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In harm's way Mail Tribune photo/Jim Craven A Carson Helicopters Services Inc. chopper lifts off from the Grants Pass airport to douse a fire near Jacksonville. The helicopter will dip the bucket (foreground) into a water source and dump it with surprising accuracy on the flames. By J.T. BUSHNELL Helicopter pilot Van Honeycutt knows the dangers of fighting fires by helicopter. Cutting through the smoke of a blaze near Grants Pass in the early 1970s, he watched the chopper in front of him turn on its side and drop from the sky. He watched it plummet into the flames. There had been a problem in the craft's main propeller, though Honeycutt didn't know what that problem was. Maybe a piece of debris struck a blade. Maybe it was mechanical failure. Just two more reasons to worry. "It makes you a little more mature about what can happen," Honeycutt says. But he already knew the risks. They all do. They have to. Mitch Mignano, chief helicopter pilot at Medford-based Carson Helicopter Services Inc., says fighting fires is the most dangerous type of helicopter work. One hazard - though not life-threatening - is nausea, says Mignano, of Medford. Violent jolts from heat currents and sharp turns back to a water source can make the two-hour missions like smoky roller-coaster rides. "Everybody gets sick," Mignano says. "If someone tells you they don't, they're lying." Nausea doesn't help when the pilot has to swoop over a forest-turned-inferno with a 235-foot pendulum - a 1,000-gallon bucket of water that's about half the size of a portable outhouse and attached to a steel cord - attached to his helicopter. Other hazards are far more serious. After two hours staring straight down the bucket line pilots can lose their depth perception. They might catch the bucket in power lines or trees. "Guys who survive that are rare," Mignano says. "I've been fortunate enough that I've never been hooked." He knocks on the side of his skull to avoid jinxing himself. "There's an old saying we have around here: I'd rather be lucky than good. Being lucky is everything here." If the water bucket or line gets caught, the pilot has to release it immediately. Otherwise, the tethered line will drive the helicopter into the ground in an unnatural arch. If the pilot tries to compensate by steering upward, the helicopter's blades will most likely hack off the back of the hull. Either way, Mignano says, "you end up chunks of unrecognizable meat." Honeycutt, now a pilot for Snowy Butte Helicopters Inc. of Central Point, says he does not know of any recent firefighting crashes in Oregon, but that several occur every year on a national level. The hazards of the business are one reason Mignano and other pilots earn up to $150,000 a year. When not fighting fires, they use the helicopters for other purposes. Carson uses them for logging, replacing the bucket with tree trunks. The high salaries also reflect the level of expertise fighting fires demands and the importance of an air attack. Dan Thorpe, Medford unit forester for the Oregon Department of Forestry, says choppers participate in about 10 percent of firefighting efforts. "Helicopters are really valuable - I would say they're vital," Thorpe says. "They can get into places that are too hot or too dangerous for ground crews." The Department of Forestry has strict requirements for pilots who fight fires, as do most private companies. "The best pilots you'll ever see are in here working fires," Mignano says. "They wrap the helicopter around themselves like a race car driver. They become one with the machines." Mignano says they are also extremely accurate when dropping water. "I could give you a bath right now," he says. But he doesn't have time to demonstrate. He receives a call to help fight a fire near Jacksonville. He quickly names Steve Metheny captain and Sean Winter second pilot for the mission. Metheny pulls on a green jumpsuit and straps himself into the nose of a 73-foot chopper, wrapping the yellow and white machine around him. Metheny, Mignano says, is the operation's best pilot. The nose is an array of dials and switches and levers. On the dashboard sits a palm-sized calendar featuring a bikini-clad blonde named Lisa. "It keeps things happy," Winter says. Metheny flips switches and turns knobs, and the machine comes to life with hums and whirs. Winter throws a lever on the ceiling and the blades begin to turn. The hull shakes. Shadows and light alternately flare through the windows. "Right now I'm focusing in on what's going on," Metheny says. "I'm trying to go through everything in my mind. When I get out there, I'll try to find a water source. "And I'll be continuously looking for hazards." Reach reporter J.T. Bushnell at 776-4468. Mail Tribune Home | Ottaway Newspapers, Inc. | Dow Jones & Co., Inc. | Privacy | Contact Us Copyright � 2001 Mail Tribune, Inc.