Death of the 'GIMO'
My pre-retirement flight into Kai Tak took place on the night of 28 August 1975. Just as we rounded the checkerboard on final approach to Runway 13 we were slapped by a thunderstorm that had sneaked across the airport from the east. The storm had eluded Civil Aviation’s radar operator and our first indication of bad weather came with the wind gusting above 40 knots in blinding rain. Visibility remained just within landing limits, and then when the elements realised their prey had eluded it the weather immediately cleared. As we taxied to the terminal every star in the galaxy was at full glitter with not a hint of cloud. Where had the storm come from? Where had it gone?
As my crew accompanied me from my last command I related a similar incident where a storm had materialised just as unheralded. Just before midnight on 5 April 1975 we were settled comfortably on the Taipei ILS glide-slope. It was a glorious moonless night with the twinkling lights of Taiwan’s capital city ahead. Suddenly the voice of the tower controller advised a change of runway direction for the wind had suddenly favoured a landing in the opposite direction. We were instructed to break right and call when established on the downward leg. Without warning we were being severely buffeted from extensive nimbo-stratus roll cloud.
Throughout the final approach and touchdown the driving rain progressively reduced visibility but it stayed just clear enough to get the wheels rolling along Sanshing Airport. Then the heavens opened with a downpour that reduced visibility to zero. The thunder and lightning was of such ferocity that my shoulders were hunched as though expecting a blow and my teeth were clenched.
Slipping and sliding we came to a stop near the end of the runway. The flight engineer recorded our touchdown time as 23:52 local time. At the time we were experiencing those dangerous weather conditions it was 23:50 local time - the precise moment that Taiwan’s President the Generalissimo Chiang Kai-Shek died.
Cause and effect? I think not, however it seemed more than coincidental, for as providence reaped, nature chose the same moment to ferociously enforce the end of a tumultuous political life.
As my crew accompanied me from my last command I related a similar incident where a storm had materialised just as unheralded. Just before midnight on 5 April 1975 we were settled comfortably on the Taipei ILS glide-slope. It was a glorious moonless night with the twinkling lights of Taiwan’s capital city ahead. Suddenly the voice of the tower controller advised a change of runway direction for the wind had suddenly favoured a landing in the opposite direction. We were instructed to break right and call when established on the downward leg. Without warning we were being severely buffeted from extensive nimbo-stratus roll cloud.
Throughout the final approach and touchdown the driving rain progressively reduced visibility but it stayed just clear enough to get the wheels rolling along Sanshing Airport. Then the heavens opened with a downpour that reduced visibility to zero. The thunder and lightning was of such ferocity that my shoulders were hunched as though expecting a blow and my teeth were clenched.
Slipping and sliding we came to a stop near the end of the runway. The flight engineer recorded our touchdown time as 23:52 local time. At the time we were experiencing those dangerous weather conditions it was 23:50 local time - the precise moment that Taiwan’s President the Generalissimo Chiang Kai-Shek died.
Cause and effect? I think not, however it seemed more than coincidental, for as providence reaped, nature chose the same moment to ferociously enforce the end of a tumultuous political life.