive there to pick up the medical supplies.
Ainsworth’s weather was better: a ragged ceiling at about 800 feet and good visibility under the clouds. There was a VOR on the field, and a non-precision approach allowed IFR arrivals to descend to 500 feet above the flat farmland.
As they began a VOR Approach to Runway 17 at Ainsworth, the ice was getting thicker, and the Baron’s front windshield became totally opaque. Listening to the ASOS, the pilots heard a report of freezing rain and mist. But they were breaking out of the clouds and could see lights on the ground. They continued their approach hoping to get their ice-encrusted airplane to the runway as quickly as possible.
Flood activated the windshield alcohol system and watched the de-icing fluid trickle back and over the side windows. The flow stopped when the alcohol was gone, but the sheet of ice still clung to the windshield.
The airplane’s gear was down for landing. But the Baron was so laden with ice that it couldn’t hold altitude, even with full power from both 285-horsepower engines.
The fire consumed the plane after the accident.
“We knew we were in trouble,” he said.
The To/From indicator on the VOR indicator flipped as the Baron crossed over the airport, and the pilots could see runway lights pass below them. Instead of climbing back into the icy clouds, Samasunduram started a left turn to circle back to Runway 17. He’d keep the runway in sight through the clear left side window.
“I felt the airframe shudder,” Flood said. “We were stalling.”
The airplane was in a slight left turn and just crossing over a farmer’s home when the bottom fell out. It was 7:04 a.m., and the sun was still below the horizon. Flood could see a harvested cornfield with rows of chopped stalks beneath them.
“I remember hearing the propellers hit the frozen ground,” Flood said. “That’s the last thing I remember before impact.”
