The crew of Alaska Airlines Flight 261 had a final, desperate plan to save the 88 lives on board. The plane seemed to be plummeting because a key mechanism had jammed in a position that was forcing its nose down. The crew radioed a company mechanic on the ground with an urgent plea: Were there any "hidden circuit breakers" that could cut off power to the horizontal stabilizer--the device they believed had taken deadly control of the plane? No, the mechanic replied, he didn't know of any. But as the plane temporarily stabilized, he signed off on an optimistic note: "See you on the ground."
Flight 261 never made it to the ground. After a long, agonizing struggle with the lurching aircraft, punctuated by two loud noises, the twin-engine MD-83 hurtled toward the Pacific in a grim death spiral--"spinning," "corkscrewing" and "nose down," in the words of eyewitnesses. When the plane made its high-speed crash into the water 40 miles from Los Angeles, all 83 passengers and five crew members were apparently killed instantly.
In an all-too-familiar ritual, news reports quickly and poignantly filled out the lives that matched the names on the passenger list. The six Clemetsons were a bright-eyed young family: a doctor, his wife, two sons and two daughters. A single Seattle school, John Hay Elementary, lost four of its students.
Almost as disturbing as the lives lost was the question of whether the crash was avoidable. Alaska Airlines has a remarkable safety record, despite landing in some of the most hazardous conditions in the world. This was its first major accident in decades. But it is also facing possible fines for alleged maintenance violations, and it is the subject of a federal grand jury investigation. The crash comes at a time when federal officials have been getting tougher with airlines over alleged safety lapses--and becoming more willing to bring criminal charges. As investigators look into the causes of the crash, the stakes for Alaska Airlines could be sky high.
Flight 261 began its journey last Monday--from Puerto Vallarta, Mexico, to San Francisco and Seattle--with no apparent problems. The first hour and a half was smooth flying: at 3:55 p.m. the crew received routine clearance to remain at a cruising altitude of 31,000 ft. The first sign of trouble came 15 minutes later, when--according to the National Transportation Safety Board--the pilot reported that he was having "control difficulties" and that the plane had descended to 26,000 ft. Moments later, it was down to 23,700 ft.
Despite the 7,000-ft. plunge, the crew seemed to regain control. But moments later, they were reporting that the plane had a jammed stabilizer and that they were having "trouble maintaining altitude." When it was clear there were no circuit breakers to disable the stabilizer, the crew requested permission to make an emergency landing at Los Angeles International Airport. They told air controllers they wanted to remain over water as they prepared for landing.
The Flight 261 disaster aggravates questions that have been directed at Alaska Airlines. It is the subject of a federal investigation into alleged falsification of maintenance records in its Oakland, Calif., facility. The Federal Aviation Administration has proposed fining the airline $44,000 and revoking certification of several mechanics.