My usual ride for passengers in my 1939 Bücker Jungmann biplane is to take off from Santa Paula, California, and fly southwest at about 1,500 feet above ground level over the rich farmland of the Santa Clara River Valley, then over my home town of Ventura. From there, we descend to 500 feet and follow the Pacific coastline west to just past Carpinteria. I point out the old World War II coastal artillery battery sites, celebrities’ homes, and the throngs of surfers at a spot called Rincon. Approaching Carpinteria, we pass by the seal rookery at the base of the cliffs. Occasionally, we may see local pods of dolphins, blue whales, or gray whales as they migrate between Alaska and Baja California.
As I approach the Santa Barbara Polo Club, I turn inland and southeast to complete the triangle back to Santa Paula. This requires a climb to more than 3,000 feet to safely clear the bright green mountains that separate the coastal plain from the Ojai Valley.
As we fly by the movie star hangout in the lovely village of Ojai, we pass Sulfur Mountain. Then we fly back to the crosswind entry for Santa Paula Airport.
Cruising at a tad more than 100 miles per hour, this trip takes about 35 minutes. I believe it is just about the right length of time to give my passengers an enjoyable flight and the true feeling of open cockpit biplane flying.
On this day, I had loaded my friend, Sharon, into the front seat. Most open cockpit biplanes are flown from the rear seat to maintain a nearly constant center of gravity. I explained to her where to hang on and warned her to be careful of the dual controls. Sharon is short, so I gave her the thickest seat cushion I had, but she was still a little low in the cockpit. I decided that was the best I could do, so we took off.
The tour was proceeding just fine as I turned inland over the tideland complex just west of Carpinteria. As we approached the shoreline of Lake Casitas at 3,500 feet, the Jungmann suddenly pitched downward. I used nearly all of my strength to hold the control stick back, trying to maintain a level attitude. Over the intercom I told Sharon to take her hands off of the stick. She replied that she was not touching the stick. I asked her to make sure that her feet were not against the stick. Again, she replied that she was not touching the stick. I thought something in the tailplane must have broken. When strapped in the rear seat, I cannot see the tailplane. I told Sharon we were in trouble and to prepare for the worst.
Thousands of thoughts passed through my head. I was sure that I could not make it back to Santa Paula. The force on the stick seemed too great. If I was forced down, should I try to land on the lake’s rough shoreline, the adjacent ultra-small model airplane airport, or take our chances in the lake? Should I try to find a fishing boat to splash next to or stay away so that I did not swamp the small fishing boats common there? Should I reduce throttle? That would make the nose want to go down more, risking more speed, and if the tailplane did have a problem, it would risk more damage and possible loss of control. Should I increase power? That might tend to bring up the nose, but it would also risk further damage to the perceived tailplane problem. I decided to leave the throttle alone.
I tried to move the elevator trim lever, but it felt jammed. The trim sets the attitude of the airplane so that the pilot does not have to hold pressure in every realm of flight. I then thought, What have I got to lose by trying to force the trim lever nose up? I pulled back hard, and the Jungmann returned to normal flight.
From the front cockpit, Sharon said, “Oh! Now I see what I was doing wrong.” In order to see the lake below, Sharon had reached to the side of the cockpit, grabbed the left-side throttle linkage and the right-side trim linkage, raised her short self up by her arms, and locked her elbows straight. When she did that, it forced the elevator trim linkage forward into a seemingly jammed nose-down attitude.
She had not paid attention in my preflight briefings, but I had failed to give her enough cushions to see out adequately. She wanted to see the lake, and I thought we were going to die. On the way back, I threw in an extra hammerhead and a snap roll for messing with my mind, but I was sure glad to be back on terra firma this time.
