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Ditching of Flight 586
Approach August 1979
THE crew awakened at 0400 in late October for a routine patrol. All were in good spirits and no one realized that it would be a couple of weeks before some would return home, or that others would not return at all. Briefing was conducted between 0500-0545. After breakfast, a thorough interior and exterior preflight revealed no downing discrepancies. Everything was ready to go; they took off at 0845.
There was a strong occluded frontal system, spawned by an intense low, in the operating area. The weather brief called for variable overcast 2000 to 4000 feet, multiple layers to FL310, surface winds southwest at 30 shifting to northwest at 40, icing in clouds, scattered rainshowers and snowshowers, and visibilities generally good, except reduced in showers. The day was no different than many others.
After takeoff, they climbed to transit altitude and proceeded to the briefed geographical point. They descended to operating altitude and proceeded to investigate a tanker and a Soviet fishing trawler. The latter would play a very important part in the ensuing drama.
During the next several hours, the weather began to deteriorate. The No. 1 engine, which had been shut down, was restarted and, after a warmup period, was brought on line. At 1300, the pilot tried to marry all four power levers at cruise setting, but the No. 1 RPM gage began to fluctuate, accompanied by an audible overspeed.
Their troubles were beginning. The flight engineer conducted a light check and turned the No. 1 sychronizer switch off, but the No. 1 prop RPM climbed through 105 percent. A decision was made to feather No. 1 with the E-handle. Fuel flow and horsepower dropped to zero, the TIT started to decrease, but the prop RPM rose to 131 percent.
The crew in the cockpit knew they had real problems. The pilot reduced power and started a climb to slow the RPM. He called for the "prop fails to feather" procedures and ordered the crew to don helmets. The overspeed was so loud no one could hear very well. The light in the feather button was on. Procedures for operating with a prop that fails to feather were not completed. The E-handle wasn’t reset, the oil tank shutoff circuit breaker wasn’t pulled, and the E-handle wasn’t pulled out again.
At 1305, the aircraft was indicating 145 knots at 10,500 feet, and the No. 1 prop RPM seemed to stabilize at 115 percent. The pilot turned toward an island and sent an "abort mission" message. Five minutes later, a thin film of what seemed to be hydraulic fluid (caramel colored) was seen on the No. 1 prop afterbody. At the time, they were flying in the clouds and picking up ice. The pilot ordered the crew into their antiexposure survival suits (QD-1) and had all loose objects throughout the aircraft secured.
Control, this is 586, we’re a P-3. We have a propeller malfunction at this time. Our position is N52-22/163-30E. Altitude is 11,000, TAS 154, groundspeed 194. We are proceeding direct to Shemya.
586, this is Control. Copy. Request number of souls onboard.
This is 586. Fifteen souls onboard.
At 1320, the No. 1 prop was seen to wobble and, at 1335, the RPM gage fell to zero, with the prop speed still over 100 percent. No annunciator lights were on. At 1338, an emergency was declared, but control was advised they were not in extremis—yet. Meanwhile, back at the squadron, an alert crew was told to get moving.
The No. 1 firewarning light came on at 1340, after a small amount of smoke was seen coming from the top of the No. 1 engine. The flight engineer discharged the first HRD bottle (fire extinguisher), and the firewarning went out. The pilot began a gradual descent. Shortly thereafter, the flight engineers swapped seats and the new flight engineer restored oil to the No. 1 engine reduction gearbox by completing the "fails to feather" procedure. When oil was restored, there was no indication of oil pressure, but there were 7 gallons of oil in the tank. White smoke poured from the No. 1 engine, and, again, some caramel-colored fluid was visible aft of the prop. The pilot ordered the oil tank shutoff circuit breaker reset, and the smoke stopped. The No. 1 prop pump light flickered, chips light came on, and then the No. 2 prop pump (or oil pressure) light came on.
Control, this is 586. We have 15 souls onboard, about 6 hours of fuel, presently at 8000—trying to maintain 8000. Request you launch SAR aircraft to intercept us. We are heading 100 true. Position N 52-28/165-16 E. We’re requesting you launch SAR aircraft at this time.
A second firewarning light on No. 1 came on at 1352, and both sparks and flames were seen on the nacelle. The last HRD bottle was activated, and the firewarning light again went out. The pilot transmitted a Mayday.
Control, this is 586. Mayday, Mayday, Mayday! Position N 52-27/165-59 E. Heading is 123 true. Groundspeed 143. We are ditching. Fifteen souls onboard. Three orange liferafts. Two-hundred ninety miles west of Shemya. UHF DF 345.5
The crew didn’t know it, but they would remain airborne for about 30 minutes more.
Control, this is 586. Revise our intentions. We are level 1000 feet, still proceeding direct. Will revise as our status changes.
At 1359, (0+31 before ditching), the pilot notified Control that No.1 engine reduction gearbox was a total failure, that they were still on course for Shemya at 500 feet, and that all persons were wearing orange or green antiexposure suits. The inevitable ditching loomed closer.
At 1415 (15 minutes before ditching), an Air Force C-135, the squadron P-3 alert crew, and a Coast Guard C-130 were en route or ready to go to the aid of the crippled P-3.
About 1420, the radar operator aboard 586 reported a surface ship at 290 degrees at 16 miles. The pilot headed for it. A few minutes later, 586 was contacted by the squadron P-3.
586, this is 675, over.
This is 586. Hi, guys. Our posit 52-37/167-38. We have 15 SOB, three orange rafts, UHF DF 345.5. Our No. 1 prop has dried up, it’s vibrating wildly, and we’ll be going down in the near future. Over.
This is 675. Roger, Matt, this is Denny. We’re rolling now.
This is 586. Roger, Denny. We’re 235 west of Shemya. By our best guess, there’s a Russian "fisher" factory near us.
This is 675. Roger, copy. We’ll be looking for you. We’re going now.
At 1430, there was one final transmission from the crippled P-3.
Control from 586. Twenty seconds to ditch. Position N 52-40/167-25 E. Passing through 200 feet. We have 15 SOB, three orange rafts, and all personnel in orange or green antiexposure suits. Passing through 150 feet N52-39/167-24. This is 586, out.
The pilot ditched with gear up, approach flaps, 120 knots indicated, 50 fpm rate of descent, and headed into the wind. The aircraft hit, skipped, hit hard, skipped, and then slammed to a stop. It began to fill with water immediately.
The cockpit crew went out through the overhead hatch. The rest, at various ditching stations, headed for the nearest exits. Three went out the port overwing hatch, and six went out the starboard overwing hatch. One crewman was not seen after the ditching.
One Mk-7 and one Mk-12 liferaft were launched. A second Mk-7 could not be released from the restraining straps and, with the water level in the aircraft rising fast, it was abandoned. Emergency lighting, although turned on before ditching, failed, and the aircraft was completely dark.
Outside the aircraft, the starboard wing had been torn off, there was a large crack in the fuselage aft of the main cabin door, and water was pouring in through the hydraulic service center. The inside of the aircraft was in shambles. Panels were torn loose, windows imploded and exploded, some bulkheads gave away, and the nav table and other tables were torn off. Finally, the emergency sonobuoy couldn’t be released from its holder and it, too, was abandoned.
The survivors to starboard began entering the Mk-7. One survivor saw the Mk-12 drifting away, dove in, and caught it. The three survivors who got out on the port side swam around the aircraft tail and boarded the Mk-12. The other nine climbed into the Mk-7. The pilot remained momentarily above the cockpit, as if counting, and then dove in to head for the raft. The delay proved fatal. He was seen swimming toward a raft, but the raft was drifting away faster then he could swim. (The rafts had become disconnected from the aircraft just after launching due to the heavy sea state.) Some of the men in the raft jumped into the water and started kicking, while the rest in the raft began paddling toward the pilot. This didn’t help and, after a minute or two, the pilot was never seen again.
The aircraft sank in 4 minutes. Thirteen survivors were alive when they entered the liferafts and, except for one who had received severe back and leg bruises during the ditching, all were OK. That was just short of miraculous!
About an hour and a half after ditching, an Air Force C-135 appeared on scene. The spirits of the survivors were greatly raised. The aircraft reported to SAR headquarters he had two rafts in sight, but the heavy seas and rain prevented him from getting an accurate count of survivors. Within another 30 minutes, the squadron alert crew arrived, relieved the C-135 (who headed for altitude to act as a radio relay), and the P-3 SAR dropped smokes and sonobuoys to mark the two liferafts. Seas were rough, and it was cold and raining. The survivors in the liferafts assisted the SAR crew by using all signaling devices on a regular basis.
About 1915, the SAR crew dropped at SAR kit upwind on one raft, but so close that the survivors just reached out and grabbed it. The SAR kit was too heavy to take aboard so it was lashed to the liferaft.
An hour later, after a Coast Guard C-130 SAR arrived, the P-3 crew found the Russian trawler, and made numerous low-level flyovers while flashing C-E-F (aircraft in the water, follow me) with their lights. The ship headed for the survivors. The P-3 SAR crew then left station with the Coast Guard C-130 in charge.
All through this time, the survivors were having to bail continously, with an almost useless bailer, to keep the liferafts from swamping. Those in the Mk-12 raft had a canopy which helped them a little bit. Those in the overcrowded Mk-7 raft were sitting in waist-deep water, and exposure began to take its toll. The weaker men became lethargic and had to be propped up to keep them from sliding overboard. They also had to be shouted at over and over again and occasionally slapped by the stronger ones, in order to keep them awake.
By 2200, the CG-130 pilot established voice communications with the trawler and received an ETA at the rafts of 2400. About 2300, one crewman succumbed to exposure and by 0100, while the trawler’s small boat was picking up the survivors in the Mk-12, another crewman just rolled out of the raft and floated face downward. A third crewman died while the survivors of the Mk-7 were being picked up. By 0230, the 10 survivors, and the bodies of the three dead, were recovered by the Russians.
All of the survivors were extremely weak, unable to move without help, and were unable to talk. Aboard the trawler, they were stripped, wrapped in warm blankets, given hot tea and hot baths, and treated for exposure by the ship’s doctor. They were then put to bed and carefully watched for the next 24 hours. The rescue crew in the trawler’s small boat provided yeoman service in order to successfully pick everyone up.
Meanwhile, other Navy, Air Force, and Coast Guard SAR crews searched from daylight the next morning for the missing pilot and crewman. They had no luck. SAR operations continued, but after 3 days were suspended due to impossible weather conditions. Eventually SAR efforts were canceled with no success.
The survivors aboard the trawler recovered quickly under the expert care they received. The trawler headed for port and, after a week, the survivors and the bodies of their shipmates were flown home.
The way in which the ditching was conducted was letter perfect. Fourteen of the 15 aboard were able to leave the aircraft, and 13 of them made it safely into rafts. Had the seas and weather conditions not been close to impossible, all 13 would have returned.
The continuous efforts of the survivors attested to their bravery, ingenuity, and concern for each other. Each one tried, to the best of his ability under extreme conditions, to ensure that all survived.
The crew wasn’t able to exit the aircraft, or launch all of the liferafts, by the book—but then when has an actual ditching ever permitted the time to do it by the book? This was a rare P-3 ditching accomplished under extreme weather and sea conditions. It was indeed miraculous that so many survived.
As a result of survivor reports, and narratives of their experiences, many suggestions were made:
Hopefully, all of these suggestions and lessons learned will enhance the safety and survivability of downed aircrewmen in the future.