W
whitelaw
Guest
No camera - never is when opportunities like this come up.
An old airfield where aircraft come to die. They are flown in, everything of use is stripped out, then they are either flown on to a breakers, or more usually, broken here. I had flown an aircraft in.
Until I arrived at the airport today, I had no idea I would be on a death run. A shuttle to our base and then me and an unknown co-pilot taking a time expired 737 on her last flight.
It is strange in many ways. There is little joviality. Usually crews banter a little especially if they havent flown together before. Claire, my F/O has not done this before. She is feeling the emotion of flying an aircraft to its death and it shows. No weight and balance to sign. Minimal fuel (the company don't like wasting anything.) Her brow furrows as she tries to compute the take off speed in relation to the prevailing wind and runway length. She keeps working out that VR (rotate) will occur well before V1(The amount of runway left in which we could stop if we had to.) "It's right," I tell her.
First, my GOD they handle well when totally empty. Secondly, there is a real sense of sadness. You would not believe it, but perhaps you have to be a pilot. You have fuelled it, pre-fighted it, filed the flight plan and done everything exactly as you would normally with passengers in the back.
Then, the taxi out - no PA this time, though. No one to hear it. The take off roll is fantastic. Of course, the charts tell you how little you actually need to get airborne, but no-one takes any notice. You open the taps and it fairly rattles down that runway, reaching VR well before V1. And WOAH - WHAT a rate of climb. Better throttle it back or ATC will be demanding my licence number. (again).
Then the flight. Only an hour, and that final descent. The aircraft knows. I am certain - It doesn't seem to want to descend. So throttles to flight idle, full flaps, gear down - even then it seems hesitant to grab the earth again. It's almost as if it knows it will never fly again.
Already, 3000ft beneath us, they are planning the rape of this venerable old lady. Every single part that is not time expired will be bagged up, reconditioned and re-used. (You would be amazed at how many recycled parts are taversing the globe!) Anything of scrap value will be sold as such. Aircraft grade aluminum has a market too. Strange to think in a year or so, most of this could be transformed into a 777.
Anyway, land, taxi in - park, and, for the final time, shut down. Almost as soon as we have done so a crew arrived to defuel it, and another to chock the wheels and start draining the fluids, oils and everything else.
I can't bear to watch really. She stands there, nose proud, awaiting passengers who will never come. Does she feel her life blood being drained from the miles of arteries? I suspect she does. Either way, its not very nice to watch. Another crew arrive with a mobile stairway and troop up it. Almost immediately they start work on the rear galley. A man with a clipboard scurries up the steps and I see him walk forward to the floght deck. He will begin to catalogue the instruments. Many, especially on this old analogue bird will have no further use, but the radios and nav boxes will find homes elsewhere if nothing else.
Fast forward six months.
I'm on another cannibal run with yet another 737 past her time. I ask for a circuit. As I bank right, I see below the shell of the aircraft I flew in six months before.
What a sorry sight she is now. Her body held up, at least on one side, with props and her undercarriage long gone. Her tail shorn off just aft of the wing roots and her nose missing. Of course, they had the radar out day one I would imagine.
We taxi, park and, again, shut down. I wander across the airfield to my former charge and walk up the temporary steps to No1 starboard door.
Inside, the devastation is heartstopping. Roof lining ripped down, and skeins of wire hang down like garlands. Turning right, I look into the flight deck. Holes in the panels abound where whole instruments have been removed, and in some cases, even whole panels. The overhead is missing completely. The magnetic compass is still there - no one would want that. The throttle quadrant remains, trim wheels, undercarriage selector and aileron trims still look hopefully up - perhaps longing to feel the touch of a hand again. The engines have long gone leaving almost obscene holes under the wings. No doubt even now they are back at Rolls Royce being refurbished or cannibalized for metals.
I see the old girl has had her revenge though. There is a dark trail leaking down a wall that looks like dried blood to me, and a sharp edge where someone decided that a good yank would move a panel, but obviously, the panel disagreed.
The smell is interesting. Damp, of course, but also some of the leather scent still remains.
For the last time, I sat in the right hand seat and looked forward. You could almost imagine requesting push-start one last time, were it not for the fact that the radios have been removed.
This old lady of the skies hasn't long to go now. Another month and her entire interior will have been stripped out, and her body cut up for the metal recyclers.
Fast forward another six months.
This time, I am taxying in a 747. I am directed carefully along the narrow taxiways here - right to the spot where my old 737 was. It, and the one next to it are gone now - no trace of them remains, and now this heavy old bird will take their place.
An old airfield where aircraft come to die. They are flown in, everything of use is stripped out, then they are either flown on to a breakers, or more usually, broken here. I had flown an aircraft in.
Until I arrived at the airport today, I had no idea I would be on a death run. A shuttle to our base and then me and an unknown co-pilot taking a time expired 737 on her last flight.
It is strange in many ways. There is little joviality. Usually crews banter a little especially if they havent flown together before. Claire, my F/O has not done this before. She is feeling the emotion of flying an aircraft to its death and it shows. No weight and balance to sign. Minimal fuel (the company don't like wasting anything.) Her brow furrows as she tries to compute the take off speed in relation to the prevailing wind and runway length. She keeps working out that VR (rotate) will occur well before V1(The amount of runway left in which we could stop if we had to.) "It's right," I tell her.
First, my GOD they handle well when totally empty. Secondly, there is a real sense of sadness. You would not believe it, but perhaps you have to be a pilot. You have fuelled it, pre-fighted it, filed the flight plan and done everything exactly as you would normally with passengers in the back.
Then, the taxi out - no PA this time, though. No one to hear it. The take off roll is fantastic. Of course, the charts tell you how little you actually need to get airborne, but no-one takes any notice. You open the taps and it fairly rattles down that runway, reaching VR well before V1. And WOAH - WHAT a rate of climb. Better throttle it back or ATC will be demanding my licence number. (again).
Then the flight. Only an hour, and that final descent. The aircraft knows. I am certain - It doesn't seem to want to descend. So throttles to flight idle, full flaps, gear down - even then it seems hesitant to grab the earth again. It's almost as if it knows it will never fly again.
Already, 3000ft beneath us, they are planning the rape of this venerable old lady. Every single part that is not time expired will be bagged up, reconditioned and re-used. (You would be amazed at how many recycled parts are taversing the globe!) Anything of scrap value will be sold as such. Aircraft grade aluminum has a market too. Strange to think in a year or so, most of this could be transformed into a 777.
Anyway, land, taxi in - park, and, for the final time, shut down. Almost as soon as we have done so a crew arrived to defuel it, and another to chock the wheels and start draining the fluids, oils and everything else.
I can't bear to watch really. She stands there, nose proud, awaiting passengers who will never come. Does she feel her life blood being drained from the miles of arteries? I suspect she does. Either way, its not very nice to watch. Another crew arrive with a mobile stairway and troop up it. Almost immediately they start work on the rear galley. A man with a clipboard scurries up the steps and I see him walk forward to the floght deck. He will begin to catalogue the instruments. Many, especially on this old analogue bird will have no further use, but the radios and nav boxes will find homes elsewhere if nothing else.
Fast forward six months.
I'm on another cannibal run with yet another 737 past her time. I ask for a circuit. As I bank right, I see below the shell of the aircraft I flew in six months before.
What a sorry sight she is now. Her body held up, at least on one side, with props and her undercarriage long gone. Her tail shorn off just aft of the wing roots and her nose missing. Of course, they had the radar out day one I would imagine.
We taxi, park and, again, shut down. I wander across the airfield to my former charge and walk up the temporary steps to No1 starboard door.
Inside, the devastation is heartstopping. Roof lining ripped down, and skeins of wire hang down like garlands. Turning right, I look into the flight deck. Holes in the panels abound where whole instruments have been removed, and in some cases, even whole panels. The overhead is missing completely. The magnetic compass is still there - no one would want that. The throttle quadrant remains, trim wheels, undercarriage selector and aileron trims still look hopefully up - perhaps longing to feel the touch of a hand again. The engines have long gone leaving almost obscene holes under the wings. No doubt even now they are back at Rolls Royce being refurbished or cannibalized for metals.
I see the old girl has had her revenge though. There is a dark trail leaking down a wall that looks like dried blood to me, and a sharp edge where someone decided that a good yank would move a panel, but obviously, the panel disagreed.
The smell is interesting. Damp, of course, but also some of the leather scent still remains.
For the last time, I sat in the right hand seat and looked forward. You could almost imagine requesting push-start one last time, were it not for the fact that the radios have been removed.
This old lady of the skies hasn't long to go now. Another month and her entire interior will have been stripped out, and her body cut up for the metal recyclers.
Fast forward another six months.
This time, I am taxying in a 747. I am directed carefully along the narrow taxiways here - right to the spot where my old 737 was. It, and the one next to it are gone now - no trace of them remains, and now this heavy old bird will take their place.
