The Naval Safety Center’s Aviation Magazine

March-April 2004 Volume 49 No. 2

On the cover Landing-signal officers from Carrier Air Wing 

One, aboard USS George Washington

(CVN 73), assist an S-3 Viking. Photo modified by Allan Amen.

On the back cover Pilots from VFA-37, NAS Oceana, returning 

from Operation Iraqi Freedom. Photo by 

Matthew J. Thomas.

RADM Dick Brooks Commander, Naval Safety Center

Col. Dave Kerrick, USMC Deputy Commander

Derek Nelson Head, Media Department

Naval Safety Center (757) 444-3520 (DSN 564) Dial the following 

extensions any time during the greeting

Publications FAX (757) 444-6791

Approach Staff

Jack Stewart Editor

jack.stewart@navy.mil Ext. 7257

Allan Amen Graphics, Design & Layout

allan.amen@navy.mil Ext. 7248

Matthew J. Thomas Staff Photographer

 matthew.j.thomas@navy.mil Ext. 7244

Ginger Rives Distribution (Magazines and Posters)

virginia.rives@navy.mil Ext. 7256

Col. Dave Kerrick, USMC Aviation Safety Programs

david.kerrick@navy.mil Ext. 7225

Cdr. Chris Spain Aircraft Operations Division

christopher.spain@navy.mil Ext. 7203

Cdr. Chuck Huff Aircraft Mishap Investigation Division

Charles.E.Huff@navy.mil Ext. 7236

Capt. Nicholas Webster Aeromedical Division

nicholas.webster@navy.mil Ext. 7228 

Mission Statement

Mishaps waste our time and resources. They take our Sailors, Marines and civilian 

employees away from their units and workplaces and put them in hospitals, wheelchairs 

and coffins. Mishaps ruin equipment and weapons. They diminish our readiness.

This magazine’s goal is to help make sure that personnel can devote their time and 

energy to the mission, and that any losses are due to enemy action, not to our own errors, 

shortcuts or failure to manage risk.

We believe there is only one way to do any task: the way that follows the rules and takes 

precautions against hazards. Combat is hazardous enough; the time to learn to do a job 

right is before combat starts.

Approach is published bimonthly by Commander, Naval Safety Center, and is an authorized publication 

for members of the Department of Defense. Contents are not necessarily the official views of, or endorsed by, 

the U.S. Government, the Department of Defense, or the U.S. Navy. Photos and artwork are representative 

and do not necessarily show the people or equipment discussed. We reserve the right to edit all manuscripts. 

Reference to commercial products does not imply Navy endorsement. Unless otherwise stated, material in 

this magazine may be reprinted without permission; please credit the magazine and author. Approach is 

available for sale by the Superintendent of Documents, P.O. Box 371954, Pittsburgh, PA 15250-7954. Telephone credit card orders can be made 8 a.m. to 4 p.m. Eastern time at (202) 512-1800.Periodicals postage 

paid at Norfolk, Va., and additional mailing offices.

Postmaster: Send address changes to Approach, Code 73A,

Naval Safety Center, 375 A Street

Norfolk, VA 23511-4399

Send articles and letters to the address above, or via e-mail to the editor, 

jack.stewart@navy.mil.

6 The Columbia Mishap An interview with RDML Steve Turcotte, 

 a member of the Accident Investigation 

 Board.

12 A Close Call at 300 Feet

 By ADCS(AW/NAC) Kevin Smith

 Several factors caused a near-midair for a 

 P-3 crew and a Cessna. 

14 What Did Paddles Say?

By LCdr. Thomas A. Jones

 An S-3 pilot has trouble hearing and looks 

 for a solution to his problem. He wants to 

 protect his hearing to prevent long-term 

 hearing loss. The next article takes a 

 closer look at this issue.

 Can You Hear Me Now?

 By Valerie Bjorn and Jim Wilt

 Long-term hearing loss is a long-term 

 problem in naval aviation. Our experts at 

 NavAir sound off.

20 I’ve Lost My RIO

 By Lt. Geoff Vickers

 The RIO has left the plane and we have 

 photos to prove it.

28 No-Brainer

 By Lt. Russell Girty

 A Hornet pilot deals with complacency and 

 FOD during an Operation Iraqi Freedom 

 “routine” flight.

31 Update on the Online Command 

 Safety Climate Assessment Survey 

 Process

 By Dr. Robert Figlock, LtCol., USMC, Ret.

 This online survey has been improved and 

 is a good resource for every commanding 

 officer. 

Features

Visit us on-line at 

www.safetycenter.navy.mil
Departments

pg. 24

ORM Corner: Survival at Sea

By PR2 Ronald Beermünder

Cathy Maready’s struggle for survival 

provides lessons for all aviators.

Photo composite

March-April Thanks

Thanks for helping with this issue...

LCdr. David Slayton, VS-32

LCdr. Paul Crump, VAW-115

Lt. Keith Powell, VP-26

LCdr. Tim Murphy, VAQ-141

LCdr. Stevin Johnson, VFA-97

LtCol. Jeff Mosher, HMH-462

Lt. Anthony Artino, NSTI

LCdr. Sean Bailey, VF-213

2 Work Zone: Reducing Mishaps by 50%

 • Culture Workshops, by Capt. Dave Quessenberry 

 and LtCol. Rick Boyer. Can a workshop improve your 

 unit’s safety posture? The stats are very persuasive.

 • Driver safety. The critical days of summer are 

 approaching. Here are several resources to help 

 improve your traffic-safety program. 

5 Toward the Goal: Continual Improvement

 Our staff shares feedback, ideas, and suggestions 

 from recent squadron visits. 

 Mishap-Free Milestones

10 CRM: Calm Before the Storm

 By Lt. Vince Johnson

 A fast-moving storm and a case of “get-home-itis” 

 are just the right mix to test these Seahawk pilots’ 

 decision-making ability.

19 Bravo Zulu

IBC Classic Brownshoes in Action Comix

BC Ready Room Gouge
Workshops Culture

By Capt. Dave Quessenberry and LtCol. Rick Boyer, USMC

 2 approach March-April 2004 

In 1996, following a string of highvisibility mishaps, the naval aviation Human Factors Quality Management 

Board (HFQMB) was chartered and tasked with 

reducing the number of human-factor flight mishaps by 50 percent before the turn of the millennium. One intervention strategy adopted by 

the board, on a trial basis, was a successful Air 

National Guard culture-assessment program run 

by Col. Alan Groben. Subsequently, the program 

was endorsed by the Air Board and has evolved 

into our current culture-workshop program.

The workshops are based on the principle 

that operational excellence exists on a foundation of trust, integrity, and leadership, created 

and sustained by effective communication. 

Each workshop is tailored to give individual 

commanders a snapshot of their unit’s culture by listening to its members. Effectively 

employed, this program has become a powerful risk-management tool for identifying 

human-factor problems before they result in 

bent metal and broken bodies.

“Culture” includes a wide range of informal rules and attitudes that profoundly affect 

how we work and train. It is affected by events 

in our local communities, as well as by state, 

national, and international politics. Leadership 

styles, formal and informal and of past and 

present leaders, greatly influence the attitudes 

and operating rules that form a specific culture. Squadrons have formal and informal leaders, and these people permit certain attitudes 

and rules to exist, by the way they act and by 

what they tolerate.

Culture workshops are conducted solely for 

the benefit of each unit. Privacy of results—

good, bad, or otherwise—is a key principle. All 

information collected is treated as confidential 

and remains within the command. The success 

of a workshop rests largely in the hands of the 

unit, and the unit’s commitment to creating 

a sustained culture of operational excellence. 

Before the workshop, each member of the command should understand the upcoming workshop is not an inspection, and their candor and 

full engagement are the key elements to the 

workshop’s success.

The workshop usually involves a threeperson team. The unit hosting the workshop is 

responsible for obtaining a maintenance E-7/E8 and a pilot or NFO (preferably an O-3) from 

a unit outside their direct chain of command 

to assist the facilitator. Ideally, these people 

should be professional, highly motivated, and 

possess solid leadership skills. After the kickoff 

brief and introductions, the workshop begins 

with individual visits and informal conversations conducted in the squadron spaces. Highly 

interactive group seminars composed of 10 to 15 
Squadrons

Without 

Culture Workshop

Which Column Would You 

Rather Be In?

Squadrons

With

Culture Workshop

99

Squadrons

5

Class A

Mishaps

67

Class A

Mishaps

172

Squadrons

March-April 2004 approach 3

Get on Board!

Find out more about culture workshops at: 

http://www.safetycenter.navy.mil/culture/

default.htm

people follow. Although squadrons sessions vary, 

there are generally separate seminars for E-4 and 

below, E-5 through E-6, E-7 through E-9, and the 

officers. They are led by a trained facilitator and 

last approximately two hours. Seminar attendees 

should represent a true cross-section of the command, and be prepared to fully participate in the 

process. The results of each group are folded into 

the subsequent seminars. A concluding leadership seminar compiles the results; any sensitive 

findings are briefed to the CO and XO separately. 

Two online surveys offered by the School 

of Aviation Safety in Monterey—the CSA

and MCAS—are now an integral and 

required part of the culture-workshop 

process. They are invaluable humanfactors risk-identification tools, and 

should be completed before scheduling 

a workshop. (For an update on these 

surveys, turn to page 31.)

After the workshop, and in conjunction with the MCAS and CSA results, 

each unit will have a better understanding of the strengths and weaknesses of 

their underlying culture, as well as any 

organizational human factors that could 

pose a hazard to sustained operational 

excellence. Armed with that information, 

it is then incumbent upon the leadership, 

as well as the entire chain of command, 

to evaluate the risk, make appropriate 

risk decisions, implement controls, and 

then lead from the front! 

 In January 2003, a message from 

COMNAVAIRFOR required all deployable 

aviation squadrons to complete a Naval 

Safety Center sponsored culture-workshop 

during their interdeployment training cycle 

(IDTC), and non-deployable units to complete a workshop once during each two-year 

period. The milestone was to have unit 

safety officers make requests for any culture-workshops required during the next IDTC, or two-year 

period, directly to the Naval Safety Center. Since 

then, we have received 124 requests for cultureworkshops; we have completed 51.

Does the process work?

 During the last two years, Navy and 

Marine Corps squadrons had 72 Class A flight 

mishaps. During this period, 99 squadrons 

(36 percent of naval aviation) had culture 

workshops. Of those units, only five had Class 

A flight mishaps after a culture workshop, 

accounting for just seven percent of the total 

mishaps. Thus, 64 percent of the squadrons had 

93 percent of the mishaps. 

Capt. Quessenberry and LtCol. Boyer are with the Naval 

Safety Center.
Resource Toolbox for Motor-Vehicle Safety

Summer is just around the corner. Time to wash and wax your car or truck, load up your buddies, roll 

down the windows, turn up the sound system, and: either 1)have a great day or 2)be moments away from 

tragedy. Your choice. 

Check out the resources below, raise vehicle safety awareness in your unit, and have a safe summer. 

Whether you die in a plane crash or in a car, you’re still dead. 

Naval Safety Center

www.safetycenter.navy.mil/ashore/motorvehicle/toolbox.doc

• Leave/Liberty Statement • Pre-Trip Checklist/Brief/Counseling • Calling card for emergencies

www.navdweb.spawar.navy.mil

• The “safe ride program” is set up by commands establishing an agreement with local taxi 

companies. The agreement authorizes Sailors and Marines who have been drinking to call a taxi for a 

ride home without penalty, punishment or repercussion from their command. 

AAA foundation for Traffic Safety Resources

www.aaafoundation.org/resources/index.cfm?button=links

• National Traffic Safety Organizations • Aggressive Driving • Drowsy Driving

S.A.F.E.-Stay Alive From Education (Street Smart Paramedics)

www.safeprogram.com

• Street Smart engages groups, rather than lecturing or preaching to them. Using factual information, 

actual medical equipment, and demonstrations involving a volunteer from the group, the paramedics 

provide a real-life look at the consequences of irresponsible actions.

Insurance Institute For Highway Safety

www.hwysafety.org/safety_facts/safety.htm

• The Institute conducts and publishes research on a wide range of highway-safety issues. Quick 

reference fact sheets by topic are provided on this web page.

Summer is often a tragic time for too many 

of our Sailors, Marines, their families and 

friends. The period between Memorial Day 

and Labor Day weekends is the “critical days 

of summer,” because the fatality rate in nonoperational motor-vehicle mishaps is highest 

during this time of year. Start planning now to 

avoid fatalities this summer. As you look at the 

statistics, don’t just look at the numbers. Each 

number represents a spouse, a parent, a friend, 

and, in most cases, a preventable statistic.

Deaths in Motor-Vehicle and Motorcycle Mishaps

(During the critical days of summer)

 Navy Marine Corps

1999 32 16 

2000 20 19

2001 17 10

2002 32 25

2003 20 24

2004 ? ?

Remember, one lost shipmate is one too many.

 4 approach March-April 2004 
How are we doing? 

 Class-A Flight Mishaps (FY04 thru 09 Feb)

Service Total/Rate FY03 thru 09 Feb FY04 Goal* FY05 Goal* FY01-03 Avg Fighter/Attack Helo 

USN: 3/0.83 8/2.04 14/1.24 10/0.88 20.3/1.76 2/2.35 0/0.00

USMC: 6/5.72 3/2.55 10/2.75 7/1.94 10.3/2.76 3/6.65 3/6.85

* Goals based on FY02 baseline.

 FY04/05 rate at or below goal. 

 FY04/05 rate above goal. 

Aviation (Rates = Mishaps Per 100,000 Flight Hours)

For current information on aviation statistics visit: 

www.safetycenter.navy.mil/statistics/aviation/default.htm

Continual Improvement

As we reflect on our aviation-safety posture, 

there are many positives, but there also is room 

for improvement. Based on surveys, culture 

workshops, and other interactions with fleet squadrons, 

the Safety Center aviation investigators and analysts 

share the following comments:

Our aircraft and equipment are well designed, 

and seldom let us down. Human factors, too often, are 

causal when a mishap occurs. In many instances, we lose 

shipmates and valuable assets while conducting basic, 

routine tasks. Mishaps occur when inexperience and 

complacency are interrupted by a surprise in the routine.

For helicopters flying low, the desert is a dusty 

environment and presents different challenges. Basic 

instrument-takeoff procedures will help you with takeoffs 

in this environment. And yes, the toll on airframes and 

engines is increased. 

Take care of each other. Old guys, watch out for the 

new guys, as they don’t have your experience. For the 

new guys, stick to the basics, so you can someday refer to 

yourself as an old guy. Get that back-in-the-saddle flight, 

practice your landings, and get some instrument time. 

Brief the scenario all the way through to the landings 

and fly what you brief.

A review of average flight times in some squadrons 

indicated low-time aircraft commanders were often 

significantly below average in flight-time distribution. 

This situation was more indicative of where squadrons 

were in the deployment cycle (most were in a down time 

after returning from OIF). However, this period is also 

when many mishaps occurred. 

Manning levels are often driven by where a 

squadron is in the cycle. However, squadrons need 

to closely monitor their manning with the possibility 

of a compressed turnaround cycle and real-world 

commitments.

The squadrons that see real benefit from safetysuggestion programs are ones that tie safety suggestions 

to individual safety-award recognition. When COs 

reward good safety suggestions and practices, better 

quality and quantity of inputs are received, and the 

overall safety program is improved.

Toward the Goal...

Reducing mishaps by 50%

HMM-265 15 years 60,000 hours

HSL-45 14 years 95,000 hours

VFA-195 21 years 90,000 hours

HC-11 12 years 100,000 hours

VFA-22 8 years

VP-46 40 years 280,000 hours

VRC-30 28 years 175,000 hours

March-April 2004 approach 5
RDML Turcotte commanded 

the Naval Safety Center 

until August 2003. He was a 

member of the NASA Columbia

Accident Investigation Board, 

and currently is Commander, 

Naval Region Mid-Atlantic.

An interview with RDML Steve Turcotte

The Columbia

Mishap

Photo courtesy of NASA

 6 approach March-April 2004 
How did you become a member of the Columbia Accident 

Investigation Board?

After the Challenger accident [on January 28, 1986],

a standing investigation board was created, replicating the Navy’s squadron mishap-investigation-board 

process. Representatives were selected from the Navy, 

Air Force, FAA, DOT’s National Transportation Safety 

Board, and NASA’s Ames Research Center. The board 

meets once a year for a training exercise. Right after 

the Columbia accident, the board was convened and 

Adm. Gehman was selected to chair the board. The 

investigation team ended up including approximately 

120 people. The expertise of the people involved was 

incredible.

What were your responsibilities on the board?

We stated our preferences to Adm. Gehman. I asked 

to head up the maintenance portion of the investigation. I have had an extensive maintenance background 

through my operational experiences in naval aviation, 

and I felt this aspect of the mishap was going to represent a significant part of the final report. I spent my 

time commuting between Houston and Cape Canaveral, walking the floors and communicating with the 

engineers responsible for the different shuttle maintenance programs. 

Secretary of Defense Rumsfeld has recently set a DOD-wide 

goal to reduce the aircraft-accident rate by 50 percent in the 

next two years. One of the primary causal factors revealed in 

the Columbia Accident Investigation Report was that of a 

culture at NASA that helped to spawn the events leading to the 

mishap. Did your work on the board give you any insight into 

how Secretary Rumsfeld’s goal could help to be achieved by 

changing the culture of naval aviation?

I think we do a lot of things right in naval aviation 

and we really need to give ourselves a pat on the back. 

It took only a short time to realize that there were 

some serious communication issues going on at NASA

between the engineers and the senior management. In 

naval aviation, when an aircraft is designed and built, 

the engineering process does not end there. Every time 

something goes wrong with a naval aircraft, it is welldocumented and new procedures are put in place to 

deal with those engineering problems on a continuous 

cycle based on operational data. The same is not always 

true at NASA. The engineering analysis did not always 

keep pace with the operational deficiencies of the 

shuttle program. NASA lived in a world of extrapolated 

physics versus realistic physics. A problem at NASA

would surface, the problem would be fixed, but then no 

system was put into place to ensure that problem was 

reevaluated periodically. From the professional engineers at NavAir all the way down to the Sailor carrying 

their individual MRC [maintenance requirement cards], 

naval aviation is well ahead of NASA in that respect. 

We don’t rest on design criteria to ensure that systems 

are operating correctly. Another important observation 

I took away from the investigation is there needs to be 

a more inclusive Safety Center relationship with naval 

aviation to make sure the lessons we learn from maintenance and operational anomalies are communicated to 

the fleet.

Earlier this year, VAdm. Malone sent out a “Personal For” 

message to squadron commanding officers, asking for ideas on 

how to improve the Navy’s accident rate. One of the require-

March-April 2004 approach 7
ments resulting from this message 

was the mandatory participation of Navy squadrons in 

the Naval Safety Center’s 

culture-workshop program. Did your work on 

the Columbia Accident 

Investigation Board influence your opinion on the 

potential effectiveness of 

this program for Navy and 

Marine Corps squadrons?

My second big takeaway from the investigation 

process was the necessity for 

more hands-on intervention at 

the leadership level, and I believe 

that the culture workshop is the ideal 

tool to support this requirement. NASA lived in 

a “we’ve been doing it like this for years” safety culture. 

The knowledge of system deficiencies was right in front 

of them, but they could or would not see it. Squadrons can sometimes be caught up in this same type of 

thought process. There are warning signals all around, 

but nobody acknowledges them until it is too late. The 

culture-workshop program takes an experienced set of 

trained eyes from the outside and provides an intervention process for the CO to make sure that those hazards are identified and acted upon before they become 

mishaps.

The culture workshop’s foundation statement reads: “Operational excellence is built on a foundation of trust, integrity and 

leadership, created and sustained by effective communication.” 

Did any of these pillars of safety break down and allow the 

Columbia accident to occur?

I can give you an excellent example of integrity. At 

NASA, senior engineers were making go/no-go decisions 

on systems they were not technically qualified to make. 

These individuals were swayed by senior NASA management’s desire to keep the program on schedule. It 

was like making a junior officer the CO. Risk decisions 

were not only made at the wrong level, but unqualified individuals were making them. This resulted in a 

terrible breach of integrity in the engineering decisions 

made at NASA. As for trust, 

a leader has to always 

know whom they can 

and cannot rely on for 

good advice. I sometimes use the old ploy 

of asking a question 

I already know the 

answer to. If I get an 

honest reply, then I 

know I can trust that 

person in the future. 

If the reply is less than 

sincere, then I know that 

individual needs further 

guidance. Leadership is the 

overall key to how a squadron 

operates. Commanding officers 

must realize they are always being 

looked at and emulated. A commanding 

officer’s attitude and actions will ultimately decide the 

direction that a squadron takes.

Naval aviation meets all of the criteria of a “high-reliability 

organization,” operating high-risk technology and relying on 

design and management to compensate for inevitable human 

shortcomings, thereby avoiding mistakes that under other 

circumstances would lead to catastrophe. The Columbia

Accident Investigation Report states, “NASA and the space 

shuttle program must be committed to a strong safety culture: 

a view that serious accidents can be prevented, a willingness 

to learn from mistakes, from technology, and from others, 

and a realistic training program that empowers employees to 

know when to decentralize or centralize problem-solving. The 

shuttle program cannot afford the mindset that accidents are 

inevitable because it may lead to unnecessarily accepting known 

and preventable risks.” Does naval aviation’s “can-do” culture 

create an atmosphere where no one person wants to say “no” 

and therefore leads our pilots and Sailors to unnecessarily 

accept known and preventable risks?

The “can-do” spirit is the cornerstone of naval 

aviation and we should never give that up. However, 

“can-do” is not a stand-alone ethos. It must be tied with 

operational risk management to ensure that the reward 

is worth the risk. And we should never punish a “can’tdo” answer. We need to continually educate our pilots 

 8 approach March-April 2004 
and Sailors that “can-do” needs support, and the risk 

management process is the perfect support structure 

for the “can-do” spirit. 

The goal of the culture-workshop program is to provide commanding officers an outside “hazard identification” tool to 

satisfy step one of the five-step ORM process. The Navy has 

been learning about and using ORM for several years. Does 

this process hold more promise to achieve mishap reductions?

It has to. Risk management is the future of navalaviation safety. From the squadron commanding officer to a junior airman, all individuals must be able to 

identify the hazards that are present and work their way 

through the ORM process. We must allow for failures and plan for them. Often, the smartest people are 

the hardest to change. During our NASA investigation, 

the young engineers accepted the board’s recommendations much more easily than the seasoned veterans. 

In a squadron environment, commanding officers have 

to realize the best ideas may not always come from the 

most senior people. Lines of communication must stay 

open so the voice of the junior airman can be heard, as 

well as that of the department heads.

Naval aviation has been on a mishap-rate plateau for a 

number of years now, hovering between one and two class A 

mishaps per 100,000 flight hours. After serving as commander 

of the Naval Safety Center and being a member of the Columbia Accident Investigation Board, what do you see naval aviation needing to do to break through this barrier?

Three processes at the Safety Center can help 

bring down the accident-mishap rate. The first is 

our work with the School of Aviation Safety in Monterey through their maintenance climate assessment 

survey (MCAS) and the command safety assessment 

(CSA) automated questionnaires. These provide a 

good litmus test for squadron commanding officers to 

see if there are any potential problems in the squadron. The MCAS especially provides an unadulterated opinion from the junior airman. Secondly, the 

Safety Center’s safety-survey program gives insight 

to the technical issues facing a squadron, ensuring 

all of the important programs are crossing their “i’s” 

and dotting their “t’s.” The Safety Center has some 

very professional and experienced people who support the safety-survey process. They can identify 

the squadron’s technical strengths and weaknesses 

quickly and efficiently. The final process that the 

commanding officer needs to take advantage of is the 

culture-workshop program. These folks come in and 

do a “non-inspection” evaluation of the squadron in 

an operating environment, and provide the skipper a 

snapshot of the culture through a set of well-trained 

and experienced eyes. If each individual skipper uses 

these tools effectively, naval aviation should be able 

to break through the current plateau. 

The interview was conducted by Capt. George Platz, LtCol. Rick Boyer, 

USMC, and Derek Nelson of the Naval Safety Center

Photo by Rick Stiles

March-April 2004 approach 9
CRM Contacts:

Lt. Dave Messman, OPNAV

CRM Resource Officer

(703) 604-7729, (DSN 664)

david.messman@navy.mil

ATC(AW) Douglas Thomas, NAVAIR

(301) 757-8127 (DSN 757)

CRM Program Manager

douglas.thomas@navy.mil

CRM Instructional Model Manager

NASC Pensacola, Fla.

(850) 452-2088/5567 (DSN 922)

https://wwwnt.cnet.navy.mil/crm/

LCdr. Deborah White, Naval Safety Center

(757) 444-3520, Ext.7231 (DSN 564)

deborah.j.white@navy.mil

Situational Awareness

Assertiveness

Decision Making

Communication

Leadership

Adaptability/Flexibility

Mission Analysis

Calm

Storm

Before the

By Lt. Vince Johnson

I

launched on a warm, starry night on a SAREX, with my squadron maintenance officer and one of our more senior AWs. We 

took our time flying down the St. Johns River, through Jacksonville, enjoying the city lights along the way. After clearing NAS

Jacksonville’s airspace to the south, I ran my crew through a 

couple of SAR scenarios, and both pilots rebased their night 

Doppler-approach quals—piece of cake, I thought. We had 

time for another river run and a few laps in the pattern before 

we called it an evening.

As we climbed to let base know we were headed back, a nasty 

surprise hit me. The SDO had been trying to recall us because of 

a fast-moving storm system working its way from the north. My 

AW turned on the radar, and all three of us looked intently as our 

gadget painted a huge wall of storms coming at us. 

A smart man would’ve flown the five miles to NAS Jax and sat 

this one out, but I’ve never claimed to be a smart man. Dinner, 

Seinfeld, and my bed were calling me. I think everyone in the 

helicopter heard the same tune because, just then, the MO said, “I 

think we can beat it.” After a big affirmative from our AW, we were 

headed back up the river as fast as our Seahawk could take us.

As we cleared downtown Jacksonville, the clouds were bearing down on us. The green radar display showed we weren’t going 

to win this race. Did I decide to turn back for NAS Jax? Nah! I 

decided to call approach and request VFR direct to Mayport. This 

 10 approach March-April 2004
plan involved leaving the safety of the river, but cutting 

the corner would be quicker. Besides, the Jacksonville 

area is flat, no big towers (except downtown) exist, and 

nobody else is dumb enough to fly in this weather. We 

pressed on.

We just had gotten the helo pointed to the head 

of the TACAN needle when we ran into the storm—a 

great big rain-and-lightning fest, the kind that slaps 

your plane and loosens fillings. 

We already had descended to 400 feet to clear the 

clouds. Mayport was about nine miles away on the 

DME, but I couldn’t see anything. “Turn around,” I 

thought. I considered turning, but that would mean 

flying back though the storm, with all the towers and 

buildings in the city. 

We were cinching down our harnesses and talking 

about options when some benevolent being whacked 

me upside the head. We were flying over Craig airfield, 

about five miles to the west of Mayport! Those runway 

lights were the only things I could see, and that was 

through the chin bubble. We quickly called Craig and 

requested a full stop. Tower granted us any runway and 

any way we could get there. I think the tower rep then 

ran to get a video camera. 

I turned south to set up for a left downwind. My 

airspeed dropped, but we sure were hauling the mail over 

the ground. Turning to final, the wind gave us a sweet 

IAS (for a helo), although we hardly were moving. I could 

make out the runway lights but not the ground. I set up 

to land somewhere between the lights, checked the VSI, 

and waited for terra firma. Contact, collective down, and 

we taxied clear of the runway. 

We held on the taxiway, unable to see. Shutting 

down was not an option—the winds were way out of 

limits. We passed our time by betting on getting hit by 

lightning or getting blown over. After 30 minutes, the 

weather cleared enough for us to hop over to NS Mayport—home sweet home.

You never are too close or too far from home to catch 

get-home-itis. Those of you shaking your heads probably 

can think of a time when you pressed home, rather than 

diverted for weather, fuel, or mechanical problems—it’s 

natural. This flight is one case where experience allowed 

us to make the wrong decision. 

Lt. Johnson flew SH-60Bs at the time of this incident, he currently flies 

with VAQ-141.

March-April 2004 approach 11 Photo by Matthew J. Thomas. Modified.
Close Call

at 300 Feet

A

 12 approach March-April 2004 

By ADCS(AW/NAC) Kevin Smith

It was a beautiful summer day, and our P-3 crew was scheduled for a 0730 brief, a 

0800 preflight, and a 1000 takeoff. I was giving 

a squadron flight engineer a proficiency flight, 

and the XO was giving a patrol-plane-commander 

check flight to one of our upgrading pilots. The 

weather absolutely was gorgeous.

The preflight went well, except for the 

multiple gripes in the aircraft-discrepancy book 

(ADB) concerning the radios: The VHF could 

Photo composite
March-April 2004 approach 13

receive but not transmit; the pilot easily could 

select UHF1 but had difficulty selecting UHF2; 

the copilot could select UHF1 or UHF2, but he 

really had to “mash” the buttons on the jackbox 

to make a radio selection. We planned to stay 

in the local area, so we didn’t think the radio 

problems were an issue.

With the preflight, maintenance paperwork, 

and the planeside brief concluded, we manned 

the mighty Orion, ready to conduct training. 

Engine starts, taxi and takeoff went without 

a hitch. What a beautiful day to go flying: not 

a cloud in the sky, visibility virtually unlimited, and the temperature pushing 75 degrees 

Fahrenheit. The flight engineer answered my 

questions, and the pilot answered the XO’s 

questions. 

The XO gave the flight-station crew a 

simulated malfunction. I backed up the XO

on the radio calls and VFR scan, while listening to our two aviators discuss the situation 

and the applicable NATOPS procedures. ATC

cleared us to 1,700 feet on runway heading, 

and they called “radar contact” as we passed 

1,000 feet. It would be a great day—flying 

early, no one else in the pattern—it doesn’t 

get any better.

At 1,700 feet, we started to turn east as 

directed, and the two upgrading aviators discussed their plan of action for the simulated 

malfunction. I paid attention to the scenario 

but continued to listen on the radios and periodically to scan outside. Then it happened. I 

just had looked up to scan when I saw a Cessna 

at our altitude about 300 feet in front of us 

(ATC tapes later confirmed the close call). The 

plane filled our windscreen. I could not get out 

a clock position but just simply yelled, “Traffic 

straight ahead!” 

I think the Cessna pilot saw us about the 

same time we saw him. He banked sharply to 

his right, and we sharpened our turn to our right 

for a port-to-port pass. 

“Where the hell did he come from?” asked 

the pilot. 

The XO quickly called the controller and 

told them of a near midair collision. They said 

they had no traffic on their screen but then 

immediately reported pop-up traffic. I called 

our aft observer and had him set condition five 

in the flight station. Our observer wore a headset, listened to the traffic calls, and became 

another “pair of eyes.” We had to collect ourselves and regroup after our close call. 

What could we have done differently? First, 

if you have radio problems, get them corrected. 

It is better to have two good UHFs, or one good 

UHF and VHF, than to be tied by multiple 

problems with all three, causing unnecessary 

distractions. The radio problems didn’t cause 

the near-midair, but they didn’t help.

Second, do not get lulled into believing you 

are alone out there. Radar had us, but their coverage is only as good as they can see. This day 

was one of the first few days of good weather, 

and many general-aviation aircraft took advantage of it just like we had. The “big sky, little 

airplane” theory doesn’t replace a good VFR

scan. We had a good scan, but we didn’t discuss 

the increase in VFR traffic because of the terrific weather. 

Third, know your area of operation. This 

guy probably popped up from one of the little 

grass airfields in the area. I now know of three 

such fields close to our homeplate. They’re not 

on our FLIP charts, but, nonetheless, they exist. 

This info now is in a local-flying-area folder on 

the flight officer’s desk.

Last, use your observer or off-duty pilot to 

assist in keeping a lookout in front, while the IP

and IFE instruct down low. Another set of eyes 

may have seen the Cessna earlier, so we could 

have reacted sooner.

We came close, a little too close for comfort. 

Senior Chief Smith is a senior flight engineer with VP-26. 
hearing. I have worn soft earplugs under my 

helmet since I was in flight school. I wear 

hearing protection at home when working with power tools or mowing the lawn. 

Yet, as my time flying Navy jets approaches 

the double-decade benchmark, I find it 

more difficult to hear. I long since had been 

accustomed to turning up my ICS and UHF

volumes all the way, much to the dismay of 

aircrew who manned the jet after me. When I 

removed the soft earplugs, I found the ambient noise level was so high I even had less 

ability to understand the radios and ICS. Now 

came a new obstacle: the communicationsimprovement program (CIP) of the S-3B. 

I flew only non-CIP birds while going 

through the FRS, and my first experience with 

CIP came at VS-32. CIP gives the S-3B many 

wonderful and very useful capabilities, such 

as VHF, marine band, and satcom. Everyone 

By LCdr. Thomas A. Jones

My trusty S-3B was rolling in the 

groove behind USS Theodore 

Roosevelt (CVN 71). The weather 

was not good, and the carrier was headed into a 

thunderstorm. Winds pushed 40 knots, and the 

deck was moving moderately. 

My COTAC called the ball, and paddles 

answered with what I thought was “Roger ball.” 

Paddles then said something else. 

In the brief moment that I asked my 

COTAC, “What did he say?” the aircraft settled cleanly onto the ace. As I throttled back 

after stopping, my old-hand COTAC calmly 

replied, “Power.”

I am a Cat I in my squadron; I also am 

the oldest Cat I in the fleet. With this dubious distinction comes some of nature’s pranks 

and downfalls; one of the most annoying is 

the slow degradation of my hearing. I have 

done most of the right things to protect my 

 14 approach March-April 2004 
the earplug hangs out. 

ACCES is not without its shortcomings. 

It’s custom made, which immediately sends up 

logistics flags. Who makes them? Where? How 

much do they cost? How long does it take to get 

your custom earplugs? How long do they last? 

What happens if they are lost or broken? How 

do I clean them? They’re just not like grabbing 

a pair of foamies from the box. To top it off, 

ACCES is still being developed and tested on 

Air Force F-22 crews and has not been through 

all the mandatory flight-safety tests. 

So I wouldn’t say I’m all the way back to 

square one. I do know we have a problem with 

the S-3 CIP, especially with older fleet bubbas 

like me. But, I know we have potential solutions. 

I asked my NavAir friend how we get this 

stuff approved through the catacombs. NavAir 

is pushing from their side, but there’s little pull 

coming from our side—the fleet. Apparently, it 

I wear hearing protection at home when working with power tools or mowing the lawn. Yet, 

as my time flying Navy jets approaches the 

double-decade benchmark, I find it more difficult to hear.

knows that while the great gods of modifications giveth, they also taketh away. In the case 

of CIP, it comes with the price of significantly 

reduced audio output to the aircrew, making it 

hard to hear in the cockpit.

After my politically correct but still stern 

debrief from paddles about my failure to 

respond to his power call, I went to sleep 

wondering how I was going to overcome my 

current hearing dilemma. My answer came the 

next morning while on FOD walkdown when I 

happened across a NavAir physiologist, who, to 

my surprise, is on a team working to improve 

hearing protection and comm. 

“So, how hard can it be to remedy the 

S-3B CIP comm woes and prevent some noiseinduced hearing loss?” I asked. 

My new NavAir buddy sent me information 

about two different earplugs they have been 

looking at. One, developed by the Army, is 

called CEP; the other, being developed by the 

Air Force, is called ACCES. 

CEP is similar to the soft, foamy earplugs 

we have worn for 

years, but it has radio 

comm piped through 

its core to the innerear canal. ACCES is 

similar to a hearing 

aid in appearance. 

I immediately 

did more research 

and tried both earplugs. I visited the Air 

Force site developing 

ACCES. I immediately 

liked ACCES—the 

sound attenuation 

seemed significantly 

higher, and, unlike the 

CEP, you can’t screw 

up the installation of 

an ACCES earplug. 

It only goes in one 

way—the right way. I learned foam earplugs 

are good for about 22 dB of noise attenuation, 

if they are installed properly (the earplug end 

is almost flush with your ear-canal opening). 

Most people don’t get them in deep enough, 

and attenuation quickly drops off as more of 

On the Horizon

Navy researchers at San Diego Naval Medical Center have 

developed a pill to protect hearing. “The hearing pill” is going 

through clinical trials and holds promise in the prevention of and 

recovery from hearing loss. Because the first human study has 

just started, sufficient time is needed to analyze the data and 

validate effectiveness in humans. 

Although the pill is available commercially, it has not been tested 

in the aviation community and is not authorized for use. 

March-April 2004 approach 15
• Health standards say you shouldn’t be exposed to noise above 85 dB for more than eight hours a day, and this 

should be followed by 16 hours of quiet recovery time. 

You do the math:

• External noise from naval jets ranges from 130 to 150 dB (measured 50 feet from the aircraft, approximately 

45 deg. or 135 deg. off the nose/centerline).

• Noise in a jet cockpit ranges from 115 to 130 dB.

• Today’s double protection of earplugs and earmuffs provides approximately 30 dB of attenuation. 

• With just one or two high-performance jet launches, a final checker will exceed the safe daily noise-exposure limit.

• Following long flight-deck duty days exposed to jet-aircraft noise, there are few, if any, quiet spaces below 

85 dB for flight-deck crews’ hearing to recover. The result is flight-deck crews often are exposed 24 hours a 

day to noise levels above the recommended limit. 

• Your earplugs and earmuffs are nearly the same design worn 30 to 50 years ago.

• The No. 1 Veteran Administration disability claim is hearing loss. All services combined, claims totaled over 

$442M in 2002, over $5.5B since 1977, and the trend is upward. 

• Navy jet-noise-induced hearing loss generally starts in the frequencies you need to hear speech. Your ability to 

discriminate consonants, as opposed to vowels, goes first. Loss of the ability to discriminate between consonant 

sounds like “s” and “f” make it more difficult to understand what’s being communicated. 

Next time you go for your annual audiogram, ask the audiologist to explain your results. Keep a personal copy of 

all your audiogram records.

Did you know?

 16 approach March-April 2004 
By Valerie Bjorn and Jim Wilt

The TV show “20/20” recently did a piece 

on bystander apathy—a sociological phenomenon that occurs when a group of 

people knows something’s wrong, but all stand 

by and do nothing because they think someone 

else is fixing it. The question for us today is 

whether bystander apathy is happening in navalaviation radio communications.

We are talking about communications you 

missed because you couldn’t hear what was 

said—about having a hearing loss that does 

not improve over time, about taking corrective 

action to help prevent further hearing loss, and 

to improve the ability to hear important communication that may prevent accidents.

Why is hearing protection such a big issue? 

Missed communication can be hazardous and 

expensive. In a recent Class B aviation mishap, 

the aircraft-mishap board faulted the pilot for 

missing a radio call advising him of an aircraft 

fuel-control problem. Because the pilot missed 

the auditory warning, the developing emergency 

inside the aircraft was handled wrong, resulting 

in the mishap.

A quick analysis of this mishap demonstrates how a radio call might have been 

missed. The noise in the cockpit is approximately 125 decibels during climb and cruise 

and 130 decibels during takeoff and landing. 

The pilot wore a properly fitted helmet that 

provided about 30 decibels of hearing protection across all hearing frequencies. 

Can You Hear Me Now?

The Importance of Reporting Radio-Communication Problems

all starts with the pilots, aircrew and maintainers documenting the problem. My plan, after 

writing this article, is to complete a hazrep, and 

I encourage you to do the same. The sooner our 

decision-makers know we have a safety-of-flight 

issue, the sooner we may get better hearing 

protection and comm.

If you don’t think this problem affects you, 

think about the happy hours you attended 

in Pensacola or Oceana where many retired 

aviators were present. The older guys (WW 

II and some Korean vets, my father one of 

them) all had hearing aids in both ears. They 

flew around in TBFs, SBDs, SB2Cs, F4Fs, and 

the granddaddies of noise, the F6F and F4U. 

They took off and landed with the canopies 

open, with no hearing protection other than 

the leather flight helmet. The Korean War vets 

who ushered in the jet age and the Vietnamera aviators who flew with the first version 

of our modern hard-plastic helmet enjoyed a 

modest increase in hearing protection. Most of 

those gents did not wear hearing aids; they just 

spoke really loud. 

Wouldn’t it be nice if, in the years to come, 

when we’re gathered in the T-Bar or talking in 

the I-Bar, we’re not the guys wearing hearing 

aids or talking really loud? 

LCdr. Jones flies with VS-32.

March-April 2004 approach 17
The aircraft’s auxiliary-communicationnavigation-identification panel produces sound 

levels up to 125 decibels. Average human speech 

is about 60 decibels, so the 125 decibels easily 

should have been heard. The combination of 

engine noise, the inability of the helmet and 

earplugs to reduce engine noise while letting 

through warning sounds, most likely resulted 

in the pilot missing the auditory cautions and 

warnings. Better sound-dampening equipment 

probably would have improved communication 

quality. 

Let’s look at this hearing problem a little 

more in depth. What about the Sailors running 

around on the roof of a carrier? 

Consider these points:

• How many people do you 

know on the flight deck who 

don’t wear earplugs?

• How many LSOs never 

wear hearing protection so they 

can hear comms? 

• How many people in their 

20s and 30s do you know who 

joke about lost hearing—who 

gave up good hearing to get the 

job done? 

• How many people do you 

know who crank up their radio 

to max volume and still strain 

to hear? 

Navy technology, health, 

safety, and medical experts 

are working closely with Air 

Force and Army counterparts to 

improve radio communications 

and hearing protection. However, 

the expert’s efforts are hampered because no requirement 

exists for better hearing protection percolating 

up from flight-deck personnel. No reports are 

coming in from these personnel stating that 

a hearing problem exists, although veterans 

administration hearing-disability claims show 

there’s a significant problem and it’s getting 

worse each year.

You are part of the solution. You have to 

tell NavAir about a problem, so they can fix it. 

If you are having trouble hearing radio communications, or if you are concerned about 

jet-noise-induced hearing loss, fill out a hazard 

report (hazrep), which is explained in OPNAV

Instruction 3750.6R, “Naval Aviation Safety 

Program.” You can report anonymously; don’t be 

a bystander. Whether you are an E-2 or an O-5, 

take the initiative to report your hazardous situation and document the problem. Your hazrep 

will help establish an official, documented Navy 

requirement that will aid us is getting better 

technology to you, to your peers, and to the 

aviators behind you. 

Ms. Bjorn and Mr. Wilt are with Naval Air Systems Command.

50

100

150

200

250

300

350

400

 $450

1975 1980 1985 1990 1995 2000 2005

The Trend in Disability Costs

Can Be Reversed

Million

The question for us today is whether 

bystander apathy is happening in 

naval-aviation radio communications. 

 18 approach March-April 2004 
Left to right: Capt. Robert M. Rich (copilot), 

Cpl. Michael J. Sablar (crew chief), SSgt. 

Michael J. Brady (crew chief), HM2 Robert H. 

Davenport (gunner-observer), Capt. Andrew F. 

Byrd (HAC).

While climbing during day VFR pattern work at NAF Atsugi, Japan, Lt. Oliver Stormer, the pilot at the controls, felt the port power 

lever vibrate and the aircraft swerve to the left. The copilot and aircraft 

commander, LCdr. Paul Crump, saw the port fuel flow and IHP fluctuate 

erratically. Lt. Stormer immediately executed emergency procedures for 

RPM/IHP/TMT/fuel-flow fluctuations, but the indications, vibration and 

noticeable swerve, persisted. 

With the port power level at flight idle, the port engine showed minus 

40 indicated-shaft horsepower. Unable to control the engine HP/RPM or 

propeller-blade angle, LCdr. Crump had Lt. Stormer secure the port engine 

and feather the propeller. 

LCdr. Crump declared an emergency with tower and requested the 

short-field-arresting gear be rigged. As the pilots were dealing with the malfunctioning engine/propeller, the mission commander, Lt. Kaz Hashigami, 

backed them up by reviewing the pocket checklist emergency procedures. 

He also told other area aircraft the runway at Atsugi would be fouled following the field arrestment. 

With Lt. Ben Finney in the LSO shack providing glideslope assistance, 

Lt. Stormer flew a single-engine approach with crosswinds (21 knots) at the 

edge of NATOPS limits to a successful field arrestment. 

Left to right: Lt. Kaz Hashigami , LCdr. Paul Crump, Lt. Ollie Stormer, , 

and Lt. Ben Finney.

The crew of Unsung 27, assigned to Marine Heavy Helicopter Squadron 462, was the lead aircraft in a section of two CH53E helos. They launched from Ali Al Salem, Kuwait, at 2300 on 

a low-light-level, night-combat mission, using night-vision devices 

(NVDs). Their task was to resupply a forward arming and refueling 

point (FARP) in support of Operation Iraqi Freedom. 

The helicopter aircraft commander (HAC) used his external 

cargo hook to pick up a bundle of three fuel bladders, weighing 10,500 pounds, and led the section of two helos into Iraq. 

The automatic-flight-control system (AFCS) failed 30 minutes 

into the flight and 90 miles from Ali Al Salem. The aircraft 

oscillated, and the load started to 

swing, which caused the aircraft 

to become unstable. Despite 

a missile threat in the area, 

the pilots were forced 

to climb. The HAC 

struggled to bring the 

aircraft under control 

while he dealt with spatial disorientation induced 

by the lack of visible horizon 

and the swinging load. The 

desert terrain provided no 

horizon as a reference. The 

HAC relied solely on the 

instruments to react to the 

oscillating load. 

The crew considered jettisoning the fuel bladders to regain 

control of the aircraft. As the HAC worked the flight controls, 

the copilot focused on the AFCS failure. Meanwhile the crew 

chiefs monitored the fuel bladders and provided a verbal 

description of the swinging load. The crew chief’s role was 

crucial as the pilots struggled to get the aircraft under control. 

The excellent work of the crew, combined with the HAC’s NVG 

flying experience, brought the aircraft under control, narrowly 

avoiding a crash. 

With limited visibility and without AFCS, the aircrew flew 90 

miles back to Ali Al Salem while fighting aircraft-control problems and spatial disorientation. The 

crew dropped off the fuel bladders, 

landed, shut down, and signed out 

a different aircraft. They then 

picked up the bladders and 

completed the mission, returning to base at 0700.

March-April 2004 approach 19
Though this flight was my first without a qualified radar-intercept 

officer (RIO) in the back seat, I had flown with a number of aviators 

who had very little Tomcat experience. 

By Lt. Geoff Vickers

My squadron and air wing were 

detached to NAS Fallon, Nevada, 

for strike training. Most of us 

attended lectures all day, but I was tasked with 

giving the battle-group-air-warfare commander 

an orientation flight in the F-14D. As skipper 

of the cruiser in charge of the battle group’s air 

defenses, he had been spending time with the 

air wing to better understand how we conduct 

our missions. He had observed a number of the 

strike events through the tactical-air-combattraining system (TACTS) replays, and he had 

flown with the E-2C and EA-6B squadrons. He 

was proud that the Prowler guys hadn’t been 

able to make him sick. 

My job was to demonstrate the Tomcat’s 

performance and tactical capabilities. Though 

this flight was my first without a qualified radarintercept officer (RIO) in the back seat, I had 

flown with a number of aviators who had very 

little Tomcat experience. 

The captain arrived at the squadron 

a half-hour before the brief to receive his 

cockpit-orientation lecture and ejection-seat 

checkout. Once in the ready room, we briefed 

the flight with our wingman. I covered the 

administrative and tactical procedures in accordance with our squadron’s standard-operating 

procedures (SOP). 

I told the captain that after the G-awareness 

 20 approach March-April 2004 
maneuver, we would do a quick inverted check 

to verify cockpit security. Looking back, I should 

have recognized his anxiety when he mocked 

me and said, “Just a quick inverted check?” then 

laughed. I didn’t realize hanging upside down 

with nothing but glass and 11,000 feet of air 

separating you from the desert floor might not be 

the most comfortable situation in the world for a 

surface-warfare officer.

I continued the brief and told the captain 

we would do a performance demo and a couple 

of intercepts, followed by tanking from an S-3. I 

told him if, at any point, he felt uncomfortable, 

we would stop whatever we were doing, roll 

wings level, and take it easy. I was determined 

to avoid the temptation to intentionally make 

him sick and uncomfortable. 

The start, taxi, and takeoff were normal. 

We joined with our lead and did the standard 

clean-and-dry checks. We pressed into the 

working area and assumed a defensive combatspread formation in preparation for the G-warm. 

I told him what was happening, and he seemed 

to remember the sequence of events from the 

brief. After we completed the checks, I asked 

him, “Are you ready for the inverted check? Do 

you have everything stowed?” 

“All set” was the last thing I heard him say.

I checked the airspeed and confirmed it 

was above the 300 knots recommended to do 

March-April 2004 approach 21
the check, and I rolled the aircraft inverted. 

I decided not to really put on a lot of negative G and unloaded to about .3 to .5 negative 

G’s—just enough to make anything float that 

wasn’t stowed properly. If he was uncomfortable 

in such a benign maneuver, it would be better to 

find out then, rather than when we were racing 

toward the earth during a radar-missile defense.

As I started to push on the stick, I heard a 

loud pop, followed by a roar. The cockpit filled 

with smoke, and we suddenly lost cabin pressure. I 

first thought a catastrophic environmental-control 

system (ECS) had failed. I said to myself, “This is 

new. I’ve never even heard of something like this 

happening.” 

Time compression turned the next few 

seconds into an eternity. I knew the first thing 

I had to do was to roll the jet upright and assess 

the situation. About three seconds after the first 

indication of a problem, I had the jet upright 

and knew exactly what had happened. 

I transmitted, “Lion 52. Emergency, my RIO

just ejected.” 

I was yelling into the mic, thinking I would 

have to make all the calls in the blind. I never 

would have thought I easily could communicate 

with all the noise of flying at 320 knots without 

a canopy. 

As I turned the jet to try and get a visual of 

my wayward passenger, Desert Control asked, 

“Understand your wingman ejected?”

“Negative, my RIO ejected. I’m still flying 

the plane.”

“OK. Understand your RIO ejected. You’re 

flying the plane, and you’re OK?”

I almost said I was far from OK, but I just 

told them I was all right, except I was flying 

a convertible. I was relieved to see a good 

parachute below me, and I passed this info to 

Desert Control. Very quickly after the emergency call, an FA-18 pilot from the Naval Strike 

and Air-Warfare Center, who also was in the 

area, announced he would take over as the 

on-scene commander of the search-and-rescue 

(SAR) effort. 

I told my wingman to pass the location of 

the captain because I could not change any of 

my displays. Once my wingman started to pass 

the location, I started dumping gas and put the 

needle on the nose back to NAS Fallon. 

One of our air-wing SH-60s was in the area 

and responded, along with the station’s UH-1N. 

The captain was recovered almost immediately 

and transported to the local hospital for treatment and evaluation.

The only F-14D boldface procedures for 

a canopy problem include placing the canopy 

I almost said I was far from OK, but I 

just told them I was all right, except I 

was flying a convertible. 

 22 approach March-April 2004 
handle in “boost close” position and then 

moving the command eject lever to “pilot.” 

Obviously, the canopy already was gone, so that 

lever action didn’t apply, and, if the commandeject lever wasn’t already in “pilot,” as briefed, 

I also would have been ejected. 

I slowed the aircraft and lowered my seat 

because that’s what I remembered from the 

rest of the steps in the checklist. However, 

after sitting at eye-level with my multi-function 

display for about 30 seconds, I thought it would 

be more prudent to see outside, so I raised my 

seat. Slowing the aircraft had little affect on the 

windblast, but, as long as I leaned forward, the 

wind hit only my shoulders. Because it was very 

cold at altitude, I decided to return quickly to 

base, but I needed to watch my airspeed since 

the ejection had occurred. 

The PCL says to fly less than 200 knots 

and 15,000 feet and to complete a controllability check for the loss of the canopy, but 

I never pulled out my PCL to reference it. I 

figured with the way my day was going, I’d 

probably just drop my PCL down an intake 

and complicate my problems. In retrospect, I 

should have requested my wingman break out 

his checklist and talk me through the steps. 

Though this practice of having a wingman 

assist is common in single-seat communities, 

Tomcat crews tend to forget this coordination 

technique is a viable option. 

I did consider the controllability check, 

and I directed my wingman to check for 

damage to the vertical stabilizers—she found 

none. The faster I got on deck, the faster I 

would get warm.

I slowed to approach speed in 10-knot 

increments at about 3,000 feet AGL and had 

no problems handling the jet. As I approached 

the field, I was surprised at how quiet it got. 

The noise was only slightly louder than the 

normal ECS roar in the Tomcat. I’ll admit I 

felt silly saying the landing checklist over the 

ICS when no one else was in the cockpit, but 

I didn’t want to risk breaking my standard 

habit patterns. 

The landing was uneventful, and, when I 

pulled back into the line, I was surprised to 

find how many people had come out to see 

the spectacle. The magnitude of the situation 

finally set in when my skipper gave me a hug 

after I got out of the jet. 

The captain and I were very fortunate: All 

of the ejection and aviation-life-support-systems 

(ALSS) equipment functioned as expected. 

Our PR1 had taken the time to properly fit the 

captain, using components from three different 

sets of flight gear. This action caused a problem after the mishap—getting everyone’s gear 

replaced—but it renewed my faith in our escape 

systems. A 48-year-old man ejected from the jet 

when it was inverted, at negative .5 G’s, at 320 

knots, and the only injuries he had were two 

minor cuts to his face. 

After talking to the captain at the O’Club 

later that night, I realized I better could have 

briefed elements of the flight. Though I covered all of the details, I didn’t fully consider his 

perspective. He said he didn’t know where to 

put his hands. Consequently, he just left them in 

loosely clenched fists on his lap, about two inches 

away from the ejection handle. It never occurred 

to me that someone would not know what to do 

with his hands. Obviously, I fly with the stick and 

throttle in my hands 95 percent of the flight, but 

I failed to consider his situation. 

The mishap board surmised that, during 

the inverted maneuver, he must have flinched 

when he slightly rose out of the seat and pulled 

the ejection handle. Now, before any brief, I 

try to place myself in the other person’s shoes 

(even if they are black shoes) and imagine 

what the flight will be like for him. Whether 

it is the person who never has flown a tactical aircraft before or just the nugget pilot who 

never has flown with NVGs, remembering what 

it was like when I was unfamiliar with the 

environment will prevent this type of mishap 

from recurring. 

Lt. Vickers flew with VF-123; he currently is an instructor 

with VFA-106

Our Approach vault has hundreds of unpublished 

articles you’ll find exciting and informative. 

They’re available at: safetycenter.navy.mil/media/

approach/vault/default.htm.

Visit Our Vault

March-April 2004 approach 23
at Sea

A 15-Minute Flight Becomes an Incredible Survival Story.

 24 approach March-April 2004 
Are You Prepared for a Seven-Hour Swim in 59-Degree Water?

By PR2 Ronald Beermünder

The Coast Guard puts the life expectancy for swimming in 59-degreeFahrenheit water at less than two 

hours. It’ called hypothermia: Abnormally low 

body temperature, with slowing of physiologic 

activity. 

Recently, I was asked to create a PowerPoint presentation for a guest speaker to use 

in sharing her water-survival story. I had heard 

bits and pieces of her story, which happened 

over 20 years ago, but I did not know enough 

about the incident to do a presentation. All 

I knew was “some 22-year-old woman had 

crashed her plane into the water and lived to 

tell about it.” Now she was coming to NAS

Pensacola to share her inspirational story with 

our new flight students. 

I needed to do some journalistic investigation, or my PowerPoint efforts would suffer 

miserably. I called the guest speaker, whom 

I never had met, and asked her some questions. After several telephone conversations 

and seemingly endless e-mails, I knew more 

about the story. As I heard her story unfold, I 

couldn’t help but think what I would have done 

in the same situation. Listening to her gentle 

voice telling horrific details of the crash, in her 

matter-of-fact tone, left me feeling inadequate 

and cowardly. Here is the story of Cathy 

Maready’s survival at sea.

It was November 1981, a pitch-black, moonless night off the coast of South Carolina with 

an air temperature barely 50 degrees Fahrenheit. Cathy had spent the last three hours on 

Lady Island completing her final scuba class for 

certification. Instead of driving the 45 minutes 

home, she opted for a 15-minute Cessna flight. 

To save time, Maready decided neither to file 

a flight plan nor to use her radio. She took off 

from the small, uncontrolled airport on Lady 

Island and headed home.

She described the shine of the stars and the 

silence of the night to be one of the most beautiful experiences she could recall. Three miles from 

shore, the night grew more silent. The engine 

of her Cessna 152 had stopped hard and fast; 

the blade refused to turn. With more than 942 

flight hours under her belt, a restart was routine 

to Maready. However, several attempts to turn 

over the engine failed; it had seized. She quickly 

prioritized procedures: aviate, navigate and communicate. She began her stalled descent and flawlessly landed the plane on the Atlantic Ocean. The 

communication would have to wait until sunrise.

“It was like landing on a peewee football field. It was short, 

and there were no lights. In order 

for me to land and take off, a local 

sheriff, who was in my scuba class, 

lit up the air strip with the spot- lights from his patrol car.

March-April 2004 approach 25
“My first and immediate con- cern was landing the plane with- out cartwheeling into oblivion. 

I lucked out with a smooth stall 

above the water, and I was able to 

keep the plane level and the nose 

slightly up, as I plowed into the 

water.”

She landed so smoothly the plane’s emergency-locator transmitter (ELT) was not 

activated. Manual activation of the ELT would 

have required a journey to the rear storage 

compartment of the plane. With the cabin 

slowly filling with water and aviation fuel, that 

just wasn’t going to happen. Maready tried several times to retrieve her dive gear, but the bag 

was lodged in the tight storage space behind 

her seat. Less than 30 seconds later, Maready 

was treading water as she watched the red 

beacon light of her tail rudder spiral deeper 

into the dark abyss. 

Without a flight plan, without radio contact, 

and without a flotation device, Maready started 

swimming west, using Orion’s Belt to guide her 

toward shore. The weight of her wet clothes felt as 

if they were pulling her under. Deciding to swim 

to shore rather than drown, Maready removed her 

shoes, her clothes, and even her wristwatch, which 

she could feel creating drag against the 59-degreeAtlantic current. It was 2200, and the tide was not 

in her favor. Her two-mile swim to land now had 

tripled against the outgoing tide. In the darkness, she barely saw her hands in front of her face. 

Thoughts of South Carolina’s coast being second 

in the number of shark attacks only to Florida did 

not comfort her, and hypothermia was beginning 

to attack her body.

“Gradually, my body began to shiver. As the shivers worsened, I 

noticed my hands were becoming 

gnarled and stiff. I made myself 

keep moving, forced myself to 

keep up the swimming move- ments, but, even as I continued, 

I could feel my toes crossing, my 

feet arching and cramping into 

grotesque, fixed positions. It was 

my body, and what was happening 

to it terrified me.”

Cathy Maready couldn’t stop the thoughts of 

death from entering her mind, but she refused 

to give up the will-to-live.

“I thought it might be nice if I spent a little bit of the time I had 

left to say goodbye to my family 

and loved ones. I believe most 

people in survival situations would 

tend to cherish these times. For 

me, it was time well spent. As 

I was saying my good-byes, the 

water around me began to warm. 

My whole world began to seem 

warmer. It was invigorating just 

to think about my loved ones. I 

gained new energy, and my arms 

began to move again, very slowly, 

but still moving.”

As Maready kept swimming, hallucinations 

of search boats, rescue helicopters, and sea monsters started to replace the darkness and silence 

of the night. She was exhausted but continued 

swimming, with the hallucinations beckoning her to stop. She wanted to stop and yell for 

help, but the mere thought of stopping made 

Maready feel as if she would sink like a stone. 

Cathy Maready shared her survival story 

with the Pensacola audience.

 26 approach March-April 2004 
She decided the next time she would stop 

swimming was when someone pulled her out of 

the water or when her feet touched the sand.

With what she describes as angels pulling her arms forward through the water and a 

renewed faith in her heart, Maready eventually 

reached shore, a grueling seven and a half hours 

after the crash.

“Finally, even as I mentally was preparing myself for death, 

I felt it. My knees were hitting a 

sand bar. I knew what it was, but 

I was too numb to stand. Almost 

ready to cry, knowing how close 

the shore was, I was forced to 

swim around the sand bar, out into 

deeper water, to reach dry land. 

Agonizingly, I kept going. My faith 

was pushing me; it was pulling 

me, carrying me to shore. It was 

daybreak before I made the beach. 

I still can hear the oyster shells 

cracking under my weight. I still 

can see the blood flowing from my 

cuts, but, at the time, I was too 

numb to feel a thing.”

Maready was found staggering along the 

beach, suffering from shock and severe hypothermia. She spent the next three days in 

intensive care. When she recovered, specialists 

were called to review, in amazement, her medical charts. Chemicals in her body had built up 

so high from exertion they literally were off the 

scale. Three days later, she was released from 

the hospital.

Cathy Maready is now a successful interior 

designer in North Carolina. This past August, 

she shared her survival experience with flight 

students, flight surgeons, and survival-training 

instructors at the Naval Survival Training Institute 

(NSTI) and Naval Aerospace Medical Institute 

(NAMI) in Pensacola, Fla. Her survival story captivated the audience. She described the sequence of 

events before and after the crash, and she showed 

photos of her plane wreckage as recovered by a 

fishing trawler two years to the day after the crash. 

Every aviator who hears her survival story 

will remember it as one of strong character, deep 

faith, and an incredible will to live. The lessons 

learned never will be forgotten. NSTI has offered 

Cathy an open invitation to come back to Pensacola and share her story again. NSTI has displayed 

a framed storyboard in its main-lobby exhibition 

area dedicated to her story and to her honor, 

courage, and commitment.

Cathy Maready has graced the Navy with 

her story. Perhaps the Navy could lure her back 

to speak again by fulfilling her lifelong dream: 

an FA-18 flight with the Blue Angels.

NSTI postscript: Cathy Maready’s story, 

while certainly amazing, also has some valuable 

survival lessons learned for all aircrew. Here are 

a few of those lessons: 

• Be prepared. Don’t rely totally on your 

will to live; rely on your training.

• Attitude. Remember, it can happen to 

you, and when all else fails, your will to live just 

might be your best asset.

• Knowledge. Know your survival procedures cold. You should be prepared to react, 

and you want your reactions to be good ones—

based on proven survival procedures you’ve 

practiced.

• Wear proper clothing and equipment. 

Bring an exposure suit and a life preserver when 

the situation dictates.

• Have proper survival equipment. Include 

a life raft, an emergency-position-indicator radio 

(EPIR), and signaling equipment.

• File a flight plan. If nobody knows where 

you’re going, you won’t be missed. It’s going to 

be very difficult to find you, when and if they 

finally realize you’re gone. 

PR2 Beermünder is a test and evaluation technician (human 

performance and training technology), at the Naval Survival Training Institute.

March-April 2004 approach 27
No-Brainer

By Lt. Russell Girty

I

was the lead of a section of Hor- nets on another Operation Iraqi 

Freedom (OIF) mission. Since the 

“end of major conflict,” the shoot- ing had all but stopped for fixed-wing 

aircraft. We had provided “presence” on 

most missions, and, as a result, missions 

had become no-brainers.

Unfortunately, my day to learn a hard lesson 

about naval aviation had arrived. I remembered 

something about there being no such thing as a 

routine flight. I also recalled complacency was 

an issue, which even if you talked about it and 

were aware of it, still could get you. You have to 

beat back complacency on every mission.

Our mission was straightforward—the stars 

had aligned. We were launching Case I for a 

daytime, feet-dry mission, and it only got better 

from there. The plan was to get big-wing gas 

from a KC-10, and close the deal with a night 

trap on the pinky recovery (with a commander’s 

moon)—it’s great working ops. 

I would not be writing this article if the 

event had been flown per the brief. Here’s what 

actually happened. I manned up my FA-18A and 

was the first off cat 4. After the clearing turn, I 

leveled at 500 feet and accelerated to 300 knots. 

At 10 miles, I started my outbound climb and, 

at that instant, felt a not-too-unusual thump. My 

first thought was I had flown through jet wash 

from another aircraft. The radar picture was 

clean; I didn’t see any traffic. My next thought 

was I had taken a bird, but I hadn’t seen a bird 

in months in the Gulf, so I didn’t think that 

could be the problem. Besides, birds are too 

smart to fly when its 120 degrees. A check 

of the engine instruments showed nothing. I 

decided to press on. 

About 10 seconds later, a series of thumps 

reverberated throughout the jet. I could feel the 

thumps in my seat. I never had had a compressor stall in a Hornet before, but I was certain 

that’s what was happening. Immediately, I got 

on the auxiliary radio to get the spare launched 

and began turning back toward the boat. 

I hadn’t received voice warnings or cautions 

on the DDI, so I couldn’t tell which engine was 

chugging. A few seconds later, however, I got an 

“engine right” voice warning, but still nothing 

showed on my DDI. I trusted the aural warning and pulled the right throttle to idle, which 

stopped the stalls. I called tower and told them 

I’d like to land this recovery. I would need a 

half-flaps, straight-in approach as a precaution 

(if the engine failed, I’d be in the single-enginelanding configuration). 

Paddles was listening and asked what the 

plan was for the chugging engine. I told him I 

planned to use the engine for landing as long as 

it wasn’t stalling. I also told the squadron rep in 

the tower the same information. The rep and I 

talked about the hydraulic system that powers 

the landing gear and brakes and is associated 

 28 approach March-April 2004 
with the right engine. If 

the engine failed, I needed to 

blow down the gear, and then I would 

need a tow out of the landing area. 

I already had begun to adjust the gross 

weight. I continued to get set at 1,200 feet, 10 

miles aft of the carrier. I started inbound with 

1,000 pounds of fuel left to dump to reach max 

trap of 33,000 pounds. Much to my surprise 

after dirtying-up, I could not maintain on-speed. 

Since this was an OIF mission, I was configured 

with three drop tanks, two GBU-12s, two AIM9s, and a TFLIR. 

The jet continued to slow below on-speed; 

OK, a little burner would fix that. Then I 

remembered the NATOPS caution that says, 

“Simultaneous selection of fuel dump and afterburner during high AOA maneuvering may cause 

fuel to ignite.” I deselected afterburner. The 

two seconds I had selected afterburner got me 

the needed energy, so I continued the approach. 

At three miles, paddles said we had the winds 

for a half-flap approach. I reminded him I 

would marry up the throttles at the ball call. 

At three-quarters mile, I brought up the right 

throttle, and the jet again had compressor stalls. 

I brought back the throttle and told 

paddles I would be single engine on the 

ball. After a low, lined-up-right start, with a 

couple of power calls, I got the jet on deck. 

During the postflight inspection, maintainers found that FOD had damaged the starboard 

motor. Every first stage blade was nicked or 

bent. Our best guess was the motor ingested 

the FOD on the catapult stroke. When I got 

to the ready room, many personnel, including 

those from the tower, told me they thought they 

had seen sparks coming out of a motor, as well 

as an afterburner blowout that had relit. In the 

end, I had run a FOD-damaged motor for more 

than 15 minutes. Fortunately, the GE 404-400 is 

a great engine, and this situation didn’t end up 

with a catastrophic engine failure.

Like most naval aviators, the other thing 

we did was evaluate everyone’s performance 

during this situation. We did most things well, 

but, as always, we can tighten up on procedures and our mindset. 

About 10 seconds later, 

a series of thumps 

reverberated throughout the jet. I could feel 

the thumps in my seat.

March-April 2004 approach 29
We were six months into an eight-month cruise, and 

I had a little “been there, done that” attitude. If things 

had gone as briefed, it should have been a fun flight and 

a routine landing aboard mom. What is most amazing 

is we just had discussed complacency at an AOM; I was 

complacent during that discussion. I guess the old guys 

know this is an issue; we need to be careful not to drop 

the pack before the jets and all the people are back at 

home plate after deployment.

I stuck to the fundamentals of aviate and navigate 

by climbing and turning back toward the ship. However, the next step, communicate, meant I should have 

told the ship about my situation and let them worry 

about launching the spare, while I talked to a squadron rep and started handling my emergency. You must 

focus on the closest alligator to the canoe, which, in 

this case, was landing the aircraft; launching the spare 

was secondary to the problem at hand. An approach to 

the ship with one motor at idle, even with plans to use 

it, still is a single-engine approach. 

Ultimately, we did the correct procedures, but our 

CRM between the squadron rep in the tower and the 

emergency aircraft could have been better: making 

sure we covered all the items I had not memorized. All 

Hornet drivers know you will be half flaps on a singleengine approach, even if you are going to use both 

engines. However, all the NATOPS steps, including 

warnings and notes, need to be read. Single-enginefailure notes in the landing configuration reveals that 

adjusting gross weight, at or below recommended 

weight, ensures less than 50 feet of altitude is lost 

during an on-speed AOA/on-glide-slope condition. If I 

had known that, I would have expected the settle and 

would have known I needed afterburner to dig me out 

of a hole. 

We met the requirements of 33,000-pounds max 

trap for a half-flap approach, but we did not consider 

the atmospheric conditions. The Arabian Gulf on a 

hot, humid, summer day, single engine, is no place to 

be trolling around at max trap. A look in the big book 

shows we could have adjusted the gross weight considerably lower and still had fuel for a bingo. This action 

also would have eliminated the continued deceleration 

of the aircraft past on-speed AOA, and again eliminated

the need for afterburner. 

Lt. Girty flies with VFA-97.

 30 approach March-April 2004 
By Dr. Robert Figlock, LtCol., USMC Ret.

Background

Approach magazine published the article 

“Taking the ‘Safety Pulse’ of Your Squadron,” in the March 2002 issue. That article 

introduced naval aviation to the Command 

Safety Climate Assessment (CSCA) survey process—a 

web-based tool for commanding officers to survey 

aircrew and maintainers on their perceptions regarding 

safety issues within their unit. This tool allows a CO to 

identify human-factor issues and intervene before an 

adverse occurrence. 

Three on-line surveys are available: (1) Command 

Safety Assessment (CSA) survey, which assesses an 

organization’s operational practices from an aircrew’s 

perspective, (2) Maintenance Climate Assessment 

Survey (MCAS), which assesses an organization’s maintenance practices from a maintainer’s perspective, and 

(3) NADEP Maintenance Climate Assessment Survey 

(MCAS), which assesses NADEP’s maintenance practices from a depot-level artisan perspective. 

Each survey takes approximately 15 minutes per 

person to complete. To date, over 69,000 naval aviation 

personnel have taken the surveys.

The CSCA survey process is based upon the 

notion of high reliability organizations (HRO), and 

their ability to reduce risk during hazardous operations. Using HRO principles, CSCA surveys assess an 

organization’s ability to conduct flight operations and 

maintenance in terms of leadership, culture, standards, policies, procedures, and practices. Attributes 

of the CSCA survey process include: ease of use, 24/7 

Internet accessibility in a nonintrusive environment, 

participant anonymity, unit confidentiality, and the 

ability to compare the unit results with other aggregate organizational data. Feedback immediately is 

available to the CO upon completion of the survey 

process. Higher-headquarters commanders also can 

access survey data for comparing aircraft types and 

communities while still maintaining unit confidentiality. The CSCA website may be viewed at: http:

//www.safetyclimatesurveys.org.

CSCA Survey Process Update

The Deputy Assistant Secretary of the Navy (Safety) 

and the Safety Division at Headquarters, Marine Corps, 

recently funded the School of Aviation Safety to upgrade 

the CSCA survey process. Upgrades were based on inputs 

from CSCA survey respondents and fleet commanders, 

and include enhanced speed, clarity, and user-friendliness of the website. A few of the enhanced capabilities 

available to commanders include: 

1. Comparison of a unit’s survey results with their 

prior results. For example, comparing aircrew-survey 

results at mid-deployment with the results generated 

when the CO first assumed command of the unit. 

Update of the Online

Command Safety Climate Assessment

Survey Process

March-April 2004 approach 31
2. Ability to display the mean (average) values of all 

survey items on one computer screen.

3. Access to a table listing each survey 

item and its corresponding mean value. Survey 

items can be listed in order (i.e., 1, 2, 3, 4...), 

or by their mean values. Until now, a minimum 

of five CSA responses or 20 MCAS responses 

was required before data could be displayed in 

the CO access module. These minimums were 

set to help protect the anonymity of individuals taking the survey. These thresholds made 

survey use impossible for small detachments with insufficient personnel to meet the minimums. The thresholds can now be adjusted (on a case-by-case basis) for 

small detachments to allow det OinCs the ability to use 

this safety tool while deployed, yet still maintain the 

anonymity of survey respondents.

Other enhancements include: an improved on-line 

help menu, the addition of warrant officer ranks in the 

surveys’ demographics section, and identification of the 

HRO model component listed after each survey item. 

These and other, less visible upgrades provide survey 

users an improved system for taking the “safety pulse” 

of your squadron. 

Future of the CSCA Survey Process

Fleet interest in this safety tool is high. A derivative 

of this tool is now being implemented in the surface 

Navy. The Marine Corps is expanding its survey use 

for their ground warriors and off-duty activities. Other 

services are looking at employing it within their unique 

domains. Most importantly, with recent funding from 

Commander Naval Air Force (CNAF), additional 

upgrades and continued service of this on-line safety 

process are assured. Future upgrades to the system 

include a version for use by squadrons with contract 

maintenance. 

Requesting the CSCA Survey

COs and detachment OinCs should have their 

safety officer contact the School of Aviation Safety, 

Naval Postgraduate School at (831) 656-2581 (DSN 

756). The unit safety officer supervises the survey and 

must identify how many aircrew (CSA) and maintainers (MCAS) will take the survey. Once a set number 

of surveys (minimum 66 percent is recommended) are 

completed, the CO receives a password to access the 

unit’s data online and compare them with other survey 

data. Higher headquarters can contact the Safety 

School to gain access to the aggregate database. Additional information on the CSCA survey process can be 

obtained by contacting the Safety School or at: http:

//www.safetyclimatesurveys.org.

The March 2002 Approach article can be viewed 

online at: http://safetycenter.navy.mil/media/approach/

issues/mar02/taking.htm. 

A picture’s worth a 

thousand words...and 

thousands of hits on 

our website.

Check out the Photo of 

the Week at Http://safetycenter.navy.mil/photo/default.htm

 32 approach March-April 2004