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My Night Bird Strike
I was ready to key the radio to call for the downwind turn when we were shocked by the explosive sound of an impact to the aircraft. By LCdr. Jason Garrett
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e had launched from Mayport, Fla., for a routine proficiency flight. On takeoff, the city lights to the south and west of the airfield seemed fainter than on previous nights. We headed north along the coastline. I was a new helicopter-aircraft commander (HAC), with barely 25 hours under my belt in that role. The helicopter second pilot (H2P) was new to the squadron, and this was our first flight together. I finished the after-takeoff checklist from the left seat, as we continued north. We turned east over the pitch-black sea, intent on rebasing our night Dopplers and conducting SAR training near some of the lighted buoys. The winds were light and favored the east, so we set up for our Doppler approaches to 80 feet. We quickly appreciated just how dark it was as we stared into the black8
ness and rode the aircraft into an 80-foot hover. After working in the area for about an hour, we departed from our last Doppler hover and climbed toward 500 feet. It felt much better to be climbing away from the water and turning back toward the dimly lit horizon to the west. We reached Mayport and flew a pattern entry to sharpen our nighttime skills in the landing environment. I flew the first approach to the numbers. After a quick stop-and-go, I accelerated to 80 knots and climbed over the runway, finally leveling off at 500 feet. I was ready to key the radio to call for the downwind turn when we were shocked by the explosive sound of an impact to the aircraft. Wind roared through the cockpit, and I felt something hit my left hand as I gripped the collective. We had hit something, and I could see white streaks down the left side of the airApproach
