IF THERE were any remaining doubt about the status of hero of Capt Chesley Sullenberger, pilot of US Airways flight 1549, it was buried yesterday. Audiotapes of his cockpit conversations with air traffic control reveal the astounding composure of the man as he calmly glided his jet into the Hudson river.
Sullenberger announced he was in trouble, having hit birds and lost power in both engines, only minutes into his flight from LaGuardia airport, New York, on January 15th. He communicated the news at 3.27pm, sounding no more flustered than somebody ordering a burger from a fast- food outlet. “Hit birds, we lost thrust in both engines, we’re turning back towards LaGuardia,” he told the control tower in his deep, slightly gravelly voice.
“Make that a double, onion rings on the side,” he might as well have added.
His controller, a younger sounding man with a high-pitched voice, also managed to disguise his shock. Within 13 seconds of receiving the bombshell, he nonchalantly informed his colleagues to stop all departures. “We got an emergency returning.”
From there, the relationship between the two men, one on which the lives of 155 people depended, grew more surreal with every second. Like an airborne Clint Eastwood, Sullenberger appeared to become more eerily collected as the disaster engulfed him.
At 3.28 and 5 seconds, his controller offers him the option of landing on runway three at LaGuardia. After what appears an age – but is only six seconds – the pilot replies: “We’re unable. We may end up in the Hudson.” By now there is just the slightest hint of irritation. Twenty seconds after that the controller tells him he will be turning left to the runway.
“Unable” is the single word that comes back from the cockpit. No need for embellishment.
By now calls are flying around the New York area in a desperate search for options. Separate transcripts show that by 3.28 and 46 seconds LaGuardia has also cleared its runway four for a possible landing. Sullenberger rejects the offer on the grounds “I am not sure we can make any runway”.
He inquires, almost languidly: “What’s over to our right. Anything in New Jersey, maybe Teterboro?” Within 29 seconds of his request, Teterboro, a small airstrip used by private planes in New Jersey, had given its assurance that a runway would be clear.
On the ground, things were not quite so composed. “I believe he’s too heavy, but let me talk to supervisor,” said one controller in Teterboro, for whom this kind of event was wildly out of the ordinary.
“He wants to fly in here,” another is heard to say. “He can’t fly in here!” says a third, and at last the sheer terror of what is happening becomes audible.
By then, though, Teterboro needn’t have worried. At 3.29 and 25 seconds, Sullenberger ended the search for a terrestrial runway. “We can’t do it.” Three seconds later, he added: “We’re gonna be in the Hudson.”
“I’m sorry, say again,” requests the air traffic controller, as though disbelieving his own ears. But that was the last word to be recorded from Sullenberger.
It’s at this moment that the logic of the conversation is lost, along with radio contact. The controller, suddenly overcome with a wave of irrational optimism, says: “You also got Newark airport off your two o’clock and about seven miles.” Fifty-four seconds later Flight 1549 splashed into the river.
At 3.30 and 40 seconds a helicopter pilot flying along the eastern edge of Manhattan, with a good view of events, said: “Looks like he’s going down.”
3.30 and 45 seconds: "He's in the water." Answer from the control tower: "Roger". – ( Guardianservice)