THE DITCHING OF N4834V

The following remarkable story of survival was e-mailed to me by Captain Wendell Levister
who kindly gave permission for it's use on this website. All photos are owned by Capt. Levister.
Further details can be accessed under C-82 Accidents in the side menu.

by Captain Wendell W. Levister

The ditching of that US Airways aircraft in the Hudson River was a phenomenal act of thinking,
planning and flying on the part of that Captain. Actually, he had a very short time to decide what
to do, due to the fact that both engines had lost power, and he made the right decision in time to
save his passengers, crew, and himself. He is to be highly commended for his heroic action.

A few years ago, July 1966 to be exact, I was forced to ditch a large cargo aircraft that I was flying
based out of Honduras, a Fairchild C-82, in the ocean off the coast of Campeche, Mexico. I was
very blessed to have successfully ditched it at night, not seeing the water until seconds before impact.

On a flight from New Orleans with a load of cargo consisting of (2) 450 H.P. aircraft engines, a few
hundred gallons of Dope (a liquid used to treat {tighten} the linen fabric of some of the older aircraft
wings and control surfaces, and a few hundred gallons of Thinner (used to thin the dope for brush or
spray application). Altogether, the cargo weighed approximately 13,000 pounds. The aircraft had (4)
wing fuel tanks with a total capacity of 2,100 gallons, which at a fuel burn of approximately 200
gallons per hour would provide for approximately 10:00 hours of flight time, and which added another
13,650 pounds to the total aircraft takeoff weight of 55,000 pounds.

The man who owned that aircraft, and for whom I was flying at that time, George B Alder, also owned
a fleet of surplus Army Air force Stearman (PT-17) aircraft, which had been outfitted with larger 450 H.P.
and 620 H.P. engines (the original engines were only 220 H.P.), and spray equipment for spraying the
Banana Plantations of the United Fruit Company, both in Honduras and Guatemala, and the cotton
fields in southern Honduras.

The fated flight mentioned above, originated from Tegucigalpa, Honduras (the capital city) our home base,
where we loaded the owners Bell 47D helicopter on-board the C-82. My co-pilot and I then flew to
Guatemala, where we stayed two nights. With the company owner on-board, we took off from Guatemala
and flew to Mobile, Alabama to deliver the helicopter to an individual who had purchased it. Two days
later on July 14, 1966, my Co-pilot and I took off from Mobile and flew to New Orleans, landing at the
Lake Front airport to await the load of cargo mentioned above.

Five days later on July 29, 1966, with the cargo loaded, my co-pilot and another company (spray pilot)
and I took off from Lake Front airport and headed for Guatemala. Crossing the Gulf of Mexico at 10,000
feet altitude, and approximately 3:30 into the flight, we over-headed Merida, Mexico, where I turned
southwest to take course for Guatemala City, where we were to deliver some of the cargo, the rest of
which would be off-loaded at Tegucigalpa on a following flight.

The further in-land that we flew towards Guatemala, the weather grew worse, forcing me to cancel my
Instrument Flight Plan by radio, and to begin descending to stay visual beneath the building clouds and
adverse weather. Approximately 2:30 hours later, at approximately 7,000 feet altitude, we arrived at
the valley where Guatemala City is situated, which was completely closed in by clouds. The valley is
surrounded by mountains ranging from 5,000 feet to 9,000 feet, all of which were topped by clouds,
and I was not about to attempt to try and penetrate those clouds on a descent into the valley for an
instrument approach to the airport, besides, I had already cancelled my instrument flight plan.

Consequently, by radio to the Aurora Airport tower control, I declared an emergency and informed them
that I was aborting my original flight plan to land there, and would instead fly to my alternate destination,
which was Belize. Taking course for Belize, all the way back across the Yucatan peninsula (Mexico) and
part of Guatemala, southward toward Belize, we were dodging thunder heads as night fell.

After about almost another two hours wandering around dangerous thunderheads (recognized in the dark
by air to ground lightning flashes) but still flying in the general direction towards Belize, through broken
clouds we saw off in the distance, the lights of a fairly large city, which because of the general direction,
and the length of time that we had been flying since taking course for Belize, I calculated it to be on the
Caribbean coast. However, after winding around various storms, I did not know exactly where we were,
as the lightning discharges made my Automatic Direction Finder almost unusable, the indicator needle
pointing to every discharge. None-the-less, I still calculated that it was a city on the coast, and if so, the
ocean, which I could not see, but believed to be off of my left wing as I turned to fly toward those lights.
I had my crew members looking for a flashing beacon (alternating white and green lights) that would
indicate an airport, which we never did see. (I later found out that the airport closed at sundown).

In my aircraft, as in most large aircraft, there is a facility to draw fuel from any of the fuel tanks to feed any
one or both engines (cross feeding). Because of the extended time that we had been flying, the fuel situation
was becoming critical. Each fuel tank has a red light on the instrument panel that would light up when there
was only (5) minutes of fuel remaining in the particular tank. Of the four tanks, I had (3) red lights lit up, with
the left out-board tank still not lit up. I then switched the fuel valves to feed both engines from that left
out-board tank.

In order to conserve fuel, I had reduced the power on both of those 2,100 H.P. Pratt & Whitney engines
and at the leanest mixture setting for a slow descent, while e searched for the water. At approximately 5,000
feet altitude, the red light for the left outboard tank lit up, and because both engines had been feeding from that
tank, it went dry before the (5) minute period, and both engines quit. (When those rumbling engines died, the
silence was shocking).

At that altitude, I did not have very much time to get them started again, as that aircraft without power would
lose altitude fairly rapidly. I yelled at my Co-pilot to light up the instrument panel, as I worked to get both
engines running again. With a propeller engine, as long as the aircraft has adequate forward motion, the propellers
do not stop rotating, therefore, I immediately switched the fuel selectors to: left engine to left inboard tank, and
right engine to right inboard tank, both of which still had some fuel.

Fuel mixture controls to (Full Rich), Fuel Boost Pumps to (High) – (Boost pumps are located in each inboard
wing tank and are generally used for Takeoff positive fuel flow, or emergency). I pulled the throttles (power
control levers) back to a lower power setting so that when the engines restarted they would not possibly blow
a cylinder. Suddenly both engines restarted with a low rumble, and I immediately added power to slow the aircraft’s
descent. Now that both engines were running from tanks that were both displaying red lights, it meant that we had
but a very short time before we would lose both again. It was then that I decided that it would not be possible to reach
that city and circle until we found the airport, and I informed the crew that we were going to ditch and to make ready.

The extra crew member who was hitching a ride with us panicked, put on a parachute and went down the ladder
to the cargo compartment (we flew that aircraft from the 2nd floor flight deck), where he tried to open the main
entrance door to jump out. Fortunately for him, the door which was located just in front of the left engine would
not open, as it opened out and the slipstream (wind) was too strong. (Had the door opened in and he had jumped,
he would have been sucked into that large propeller and killed instantly). He climbed back up to the flight deck, and
standing behind my seat still in a panic, was begging me to open one of the doors so that he could jump. (Had he
been able to jump, it would have been almost certain death, as he would have been jumping in the dark over jungle,
and not knowing what he would hit.

I was so completely absorbed in keeping the aircraft flying until I could put it safely in the water, where ever it was,
I swung my elbow back at him to get him from behind me and almost knocked him back down the ladder. He went
back down the ladder and went to the rear of the cargo compartment and tried to open one of the Paratainer doors
(formerly used by paratroopers when jumping.

Now knowing that I was going to ditch my aircraft, I wanted to be over solid water when I put it in, and not over
a rocky coast line. So I turned the aircraft to the left to put that city off of my right wing tip, which I calculated would
take us further out over the ocean, and continued descending.

Though I still could not see it, when I estimated that I was far enough from the shoreline, I turned the aircraft to parallel
what I estimated to be the shore line, and at about 900 feet altitude, I ordered the co-pilot to turn on the landing lights
so that I could see the water. However, the fog and light misty rain reflected the lights back at me, thereby blinding my
forward vision. I ordered him to turn them off, as I simultaneously actuated the alarm bell that rings down in the cargo
compartment and was normally used to alert paratroopers to jump). The extra flight crew member, now very alarmed,
climbed back to the flight, and I ordered him to take off the parachute and take the flight engineers seat, where he had
been seated, which he did while holding the parachute in front of him as protection on impact.

At that moment, the left engine died of fuel starvation, and I further reduced the power on the right engine to reduce the
yaw and drag effect of the wind milling left propeller. With that, I was committed and had to put the aircraft in the water
before I lost the still running right engine.

At approximately 500 feet indicated altitude (of which I could not be sure, as I had not had an altimeter setting since
we left New Orleans, about 1,000 miles and almost ten hours past), which meant that my true altitude could be off, perhaps
by a few hundred feet. I ordered the co-pilot to turn on the landing lights again, which still blinded me but I had to keep
them on to be able to finally see the water and put the aircraft in a nose up attitude just before impact.

Because of the dead engine, I was flying cross controlled in order to keep the aircraft straight and level, and flying partly
on instruments while occasionally looking out to be able to see the water.

There is an escape hatch over each cockpit seat, (the Captain’s, Co-Pilot’s and the Flight Engineer’s) and each has a red
handle, that when turned and the hatch pushed up, will be blown away by the slipstream. I instructed my crew, that when I
yelled “NOW”, they were to jettison their hatch and prepare to debark once the aircraft stopped moving.

At just a few feet above the water, I finally saw it, yelled “NOW” at the crew, jettisoned my hatch, pulled back the throttle
of the still running right engine, and back on the yoke, raising the nose of the aircraft about 25 degrees, touching down on
the tail-booms first. The aircraft went in clean and smoothly (no landing gear or flaps deployed). It felt just like a landing on
a runway, with very heavy braking, which was the effect of the aircraft rapidly slowing down as it settled into the water.

We were safely in the water with no injury to anyone. However, as I said, I jettisoned my hatch, as did the other crew member,
but my faithful co-pilot, who had worked so great with me all through the emergency froze, gripping the arms of his seat and
failed to jettison his hatch. None-the-less, he exited through the engineer’s.

We were standing on the wing, which was just barely above the water, and preparing to inflate the life raft, when we thought
that the aircraft was floating. However, we later found out that it was sitting on the sea-bottom, as we were in 9 feet of water
at low tide.

We looked toward the shore line and saw the lights of a small community (which turned out to be the coastal town of Lerma,
Mexico. We heard people yelling at us, and I yelled back in Spanish "AUXILIO" which means HELP. They called back
"YA VIENE" meaning "WE'RE COMING". We were later told that they heard our engine as it quit on impact, saw the landing
lights and heard the impact as the aircraft entered the water. They called by phone to the police of the city that we had seen
from the air and told them that an aircraft had just landed in the water. Shortly after, we saw vehicles with rotating red beacons
rushing up the road towards the small community. Then we heard some outboard motors start up and head towards our downed
aircraft. The first one arrived pulling up to the wing, and a large gentleman stepped out of the boat looking around at the 3 of us
and asked, "Capitan?", I answered in Spanish "Yo soy" (I am). He greeted me by saying in Spanish, "BIEN VENIDO A
CAMPECHE, MEXICO" (Welcome to Campeche, Mexico). We were rescued.

Later, it occurred to me, that had I tarried just 15 or 20 minutes longer at the Valley in Guatemala trying to find a way to land
at the Aurora airport, we could have run out of fuel over the mountains and jungle and crashed, killing us everyone.

I have attached some photos of my {ditching}, however, as you now know, my ditching occurred at night, and I did not see
the water until seconds before impact.

I was commended by the manufacturer of that aircraft (Fairchild Aviation) as being one of the few pilots that had ever ditched
one without breaking up the aircraft. I had never ditched any aircraft before, but used every skill that I had, and every bit of
information that I had learned about how to ditch an aircraft.

I was so busy during the preparation for, and during the actual ditching, I was so exultant after the ditching over a job well
done, that I never felt any fear, during nor after the episode.

In one of the photos, I am surrounded by; my Co-Pilot, *Ceasar Ortega (standing with a cap), Col. Mario Mena Hurtado,
the Chief of Police of the State of Campeche, who headed the rescue team (sitting directly behind me); and the extra crew
member sitting just to my left. All of the other fellows were members of the rescue team.

The day after the ditching (the same day that the photos were taken), when the Col. tested the fuel tanks with a stick, he
found only about an inch of fuel in one tank. The others were empty. (as stated earlier, the aircraft normally carries 2,200
gallons in four wing tanks, which were full when we departed New Orleans.

GOD HAS KEPT ME HERE FOR A REASON - I SURVIVED BECAUSE HE HAS A PLAN FOR ME.
*My dear friend and former Co-pilot, Ceasar Ortega was killed about two years after the ditching, having flown into a
mountain on the north coast of Honduras with 4 passengers, all of whom also perished.

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