Wildlife and airplanes, we have this uneasy relationship. They try to bring us down, to disable us and cause us to land in rivers and such. We in turn fight them off, winning more times than not. Which we have to do, because like the RAF battling the Nazis in the Battle of Britain, they far outnumber us.
Late night, 1993. We land our Northwest Airlink Saab 340 in International Falls, drop off a few passengers and taxi out for the trip to Hibbing. We taxi to the end of the runway and nearby a very large buck sees his chance. We add power and race down the runway. At around 125 mph I call out "V1, rotate," and at that moment the buck runs out onto the runway, right in front of us. "Rotate! Rotate!" I yell. The buck stops, does an about face maneuver, changes his mind and turns back again. Nice reflexes, he does all this quicker than an Olympic gymnast. My copilot yanks back on the control wheel and we leap into the air, ending the age old question 'if you pull back hard enough, will you hit the tail?'. Answer: No you will not. The buck flashes by close aboard on our right, so close I can easily see the fur on his back. In an instant I'm waiting for the impact, the veering off to the right, the wingtip catching the ground and the inevitable sliding, burning, dirt flying carnage that is sure to follow. But as quick as it happened, it was over. These two cool airline professionals are sitting there wide eyed saying, "Oh my God. Oh my God. Oh my God..." There are a few tense moments as we wait to see what may happen, but it seems that everything is working. Holy Mother of God, how did we not hit him? Eventually, we calm down enough to do things like retract the landing gear and set climb power. In Hibbing we inspect the outside of the plane, but not a mark anywhere. Like a baseball player sliding into home plate, it seems the buck has managed to avoid our tag. Had he not, I'm totally convinced we would have wrecked that airplane. He was huge.
Spring, 2007. I'm flying a KingAir 200 up to some small airport in the middle of no place in Michigan to retrieve a kidney. No doctors, just grab the Styrofoam box and go, so I've brought the wife along for company. Arriving in Michigan the weather is cloudy and the AWOS is reporting visibility around 1/2 mile in fog. I let the autopilot fly us down to minimums on the RNAV approach and see the airport. As we are touching down we notice these deer alongside the runway. Not just a few, but like a whole herd. Twenty or more, they were everywhere. Surprisingly none were on the runway. On my right are more deer in the grass between the runway and taxiway. It was kinda surreal, like walking nervously past some notorious gang members late at night. They watched us suspiciously but didn't move or run away. I cautiously taxied to the ramp and shut one engine down, leaving the wife in charge of the airplane ("Wait! You can't leave me here! Where are you going? Come back!!") I'm not crazy, it's running in feather and I told her if anything happens just pull this lever here. I hop out the door, sign for the box from the courier, and hop back in ten seconds later. Deer-wise, this is a bad neighborhood and I don't want to hang around for long. It's not like I could call someone to clear the area first. This airport is deserted and it was around two o'clock in the morning. I slowly back taxi down the runway, past the Deer Gangsters. They're eyeballing me and I'm avoiding eye contact. I get my clearance, say a prayer that they're still off the runway, and take off. They let me pass, this time.
Birds. I love birds. Love sitting at home watching them fly to their little nests, taking a splishy splashy bath in the bird bath, swinging on the bird feeder, flying into a window. A bright sunny day in Eau Claire, Wisconsin. Beautiful summer afternoon. We load up and taxi out to the runway. All checklists complete, we start our takeoff roll. As we are about to reach rotation speed I notice a few birds in the grass by the runway. As we rotate, these few birds turned into a gigantic flock of small birds, Starlings or something, who all decided at once to takeoff, right in front of us. Oh crap! We blast through this dark cloud of feathery friends, maybe ten or twenty feet above the runway. They hit the plane like baseballs, a rapid fire banging all around us, so many I can't even begin to count. My God, we decimated them. Those two eleven foot diameter propellers were like two bloody blenders. We sat there, like a boxer waiting to dodge the next punch. Except it doesn't come. Past the end of the runway the ground drops off to the river below, and I was fully expecting two engines to quit and we'd "glide" across the river into that dirt field beyond. But everything keeps humming along. All gauges normal. All controls, um, controlling. Back in Minneapolis we looked it over. A small red smear on top of the cockpit, that was all. Not a dent, nothing. Not at all like that big sea gull we hit before. He left blood and guts all over the side of the plane, so much that maintenance had to wash it off. It was a smelly, gory mess.
Some people have a seriously bigger fear of birds. One night we were to ferry a plane down to Sioux City from northern Minnesota so maintenance could fix it. It was a pressurization problem so we'd be at 10,000' the whole way. The First Officer, he refused to go. He swore we'd run into a flock of geese or ducks, or something just as deadly. I finally had to tell him to either call scheduling and refuse the trip or get on board. Quit being such a pussy. I really wasn't worried. Our front windows are literally bullet proof. We replaced a window once and the mechanics took it home, fired a .38 round into it. Nothing. So the other mechanic (with some alcohol encouragement I'm sure) fired his 44 magnum at the same spot. Still no penetration. They were so impressed that they brought it back to the hangar and hung it on the wall. Some airplanes though are not as well equipped. Late one night a Great Lakes Beech 1900 took off from Sioux City and flew towards Sioux Falls, a short flight away. Their windows were not bullet-proof. They were at around 4000', doing 250 knots, when they ran into a flock of birds. One went through the left windshield, striking the pilot square in the face. Another followed behind the first one, traveled the length of the cabin and blasted the back wall. Still another hit the engine intake, after going through the propeller, hard enough to hit it like a sledgehammer. Yet another hit the leading edge square on, went right through and into the fuel tank. The copilot landed back at Sioux City and the Captain spent three days in the hospital. Pretty lucky, all things considered. I got to see the plane in our hangar. I asked the mechanic what kind of birds they were. He said he wasn't sure, but it smelled a lot like roast duck.
Some day I'm going to find myself at the Pearly Gates and Saint Peter is going to say, "Dave! Welcome! Come on in!" But off to the side a group of glaring birds will raise a wing and say "Wait a minute..."
