I have been thinking ever since the following incident happened in
December about posting it, and the original post of this thread
prompts me to do so. I do this not to take away from the original
post, which is a beautiful story, nor to offer any lessons to learn,
for I know of none.

Rather, I post this to offer a little tribute to a pilot who meant a
great deal to a friend of mine. An acquaintance and his wife died
Sunday in a plane crash and so this serves also to remind myself that
there, but for the grace of God, go I.

From http://www.utilityaircraft.com/kelvinstark.html

Kelvin's Last Flight The first production PAC 750 XL bound for the US
departed Hamilton, New Zealand, under cloudy skies, and set course to
Pago Pago (American Samoa) on December 23 NZ/December 22 US,
distance, 1850 miles.

Ferry pilot Kelvin Stark departed Pago Pago the next morning and made
the next stop in the Northern Hemisphere, on Kiritimati (Christmas)
Island, distance 1600 miles.

He called from Kiritimati (Christmas) Island, giving us an update on
his planned ETA, commenting that the plane was a dream. We would love
it. Sorry, he wouldn't be here for Christmas, but would call again
from Hilo (Hawaii), distance 1200 miles.

He arrived in Hilo the afternoon of Christmas Eve, and spent that
night and a lazy Christmas morning resting in Hilo. The usual
departure from Hilo is around 5:00pm local time, guaranteeing a
daylight take off and climb. The short tropical sunset would soon
plunge him into darkness.

He called around noon on Christmas day, the weather looked good, a
front had passed through California and there was a predicted tailwind
of about 8 knots. He said he would call prior to departing, and was
flight planning for a 14 hour flight. By now he had flown very long
overwater legs, and had a firm understanding of the aircraft's
performance, commenting that it was going better than predicted. The
2300 miles from Hilo to California was what Kelvin called "The Big
Ditch."

With 800 US gallons of useable fuel on board, Kelvin could stay
airborne for over 18 hours, more if he really needed to stretch
it. While four hours seems like a lot of reserve, Kelvin was acutely
aware of the possibility of weather changes, perhaps the need to
divert around a thunderstorm, and the possibility of a wind shift.

I received a call from Kelvin's wife, April, at around 5:00 PM
Hawaiian time. He was on his way.

Once level at his long range cruise speed, he would top off the
aircraft tanks from the ferry system, establish contact with Oakland
Center on the HF(High Frequency) radio, and settle into the familiar
routine of fuel management, communication, and flying.

It's a quiet place, the Pacific, at night, alone.

Kelvin might occasionally make a blind transmission on "Guard" (121.5,
the distress VHF frequency which everyone on this route monitors) to
get weather information from opposite direction traffic.

The smooth hum of the engine would have been unwavering. If there was
a hint of moonlight, and he bothered to look, he would have seen an
atmospheric distortion caused by the heat of the exhaust.

He might turn on his CD player, orchestrating some phantom orchestra
that was assembled just through the windshield, right there, on the
cowl. He would be checking in at invisible waypoints, with improbable
names like Barts, Cluts and Cleo, to name a few.

He would stay hydrated from many bottles of water, as he sat in his
bright orange survival suit, designed and proven to keep you alive for
12 hours in freezing water.

But something went wrong on this routine trip. Somewhere in the small
dark hours just before dawn, a nagging seed of doubt began to grow,
make the heart beat in his ears, send the eyes through a complete
scan, make him wide awake, feel hot, cold, sweat.

At 4:28 am Pacific Standard Time, Kelvin contacted United Flight 48,
outbound from Maui to the mainland. It seemed he was low on fuel, and
declared an emergency. UA 48 relayed the information. The US
Coastguard was notified, the crew assembled, waited for precise
coordinates, departed and set a course from their base in Sacramento,
California, to GPS coordinates hundreds of miles off the coast.

Over the subsequent hours he was in contact with several commercial
flights, and had listened to their suggestions, and had tried
them. The airline crews, some former mechanics, pulled together to
help this man in trouble. He had Center call me, and in the pre dawn I
went through the aircraft manual, suggesting a couple of
things. Nothing helped.

The USCG C-130 was in radio contact long before he could see it. In
the interval between establishing radio communications and visual
contact, the situation was discussed, options considered and decisions
made. It was a tremendous comfort, beyond words, to see the big white
Hercules approaching fast, the throttles fully forward, emitting four
long trails of smoke.

When the C-130 reached him, he had about 15 minutes of fuel remaining.

In thousands of hours of ferry flying, this was going to be a brand
new experience. The Coast Guard crew and Kelvin had discussed the
ditching procedure. The waves were not too bad, there was a cross
swell wind, but in general things looked good. Approach speeds and
directions were discussed, what to expect throughout the ditching, the
need to stay calm and oriented. Kelvin would soak the information up
like a sponge, but staying calm was what Kelvin did on a daily
basis. Joked about his predicament. A question from a commercial jet
gave Kelvin and everyone a moment to pause, step outside the
immediate.

Was there anything he wanted to tell his wife? He pondered a moment
before replying.

Kelvin opened the crew doors at about 1,000 feet. This was to insure
that the doors would not jam if the fuselage twisted during the
landing. The bright yellow, red and blue plane looked funny with the
gull wing doors open as he continued the decent, the Hercules staying
with him as far as it could. He flared just above the water and would
have had an airspeed of 30 to 35 knots, still well above the stall
speed at this light weight. He held a nose high position allowing the
great big, high lift wings, to generate the maxim lift, slowing his
forward speed still further. The main wheels touched just prior to the
nosewheel. The nosewheel touched, dug in, and the aircraft flipped
easily onto its back, settling on the water with the wings on the
surface, in a slight nose down attitude, upside down. It was a
textbook landing, perfectly controlled and flown like the professional
he was. No one could have put that beautiful new plane down better.

Somewhere in this moment, Kelvin Stark passed away.

The US Coast Guard crew made several passes, dropped a raft, and began
a four hour loiter. They were heartbroken. If you spoke to Kelvin for
2 minutes, you felt like an old, trusted friend. It would have been a
bitter pill to take to be that near, and yet not see Kelvin's head pop
up from under the aircraft, with his sly smile.

Another USCG C-130, an Air National Guard C-130 and a HA-60 helicopter
had been dispatched. Under worsening sea conditions, rescue swimmers
found Kelvin still strapped in. By now the plane was lower in the
water, and removing Kelvin had to be weighed against the safety of the
rescue team.

It was determined to be very risky, and the attempt to recover Kelvin
was abandoned.

As the C-130 crew made their last orbit and pass, the plane had
settled in the water with only a portion of the tail exposed.

Kelvin Stark, 58, from Tauranga, New Zealand, began yet another
journey, only this time, he left no flight plan. He will be looking
out for his friends and all those who came to his assistance in his
hour of need.

Note:

In October, 2003, Kelvin flew the prototype PAC 750 XL from Hamilton
to Mojave, Ca, and back. I estimate he accrued almost 100 hours of
flying during that 14,500 mile trip. On that ferry, I flew with Kelvin
from Honolulu to Davis, California. Some of the above I have first
hand knowledge of, some I have gathered from speaking with those
involved, and some I have deduced. I may have some things wrong, but
they are correct as I know them now. At the time of writing, an
accident investigation is being mounted. Like all accident
investigations, it will take time. Facts will be gathered. Hopefully,
at the end of it all, we will have learned something. However, we may
never know exactly what went wrong for Kelvin.

Kelvin is survived by his wife, April, and 3 children by a previous
marriage:

Ascinda (Cindy) Stark, 28 years old. Residing in Scotland, she is an
Architect.

Regan Stark, 23 years old. Residing in Scotland, he is a Rugby player.

Cameron Stark, 19 years old. In NZ, a student studying sound
engineering.



Philip Esdaile
Utility Aircraft Corporation