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CTV News
a day ago
- General
- CTV News
‘It's a piece of aviation history': Gimli Glider cockpit makes return trip to Manitoba
Retired pilot Robert Pearson stands in front of the cockpit of the former Boeing 767 aircraft he landed safely in Gimli in 1983. Here he is on Friday June 27, 2025. (Joseph Bernacki/CTV News Winnipeg) After a 7,000-kilometre journey from a southern California scrapyard, a part of a plane that was made famous 43 years ago was reunited with the captain that flew it. 'This was my office. I flew this airplane quite a few times and as a matter of fact, I was the last one to use it,' said retired captain, Robert Pearson with a smile. The cockpit from the former Boeing 767 aircraft known as the Gimli Glider was recently recovered and brought back to Manitoba. 'It's great that this has been salvaged by the museum in Gimli,' Pearson said. 'It's a piece of aviation history.' Gimli Glider cockpit control panel A portion of the original side control panel of the Gimli Glider cockpit is still intact. Here it is on Friday June 27, 2025. (Joseph Bernacki/CTV News Winnipeg) Back on July 23, 1983, Pearson safely landed the plane on a decommissioned airstrip in Gimli, Man., a lakeside community about 100 kilometres north of Winnipeg. All 69 people on board, who were flying with Air Canada from Montreal to Edmonton, survived the emergency landing. The plane glided to a stop after it malfunctioned in the air and lost fuel. 'Touching down was good. A gentleman came up to me, he put his hand on my shoulder. He said, 'Captain, that was some feat,'' Pearson said. The whole plane went up for auction years ago, but didn't sell, so it was parted out. The cockpit stayed intact, though it has been collecting dust since 2008 at the Mojave Air and Space Port in Mojave, Calif. The Gimli Glider exhibit volunteers had their eye on it since 2017. They raised funds and thanks to a generous donor, it's now on its way to Gimli to be displayed alongside other memorabilia. 'An American businessman spoke to the owners and said, 'You need to understand how important this museum is,'' said Barbara Gluck, president of the Gimli Glider exhibit. 'Can you cut your price on the cockpit so that they can afford it and get it back for Canadian history?' Volunteers like Peter Grant met the truck driver on Friday afternoon at the border to see it come through. 'Holy mackerel! As soon as I saw the truck coming through the border and I saw the cockpit, my heart started to beat,' Grant said. Gimli Glider volunteers Left to right; Gwen Harp, Robert Pearson, Glen Hooper, Barbara Gluck and Peter Grant worked together to bring the cockpit of the original Gimli Glider home to Manitoba. Here they are together on Friday June 27, 2025. (Joseph Bernacki/CTV News Winnipeg) He said the cockpit will be refurbished and put on display in the coming months. He noted he still can't fathom what it took for Pearson to safely land the plane. 'A lot of people don't realize the wizardry that Bob Pearson had to have to fly a plane like that with no fuel, no engines,' Grant said. 'All he had was up, down, left, right and he flew the plane for 100 miles with nothing.' It was all in a days' work, according to a humble Pearson. 'My job was to take off and land an airplane full of passengers and I'm really pleased I could do my job that day,' Pearson said.
Daily Maverick
19-05-2025
- Science
- Daily Maverick
150 years ago, the Metre Convention determined how we measure the world — a radical initiative for the time
150 years ago, the world agreed to a shared language of measurement. It still holds us together, even when everything else seems to pull us apart. On May 20, 1875, delegates from a group of 17 countries gathered in Paris to sign what may be the most overlooked yet globally influential treaty in history: the Metre Convention. At a time when different countries (and even different cities defined weights and lengths based on local artefacts, royal body parts or grains of wheat, this rare agreement among nations offered something simple yet undeniably impactful: consistency. A radical initiative for its time, the Metre Convention ultimately birthed a system of measurement that would transcend language, politics and tradition, and lay the foundation for a new global era of scientific and technological advancement. A world divided by measurement By the mid-19th century, the push for standardisation had become increasingly urgent. Scientific discovery was accelerating, global trade was booming and industrial projects were growing in scale and complexity. But the world's measurements were, frankly, a mess. France had introduced the metric system during its revolutionary years, but other nations were slow — or outright unwilling — to adopt it. Rivalries simmered not just among empires, but within the scientific community itself. Astronomers couldn't compare celestial observations across borders because their units didn't match. Engineers designing railway systems across Europe had to navigate conflicting standards for track gauges, load weights and even timekeeping. This wasn't just inefficient. It was a barrier to progress, a strain on economies and a growing source of frustration or a scientific world that aimed to speak in universal truths. Faced with growing societal demands, the industrial world agreed it was time to act. The Metre Convention was the result. Scientists and diplomats representing the 17 participating countries collectively established the Bureau International des Poids et Mesures (BIPM), headquartered just outside Paris, as the official keeper of measurement standards. Today, the BIPM is backed by 64 member states and governs the Système International d'Unités (SI), the measurement framework that underpins everything from bridges to smartphones. When standards fail And while by today's standards, the SI may seem like a relic of old-school science bureaucracy, it's anything but. Standardised measurement is the invisible infrastructure of the modern world. And when it fails, or more specifically when we ignore it, the consequences can be severe. Take the Gimli Glider incident: In 1983, an Air Canada flight from Montréal to Edmonton ran out of fuel midway through its journey. The cause was a miscalculation caused by confusion between metric and imperial units; the ground crew had used pounds instead of kilograms to measure fuel, and the pilots didn't catch the error. The plane lost power at 41,000 feet (around 12,500 metres for those who prefer their near-death experiences in metric), and glided safely to an abandoned airstrip in Gimli, Man., and to the annals of history as a symbol of what happens when we take standards for granted. Or consider the Mars Climate Orbiter, a US$327 million NASA spacecraft that disintegrated upon entering Mars' atmosphere in 1999. Engineers at Lockheed Martin had used imperial units, while NASA had assumed metric. The mismatch led to a critical navigation error and the failure of the mission, highlighting the importance of consistency in measurement, even far beyond the confines of Earth's atmosphere. The Gimli Glider and Mars Orbiter failures show what happens when consistency breaks down, but they're more than just cautionary tales. They reveal how much of modern life depends on the shared language of measurement, and how easily that foundation can be cracked. And therein lies the genius of the Metre Convention. It created a system that allows the world to communicate in the same terms. When someone says 'kilogram,' 'second' or 'volt,' there is no ambiguity. That shared understanding is what makes global collaboration possible. From man-made objects to universal constants For much of its post-Metre Convention history, the kilogram was defined by a physical artefact — a hunk of platinum-iridium alloy stored in a vault in France. But in 2019, that changed. Now, the kilogram is defined by Planck's constant, a fundamental feature of the universe. The shift marked the final step in a long journey: every base unit in the SI is now rooted in nature rather than arbitrary human artefacts. That change wasn't just symbolic, it was necessary. Our ability to measure time, mass and distance with extreme precision affects nearly every aspect of modern life. GPS signals rely on time measurements accurate to the billionth of a second. Quantum computers and particle accelerators require calibration on mind-bendingly small scales. Even weather forecasting depends on standardised measurements of pressure, temperature and humidity. Shared standards in a divided world But perhaps the most underrated legacy of the Metre Convention is its role in building trust across borders. At a time when misinformation spreads quickly and even basic facts are contested, international standards offer a shared foundation that scientists, governments and industries can rely on. It's a form of global co-operation that has quietly endured for 150 years. That co-operation becomes particularly apparent in moments of political strain. Although the United States appears uncompromising in its commitment to feet and inches, American scientists, engineers and manufacturers rely heavily on the metric system, especially when collaborating across borders. As tensions rise between close allies like the US and Canada, metric standards remain a consistent point of harmony. The two countries may spar diplomatically, but when it comes to assembling a car in Windsor with parts made in Detroit, the bolts still fit. Looking ahead Still, like all institutions, BIPM and the SI reflect the times in which they were created. The original signatories were almost exclusively colonial powers. It took almost a century for other nations to gain an equal seat at the table, and even now, access to the tools and infrastructure that facilitate precision metrology — the act of taking extremely accurate measurements — remains unequal. If the next 150 years of the Metre Convention are to be as successful as the first, greater inclusivity and accessibility will need to be central to its mission. We live in a world held together by decimals, tolerances and agreed-upon constants that keep planes in the air, bridges from collapsing and scientific progress on track. The Metre Convention reminds us that science isn't only about big breakthroughs and bold ideas. Sometimes it's about consensus and agreeing, together, on what a metre actually is. And even after 150 years, the simple idea of agreeing how to measure the world remains one of humanity's greatest achievements. So, what should we do with this anniversary? Maybe throw a party with metric-themed cocktails (may I suggest a 100ml Old Fashioned?). At the very least, we should take a moment to reflect on just how essential, and how easy to overlook, measurement really is. DM
Yahoo
10-03-2025
- Yahoo
What happens when a plane runs out of fuel, including how long it can glide for
It recently emerged that Tui plane came within 20 minutes of running out of fuel. What would have happened, if it had? In December 2023, the Boeing 737, carrying 300 passengers, was forced to declare a mayday emergency during Storm Gerrit when its fuel reserves dropped below the legal limits. The Tui aircraft, which took off from Cancún in Mexico, was due to land at Manchester Airport but after encountering gusts of up to 53mph was diverted to East Midlands Airport. It was then forced to make a second diversion to Birmingham Airport, where it joined a queue of seven planes waiting to land. A report published in mid-February by the AAIB found that by the time it landed, it only had 1.2 tonnes of kerosene in the tank, below the legal minimum of 1.9 tonnes. Brian Smith, a commercial pilot with decades of experience flying Boeing planes, says this scenario is one of every pilot's worst nightmares. 'Apart from some murderous hijacker or terrorist, only three things will create a lasting adrenalin rush in the cockpit: a fire that will not extinguish in the cabin or hold, being uncertain of position in bad weather near terrain, or, indeed, running out of fuel.' Here, Smith reveals how pilots prepare for this eventuality, and the steps they take if the fuel tank runs dangerously close to empty. 'Airlines issue flight crew with a comprehensive 'Flight Plan' for the journey. It is very detailed and as a bare minimum includes the route, weights of the aircraft and payload, and weather at destination and along the route. 'Crucially, it also shows how much fuel will be needed for the flight. However, it is the commander's responsibility to ensure sufficient fuel is loaded for all conceivable contingencies. 'The fuel plan consists of four stages: Taxi, Trip, Contingency (typically 5 per cent of the trip), and Alternate fuels. A fully loaded 747 Jumbo could have as much as 170 tons of fuel on board. The figures are generally extremely accurate. The commander has discretion to add fuel as he sees fit, according to weather conditions and perhaps some issue at an airport that could cause a delay, like the arrival of VIPs, for example. 'In a majority of cases, contingency will cover any small additional fuel burn, but bad weather forecasts should result in the commander carrying more fuel, just in case.' 'Alternate fuel, required to fly a missed approach and divert to the selected alternate airport, includes 'Final Reserve'; an amount sufficient to fly above an airport for 30 minutes at about 1,500 feet. This amount of fuel is critical and when fuel quantity is approaching it, things get very tense.' 'Pilots are actually forbidden to land with less than Final Reserve, except in the most extreme of cases. If they anticipate landing with less than Final Reserve, the crew must declare 'MAYDAY FUEL' to receive immediate priority to land.' 'Aircraft have run out of fuel, but thankfully only rarely. The two most infamous cases are the 'Gimli Glider' – Air Canada 143, in July 1983 – and the 'Azores Glider' – Air Transat 236, which occurred in August 2001. 'The first was caused by human error during the refuelling, combined with some technical faults and poor company procedures, resulting in only 45 per cent of the required fuel load being carried. The captain, an experienced glider pilot, landed the 767 on a disused runway, on a former Air Force Base, then being used as a race track. 'Air Transat 236 ran out of fuel over the Atlantic due to a mishandled fuel leak following the fitting of an incorrect part to the hydraulic system. The Captain, also experienced in gliding, landed at Lajes, in the Azores. In both cases, all on board survived.' 'Since the engines cannot be restarted in these cases, the only option is to immediately turn towards a suitable runway or strip of concrete, and plan the ensuing glide.' 'Inside the cabin the noise of the engines would have stopped and it would become eerily quiet. 'The engines no longer generate any electrical power, so the lights may go out or dim. Flight instruments will, in most cases, be reduced to the captain's side only, and only be available for a limited time, typically 30 minutes.' 'An airliner can glide for about 100 miles from cruise altitude, which should offer a choice of airports unless over the ocean or wilderness. 'Big aircraft actually glide rather well, considering, and we do practice it in the simulator. The outcome is generally very good.' 'I'm pleased to say I've never encountered a fuel emergency: they tend to be more likely when weather conditions are deteriorating rapidly over a wide area, forcing multiple aircraft to divert at the same time, and when airports are closing or reaching capacity. It's worth pointing out just how good Air Traffic Control usually is in these cases, especially in the UK.' 'Airlines go to great lengths to train us to handle emergencies and to develop personal resilience. Manufacturers have also spent millions, and countless hours, perfecting emergency drills and procedures, that, when allied with the high redundancy and reliability of systems on board, give considerable confidence that a safe outcome will be the end result of an in-flight emergency.' Broaden your horizons with award-winning British journalism. Try The Telegraph free for 1 month with unlimited access to our award-winning website, exclusive app, money-saving offers and more.
