never again: hatchet job

I was flying a 1939 Grumman G–21A Goose on one of our scheduled flights from Juneau, Alaska, to Skagway, then to Haines, and back to Juneau. I had been flying for the air taxi operator for about four years. I had just taken off from the Skagway airport when I thought, Darn it. Something’s not right as I gave the last crank on the gear handle.

Raising the gear in a Goose is a multi-step process. You reach behind your right hip to move the small gear selector lever up. Drop your hand farther down to the manual crank handle and select Up on the handle ratchet pin. Crank about three or four turns to get the gear headed in the right direction, and then put the handle in the Down position and select neutral, or free-wheeling, on the ratchet pin. Then, raise the guard on the gear motor switch; flip the switch up and wait as the gear comes up; and then release the guard, returning the switch to Off. Be careful, because sometimes friction in the system can overcome gravity and spin the gear handle around 10 to 20 times in those few seconds.

The gear is now up but not quite tucked all the way in the wheel wells. So again select Up on the ratchet pin and crank the handle about three revolutions until it comes to the stop. Verify the gear is up.

The problem was the gear handle didn’t come up nicely to the stop, but sort of eased into it, and you weren’t sure exactly when to stop cranking.

This had been going on for a few flights. I had told our mechanics, but nothing had been done. In fairness to the mechanics, they had plenty to do, and a comment about the gear crank not feeling right wasn’t much to go on.

With mail and freight exchanged and six passengers aboard at Haines, we took off for Juneau.

About halfway through the gear motor step of retraction, the motor seemed to speed up more than normal and not take quite as long. The right gear knuckle was in view through the glass—fine. Looking out my side window, I saw the problem: The left gear was stuck about halfway up. Without much hope I lowered and raised the gear again. No change.

Juneau was about a half-hour away, so I had about 25 minutes to figure out what to do. One option was to leave the right gear up and land on the runway on the keel of the flying boat. Or I could land on the tidal flats on which the runway was built. The sand would be easier on the hull than the asphalt, but I wasn’t sure there was a long enough of a smooth stretch. A water landing was out of the question. Perhaps I could free the stuck gear and make a normal landing on the runway.

I twisted around to look at the gear through the left sight glass. The gear shaft was in two pieces instead of one. A few inches from a round coupling flange was the break. It must have started as a crack and kind of spiraled around until it failed. It was probably the crack opening while coming up on the crank that gave the soft feel. One piece of the shaft was jammed against the side of the shaftway.

Maybe I could get it loose. I looked around the cockpit and found a three-foot piece of broomstick. Why it was there I don’t know. I took out my Buck knife and tried to unscrew the 12 screws that held the sight glass in place. My knife wasn’t working too well and it would take too long. I found a fire hatchet.

Since it wasn’t the tourist season, most of the passengers were probably local. I looked at the guy in the co-pilot seat. He looked like a local and about my age—around 30, give or take a few years. I gave him a 10-second flight lesson: “Keep the wings level and take us to Point Sherman,” I said, pointing to a bump on the coast of Lynn Canal.

I broke the glass with the hatchet and used the broomstick against the shaft. Nothing happened. I tried some more—still nothing. The co-pilot said, “Let me try and you fly the airplane.” He didn’t have any better luck.

Now what? I was pretty sure that if we got the shaft free, the gear would fall down and lock. Maybe I could reach in there.

I put the “co-pilot” back on the control wheel and got up to try. The hole was too small for my hand. I looked around some more but didn’t find anything useful. I started hacking away at the sheet aluminum with the hatchet. I ignored the other passengers, and they didn’t interrupt or ask questions. It was just the pilot cutting a hole in the airplane with a hatchet.

About the time I finished, the “co-pilot” suggested we trade places. He tried some more with the stick but no success. I told him I thought that if he could grab the shaft with his hand and dislodge it, the gear would probably go down. However, once loosened, that shaft might spin around and beat up his hand in the shaftway.

We were about 10 minutes out from Juneau. He tried again with the stick. Still nothing. He reached in and jerked his hand back quickly.

Bang! The left gear was down.

No blood on his hand.

A few minutes later I called the tower, lowered the right gear, and made a normal landing.

There are a few lessons one could take away from this. Since it wasn’t a dire emergency, there was time to sit and think. Sometimes a little clutter in the cockpit is not a bad thing. Utilize available resources and don’t worry about the legality of it.

Steve Hewitt of Auburn, Washington, has flown air taxi in Alaska and is a retired iron worker. He owns a Cessna 172 and a Beechcraft C–45H.