History is replete with events in which individuals showed courage and bravery against odds that in all likelihood would end up in those individuals' deaths. The firefighters who rushed into the World Trade Center on September 11, 2001, or for that matter any first responder who risks his or her own safety to save another’s life. 

Knowing later that these kinds of people did not survive these events does not diminish our appreciation for their valor. On the contrary, it fills us with increased awe and respect, for in many of these instances, there are inevitable moments when those courageous participants surely had some inkling that the outcome was truly in doubt. Yet they acted anyway. Such was the case of the pilots of Alaska Airlines Flight 261.  

Alaska Airlines flight 261 crashed into the ocean off the coast of Santa Barbara California on January 31, 2000. This is an account of the very last minutes of the pilots' battle against an insurmountable challenge. 

Captain Ted Thompson, 53, and co-pilot William Tansky, 57, picked up their doomed aircraft on a sunny afternoon of on January 31 at Licensiado Gustavo Diaz Ordaz International Airport in Puerto Vallarta, Mexico. 

The crew was very experienced. Captain Thompson was a U.S. Air Force veteran, had been flying commercial airliners since 1982, and had amassed over 17,000 hours of flight time. First Officer Tansky, a Navy veteran, had 8,340 hours, of which 8,000 were in the MD-80.

There were no squawks (issues with the aircraft)in the aircraft logbook, and no advisories from the crew that had previosuly operated the plane. Aircraft number 963 was a Boeing (formerly McDonnell-Douglas) MD-83 - A descendant of the DC-9.  

These T-tailed airliners were a ubiquitous sight on airport ramps worldwide from the 1970s through the 1990s. 

On this day, three flight attendants and 83 passengers would join Captain Thompson and First Officer Tansky on the trip to Seattle-Tacoma, with an intermediate stop in San Francisco. Tansky would fly the first leg to San Francisco, and Thompson from SFO to Seattle.

There were no problems during the aircraft takeoff and initial climb. Tansky hand-flew the aircraft to 6,000 feet, then engaged the autopilot to ascend to a cruising altitude of 31,000 feet. Soon after engaging it, the autopilot was having difficulty keeping the airplane at its set speed and climb rate.  

Somewhere around 26,000 feet, flight 261 leveled off, and the aircraft's speed was slightly reduced. Shortly after, the MD-83 continued to climb. This caused a further reduction in the aircraft's speed.

As a result, the trim annunciator warning light illuminated at this point, and First Officer Tansky disengaged the autopilot. He most likely noticed that the plane required much more back pressure on the yoke than usual while climbing to altitude. Trying to trim that pressure out showed that the trim system was not working at all.

Once the MD-83 reached cruising altitude, the back pressure required on the yoke would have reduced thanks to the increased speed achieved in level flight as well as the ever-decreasing weight of the aircraft as the fuel was being burned.

In response to this problem, the pilots of flight 261 pulled out the Quick Reference Handbook (QRH), to run the Stabilizer Inoperative/Non-normal checklist. According to the QRH, if using the standby systems did not clear the problem, the pilots should not reengage the autopilot, as the autopilot would continue to use the malfunctioning motors to try to run the trim system. 

So for the next two hours, Tansky continued to fly the MD-83 manually, holding back pressure on the yolk to keep the plane level.

What the crew could not have known was that the problem with their aircraft was the failure of the mechanical components in the tail of the MD-83 called the jack screw assembly, part of the Stabilizer Trim System. The trim motors are attached to a gearbox, which is connected to a two-foot long acme screw that passes through an acme nut.

These motors cause the acme screw to turn, and as the threads of the screw rotate through the threads inside the nut, the screw moves up or down through the nut. The leading edge of the horizontal stabilizer moves up and down with it. This changes a planes angle of attack, and that causes the nose of the airplane to either point up or point down as commanded by the pilots.

The jack screw and acme nut were supposed to be maintained according to the aircraft manufacturer’s (Boeing/McDonnell Douglas) recommended schedule of greasing the nut and jack screw during the “C check,” a major inspection process done every 3,600 flight hours or 15 months (Whichever came first). 

The acme nut was to be inspected for wear every 30 months or 7,200 hours of flight time. Moving parts in contact with one another, no matter the strength of the alloys involved, will cause those parts to wear down. This regular maintenance was required to prevent exactly the kinds of wear that would cause the failure that occurred on the MD-83 operating flight 261. 

However, in the accident investigation, it was discovered that there was virtually no grease left on the jackscrew. The high tempo of operations at Alaska Airlines meant most MD-80s were exceeding 9,000 flight hours by their 30-month checks.

In addition, another more frequent greasing procedure took taking only an hour to perform when the manufacturer estimated it should take up to four hours. This meant that  certain steps in the greasing procedure were unaccounted for.

While the QRH would not have required the pilots of Flight 261 to divert and land immediately — the aircraft was still controllable under manual control — Thompson and Tansky were already discussing that option, as recorded in the last thirty minutes of audio from the Cockpit Voice

Recorder (CVR) onboard the aircraft. According to the CVR, Thompson and Tanksy had been working the problem themselves the entire flight, even enlisting the help of Alaska Air Maintenance in Seattle over a company radio frequency. 

The CVR (which only records thirty minutes of sound before going back to record over the previous recording to capture the latest thirty minutes), caught much of that conversation, starting as both the ground base and the pilots shared that they saw nothing amiss in the logs that would indicate a known problem with the aircraft they were flying. 

At 15:50 local time, Alaska Airlines Seattle Maintenance acknowledged the crew’s suggestion that they land their problematic aircraft in Los Angeles California (LAX) instead of proceeding to San Francisco. 

“Understand you’re requesting diversion to L A for this, uh, discrepancy…Is there a specific reason you prefer LA over San Francisco?” radioed Alaska Airlines maintenance to the crew of flight 261.

“Well, a lotta times it’s windy and rainy and wet in San Francisco,” Captain Thompson explained, “and it seemed to me that a dry runway ... where the wind is usually right down the runway, seemed a little more reasonable.”

“OK, and, uh… is this added fuel that you’re gonna have in LA gonna be a complication or an advantage?” 

“Well, the way I’m reading it, um, heavier airplanes land faster …”

This seemed like a rather basic piece of knowledge for a pilot to be explaining to an airlines maintenance base.

Now Alaska Air Dispatch in Seattle chimed in with the wind speed and direction in San Francisco, plus the altitudes and ceilings of the clouds.

“Two sixty one dispatch... current San Francisco weather, one eight zero at six, nine miles, few at fifteen hundred broken twenty-eight hundred overcast thirty-four hundred... uh, if, uh, you want to land at LA, of course, for safety reasons. We will tell you, though, that if we land in LA, we’ll be looking at probably an hour to an hour and a half [delay]. We have a major flow program going right now. That’s for ATC back in San Francisco.”

Thompson felt the pressure that Alaska Airlines was putting on him to continue to their destination:

“Well … Boy, you put me in a spot here, um…. I really didn’t want to hear about the flow being the reason you’re calling us, ‘cause I’m concerned about overflying suitable airports.”

Between Los Angeles and San Francisco, airports such as Santa Barbara or Santa Maria are far less useful to an aircraft in distress, because of shorter runways and emergency services that are not as robust. Plus, Alaska Airlines did not have personnel to aid the 83 passengers onboard flight 261 should they end up stranded in Los Angeles with a broken airplane.

“Well, we wanna do what’s safe, so if that’s what you feel is safe,” Seattle Dispatch tried to backpedal a bit. “We just wanna make sure you have all the info.”

“Yea, we kinda assumed that we had,” Captain Thompson insisted. “What’s the wind again there in San Francisco?”

“What runway they landing… one zero?” Tansky asked. “Ask him what runway they’re landing.” “And confirm they’re landing runway one zero.” Thompson passed on to Dispatch. “And see if the runways are dry or wet,” Tansky added.

Captain Thompson processed the wind information Dispatch had given him. “One eight zero at six... so that’s runway one six. What we need is runway one nine, and they’re not landing runway one nine.”

“I don’t think so,” Tansky said. “We might just ask if there’s a ground school instructor there available and discuss it with him... or a simulator instructor…Yea."

Just then, Seattle Dispatch called flight 261 to report the runways in use and wind conditions at San Francisco (SFO) and Los Angeles (LAX). Given the options, Captain Thompson was quick to determine the benefits of the weather at LAX weather and relayed that back to Dispatch.

When explaining his reason for diverting to LAX, Captain Thompson explained to dispatch “Versus a direct crosswind, which is effectively no change in groundspeed…I gotta tell you, when I look at it from a safety point, I think that something that lowers my groundspeed [referring to landing in a direct headwind at LAX as opposed to crosswind at SFO] makes sense.” 

“OK, two sixty-one, that’ll, uh, that’ll mean LAX then for you.”

Captain Thompson went on to state his intentions regarding making a diversion. “I suspect that’s what we’ll have to do. Ok, my plan is we’re gonna continue as if going to San Francisco … then begin our descent back into LAX, and at a lower altitude we will configure, and check the handling envelope before we proceed with the approach.”

“OK, two sixty-one, Dispatch copied that,” Seattle responded. “If you can now keep LA ops updated on your ETA, that would be great and I’ll be talking with them.”

Captain Thompson immediately pushed a few of those duties back onto Dispatch. “OK, well, if you’ll let them know we’re comin’, I think they’ll probably listen as we talk… We’re going to LAX, we’re gonna stay up here and burn a little more gas, get all our ducks in a row, and then we’ll be talking to LAX when we start down to go in there.”

Seattle Dispatch concurred, and Captain Thompson keyed the mic again. “OK. Break, LAX, do you read Alaska two six one?”

A woman’s voice from Alaska Air Operations in Los Angeles responded immediately. “Two sixty-one, I do copy. Do you have an ETA for me?”

“Yea, I’m gonna put it at about thirty, thirty-five minutes … the more fuel I burn off the better I am... but I wonder if you can compute our current CG [center of gravity] based on the information we had at takeoff for me.”

LAX Operations was having a little trouble understanding the broken transmission, as Flight 261 was still far south of the airport. Captain Thompson offered to call back when they were closer. But Operations threw in another logistical complication.

“Uh, two sixty-one, just be advised you’re an international arrival. We have to get landing rights. I don’t know how long that’s gonna take me ... but I have to clear it all through customs first.”

Thompson was polite, but clear in his response. “OK ... I remember this is complicated, yea. Well, better start on that now ‘cause we are comin’ to you.”

First Officer Tansky informed his captain they were now 94 miles from Los Angeles. He dialed up the ATIS (a frequency used at most major airports that makes automatic weather reports for pilots) frequency at LAX, which informed them all four runways were active for both ILS (instrument landing system) and visual approaches. At that time, the winds were still coming from 230 degrees (still a direct headwind).

As the captain, who had been hand-flying the jet for a while, handed the aircraft controls back to his copilot, the pilots took a moment to complain about the reaction from their airline on the ground.

“So he wanted us to go to San Fran initially?” Tansky asked.

“To keep the schedule alive. I mean, he had all the reasons to do it. I stated concern about overflying a suitable airport …”

Captain Thompson continued explaining his reasoning. “But I was listening. Then when he gives me the wind, the wind was a ninety degree cross at ten knots. Two eight and we’d be landing on—”

“And they are using [runway] One Nine?”

“I wrote it down there… the winds were one eighty at six. I don’t care. You know what? I expect him to figure all that sh*t. He’s got it on the screen.”

“That’s why I was thinking that an instructor would really cut through the crap there,” Tansky observed. “They not available?”

“Well, they just don’t talk to each other.”

“They’ve always told us they were available, you know, anytime you have a problem. If they get one down there.”

After the conversation, the pilots of flight 261 decided that it was time to try LAX operations again. Thompson asked for another update on San Francisco. There was no change.

“OK, thank you. That’s what I needed. We are comin’ in to see you.”

The two pilots then relayed the aircraft data to LAX Operations that they would need to recalculate their center of gravity and speeds for landing. 

Thompson read from the notes they had taken earlier, and Tansky handled the radio. There was a careful back and forth to make sure they had all of the data absolutely right.

It was imperative that the pilots maintain as accurate a landing speed as possible. Thompson and Tansky knew that landing an aircraft with controllability issues was going to be difficult. 

Having the latest weight and CG figures would allow them to configure the airplane and use precise approach and landing speeds to assure they would maneuver the aircraft within the safety envelope.  With the new data, the pilots estimated their landing speed in LAX.

“So … actually our landing speed will be one forty-eight plus… some additive, right?” “One forty-six… plus… worst case, twenty-four knots…”

Now Alaska Air Maintenance in Los Angeles reached out to Flight 261. “Are you the guys with the uh, horizontal situation? [referring to the problem with the MD-83’s horizontal stabilizers]”

“Affirmative.”

“Did you try the suitcase handles and the pickle switches, right?”

“Yea, we tried everything together, uh….”

The Stabilizer Trim System on the MD-83 can be operated in a few different ways: The “pickle switches” under the pilot’s thumb on the control yoke drive the primary electrical trim motor. Standby switches on the center cockpit pedestal between the two pilots activate the standby electrical motor. 

If there is a failure of both electrical trim motors, there is a sliding control next to the throttle quadrant, called “Suitcase Handles” because they vaguely resemble the handgrip on a piece of luggage. It can be slid forwards and backwards and will activate the main motor manually.

“We’ve run just about everything,” Capt. Thompson replied to LAX Maintenance. “If you’ve got any hidden circuit breakers, we’d love to know about ‘em.”

“I‘ll look at the circuit breaker guide just as a double check … I just wanted to know if you tried the pickle switches and the suitcase handles to see if it was moving … with any of the other switches …”

“Yea, we tried just about every iteration.”

Then Captain Thompson added another telling detail.

“… It spikes out when we use the primary. We get AC load [electrical current] that tells me the motor’s trying to run, but the brake won’t move it.”

The indication on the AC [electricity] meter showed a large increase in the electrical load when they tried to run the trim motors. This meant that electricity was flowing to the motors, and the motors were trying to move the assembly, a sign that there was most likely physical damage causing the trim assembly to jam. But what exactly that damage would be or how to mitigate it would have been beyond the scope of the pilots’ knowledge.

Thompson decided to try and fix this problem one more time by moving multiple trim controls simultaneously. He advised his copilot that doing so would also disengage the autopilot.

“Let’s do that,” staten Thompson, referring to the procedure they had just discussed. Then, in reference to the autopilot, he warned, “This’ll click it off.”

What the pilots of Alaska Airlines flight 261 were about to do was going to bring on consequences the crew could never have been prepared for.