Landing Gear Problems…and True Love

As we approached a 2-mile final for Runway 09 at our fuel stop of Red Wing, Minnesota (KRGK), my hand reached forward in a motion born of habit. With barely a glance, I pinched the lollipop-shaped landing gear handle between two fingers and moved it into the down position while glancing at the amber in-transit light.

It didn’t illuminate. The visceral feel of the wheels thudding into position and the gentle push against the seat belt as the airplane slowed wasn’t happening either.

This Article First Appeared in FLYING Magazine

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The three square green lights underneath the landing gear handle were not lit. Crap. Out of instinct, I rotated the instrument panel light dimming knob up and down, knowing it was probably an effort in futility. (The Piper Arrow dimming function is notorious for blanking out the illumination of the three green lights during daytime operation.)

A quick search to my right on the copilot’s side did not reveal a protruding hydraulic pump circuit breaker. I recycled the gear handle. Nada. I recycled it again. Still Nada. Add power. Level the airplane at pattern altitude. Engage altitude hold. Calmly tell my wife what’s happening. Push emergency gear override lever down to release hydraulic pressure. Three green lights illuminate. Yay. Land the airplane.

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As I went about the business of reentering the traffic pattern and reconfiguring the Arrow, a brief moment of reflection crossed my mind. Never in my over four decades of professional aviation had a landing gear malfunction been part of my repertoire, which is a testament to the design engineering involved. (The 2,000 hours spent in a Twin Otter is not counted.)

But if a similar circumstance had occurred on the big jet, it would have been a methodical process of following a detailed checklist procedure. And with no criticism of my wife’s crew resource management abilities (CRM), a seasoned copilot would have aptly supported me through the decisions involved with such an emergency situation.

Our destination for the day was to be with our friends, Jay and Sandy Rud—a two-hour flight from KRGK to Sandwich, Illinois (IS65). After phone troubleshooting consultation with Jay, who is not only a B-787 check airman but an A&P/IA, it was decided that we would fly gear-down if necessary, with hopes that we could find the source of the problem after our arrival. It seemed like a better option on a Sunday rather than an overnight in an unfamiliar town, awaiting the possibility that Monday would procure local mechanics willing to work on the airplane. Notwithstanding, we would be missing a visit with old friends.

With fingers crossed, full fuel tanks, and an IFR flight plan, we departed KRGK. I raised the handle to the up position shortly after takeoff, confident the gear could be lowered via the override system in the event of another failure. The in-transit light illuminated, and the three green lights extinguished. The gear had retracted. All was right with the world.

But what was that faint beeping noise in my headset? My wife heard nothing. The ammeter in the lower half of the instrument panel immediately drew my attention. It was cycling like a windshield wiper from left to right. Please, not the alternator again? Nope, it had to be the gear hydraulic pump cycling. But why?

It didn’t matter. Flying with a cycling hydraulic pump wasn’t an option. I moved the gear handle into the down position and told ATC that we would be returning to KRKG in visual conditions. But wait…the ammeter wasn’t cycling anymore, and three green lights were clearly illuminated. Let’s stick with the gear-down plan. After a few attempts to contact ATC, our IFR flight plan was resurrected. We proceeded toward IS65.

It wasn’t long before I realized that our anemic 200 fpm climb to 7,000 feet would not be conducive to the originally planned two-hour flight. Once we were stabilized at our warp speed of 110 knots versus the usual 140, the GPS adjusted the ETA from a two-hour flight to a 2:45 en route time. The heat wave that had struck the country was not assisting our plight. 

Perhaps I should have consulted the performance charts. But upon retroactively acting on my guilt later, no gear-extended charts are available for climb or cruise performance. If such an abnormal operation ever came to fruition at the airline, it certainly would have been part of dispatch calculations.

Unfortunately, as the environmental heating progressed, so did the convection. But fortunately the NEXRAD weather was not displaying any threatening colors. We began to zig and zag, avoiding the rising puffiness of roiling cumulus. The option to climb was painfully out of the question. So, we descended into the unpleasantness of hot and humid weather. My wife remained stoic…and sweaty. 

The circumstances reminded me of an event at the airline back in the mid 1980s. Our dispatcher confirmed that we had enough fuel to fly home to LaGuardia Airport (KLGA) at 10,000 feet in August because of a pressurization failure in a sweltering B-727 with about 170 passengers.

Jay and Sandy greeted us with hugs, the fanfare of an open hangar door, and jacks for the Arrow. Our wives were happy to drive away from the airport while Jay and I took to the task of jacking up the airplane. Other than witnessing the main landing gear sag, then rapidly retract into the wheel wells, and then rinse and repeat, we couldn’t accomplish more troubleshooting without a strategy.

After reviewing the Arrow’s landing gear hydraulic system, Jay had a plan the following morning. It was a matter of isolating each gear separately, inclusive of the hydraulic power pack itself. Unfortunately, Jay’s day job at the airline wouldn’t allow us the opportunity to attack the problem until the following week, which would require my wife and I to fly commercial home and me to return later. If parts were required, the project might become a protracted process.

The decision was made to continue home with the gear down, inclusive of our planned visit to Paducah, Kentucky, that we missed on last year’s trip because of an alternator failure. I warned my wife of the creature comfort perils involved, but she already knew. We did survive the trek back to Florida despite the fact that the Arrow had transformed into an Archer. The last hour was the most painful. Thoughts of floating in our swimming pool became the motivation to persevere.

So, what was the cause of the pressure switch cycling the hydraulic pump on and off? Was it the slight external leak in the right gear actuator that had been resealed five years ago? Was it the left gear actuator that had been resealed three years ago? Was it the nose gear actuator? 

The problem was actually the hydraulic power pack that had been purchased as a refurbished unit three years ago—now out of warranty, of course. 

Although my wife said, “never again,” she had soldiered on without uttering a single whine. My copilot of 28 years must truly love me, which is worth a whole lot more than the repair. Did I just say that? 

This column first appeared in the November Issue 964 of the FLYING print edition.