P.A.C. José Zubizarreta (*)
The one hundred and fifty nautical miles of this first leg of the route extending under ground plane's wings extremely rugged. Here, my anxiety continuously measured the insignificant level surfaces of the rugged mountains and mental vertigo precipitated me to advance to the imagination of a forced landing procedure whose final result interrupt an act of will and the help of landscape modification . 
is about to face when crossing the high western wall of the Andes. To reach that high walls without vegetation flight over mountains over 12,000 feet. Luckily I found the whole mountain snow peak which I outline near its top to reach the plateau. Among the volcano Tacora and the plane bristling rows of ascending level peaks with peaks as sharp as knives and increasingly steep slopes that form a dangerous barrier. From here, not alternative possibilities worth calculations before an engine failure. The flight takes over fifty miles of the route to the final step Charaña an all or nothing basis. I must confess that I feel good deal of trouble to fly over such places, but the abnormal and dangerous not to suffer, but getting it out of control. The plane rises with obvious decline in its power to reach the chosen level. At that moment the accelerator is made and hand back the instrument that indicates the pressure in the intake manifold has fallen to the lower limit of green arc of the signal of the engine revolutions are the most recommended cruise and speedometer indicates 78 knots. In those days, small jet engines were not turbocharged.
The wind, had left the leeward side of the mountain in place that gives access to the step. In that way, the descendants of air gusts are stronger than the windward side. There, I suffer the first one and my aircraft dropped nearly two thousand feet in seconds. In vain attempt to stop the fall maximizing the speed engine and extending the angle of the wings. I'm temporarily without relative wind and the buzzer alarm sounds to indicate the proximity of the complete loss of lift. Gently push forward the baton, I run down to the stops and starts to rise rapidly to regain the lost height.
assumed that these periods do not reach the ground or above the plane before it occurs. The danger is mountainous obstacles can be found in front of the plane before recovering the lost height. Fortunately, I am already in the threshold of the plateau, a good height and enough space maneuver. Before reaching 10,000 feet I was set to face mask oxygen. Some people show great ability to fly without extra oxygen, to higher levels, but this demonstration can be dangerous. From this height hereinafter may suffer the consequences of hypoxia. Symptoms "says the manual, include" events ranging from a nonspecific general inability of our physical and mental condition, to the fainting and death. "
remember having once been flying over Venezuelan territory to the United States. Flying at an indicated altitude of 11,500 feet, where pressure and temperature corrected was certainly higher. The symptom that said illness was not able to specify, in a moment, the wherefore of the calculations performed with the computer.
On reaching the plateau, hoping to find some rest to the troubled flight performed. Far from it, the turbulence was increasing. I can not take their hands off the baton. Descend and return to descend hundreds of feet without my intervention can alter the sharp oscillatory motion. At least, run down each other up is on time I restored to my primitive level. The turbulence imposed on the airframe loads I can only measure the severity of the sensations of my own body. The alarm buzzer sounds intermittently less frequent than desirable and I respond readily to push the baton. In the end I end up getting used to the annoying fact of travel. The plane performs magnificently.
I left behind the passage of Charaña and flight over the very spot where my path forks. Here I must make a decision: either continue to the east across the plateau from its narrowest to descend to the east before coming to Santa Cruz to land and stay overnight there or the decision adopted more committed to join through an unknown route and desert two cities whose relationship is only reserved to airliners. Was no time for hesitation and, moreover, who knows how and where to find the bad weather reported in Santa Cruz!.
leans to the right wing of the plane to 50 ° more to add my path now points to the distant Asunción. Gradually, the path is discovering its secrets. Geographical references are so clear that it is very easy to identify, without equivocation the points of the route. I am committed to the task-that turbulence does for other awkward-to collect data that allow me to specify the speed of the aircraft on the ground. The outside air temperature is 5 degrees below zero. With the help of the computer and a path controlled 55 nautical miles between two elevations identified discover a ground speed of 122 knots and a slight drift to the left. Its magnitude, related to previously established data reveals the existence of a wind blowing from 290 ° with an intensity of 21 knots. It's been a comforting discovery.
The flight is now taking place over vast open spaces. Further still, could make out the boundaries of the Salar de Uyuni. When I approach I can observe their surrounding areas look like a huge brown lake whose clear emerge still small and dark surface mountainous islands.
My defeat me close to salar bordering its eastern border. The turbulence has decreased due to less disruptive effect of the distant mountains. The anguish this when I fly over them is gone and only the remainder of agitated air movement prevents me from fully enjoying the scenery.
Despite wearing faster than expected, the scenario varies slowly galling. I do not remember the exact time I reached the small town of Uyuni, located just beyond the southern tip of the salt of the same name. Then, the terrain becomes very rough again. It's time to leave the relative safety of the altiplano and risk wrinkled again about mountain formation that rises slowly to the eastern wall's highest mountain.
The local pig, the last reference has been precisely established. After the turmoil she renewed vigor, increasing topographic complexity became a patchwork landscape of colossal proportions indiscernible. Mount Shrine, which stands high atop a blue background, I served only reference since I could identify it until it gets lost behind me.
now runs only compass my defeat on streams and conformation daunting peaks. Opposite successive mountain ranges in gradual rise, extending to the horizon line.
I do not pretend to identify landforms. I think I'm nearing the eastern seawall highest Andean mountains but I can not find on the ground the place where I cross it. Suddenly, without having been able to identify the feeling that motivates a sudden experience takes hold of me to strengthen my anxiety and increase my concern. Until then I was flying away from the terrifying presence of the night, but suddenly, midway through the afternoon, suddenly, I feel be slipping hurriedly down the slide of the last minutes of light. It seemed, that excuse the author's philosophy that time-critical subjective been delayed with respect to real time and suddenly, triggered by the stimulus of a sensation is not recognized in an instant his needle had been advanced to alert me of impending nightfall. Before the time had not, now is a new factor of concern.
The delay suffered by my departure and the desire not to extend too much, I stopped to rearrange the calculations. While the average speed to a certain point had been excellent, long time I can not make new findings by the inability to identify geographic references. The sight before me is not only shocking, but also, if I may say, indiscernible. I fail to identify the map of reality offered nothing before my eyes.
had the wrong impression of having used excessive time in the search field of better access outlined in the geographical map, and this lack of correspondence between reality and its cartographic representation creates some uncertainty in my behavior. I can not tell if the last line of mountains that I can see on the horizon is the boundary of the barrier east of the Andes, which transposed the colossus is losing altitude until disappearing in the jungle Chaco plains.
Uncertainty has unnerved my ability to make tough decisions and while this state, my aircraft erratic course adopts a reflection of my mood undecided. Afraid to reach that last line "time of no return" in relation to daylight. I understand that I am also under the influence of resistance arising in the apprehension that almost certainly causes me finding closed cloud formations covering the foothills. It would be dangerous longer tolerate this indeterminacy, or immediately return to land and stay overnight in sows to 13,000 feet high and beyond the limits of the plateau, with consequences impossible to foresee all kinds (especially bureaucratic) or continuous strongly forward.
Without hesitation the fundamental direction right resume ahead of schedule and reached the top and sharp edge of the massif of the Andes whose peaks rise to very near the plane. On the other hand, as a snowy field of unlimited expansion, a tight mass of clouds covering the mountain peaks aggressive.
As an instinctive defensive move he makes a sharp right turn to put the aircraft in a direction parallel to the inclement cloud formation. This means ignore the fighting, flying south on the ridge top of the mountain, in search of clear skies to the south wind promises.
Within seconds to overcome gotten past that, again, an instinctive and thoughtless waste this absurd attitude. The time I lose in this search unreasonable that I deviate from my path with uncertain prospects of being able to resume it, I use it to attack as soon as the cloud formation and pass the remainder of the peaks invisible, with the direction that the letter indicates geographical and accept the risk, even less, that this decision imposes.
With peaks visible or invisible, a hard landing would mean the same thing. A new left turn coming to rest on the right course of 110 °.
I have the feeling of being thrown vacuum. I lack the psychological lift provided by the visible image of the soil, though it were a spot where there could be an inch of surface.
I prepare mentally for a few minutes of anguish. Flight on a bed of clouds resting on very rugged mountain formation. Depend on the sole engine of my plane, which on reflection, is an advantage. With a twin, the chances of losing one would be unlikely to increase and the other in operation could be maintained high enough to avoid hitting the mountain.
I made my calculations and worst case should not take longer than 50 minutes to reach the soil below. He had taken the time to leave the highest visible edge of the range and determined in the field of my watch, the place where was the deadline for that period of my flight torturer.
Above the Clouds is moderate turbulence. Engine noise reached my ears as a friend and reassuring voice and continued, tireless effort, seems to dissociate from so many moving parts to transmit only an encouraging message loud and reliable security. Great
initial dose of anxiety is gone and even if takes more than half the estimated time to reach the region level, I have been able to mobilize my attention to considerations other than the danger of course that happened. Everything is in order in the dashboard. I decide to keep the flying height to keep the wind favorable. Still possess a considerable reserve of oxygen. As the minutes pass, my trust and confidence increase.
Suddenly, about a half hour later, a significant fact convinces me that the real danger is gone: the turbulence ceases abruptly. The airplane, perfectly stable, it starts a serene and peaceful flight. There is no doubt, the mountains were left behind. I am seized by a state of euphoria. I turned my head and I can not distinguish nothing of the Andean massif.
The flight lasts about clouds some time, but soon begin to open ever wider clear, through which I can see the desired low topography Chaco.
hasten the decline reaching 9,500 feet high. I get rid of the oxygen mask and with the last minutes of light determine the correctness of my course: the course of the Pilcomayo River shows me the direction of Asunción. Next, I turn to lose visual contact with the ground at nightfall.
In almost complete darkness of the cabin, barely lit by the red light board instruments, cut off from all outside visual sensation can be said to truly rest. My only concern is to stay the course in the magnetic compass. I've probably more than a night flight time, do not remember, and I know that near the end of my way.
Later, a distant glow that can not be confused with the extensions of the burned areas, with increasing intensity illuminates a point on the horizon, is Asuncion!.
When the plane landed and taxiing on the runway of the international airport in Asuncion, I think I have completed a flight of absolute and complete normality, accompanied conclusion of a blush rise in the hesitation experienced during the trip due to my lack of seniority ...
(*) Civil Aviation Pilot. This story was provided by the former President of TAM-Mercosur PAC Miguel Candia.
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