Post by Dave Homewood on May 28, 2024 20:13:52 GMT 12
From The Press, 26 February 1966:
RUSSIAN ROULETTE—SIX MILES ABOVE ATLANTIC
(Specially written for “The Press” by S. G. Andersson)
A huge Russian airliner makes a regular twice-weekly trip which should, technically, lead to disaster. Disregarding international air regulations, the Moscow-to-Cuba flight spears straight through the world's busiest air corridor.
EVERY FRIDAY morning, a monster light-grey turbo-prop airliner growls out on to the main runway of Moscow’s Vnukovo airport and roars into the sky on a journey which technically should lead direct to disaster.
On the side of the 40-foot high TU114 is the insignia of Aeroflot, the Russian state airline. Inside, 220 passengers settle down for the world’s longest journey, in the world’s largest plane.
The TU114, its empty seats occupied by spare fuel tanks, its interior stripped to spartan essentials, takes off on its regular journey from Moscow to Cuba - 6800 miles of non-stop flying.
It cuts, in a wide angle, from off the north-eastern tip of the Atlantic to the extreme south-west, ploughing directly through an 1800-mile corridor which is the main road of aviation.
Along this motorway of the air, 100 aircraft in four layers drone, at peak periods, above the Atlantic. The errant TU114 is in very much the same danger as a child on a bicycle straying into a busy traffic artery.
FLIGHTS DOUBLED
This Atlantic corridor, five miles wide and two deep, is operated by the 98-nation International Civil Aviation Organisation. Russia, refusing to join or to co-operate, flies pretty well where she pleases. Up to now, she has been incredibly lucky. But aviation experts would not like to predict how long this luck will last. For the traffic on the corridor increases steadily every year.
At least a dozen more aircraft will be flying on it this year; by 1976 the rate of trans-Atlantic flights will have doubled and the introduction of supersonic aircraft like the Concord, with their reduced flight-times, will create an even more urgent demand for air-space. At the moment, airlines on the trans-Atlantic run are allocated a “cocoon” of air-space, 160 miles long and 140 miles wide.
By extremely skilful piloting, and intensive use of radar, the Russians squeeze through between the cocoons.
TOO RISKY?
It sounds a lot of space, but a pilot flying a huge airliner near the speed of sound can feel pretty cramped in it.
At a recent meeting of the North Atlantic members of the I.C.A.O., Russia’s behaviour was once again deplored, and her operators once again invited to become organisation members. Within two years, the present capacity of the corridor will be saturated.
Reduction of safety limits to accommodate more planes seems the only answer — but with Russian TU114s scuttling across the air lanes, is this too risky? The I.C.A.O. is still arguing about it. Agreement has been reached on closing the gaps — to allow more aircraft to join the queue — from 20 minutes to 15 minutes.
HARD SEATS
This means a reduction in the length of the cocoon from 160 miles to 120 miles and an increased risk of collision with TU114s.
What’s it like to travel on what is probably the world’s most hazardous commercial flight? Recently I made the trip with a party of Western businessmen.
There were only 50 passengers aboard — and only two of them first class. The rest of us sat in a series of curtainless cabins, on rather hard, bench-type seats.
Before take-off, the pilot warmed up his four turboprops for a full half-hour. Then we lifted off and climbed smartly to 33,000 feet. As we levelled off, a stewardess brought breakfast — caviar, lettuce, and smoked salmon, followed by a steak and potatoes.
The seat opposite to mine was filled by a bulky shape — which, I discovered, was a spare fuel tank.... The flight takes between 13 and 18 hours, depending on head winds. Invariably the TU114 reaches its destination with a perilously low fuel reserve.
The route, extended to keep over international waters, zig-zagged towards Iceland, then swept down south west towards the United States.
EYES PEELED
We looked from the windows into scattered cloud and could not see another aircraft. But they were there... we were veering across the world’s busiest air route.
The plane was flying at precisely the same altitude as at least half-a-dozen Western jetliners winging their way towards New York’s John F. Kennedy Airfield. There were no mishaps, no scares; the TU114 touched down at Havana’s Jose Marti Airport after just over 15 hours in the air — an average run.
“Those Russian boys have to keep their eyes peeled every moment they’re airborne,” said the controller in the airport tower. “It’s a risky thing they’re doing.”
Every Friday, the TU114 leaves for Havana; every Monday it returns. Relentlessly, air traffic builds up on the routes it crosses. It is really only a matter of time, one wonders before this latest version of Russian roulette ends in disaster?
RUSSIAN ROULETTE—SIX MILES ABOVE ATLANTIC
(Specially written for “The Press” by S. G. Andersson)
A huge Russian airliner makes a regular twice-weekly trip which should, technically, lead to disaster. Disregarding international air regulations, the Moscow-to-Cuba flight spears straight through the world's busiest air corridor.
EVERY FRIDAY morning, a monster light-grey turbo-prop airliner growls out on to the main runway of Moscow’s Vnukovo airport and roars into the sky on a journey which technically should lead direct to disaster.
On the side of the 40-foot high TU114 is the insignia of Aeroflot, the Russian state airline. Inside, 220 passengers settle down for the world’s longest journey, in the world’s largest plane.
The TU114, its empty seats occupied by spare fuel tanks, its interior stripped to spartan essentials, takes off on its regular journey from Moscow to Cuba - 6800 miles of non-stop flying.
It cuts, in a wide angle, from off the north-eastern tip of the Atlantic to the extreme south-west, ploughing directly through an 1800-mile corridor which is the main road of aviation.
Along this motorway of the air, 100 aircraft in four layers drone, at peak periods, above the Atlantic. The errant TU114 is in very much the same danger as a child on a bicycle straying into a busy traffic artery.
FLIGHTS DOUBLED
This Atlantic corridor, five miles wide and two deep, is operated by the 98-nation International Civil Aviation Organisation. Russia, refusing to join or to co-operate, flies pretty well where she pleases. Up to now, she has been incredibly lucky. But aviation experts would not like to predict how long this luck will last. For the traffic on the corridor increases steadily every year.
At least a dozen more aircraft will be flying on it this year; by 1976 the rate of trans-Atlantic flights will have doubled and the introduction of supersonic aircraft like the Concord, with their reduced flight-times, will create an even more urgent demand for air-space. At the moment, airlines on the trans-Atlantic run are allocated a “cocoon” of air-space, 160 miles long and 140 miles wide.
By extremely skilful piloting, and intensive use of radar, the Russians squeeze through between the cocoons.
TOO RISKY?
It sounds a lot of space, but a pilot flying a huge airliner near the speed of sound can feel pretty cramped in it.
At a recent meeting of the North Atlantic members of the I.C.A.O., Russia’s behaviour was once again deplored, and her operators once again invited to become organisation members. Within two years, the present capacity of the corridor will be saturated.
Reduction of safety limits to accommodate more planes seems the only answer — but with Russian TU114s scuttling across the air lanes, is this too risky? The I.C.A.O. is still arguing about it. Agreement has been reached on closing the gaps — to allow more aircraft to join the queue — from 20 minutes to 15 minutes.
HARD SEATS
This means a reduction in the length of the cocoon from 160 miles to 120 miles and an increased risk of collision with TU114s.
What’s it like to travel on what is probably the world’s most hazardous commercial flight? Recently I made the trip with a party of Western businessmen.
There were only 50 passengers aboard — and only two of them first class. The rest of us sat in a series of curtainless cabins, on rather hard, bench-type seats.
Before take-off, the pilot warmed up his four turboprops for a full half-hour. Then we lifted off and climbed smartly to 33,000 feet. As we levelled off, a stewardess brought breakfast — caviar, lettuce, and smoked salmon, followed by a steak and potatoes.
The seat opposite to mine was filled by a bulky shape — which, I discovered, was a spare fuel tank.... The flight takes between 13 and 18 hours, depending on head winds. Invariably the TU114 reaches its destination with a perilously low fuel reserve.
The route, extended to keep over international waters, zig-zagged towards Iceland, then swept down south west towards the United States.
EYES PEELED
We looked from the windows into scattered cloud and could not see another aircraft. But they were there... we were veering across the world’s busiest air route.
The plane was flying at precisely the same altitude as at least half-a-dozen Western jetliners winging their way towards New York’s John F. Kennedy Airfield. There were no mishaps, no scares; the TU114 touched down at Havana’s Jose Marti Airport after just over 15 hours in the air — an average run.
“Those Russian boys have to keep their eyes peeled every moment they’re airborne,” said the controller in the airport tower. “It’s a risky thing they’re doing.”
Every Friday, the TU114 leaves for Havana; every Monday it returns. Relentlessly, air traffic builds up on the routes it crosses. It is really only a matter of time, one wonders before this latest version of Russian roulette ends in disaster?
