The news last night had a breaking story of a mid air collision between a light aeroplane and a helicopter over the Hudson River, resulting in the tragic deaths of nine people. How? With the entire sky to fly through, how is it that two aircraft can collide like that? The truth is that it's all too easy.

In the earliest days of commercial flying, just after the First World War, a new regulation to pass on the right was brought in to prevent head on collisions when following linear features like railway lines. Even today, with extensive navigation aids and radar services available even to the common private pilot should he request it, people still bump into each other and the skies are not a forgiving enviroment.

One way to look at this problem is to see the need for human beings to travel in certain directions when going from place to place in an aeroplane, machines that can't realistically take off and land anywhere thus always move from airport to airport, plus the human need to follow landmarks to find their way around. There is some truth to that. However, the answer is much simpler and much more basic....

You're on a Collision Course!

I was flying east on my way home to Thruxton airfield. The approach, as was my usual practice, was to fly at fifteen hundred feet both for convenience and to comply with airspace restrictions. Cloud cover was total and it obscured the blue sky above me at something like three thousand feet - a fairly ordinary occurence for British skies.

I'd already contacted the airfield so they knew I was inbound. Then they made an urgent call to me... "Charlie Uniform, Boscombe Radar tell us there's an aeroplane ahead of you and on a converging course. Do you have visual?"

No, I didn't. Aircraft are tiny little specks at a distance and looking over the instrument panel I could see nothing out there. I acknowledged the warning, and turned five degrees to the right as a precaution. A few moments there he was, a small single seater about a quarter of a mile away down on my left. It must have looked very different to the radar operator at Boscombe.

Have You Seen This?

Back in the days when I was learning to fly I was heading north after a visit to Shoreham on the south coast. My flying instructor, who was a veteran of World War Two (He'd flown with Bomber Command throughout the war), calmly asked me if I'd seen this?

Hmm? What? With a rush of engine and propellor noise a civilian owned Bulldog trainer pulled up sharply to my right. No, I hadn't seen it. I suspect my instructor hadn't either, but it was me at the controls. Lesson learned.

Where Did He Come From?

Part of the pleasure I derived from flying aeroplanes was taking friends and workmates along for the ride. Most had never flown in light aircraft before. Time and again they were suprised by the experience, and most genuinely enjoyed it. On one particular flight I decided to demonstrate a few things along the way. It made things interesting for them but also for me too, allowing me to practise skills that would otherwise wither.

Okay, I said, now I'm going to stall the aeroplane.

"What?" Asked my passenger with some concern, "You're going to stop the engine?"

No not the engine... I'm going to stop the aeroplane from flying. He stared at me in disbelief. After a reassuring chuckle I looked around for any aircraft in the area and satisfied the sky was empty, I throttled back, lifted the nose a little, and waited for the aeroplane to slow down.

The controls were getting lighter... The noise of flying had all but vanished.... There's the stall warner, warbling in a hesitant shrill tone..... And there we go! The aeroplanes nose fell forward (assisted by me it must be said - safety first) and the little Cessna began to start flying again.

Then I saw the Piper Arrow travelling away to my right. Ye gods that was close! Where did he come from? Strictly speaking I'd had the right of way, so to pass that close to me was poor airmanship, but then it occured to me that for whatever reason, he hadn't seen me any more than I'd noticed him.