80. A NIGHT FLIGHT

Thousand Moon: Mr. Ray Jonas

Contributed by: Steve (Ray’s Son)

Mr. Ray Jonas was born on November 12th, 1922.  He currently resides in Phoenix Arizona.  He flew in B29's during WWII as a top gunner stationed in Dudkundi India and later Tinian Island.  After the war he worked for en electrical contracting company and learned how to fly small aircraft.  The following narration about his training was written by him some time ago and was sent to me by his son Steve.

A NIGHT FLIGHT 

Did you ever consider what gives your life character?  Certainly it is many things.  The education you receive from every person and every incident brushed on the canvas of your consciousness.  Some incidents leave a clearer and more lasting imprint than others.  Such an incident is a night flight I experienced on November 26, 1951.

I was nearing the end of my pilot training program at a school at Sky Harbor Airport.  The Commercial license which was my goal required a night flight.  There were two of us making this night test flight and each was accompanied by an instructor.  The other fellow with Mike, and I with Martha, his soon to be bride.  Mike and Martha operate an impeccable shop, and then as now, I had complete confidence in them.  We preflighted the airplanes, checking each item on the checklist, including fuel and fuel cap security.  The airplanes were a very popular training airplane of the day, Cessna 140 “Rag wing” tail draggers.  Still a fine aircraft but there aren’t many around now.  We had no landing lights.

I pulled the starter knob which engaged the starter, and the 85 horsepower engine came to life with a mighty roar.  We taxied out, zigzagging between the lights on the taxiway in order to catch glimpses of what lay ahead, as you couldn’t see over the nose with the tail on the ground.  It was a lovely clear starlit night, no moon.  After permission to takeoff was gained from the tower, we taxied onto the runway, applied full throttle, and we were on our way.  The tail came up.  Guide the little jewel down the runway between the lights.  Then, when sufficient speed is attained gentle backpressure on the wheel allows the aircraft to gently step into space.  The earth falls away.  A southeasterly heading soon has us over the desert. 

We are floating on a black velvet blanket sprinkled with little firefly pinpoints of light which are on the road below.  Except for the lighted objects, earth contact was lost before 50 feet separated us from the ground.  It is beautiful.  The stars above are clear.  The occasional light on a building or cars scattered on the highway, plus our radios, were our contacts with reality.  Martha was quizzing.  Why did you do that?  What would you do if?  Where are we? 

The lights of Tucson shone in the distance and the white and green rotating beacon of the Tucson Airport on the other side of the city blinked, beckoning.  It was great, but a strange uneasiness pricked my consciousness.  The airplane didn’t feel right.  I checked the gauges, fuel quantity, mixture control, carburetor heat.  The carb heat was ‘off’ and there was no reason to think it should be otherwise.   I told Martha the airplane didn’t feel right and did she think carb heat advisable for some reason I failed to detect?  No, she didn’t.  I called our compadres in the other aircraft.  “Were they experiencing carb ice problems?”  No, they weren’t.  Martha said this was a test and I should make the decision.  RPM was fine and she wasn’t too worried.  My decision was to apply carb heat.  I did it.  Then the engine quit.  Mister, that really wakes you up! Martha was more involved now too and we both checked everything 3 more times.  Then the engine started---and stopped---and started---and stopped.  The net result was a 500 ft. per minute descent.

Quick calc showed we didn’t have enough altitude to cross the city to the airport, however there was a gravel strip with a building on it and a rotating beacon on the building.  The beacon didn’t illuminate the ground, except a few treetops, but we knew there was an airport there which had a lot of old airplanes parked on it.  The strip was equipped with lights but they were off.  The chart said “call Tucson Tower to have the lights turned on”.  Mike did this from the other airplane for us so we could give full attention to our airplane.  NO LIGHTS.  So I called the tower myself.  They said---“We have been calling them but they don’t answer the phone”.  After telling Martha how I would like to have a parachute even though all that cactus was down there, we started circling over the airport.  It was call Gilpin then.  It is freeway airport now.  A few more turns and we would have lost enough altitude to make an approach into that black hole, hoping we would make a good guess at the location of the strip.  Then the runway lights came on!  There were only about 8 of them working, but it looked better than O’Hare.  Martha was flying now.  That old jazz about a test doesn’t fly when you have only 1 shot, and she had loads of experience in military and civilian aircraft.  The touchdown was, of course, smooth and we  rumbled to the side of the runway.  Mike landed behind us.

Examination of the carburetor filter bowl showed lots of gunk which was apparently picked up when the airplane was refueled at Yuma the day before.  It so restricted the fuel flow through the filter that the engine could operate only ‘part time’.  Those airplanes typically didn’t have quick drains, so after running more fuel through the line at the filter, it was reassembled.  Mike borrowed a flare gun in case it happened again and the flight was completed without incident.