August 2, 1998 Martin 404 to OSH!

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by	John Deakin

About the Author ... John Deakin is a 35,000-hour pilot who worked his way up the aviation food chain via charter, corporate, and cargo flying; spent five years in Southeast Asia with Air America; 33 years with Japan Airlines, mostly as a 747 captain; and now flies the Gulfstream IV for a West Coast operator. He also flies his own V35 Bonanza (N1BE) and is very active in the warbird and vintage aircraft scene, flying the C-46, M-404, DC-3, F8F Bearcat, Constellation, B-29, and others. He is also a National Designated Pilot Examiner (NDPER), able to give type ratings and check rides on 43 different aircraft types.

One rejected takeoff, two precautionary engine shutdowns, a lost tire tread, and some other less serious events, and we're here at OSH with this lovely vintage airliner. It was built for, and delivered to TWA in 1952, and served them until 1960, when it was converted to an executive interior, and sold to a construction company. Later, it was used for celebrity charters, for the likes of Muhammad Ali, Howard Cosell, Don Meredith, and others.

The airplane is now owned by "Airliners of America", a new museum based in Camarillo CA. Jeff Whitesell, the owner and President, has a wonderful dream of having examples of all the classic airliners, all in flying condition. The Martin is the first, with a DC-4 and DC-6 to follow soon, and others in the future.

These aircraft will be doing tours of the USA next summer, and in the meantime, we are hitting airshows close to home, doing sightseeing "cheese and champagne" flights, movie gigs, and flight training. Full captain checkouts, including the type rating go for $7,500, and FO checkouts for $1,500, with the hopes that we can actually use such people for the various flights, as volunteers. Several have completed these programs, and appeared to have a ton of fun. It's a lovely way to get some experience with one of the radial-engined classics, for real. One such pilot, Randy Dettmer, volunteered to go along to OSH as copilot, while I took captain duty for the trip, with Jeff (also a fully qualified captain) watching us manhandle his baby from the jumpseat. Jeff has long experience with this airplane, as he, his father (Bill Whitesell), and brother used to operate this very aircraft, on the charter flights!

We also sell memberships in the museum, with various "levels" and privileges, like going along to airshows, etc.

The Plan

Jeff decided that he wanted to hit the giant show at Oshkosh for promotional reasons, to sell memberships, and put the airplane on show. To help with the huge expense for fuel and oil alone, he decided that $404 would be a "neat number" to ride along, although it would not cover fuel and oil, even with all 20 seats full. We figure 300 gallons the first hour, and 200 gallons per hour after that for rough flight planning, and it can be much higher. The word was put out, and aviation enthusiasts from all over the area jumped at the chance to ride to OSH in style. There are 16 plush seats in an executive configuration, and four crew seats, and we ended up with people on a waiting list, just in case someone cancelled.

The plan developed to leave from Van Nuys at 0700 Monday (July 27), in order to have the nice long runway, and to take advantage of the very nice hotel right next to the parking spots. The week before was a frantic one for the crew of volunteers, trying desperately to get everything checked out, a flyaway kit put together, a new left inboard tire put on, and some cleanup done. We knew everything was working (the airplane is in fine shape, compared to most older airplanes), but a couple systems had not been used for many years, like pressurization, cooling, water injection, radar, autopilot, and so on. In the end, we were unable to get any of those going to our satisfaction, so we decided to go without them, in accordance with the MEL.

The "Experience" Begins

The "experience" began with the very first takeoff, a positioning flight from Camarillo to Van Nuys, around 1700. We really wanted to get the water injection system going, because it allows a maximum weight increase from 41,500 pounds (dry), to 44,900 (wet). This would have allowed us to go non-stop to Liberal KS. Without the ADI system, we would have to make at least one stop. Why Liberal? Well, with all our aviation enthusiasts, we wanted to stop and see the wonderful museum right on that airport.

Water injection ("ADI" or "Anti-Detonation Injection") is an old idea. Internal combustion engines use excessive fuel at very high power settings for cooling, with the excess fuel just going out the exhaust, mostly as dark smoke. This is wasteful, but worse, the very rich mixture that does burn is too rich to produce "best power". The tradeoff works, but only to a point.

If we lean the engine out to "best power", we can increase the actual power at the prop by up to 10%, but the cylinder head temperatures go out of limits, and detonation may occur. However, if we dump water in with the fuel/air mixture leaned to "best power", the water does the cooling, without affecting the combustion mixture. But water creates more problems, because it freezes in cold weather, with residual water freezing in the lines with the very cold temperatures at altitude. By mixing half water and half methyl alcohol (methanol), we solve the freezing problem and serendipitously, the water/alcohol mix is even more efficient at cooling than the excess fuel.

In fact, the ADI lowers the temperatures so much, we can increase the manifold pressure and RPM, and get an additional amount of horsepower, perhaps as much as 10%, for an overall 15% to 20% gain, from the ADI system.

We decided to test the ADI system on the positioning flight, as we were out of time. Alas, the "derichment" valve didn't work properly, and we got a lot of surging out of the right engine when the water kicked in, so we had to abort that takeoff. No big deal, we were only doing about 50 knots, with a V1 ("decision speed") of 88. Damn, there went our nice non-stop.

Next, the pressurization. It worked, but the gear-driven compressor on the right engine used a bit too much oil, and we were unable to find a sufficient quantity of that very special oil. Ok, so much for pressurization, and never mind the flight levels. Too bad, it would have been much nicer to go to FL210 across the Rockies.

Too Much of a Good Thing

During the short hop to Van Nuys, we discovered very early that the left fuel flow was insanely high, approximately double what it should be. This was worrisome, as it had been working just fine for a year. Engine ran fine, and leaning for best power worked fine, but the fuel flow was still far too high. We thought it might be an indication problem, but the very ugly possibility existed that we had a fuel leak inside the engine compartment. Both Jeff and I have had engine fires in the dim past from this very thing, so we quickly agreed the best thing to do was just shut it down. This done, emergency checklist complete, we had to decide whether to press on to Van Nuys and work on the problem with the tools and components we had aboard, or go back home, where we had it all. Easy choice, back home we went.

We changed the fuel flow transmitter, and for good measure, the fuel flow indicator, did a quick runup, all ok, so buttoned it up. By this time it was 10pm, and we had an uneventful flight to Van Nuys. By the time we got the airplane secured and fueled, it was midnight, after a long, tough day.

Heading For The High Country

There was one very minor problem, which would later nearly cost us the airplane, or worse. The oil in the left tank was 27 gallons, and 32 in the right, while "Full" is around 35. We have tracked fuel and oil usage very closely for the year the aircraft has been operating, and we knew it burns about two gallons per hour. Two is "reasonable", with three not all that rare in these big radials. We wanted to fill both tanks for the three-hour flight to Grand Junction, Colorado (GJT), but the Van Nuys FBO did not have 60W oil, except in quart cans. No one had the heart to add 32 quarts of oil at midnight! We do carry 25 gallons in 5-gallon containers in the belly, but we use that only when absolutely necessary. Knowing GJT did have 60W, we elected to leave the oil alone. We use 15 gallons as an absolute minimum for takeoff (short flight only), and even if we burned 3 gph, we figured at worst, we'd be down to 21 on landing at 2 gph, or at worst, 18 at 3 gph. That is quite acceptable, meeting even airline standards. According to all information, all the oil is usable, but that turned out not to be true.

About half-way to GJT, we noticed the oil quantity was a little lower than we'd planned (both fuel and oil quantity instruments are superbly accurate on this airplane). With some calculations, we figured the oil in the left engine would be down to about 10 on landing. Not good, but not a really big deal, either.

Things Start Getting "Really Interesting"

About 30 minutes from GJT, at 11,500', left oil quantity at 10 gallons, right at 18 or more, the left oil pressure needle started jumping. Ooops. Was this correct, or was it the indicator? With a little bit of "denial mode" going on, I figured we'd not do anything unless the light for "Low Oil Pressure" (an entirely separate system) also came on, but at the same time, I started looking for nearby airports, runway lengths, and elevations. About ten minutes later, sure enough, the little red light started flickering, meaning we really had a problem, and had to shut the engine down, or burn it up. We briefly discussed it, everyone agreed that while we couldn't maintain 11,500' on one engine, we had plenty to altitude to "drift down" to a single-engine landing at GJT at 5,000' msl, using "METO" power ("Maximum Except TakeOff"). Once down at lower levels, we could probably maintain altitude, on one. So we did the familiar engine shutdown procedure, set up METO power, and began a gentle descent, in fine shape. Since we were talking to Center for radar advisories, we declared an emergency. The Canyon Lands airport was just ahead and to our left, with GJT roughly 30 miles beyond that. I thought of just dropping in at Canyon Lands, but with the short runway, high elevation, and hot temperature, we'd never get the airplane out again, unless we left all the passengers and baggage behind. Further, a single-engine landing would be a real challenge, too, with no room at all for errors. Since we were now on one engine, and engines do fail, after all, we briefed the passengers, got 'em buckled in, and discussed the procedures for an emergency restart of the left engine. I offered to pull Randy out of the right seat, and let Jeff sit there, but with an incredible show of confidence, he said we were doing just fine, no changes needed.

At this point, we were in pretty good shape, all things considered. We talked about the quantity indicator, and wondered aloud to each other whether it was stuck at 10, or was there something else going on, here. We must have run the numbers a dozen times, but the actual oil consumption appeared to be an astounding six gallons per hour.

Strike Three?

Then we noticed the RIGHT engine oil quantity dropping faster than it had been, perhaps from the use of very high power. On the other hand, by all cockpit indications, the adrenaline flow was increasing rapidly, and the usual "pilot's prayer" ("Oh, shit") was duly uttered by all three of us. We wondered if the right engine would show the same problems as the left, or if it would perhaps be good to us, and use a bit more oil out of the tank, please. Pretty please?

The cockpit got very quiet, with all three of us constantly cross-checking the right engine oil quantity against the GPS "time remaining", while I started looking for nice roads, open fields, and flat spots (not many in that part of the world!). We were in deep trouble now, because we only had a couple thousand feet above the ground for a few more miles, before the terrain dropped away to the valley where the airport is located. If the remaining engine quit, we'd have only seconds to get the other one going before we'd be in the dirt, and a deadstick landing in a big airplane like this is nearly unthinkable. I found myself thinking very seriously about the unthinkable. About ten minutes out (on the GPS), with 10 gallons remaining in the right tank, airport coming into view, the right oil pressure started doing the dance for us. Well, hey, at least the airplane is consistent! With four minutes to go, the right engine low pressure light started flickering, and continued to do so until the landing, which was uneventful.

We checked the screens (normal), filled up the oil tanks (the quantity indications appeared correct), and the oil consumption for the next two flights was perfectly normal!

What the heck happened here? Was it unreasonable to take off with the oil less than full? I don't think so, considering "what we knew, and when we knew it". There are some who say "NEVER take off with less than full tanks!" (oil or fuel), but this is plainly silly, the airlines do it every day. We take what we need, plus provision for the alternate(s), plus reserves, and go.

We are still unable to explain the one-time unusually high oil consumption, and can only guess that the long, hard climb in hot conditions did that. Or, perhaps there was something else going on due to the altitude (11,500'), which we have not used much, and never on a long flight, before. Since arriving at OSH, and talking with many pilots with extensive warbird/radial experience, no one else has been able to come up with anything, either.

Also, why did the oil pressure start fluctuating with 10 full gallons still in the tank? I can take a wild guess at this one. It may be because of the very long tank in the top of the wheel well. There was probably only a few inches of oil over the outlet tube, and since oil at 190F flows like water, there may have been a little "bathtub effect", perhaps a little funnel over the outlet, allowing some air to be sucked in. I wish I'd thought of this sooner, perhaps a little yawing might have broken that funnel up, just as sticking your foot in the funnel will do in the bathtub. But, I don't plan to experiment with this again, we will now consider that bottom 10 gallons "unusable"!

Passengers fed and watered at GJT, we pressed on to Liberal, Kansas, for the museum tour.

What Else Can Go Wrong?

Takeoff was normal in every way, but on departure, we heard a pilot report of "big pieces of rubber on the runway". Uh, oh, NOW what? I called and said "Tower, Martin 36X, would you advise us if that rubber looks like it might have come from us?" A few minutes later, they said it looked like just about the right size, and "What are your intentions?" Since it didn't matter on the flight, we elected to press on to Liberal, so if we did have a problem, at least the gang could visit the museum while we fixed it. Departure control asked "Understand you blew a tire?" "Naw, we didn't feel anything, probably just lost a chunk of tread". Center, upon first contact: "36X, understand you lost a tire on takeoff?" "No, no, center, we just lost a bit of tread, not a problem!" Next center controller: "36X, understand you lost a wheel on takeoff? Are you declaring an emergency, Liberal just called in a panic, want to know if you'll need the emergency equipment?" It got worse with every contact!

We finally raised Liberal Unicom, and straightened things out. Randy made a fine landing from the right seat, and we taxied in, everything normal. Folks, I could really, really get to like "normal"! Getting out, we discovered the newly-installed, recapped tire was the one that threw one whole tread, a three-inch wide strip of rubber the full circumference of the tire. So much for precautionary changes!

We looked long and hard at it, and thought of just pressing on. With just the missing tread, and without passengers, we'd have probably done it, but there was an ugly flawed spot that had been covered up by the now-missing tread, which may even have precipitated the event. I decided a change was in order, and everyone agreed, not without a few groans at the work ahead of us.

It was now 1600, we were all tired from the long days, short nights, and all the excitement, and we were facing a very difficult tire change. Mercifully, we had elected to bring a spare tire, but it was not mounted on a wheel. This meant we had to take the wheel off the airplane, dismount the bad tire, install the good one, and put it back on. Simple, right? WRONG.

This is a big tire, about three feet in diameter, 60 psi. We got the airplane jacked up (yup, we carry the jack and all tools), the wheel off, and then started trying to get the tire off. We had to be VERY careful, because the wheel is magnesium, cracks and shatters easily, and there are NONE to be found anywhere. Someone finally got the bright idea of calling in an outfit that specializes in changing truck tires, and they brought their setup out. That was still a challenge, but we finally got the beads popped off the wheel at about 1900 (no breaks, no food). The next two hours were spent trying to split the wheel itself. Twelve very special bolts, washers and nuts need to come out (all heat-treated, high tensile stuff), then the wheel splits. In theory. The reality is that this wheel has a very unusual "mate" with one half fitting inside the other, and it's HARD to get them apart, but we finally get that done. We are really, really dragging now, filthy dirty, cranky and hungry. Someone mentions "pizza and beer", everyone cheers, but we're all too busy to make it happen, we just want to get the job done. Paid employees would NEVER work this hard, only volunteers.

Now it's about 2100, and someone says "Rain!" Uh, oh, we've got a big airplane up on a tiny jack, out on an unprotected ramp, with a Kansas boomer bearing down! More "pilot's prayers". Best we could do was lower the jack so the remaining (left outboard) tire was on the ground, tie it down, and hope, while the wind got strong enough to literally blow tire tools around the ramp. Meanwhile, back to putting the new tire on the wheel, which went fairly smoothly. I got all the bolts that hold the wheel together, all the washers, and all the nuts - except one! This is not only a special part, it has a special thread, to prevent the use of anything else! I went nuts, running an ever-expanding search for that nut, first in the hangar, then on the ramp, to no avail. In utter desperation, I finally yelled "Does anyone have a nut in their pocket?" "Oh, yeah, I do", sez Randy, not realizing he was only inches from death from mutilation. He'd been holding the nut when the "Rain!" cry came, and stuffed it in his pocket while running to help. We would have been grounded for lack of a nut.

Finally!

We finally got to the motel about 0100, grease and dirt from head to foot, absolutely exhausted, facing an 0500 wakeup. "Oh no, guys, no way. I want a good eight hours, so let's just play like we're an airline, and delay the flight three hours — MINIMUM". That was easy, and the passengers didn't even complain! They had a good museum tour, a fine dinner, a good night's sleep, and were all happy and ready to go in the morning. We launched from Liberal about 1100, made a quick stop in Omaha for fuel (no oil), and arrived at Oshkosh around 1600, after two beautiful, smooth flights, airplane an engines running like a Swiss watch. While droning along near Dodge City at 9,500', a ground speed of 200 knots, we all looked at each other, smiled contentedly, and said "Man, it don't get no better than this".