How Low Can You Go?

How Low Can You Go?
by Ltjg. Rob Elortegui/SH-60B

As a brand-new Helicopter Second Pilot (H2P) at my first squadron, I soon encountered the ready-room banter warning me of my upcoming "first time to the boat." Their collective wisdom counseled, "Wait until you do your first landing at the boat at night. It's intense!" As most junior pilots do, however, I personally ignored those "urban aviator myths" and told myself that a professional like myself would have absolutely no problems. No, sir, not me! Not after making it all the way through primary, intermediate, and advanced. I knew I wasn't a test pilot (Yet!), but by no means was this going to be difficult. After all, these small-deck ships don't move that fast...15-20 knots at the most, right? From my half-glass full perspective, my first time at the boat was nothing but an opportunity for a brand new Helicopter Second Pilot like myself to show off my sharply honed flight skills to my Helicopter Aircraft Commander (HAC) and Detachment Officer-in-Charge (OIC).

Finally, the time came for my detachment to go to sea. We embarked a frigate to commence work-ups with our Expeditionary Strike Group. I was as excited as I could be. In the HSL community we have a process called Week One Work Ups (WOWU), which is designed to build initial ship-aviation teamwork and integration. It starts with deck landing qualifications and progresses to tactical integration. In our case, the squadron XO even came along as our official WOWU Observer. Bonus! Yet another opportunity to demonstrate my skills!

We started our WOWU with day Deck Landing Qualifications (DLQs). A frigate has an average deck height of 17 feet above the water, which I soon discovered is even lower than it sounds. During my initial day "bounces," I was pleasantly surprised with my performance. Practice Vertical Replenishment (VERTREP) and Helicopter In-Flight Refueling (HIFR) soon followed. The only thing I had left now were night DLQs. I had observed my OIC and other Aircraft Commander doing their night landings two nights before and they made it look easy. With a full, bright moon and calm seas, what more could you ask for during winter in the Atlantic?

Bolstered by my growing confidence, it was finally my turn to show my stuff and put to rest the overblown "urban aviator myths" of night DLQ's at the boat. We took off about an hour after sunset, and as time passed, it kept getting darker and darker. . . ". Hey, where is that moon?" I thought to myself. My luck, the seas had picked up as well. "No big deal," I continued to convince myself, this is normal and nothing like the exaggerated stories I heard about. My HAC/DLQ instructor let me fly around for a few minutes to adjust to the night environment and get a good feel for the aircraft. Eventually, the Landing Safety Officer called with "the numbers" and announced, "Green Deck." "Let the games begin!!!" I thought aloud.

I started my first approach high and fast, and repeated to myself the proper altitude and airspeed checkpoints. My HAC backed me up and called out the necessary corrections to get back on the proper profile. As we got closer to the ship my HAC reminded me not to get slow and low, to avoid the "black hole," one of the many "urban myths" I heard so much about and that we had discussed in the pre-flight brief. I nodded, "rogered" up, and told myself, "I've got this." We were now within half a mile from the ship and I started to make out the ship outside the cockpit. I remembered my HAC advising me not to go to an outside scan until inside a quarter mile of the ship. Once I realized that the ship was "right there," however, I convinced myself that I could handle it visually from that point. I stared at the ship and began making my way to it slowly without referencing my instruments.

What followed next happened really fast... I heard my HAC and my Sensor Operator (SO) in the back calling "Power." Again, I thought, "No big deal." I slowly started to pull in collective to arrest my descent, only to hear "Power, Power, Power," repeatedly and aggressively from both the SO and my HAC. The ship was still right there dangling in front of me. Next thing I remember is that my HAC came on the controls, pulled in an armpit full of collective, and drove us over the deck of the ship and landed the helicopter. We all sat there nervously for what I'm sure was just a few minutes, but for me felt like a lifetime. We finally discussed what had just happened and decided to call it a night. We shut down the aircraft. We had all had enough excitement for one night.

Once we shut down and were inside the hanger to debrief, my Sensor Operator started joking about how he had seen 17 feet on his navigation parameters screen at a quarter mile, and how he had his Helicopter Air Breathing Device (HABD) bottle in his mouth. I laughed and told him to stop; surely it wasn't THAT bad. Turns out I was wrong; it was THAT bad. We actually had dropped below the height of the flight deck, less than a quarter mile from the ship.

As time has passed, I have reflected many times on my initial night at the boat. I now have my first real "sea story," which I have added to the ready room collection of not-so-mythical stories and misadventures. As a crew we briefed the flight properly and discussed ORM issues that were applicable to the flight. We did everything right, up to the point where I allowed my over-confidence to take over. I dismissed advice given to me by fellow pilots as "myths," and I failed to listen to the advice given to me by my HAC before the flight. Having been sufficiently humbled, I now have a healthy dose of respect for shipboard operations and avoid the pitfall of over-confidence in my skills. I realize the importance of paying very close attention to all aspects of every flight, and I am much more willing to actively solicit advice from others in order to learn from their experience and their mistakes. As for the new check-ins, I tell them, "Hey, wait until you do your first landing at the boat at night. It's intense! Just don't see how low you can go..."

Ltjg. Elortegui flies with HSL-44 Det. 1.