Homemade prosthetic arm role in crash
Discussion
An eyebrow raiser!
https://www.yorkpress.co.uk/news/18387111.pilot-cr...
AN amputee pilot suffered a hard landing when his homemade prosthetic device disconnected from the controls of his light aircraft. The 69-year-old escaped unhurt from the incident at an airfield in York but his plane was damaged, the Air Accidents Investigation Branch (AAIB) said. The pilot, who has not been named, is a left forearm amputee. He was operating the Jodel D117A plane's control column - used to alter the angle of flight - with a carbon fibre tube connected to the prosthesis on his arm. As he was approaching landing at Full Sutton Airfield on April 8 last year, the device became separated from the stick, causing the plane's nose to dip. This led to a heavy landing, damaging the propeller and engine cover.
The AAIB report did not conclude why the prosthetic adaptor became disconnected from the control column, but it did note that the pilot, a doctor in prosthetic rehabilitation, designed it so it had no mechanical connection to secure it to the stick. This was because he wanted to make it simple for rescue personnel to detach in the event of an emergency. Investigators said his approach was to "modify the person rather than the aircraft".
Following the accident, the pilot added a Velcro strip to make the connection more secure.
The AAIB found he met the requirements for medical fitness to fly but there was no engineering assessment of the tube by a suitably qualified person.
The Civil Aviation Authority has responded by toughening the rules relating to the issuing of medical certificates for pilots with disabilities affecting joints, bones and muscles.
https://www.yorkpress.co.uk/news/18387111.pilot-cr...
AN amputee pilot suffered a hard landing when his homemade prosthetic device disconnected from the controls of his light aircraft. The 69-year-old escaped unhurt from the incident at an airfield in York but his plane was damaged, the Air Accidents Investigation Branch (AAIB) said. The pilot, who has not been named, is a left forearm amputee. He was operating the Jodel D117A plane's control column - used to alter the angle of flight - with a carbon fibre tube connected to the prosthesis on his arm. As he was approaching landing at Full Sutton Airfield on April 8 last year, the device became separated from the stick, causing the plane's nose to dip. This led to a heavy landing, damaging the propeller and engine cover.
The AAIB report did not conclude why the prosthetic adaptor became disconnected from the control column, but it did note that the pilot, a doctor in prosthetic rehabilitation, designed it so it had no mechanical connection to secure it to the stick. This was because he wanted to make it simple for rescue personnel to detach in the event of an emergency. Investigators said his approach was to "modify the person rather than the aircraft".
Following the accident, the pilot added a Velcro strip to make the connection more secure.
The AAIB found he met the requirements for medical fitness to fly but there was no engineering assessment of the tube by a suitably qualified person.
The Civil Aviation Authority has responded by toughening the rules relating to the issuing of medical certificates for pilots with disabilities affecting joints, bones and muscles.
I'll tell you a story that happened to me in the 1970's.
In 1972 I met a Texan mud engineer that was working on the same rig as me in Lake Maracaibo. Well, Charlie D, his wife Jane, me and my soon-to-be wife used to spend time together back in town, drinking Cuba Libres and listening to his Carpenters album. When my contract in Venezuela expired, and we moved back to Britain, we were delighted to learn after a while that Charlie had landed a job this side of the pond and he and Jane were living down near Wokingham, and our friendship rekindled.
We got a call from Jane to tell us that Charlie had a big birthday coming up, and she was planning a surprise party, but needed our help. My job was to get Charlie out of the house for an afternoon, while the girls organised the party.
Now, Charlie had just started taking flying lessons at a glider club nearby, somewhere near the M4 west of London, so the plan was to organise a demonstration flight for me, as an excuse for us to keep busy at the airfield for a few hours. We drove down there, and it turned out to look just like the sort of place you saw in the WW2 films, where guys in flying jackets lounge about in deckchairs in front of wooden shacks, waiting for the bell to ring. We went in to the clubhouse/bar and my pilot for the up-coming flight was introduced to me.
Now this was the pre-politically correct 1970's, remember, so apologies beforehand, but I was surprised to say the least when a guy balanced on two crutches and two obviously artificial legs hobbled across the room towards me. I immediately suspected that this was some sort of practical joke played on all nervous first time flyers, so I determined upon acting cool and not falling into the trap.
A brief conversation ensued, and then we went out and made our way towards the glider, sitting on the grass a short distance away. As we walked, I was looking around to see where the real pilot was going to spring out from, but no one appeared.
I was put into the front seat of the glider, shown the rudder pedals and joystick and told in no uncertain terms not to touch them. The pilot would sit behind, and I would have the best view in the house. Still, and with increasing uncertainty, looking for the bona fide pilot, I was startled to see the ends of two articifical legs make their way down the glider beside my seat, looking like a couple of Meccano sets on holiday, towards the rudder pedals, which were on either side, half way down my thighs.
'Could you strap my legs on the pedals?' he asked, and I duly attached the prosthetics to the pedals, like a cyclists foot, into a sort of metal and leather buckled strap arrangement, all the while thinking to myself that this was taking it a bit too far now. Still I didn't say anything.
It really only started to fully dawn on me that the bloke with the artificial legs was really my pilot when we were a few hundred feet above the M4, and the conclusion was inescapable. Fortunately, he remained firmly attached to all of the controls throughout the flight and we were soon safely back on terra firma.
As for the experience of gliding itself, it was a fantastic. After a few years in the oil industry, I had flown on all shapes and sizes of helicopters and aeroplanes, and subsequently even had a flight in a hot air balloon, but a glider is something special. Once the tow plane leaves you, it is quiet and peaceful, with surprisingly little wind noise, so you can converse as if you are sitting in an armchair at home. Helicopters make me feel like a kitten picked up by the scruff of the neck, jet aircraft push you in the back, balloons stink of burning Calor gas, but in a glider you just feel like you have stuck your arms out like wings and are flying like a bird. It becomes so obvious why you are up there. Put the nose down and you speed up, pull back and you slow down, lean over a bit and you turn - there do not seem to be any physical laws to overcome by power or trickery, it's just the most natural feeling in the world.
Even the ground rush on landing, that I had read about, wasn't so very alarming. I only did it the once, but if you ever get a chance to go in a glider, grab it with both hands - real or prosthetic.
In 1972 I met a Texan mud engineer that was working on the same rig as me in Lake Maracaibo. Well, Charlie D, his wife Jane, me and my soon-to-be wife used to spend time together back in town, drinking Cuba Libres and listening to his Carpenters album. When my contract in Venezuela expired, and we moved back to Britain, we were delighted to learn after a while that Charlie had landed a job this side of the pond and he and Jane were living down near Wokingham, and our friendship rekindled.
We got a call from Jane to tell us that Charlie had a big birthday coming up, and she was planning a surprise party, but needed our help. My job was to get Charlie out of the house for an afternoon, while the girls organised the party.
Now, Charlie had just started taking flying lessons at a glider club nearby, somewhere near the M4 west of London, so the plan was to organise a demonstration flight for me, as an excuse for us to keep busy at the airfield for a few hours. We drove down there, and it turned out to look just like the sort of place you saw in the WW2 films, where guys in flying jackets lounge about in deckchairs in front of wooden shacks, waiting for the bell to ring. We went in to the clubhouse/bar and my pilot for the up-coming flight was introduced to me.
Now this was the pre-politically correct 1970's, remember, so apologies beforehand, but I was surprised to say the least when a guy balanced on two crutches and two obviously artificial legs hobbled across the room towards me. I immediately suspected that this was some sort of practical joke played on all nervous first time flyers, so I determined upon acting cool and not falling into the trap.
A brief conversation ensued, and then we went out and made our way towards the glider, sitting on the grass a short distance away. As we walked, I was looking around to see where the real pilot was going to spring out from, but no one appeared.
I was put into the front seat of the glider, shown the rudder pedals and joystick and told in no uncertain terms not to touch them. The pilot would sit behind, and I would have the best view in the house. Still, and with increasing uncertainty, looking for the bona fide pilot, I was startled to see the ends of two articifical legs make their way down the glider beside my seat, looking like a couple of Meccano sets on holiday, towards the rudder pedals, which were on either side, half way down my thighs.
'Could you strap my legs on the pedals?' he asked, and I duly attached the prosthetics to the pedals, like a cyclists foot, into a sort of metal and leather buckled strap arrangement, all the while thinking to myself that this was taking it a bit too far now. Still I didn't say anything.
It really only started to fully dawn on me that the bloke with the artificial legs was really my pilot when we were a few hundred feet above the M4, and the conclusion was inescapable. Fortunately, he remained firmly attached to all of the controls throughout the flight and we were soon safely back on terra firma.
As for the experience of gliding itself, it was a fantastic. After a few years in the oil industry, I had flown on all shapes and sizes of helicopters and aeroplanes, and subsequently even had a flight in a hot air balloon, but a glider is something special. Once the tow plane leaves you, it is quiet and peaceful, with surprisingly little wind noise, so you can converse as if you are sitting in an armchair at home. Helicopters make me feel like a kitten picked up by the scruff of the neck, jet aircraft push you in the back, balloons stink of burning Calor gas, but in a glider you just feel like you have stuck your arms out like wings and are flying like a bird. It becomes so obvious why you are up there. Put the nose down and you speed up, pull back and you slow down, lean over a bit and you turn - there do not seem to be any physical laws to overcome by power or trickery, it's just the most natural feeling in the world.
Even the ground rush on landing, that I had read about, wasn't so very alarming. I only did it the once, but if you ever get a chance to go in a glider, grab it with both hands - real or prosthetic.
Edited by Roofless Toothless on Monday 20th April 09:31
Roofless Toothless said:
I'll tell you a story that happened to me in the 1970's.
In 1972 I met a Texan mud engineer that was working on the same rig as me in Lake Maracaibo. Well, Charlie D, his wife Jane, me and my soon-to-be wife used to spend time together back in town, drinking Cuba Libres and listening to his Carpenters album. When my contract in Venezuela expired, and we moved back to Britain, we were delighted to learn after a while that Charlie had landed a job this side of the pond and he and Jane were living down near Wokingham, and our friendship rekindled.
We got a call from Jane to tell us that Charlie had a big birthday coming up, and she was planning a surprise party, but needed our help. My job was to get Charlie out of the house for an afternoon, while the girls organised the party.
Now, Charlie had just started taking flying lessons at a glider club nearby, somewhere near the M4 west of London, so the plan was to organise a demonstration flight for me, as an excuse for us to keep busy at the airfield for a few hours. We drove down there, and it turned out to look just like the sort of place you saw in the WW2 films, where guys in flying jackets lounge about in deckchairs in front of wooden shacks, waiting for the bell to ring. We went in to the clubhouse/bar and my pilot for the up-coming flight was introduced to me.
Now this was the pre-politically correct 1970's, remember, so apologies beforehand, but I was surprised to say the least when a guy balanced on two crutches and two obviously artificial legs hobbled across the room towards me. I immediately suspected that this was some sort of practical joke played on all nervous first time flyers, so I determined upon acting cool and not falling into the trap.
A brief conversation ensued, and then we went out and made our way towards the glider, sitting on the grass a short distance away. As we walked, I was looking around to see where the real pilot was going to spring out from, but no one appeared.
I was put into the front seat of the glider, shown the rudder pedals and joystick and told in no uncertain terms not to touch them. The pilot would sit behind, and I would have the best view in the house. Still, and with increasing uncertainty, looking for the bona fide pilot, I was startled to see the ends of two articifical legs make their way down the glider beside my seat, looking like a couple of Meccano sets on holiday, towards the rudder pedals, which were on either side, half way down my thighs.
'Could you strap my legs on the pedals?' he asked, and I duly attached the prosthetics to the pedals, like a cyclists foot, into a sort of metal and leather buckled strap arrangement, all the while thinking to myself that this was taking it a bit too far now. Still I didn't say anything.
It really only started to fully dawn on me that the bloke with the artificial legs was really my pilot when we were a few hundred feet above the M4, and the conclusion was inescapable. Fortunately, he remained firmly attached to all of the controls throughout the flight and we were soon safely back on terra firma.
As for the experience of gliding itself, it was a fantastic. After a few years in the oil industry, I had flown on all shapes and sizes of helicopters and aeroplanes, and subsequently even had a flight in a hot air balloon, but a glider is something special. Once the tow plane leaves you, it is quiet and peaceful, with surprisingly little wind noise, so you can converse as if you are sitting in an armchair at home. Helicopters make me feel like a kitten picked up by the scruff of the neck, jet aircraft push you in the back, balloons stink of burning Calor gas, but in a glider you just feel like you have stuck your arms out like wings and are flying like a bird. It becomes so obvious why you are up there. Put the nose down and you speed up, pull back and you slow down, lean over a bit and you turn - there do not seem to be any physical laws to overcome by power or trickery, it's just the most natural feeling in the world.
Even the ground rush on landing, that I had read about, wasn't so very alarming. I only did it the once, but if you ever get a chance to go in a glider, grab it with both hands - real or prosthetic.
One of the grat Fighter aces Doggie Bader still flew sans legs. I spent a week learning to fly in glider when I was about 15(?) managed to get quite a few hours in despite the weather and pretty much ready to go solo. Had an excellent instructor although it did stirke me strange that he wore dark sunglasses the whole time and when he finally took them off to clean it became apparently he was mono vision. In 1972 I met a Texan mud engineer that was working on the same rig as me in Lake Maracaibo. Well, Charlie D, his wife Jane, me and my soon-to-be wife used to spend time together back in town, drinking Cuba Libres and listening to his Carpenters album. When my contract in Venezuela expired, and we moved back to Britain, we were delighted to learn after a while that Charlie had landed a job this side of the pond and he and Jane were living down near Wokingham, and our friendship rekindled.
We got a call from Jane to tell us that Charlie had a big birthday coming up, and she was planning a surprise party, but needed our help. My job was to get Charlie out of the house for an afternoon, while the girls organised the party.
Now, Charlie had just started taking flying lessons at a glider club nearby, somewhere near the M4 west of London, so the plan was to organise a demonstration flight for me, as an excuse for us to keep busy at the airfield for a few hours. We drove down there, and it turned out to look just like the sort of place you saw in the WW2 films, where guys in flying jackets lounge about in deckchairs in front of wooden shacks, waiting for the bell to ring. We went in to the clubhouse/bar and my pilot for the up-coming flight was introduced to me.
Now this was the pre-politically correct 1970's, remember, so apologies beforehand, but I was surprised to say the least when a guy balanced on two crutches and two obviously artificial legs hobbled across the room towards me. I immediately suspected that this was some sort of practical joke played on all nervous first time flyers, so I determined upon acting cool and not falling into the trap.
A brief conversation ensued, and then we went out and made our way towards the glider, sitting on the grass a short distance away. As we walked, I was looking around to see where the real pilot was going to spring out from, but no one appeared.
I was put into the front seat of the glider, shown the rudder pedals and joystick and told in no uncertain terms not to touch them. The pilot would sit behind, and I would have the best view in the house. Still, and with increasing uncertainty, looking for the bona fide pilot, I was startled to see the ends of two articifical legs make their way down the glider beside my seat, looking like a couple of Meccano sets on holiday, towards the rudder pedals, which were on either side, half way down my thighs.
'Could you strap my legs on the pedals?' he asked, and I duly attached the prosthetics to the pedals, like a cyclists foot, into a sort of metal and leather buckled strap arrangement, all the while thinking to myself that this was taking it a bit too far now. Still I didn't say anything.
It really only started to fully dawn on me that the bloke with the artificial legs was really my pilot when we were a few hundred feet above the M4, and the conclusion was inescapable. Fortunately, he remained firmly attached to all of the controls throughout the flight and we were soon safely back on terra firma.
As for the experience of gliding itself, it was a fantastic. After a few years in the oil industry, I had flown on all shapes and sizes of helicopters and aeroplanes, and subsequently even had a flight in a hot air balloon, but a glider is something special. Once the tow plane leaves you, it is quiet and peaceful, with surprisingly little wind noise, so you can converse as if you are sitting in an armchair at home. Helicopters make me feel like a kitten picked up by the scruff of the neck, jet aircraft push you in the back, balloons stink of burning Calor gas, but in a glider you just feel like you have stuck your arms out like wings and are flying like a bird. It becomes so obvious why you are up there. Put the nose down and you speed up, pull back and you slow down, lean over a bit and you turn - there do not seem to be any physical laws to overcome by power or trickery, it's just the most natural feeling in the world.
Even the ground rush on landing, that I had read about, wasn't so very alarming. I only did it the once, but if you ever get a chance to go in a glider, grab it with both hands - real or prosthetic.
Edited by Roofless Toothless on Monday 20th April 09:31
Had a bit of a near miss landing at London Glidign many years ago - almost took wooden post between the legs at a fair rate of knots due to wet grass* and trying to stop near the hanger/carpark.
(*due to landing long/inexperience)
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