Helicopter emergency diversion due to extreme weather.

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The deep low pressure area was was over Vietnam, with the rain and wind all over Thailand and down to Singapore.

Hoping for the best, we set off for Penang, about 220 miles south. To start with the weather seemed well within our own limits; limits forged by hours of flying in wind and rain under the often heavy grey skies of England. Gradually, though, the cloud forced us to fly lower and lower, and soon we were at only a few hundred feet, below hilltop height, and slowing down in the heavy rain.

The wind was also getting up, throwing us around the sky as it tore angrily around the hills and cliffs along the coastline. I looked down, and saw the trees of the rubber plantations, neat in their rows, thrashing around in the gale, as if trying to escape.

Suddenly, rounding a headland, just ahead of us, across our path, lay what appeared to be a French plait of light grey cloud, its base on the treetops, its neat plaited top at about our eye level, one end out to sea, and the other disappearing out of sight in the hills to our left. Above it was steely rain cloud, pouring rain onto it. We looked at it in awe, trying to assess the threat it posed.

In all the flying we’d ever done, in all the countries, in all the continents, in all the weathers, neither of us had never seen anything like that thing ahead of us. It looked like a great sulking dragon, guarding Penang, and defying us to take our tiny helicopter within swatting distance.

Just as we were trying to compute all this, Uniform Kilo appeared to drop out of the sky, then lurched sideways to the right with extreme violence. My head struck the roof lining of the cockpit, so great was the shock the turbulence. The whole airframe was creaking in protest.

This weather seemed to have a protective shield of turbulence around it, and we would not survive if we tried to get any closer.

With my left hand hanging on to my door frame to steady me, my head still banging on the ceiling, I reached for the GPS, and hit the “nearest airfield” button on the screen. It took me several goes to get my finger near the button.

“Trang Airport” it reported in an instant, 20 miles inland, heading 075, just north of east. I looked at the map, which confirmed its location and civilian status. No frequency, though.

Learn to fly helicopters with Tim.

One Response to “Helicopter emergency diversion due to extreme weather.”

1. chrnxn says:

   February 20, 2011 at 6:45 pm

   by the looks of things wise choice not too continue

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