It was summertime in California's Imperial Valley and I had finally landed a job with a reputable cropdusting company. We were swamped with work. The job was almost more than I could handle, but I wasn't about to say anything. During the last two weeks we had been working long hours — mostly at night.
It was 11 a.m., we had been working since 5 p.m. the previous day, and I was bushed. The temperature was more than 100 degrees and we had one field to go. I was to take the first of two loads.
My seat cushion had been in the sun, and I grimaced as I sat down in the Stearman. In the hopper was 175 gallons of parathion mix, which is extremely poisonous.
As I crossed the east end of the strip after takeoff, I pulled the throttle back to the climb setting, banked to the south in the direction of the field, and continued a climb to 200 feet. A mile in front of me I could make out the flaggers. Releasing the spray pump brake, I began a slow descent to the field. The rows in the 35-acre field ran north and south. There were high power lines on the east edge, with a house in the northeast corner. I would enter from the north, going south on the middle flagger, and then make a left turn and fly north down the east edge on the second flagger.
Passing over the first flagger, I pushed open the spray handle and leveled out two feet above the cotton. The airspeed indicator showed 90 mph — plenty of speed to get around in my turn. I crossed the south edge of the field, closed the spray handle, pulled up, and banked to the right to give myself enough room to turn inside the wires. Then I banked to the left at an altitude no higher than a telephone pole. Immediately I felt the airplane shudder, indicating an impending stall. I was not too concerned as I flew through hot air thermals on the south end of the field, because the Stearman was a very forgiving airplane and we often flew it on the edge of a stall. I added power to avoid the stall when suddenly — without warning — the airplane dropped 20 feet, leaving me below the power lines and committed to turn inside them. I couldn't roll out and climb or else I'd end up in the wires. I added full power and continued to tighten my turn as the Stearman continued to shake and lose altitude. In desperation I reached for the emergency dump handle to dump the load. The handle came only part of the way back and jammed. By then I was only a few feet above the ground in a left turn and headed down. I braced myself as the left wing hit and the Stearman cartwheeled onto its nose.
The engine dug into the field and threw me forward and to the left into the throttle quadrant and instrument panel. As the throttle went into my ribs, out went my breath. The Stearman continued over on its back and stopped upside down. I hung there for an instant, unable to see in a fog of dust, when the lid of the hopper came open and the toxic parathion spilled out and drenched me. It poured into my face shield and helmet as I hung upside down. As it flowed into my nose, I thought that I was going to drown. Finally, the tank emptied. I lifted my visor to drain away the chemical, pulled off my helmet, dropped it, wiped off my face, and opened my eyes.
I was hanging by my seat belt some three to four feet above the ground. After realizing that there was no threat of fire, I was concerned about the chemical. If I didn't get to some water and get it washed off quickly, I might die within minutes. Hanging there, I could see a small canal about 20 feet from me. I carefully got myself out. Safe on the ground, I was beginning to burn all over, especially in the area of my eyes. I was already feeling the effects of the chemical poisoning. Not knowing whether I could walk, I crawled to the canal and fell in. The water was only three feet deep and I knelt in it, flushing my face.
Within minutes of my getting into the canal, the flaggers drove up. I crawled out of the canal, calling to them. Finally hearing me, they ran over, helped me into a pickup truck, and took me to a hospital that was not more than a mile away.
Upon arrival at the hospital, they instructed me to shower for a good 15 minutes, and administered Atropine — a drug that neutralizes the effects of parathion poisoning. I was released the next morning with nothing more than sore ribs and a bruised ego.
That incident happened 30 years ago, and I have experienced many engine failures and other close calls since then. However, I have never again made the mistake of getting myself caught in a corner with no place to go. Although that Stearman was a forgiving airplane, it simply could not handle the combination of a high-G turn with a big load at low airspeed. Since then I have learned not to fly so much on the ragged edge. I have learned to carry more power through a turn and to leave enough altitude to clear any obstacles by a safe margin.
Timothy Collins, AOPA 1186854, is a cropduster in California's Imperial Valley. He has accumulated more than 14,000 hours.
"Never Again" is presented to enhance safety by providing a forum for pilots to learn from the experiences of others. Manuscripts should be typewritten, double spaced, and sent to: Editor, AOPA Pilot, 421 Aviation Way, Frederick, Maryland 21701.
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