The pilot was 3,000 feet over the Amazon, flying a small propeller plane on his maiden assignment for wildcat miners deep in the forest, when the lone engine cut out.

He took a deep breath and scanned the vast emerald green canopy below. He had about five minutes, he calculated, to bring down the plane and its highly flammable cargo: 160 gallons of diesel fuel.

He reported his imminent crash over a portable radio to whoever might be listening, noting that he was about halfway to his destination, a mine known as California.

Then, as his plane barrelled down, the pilot, Antônio Sena aimed for a small valley lined with palm trees.

“There!” he recalled thinking. “Palm trees mean there is water, perhaps a river.”

Since becoming a pilot nine years earlier, Sena had heard countless stories about fatal crashes. But while his plane scraped a few trees and then smashed into the ground, Sena realised something exhilarating as he rolled to a halt: He had survived.

He grabbed a pocketknife, a flashlight, a couple of lighters and a phone with little juice in the battery and scrambled away from the aircraft. Moments later, it burst into flames. Then he settled down to wait for his rescue.

It was a long wait.

At first, Sena recounted in a phone interview last week, he camped out next to remains of the 48-year-old Cessna 210L, figuring it was his best chance of being spotted. And search pilots did, in fact, circle the area for several days — and then kept going.

“They flew right over but couldn’t see me,” Sena said.

He waved and screamed each time he heard the thud of propellers but to no avail.

Giving up his hopes of being rescued near the wreckage, Sena embarked on what turned out to be a 17-mile trek through the rainforest, home to jaguars, venomous insects and anacondas.

Thirty-six days later, on March 6, he emerged to tell a story that has transfixed Brazilians — a rare piece of uplifting news for a nation badly in need of it after a year of being battered by the COVID-19 crisis.

His account, though, also put a spotlight on Brazil’s illegal mining industry, which has flourished in recent decades in Indigenous territories and other parts of the Amazon that are supposed to be sanctuaries. The illegal mine where he was headed is in the Maicuru reserve, where no human activities are allowed beyond those meant to protect the forest.

Sena’s ordeal began Jan. 28 at a small airstrip in Pará state. His task, he said, was to ferry diesel fuel for miners in a remote region where they had built a makeshift landing strip.

It was work he took only reluctantly, he said. Flying gigs had become scarce during the pandemic, and a small bar he ran in his native city, Santarém, was providing little income.

“I had to let go of my own standards to try to support myself through this tough period,” he said, noting the working conditions were very unsafe. “I would never fly for wildcat mining again.”

After his plane crashed, when it became clear that help was not going to come from the sky, Sena, 36, started walking.

He turned on his dying phone one final time to launch a geolocation app and then, looking at the map, decided to head in the direction of the Paru River, some 60 miles away. It was the closest area he knew to be inhabited.

For days, Sena walked only in the morning, using the sun’s position to head eastward toward the river. After slogging through swamps and ducking under vines for hours, he would stop in the afternoon to set up a campsite, using palm trees and branches to shelter him from the rain.

Sena knew that predators usually hunt near the water, where prey is abundant. So he slept on hills. But he was frequently besieged by packs of spider monkeys, which tried to destroy his precarious shelters.

“They are very territorial,” he said. “I never want to cross their path again.”

The monkeys, however, were a godsend. After watching them eat a small, bright pink fruit called breu, Sena assumed it was safe for human consumption, and it became his main source of sustenance. Besides that, he ate three small blue eggs from inambu birds, and little else.

One afternoon about four weeks after the crash, when he had gone three days without eating, a buzzing noise stopped him in his tracks.&nbsp;Chain saw!

Sena was thrilled, almost euphoric, he said, but decided it was wisest to stop there for the night. He feared he might get lost trying to locate the source of the sound as night fell.

“God, make them use this chain saw again,” he remembered praying before lying down to sleep.

The next morning, he heard it again, but only briefly. So he kept walking east, his sights set on the river. That afternoon, he saw a tarpaulin and then a man cracking nuts besides it.

Sena had stumbled into the campsite of Brazil nut collectors.

The group, led by Maria Jorge dos Santos Tavares, 67, had not collected nuts in that part of the rainforest for three years.

But Santos Tavares’ husband died in the pandemic, and as the family mourned, their debts grew. Under mounting financial pressure, they began searching deeper into the forest for nuts.

By the time Santos Tavares encountered Sena, he had lost 55 pounds. So even before using the radio to call her daughter Mirian, who lives in a town, and asking her to contact the pilot’s mother, she fed him and gave him shelter.

After delivering Sena to a police helicopter, Santos Tavares returned to the forest, where she intends to spend the next month collecting nuts.

Reflecting on his ordeal, Sena said he walked away with a newfound appreciation for the rainforest, which is being razed every day by the illegal miners he briefly worked for.

“If I had fallen somewhere in a deserted plantation site, I wouldn’t have water, shelter, or what to eat,” he said. “The Amazon is so rich.”

The pilot was 3,000 feet over the Amazon, flying a small propeller plane on his maiden assignment for wildcat miners deep in the forest, when the lone engine cut out.

The pilot was 3,000 feet over the Amazon, flying a small propeller plane on his maiden assignment for wildcat miners deep in the forest, when the lone engine cut out. He took a deep breath and scanned the vast emerald green canopy below. He had about five minutes, he calculated, to bring down the plane and its highly flammable cargo: 160 gallons of diesel fuel. He reported his imminent crash over a portable radio to whoever might be listening, noting that he was about halfway to his destination, a mine known as California. Then, as his plane barrelled down, the pilot, Antônio Sena aimed for a small valley lined with palm trees. “There!” he recalled thinking. “Palm trees mean there is water, perhaps a river.” Since becoming a pilot nine years earlier, Sena had heard countless stories about fatal crashes. But while his plane scraped a few trees and then smashed into the ground, Sena realised something exhilarating as he rolled to a halt: He had survived. He grabbed a pocketknife, a flashlight, a couple of lighters and a phone with little juice in the battery and scrambled away from the aircraft. Moments later, it burst into flames. Then he settled down to wait for his rescue. It was a long wait. At first, Sena recounted in a phone interview last week, he camped out next to remains of the 48-year-old Cessna 210L, figuring it was his best chance of being spotted. And search pilots did, in fact, circle the area for several days — and then kept going. “They flew right over but couldn’t see me,” Sena said. He waved and screamed each time he heard the thud of propellers but to no avail. Giving up his hopes of being rescued near the wreckage, Sena embarked on what turned out to be a 17-mile trek through the rainforest, home to jaguars, venomous insects and anacondas. Thirty-six days later, on March 6, he emerged to tell a story that has transfixed Brazilians — a rare piece of uplifting news for a nation badly in need of it after a year of being battered by the COVID-19 crisis. His account, though, also put a spotlight on Brazil’s illegal mining industry, which has flourished in recent decades in Indigenous territories and other parts of the Amazon that are supposed to be sanctuaries. The illegal mine where he was headed is in the Maicuru reserve, where no human activities are allowed beyond those meant to protect the forest. Sena’s ordeal began Jan. 28 at a small airstrip in Pará state. His task, he said, was to ferry diesel fuel for miners in a remote region where they had built a makeshift landing strip. It was work he took only reluctantly, he said. Flying gigs had become scarce during the pandemic, and a small bar he ran in his native city, Santarém, was providing little income. “I had to let go of my own standards to try to support myself through this tough period,” he said, noting the working conditions were very unsafe. “I would never fly for wildcat mining again.” After his plane crashed, when it became clear that help was not going to come from the sky, Sena, 36, started walking. He turned on his dying phone one final time to launch a geolocation app and then, looking at the map, decided to head in the direction of the Paru River, some 60 miles away. It was the closest area he knew to be inhabited. For days, Sena walked only in the morning, using the sun’s position to head eastward toward the river. After slogging through swamps and ducking under vines for hours, he would stop in the afternoon to set up a campsite, using palm trees and branches to shelter him from the rain. Sena knew that predators usually hunt near the water, where prey is abundant. So he slept on hills. But he was frequently besieged by packs of spider monkeys, which tried to destroy his precarious shelters. “They are very territorial,” he said. “I never want to cross their path again.” The monkeys, however, were a godsend. After watching them eat a small, bright pink fruit called breu, Sena assumed it was safe for human consumption, and it became his main source of sustenance. Besides that, he ate three small blue eggs from inambu birds, and little else. One afternoon about four weeks after the crash, when he had gone three days without eating, a buzzing noise stopped him in his tracks. Chain saw! Sena was thrilled, almost euphoric, he said, but decided it was wisest to stop there for the night. He feared he might get lost trying to locate the source of the sound as night fell. “God, make them use this chain saw again,” he remembered praying before lying down to sleep. The next morning, he heard it again, but only briefly. So he kept walking east, his sights set on the river. That afternoon, he saw a tarpaulin and then a man cracking nuts besides it. Sena had stumbled into the campsite of Brazil nut collectors. The group, led by Maria Jorge dos Santos Tavares, 67, had not collected nuts in that part of the rainforest for three years. But Santos Tavares’ husband died in the pandemic, and as the family mourned, their debts grew. Under mounting financial pressure, they began searching deeper into the forest for nuts. By the time Santos Tavares encountered Sena, he had lost 55 pounds. So even before using the radio to call her daughter Mirian, who lives in a town, and asking her to contact the pilot’s mother, she fed him and gave him shelter. After delivering Sena to a police helicopter, Santos Tavares returned to the forest, where she intends to spend the next month collecting nuts. Reflecting on his ordeal, Sena said he walked away with a newfound appreciation for the rainforest, which is being razed every day by the illegal miners he briefly worked for. “If I had fallen somewhere in a deserted plantation site, I wouldn’t have water, shelter, or what to eat,” he said. “The Amazon is so rich.”

His plane crashed in the Amazon. Then came the hard part.

<a href="Boeing 737MAX 8 jets stands idle at the company's delivery centre, just south of Seattle. It's one of an estimated four hundred 737MAX's stored in Seattle, many in a Boeing employee parking lot, as well as at airfields across the country.">Boeing</a>&nbsp;had hoped that the Federal Aviation Administration would re-certify the aircraft, grounded after two deadly crashes, by the end of the year. With a heavy order book, they kept producing the plane, albeit at a lower rate than before.

But when it became clear that re-certification and the lifting of the grounding order could still be months away,&nbsp;Boeing&nbsp;announced they would stop&nbsp;production&nbsp;sometime in January, with 12,000 workers employed producing the aircraft being re-deployed to other&nbsp;<a href="https://www.wionews.com/opinions/wion-edit-the-fall-of-brand-boeing-268899">Boeing</a>&nbsp;manufacturing plants.

The news that no&nbsp;employees&nbsp;will be laid off when the&nbsp;production&nbsp;lines stops in January was welcomed by Jon Holden, President of the trade union representing factory floor workers.

"I think it was the right decision&nbsp;Boeing&nbsp;made, to maintain our workforce during this temporary&nbsp;production&nbsp;stoppage. The reality is that it's important to maintain our workforce so that when the grounding is lifted, we're able to ramp up&nbsp;production, build a safe aircraft, meet the needs of the customers with the&nbsp;737MAX&nbsp;going forward," Holden said on Wednesday (December 18).

For workers on the&nbsp;737MAX&nbsp;production&nbsp;line at the Boeing&nbsp;Renton plant, the news came as a relief just before the Christmas holiday, but aviation analyst Scott Hamilton says the announcement of no lay-offs came with a caveat.

"Well, there's obviously still uncertainty because what&nbsp;Boeing&nbsp;said was they aren't going to furlough, quote, "at this time", unquote. So how long does that mean?" said Hamilton, adding "Obviously,&nbsp;Boeing&nbsp;maintaining the employee payroll at this point, before the holiday, is a real relief and committing to pay the bonuses that were earned, is a real relief to the&nbsp;employees&nbsp;but what does the end of "at this time" look like? We just don't know."

For the many small aerospace component manufacturers who supply parts for the&nbsp;737MAX, the immediate future is less certain. Its been reported that&nbsp;Boeing&nbsp;has not contacted them as&nbsp;yet, with details of the&nbsp;production&nbsp;stoppage.

WATCH: Gravitas: The Downfall Of Boeing

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&nbsp;

Thousands of other jobs are dependent upon&nbsp;Boeing&nbsp;737MAX&nbsp;contracts, as Scott Hamilton describes, "You have a supply chain outside Boeing&nbsp;that is going to be affected. We're still trying to understand what that effect is going to be. There haven't been any public announcement by&nbsp;Boeing. There have been some stories reported that they're going to try to keep some&nbsp;suppliers whole, if you will, or at least sustainable. Other&nbsp;suppliers, we just don't know."

And it won't just be manufacturing that might be affected if the&nbsp;production&nbsp;shutdown lasts very long, or if jobs in the component sector are furloughed. The local economy is heavily reliant upon wages paid by&nbsp;Boeing&nbsp;and its parts'&nbsp;suppliers.

For now&nbsp;Boeing's <a href="https://www.wionews.com/opinions/boeings-crisis-management-all-wrong-heres-what-a-company-needs-to-do-to-restore-the-publics-trust-205702">workers</a> are still clocking in at the Renton plant, but their union representative says the nine months since the&nbsp;737MAX&nbsp;was grounded has been hard on them.

"Our members care deeply about the work they perform, and they perform it in a fashion to build a safe aircraft. They are proud of the work they do. They are proud of the aircraft that they build, and it certainly has caused a lot of anxiety over these last several months," said Holden.

As&nbsp;<a href="https://www.wionews.com/business-economy/sales-of-grounded-boeing-737-max-gather-pace-at-dubai-airshow-263161">737MAX</a>'s await re-certification and delivery to the airlines that ordered them, Scott Hamilton believes that the impact of the&nbsp;production&nbsp;shutdown could be felt much more widely than just in the Seattle region if it goes on beyond a few weeks.

"I think you're looking at two to three months, would be my forecast. If it goes on to six months, boy, you're going to see&nbsp;employees&nbsp;furloughed without pay. You're going to see a ripple effect down through the supply chain. You're going to see a ripple effect through the US economy."

For now these multi-million dollar aircraft stand idle, mothballed in a parking lot while their fate is being decided by aviation regulators in the United States and around the world.

Boeing had hoped that the Federal Aviation Administration would re-certify the aircraft, grounded after two deadly crashes, by the end of the year. With a heavy order book, they kept producing the plane, albeit at a lower rate than before.

Boeing had hoped that the Federal Aviation Administration would re-certify the aircraft, grounded after two deadly crashes, by the end of the year. With a heavy order book, they kept producing the plane, albeit at a lower rate than before. But when it became clear that re-certification and the lifting of the grounding order could still be months away, Boeing announced they would stop production sometime in January, with 12,000 workers employed producing the aircraft being re-deployed to other Boeing manufacturing plants. The news that no employees will be laid off when the production lines stops in January was welcomed by Jon Holden, President of the trade union representing factory floor workers. "I think it was the right decision Boeing made, to maintain our workforce during this temporary production stoppage. The reality is that it's important to maintain our workforce so that when the grounding is lifted, we're able to ramp up production, build a safe aircraft, meet the needs of the customers with the 737MAX going forward," Holden said on Wednesday (December 18). For workers on the 737MAX production line at the Boeing Renton plant, the news came as a relief just before the Christmas holiday, but aviation analyst Scott Hamilton says the announcement of no lay-offs came with a caveat. "Well, there's obviously still uncertainty because what Boeing said was they aren't going to furlough, quote, "at this time", unquote. So how long does that mean?" said Hamilton, adding "Obviously, Boeing maintaining the employee payroll at this point, before the holiday, is a real relief and committing to pay the bonuses that were earned, is a real relief to the employees but what does the end of "at this time" look like? We just don't know." For the many small aerospace component manufacturers who supply parts for the 737MAX, the immediate future is less certain. Its been reported that Boeing has not contacted them as yet, with details of the production stoppage. WATCH: Gravitas: The Downfall Of Boeing × Thousands of other jobs are dependent upon Boeing 737MAX contracts, as Scott Hamilton describes, "You have a supply chain outside Boeing that is going to be affected. We're still trying to understand what that effect is going to be. There haven't been any public announcement by Boeing. There have been some stories reported that they're going to try to keep some suppliers whole, if you will, or at least sustainable. Other suppliers, we just don't know." And it won't just be manufacturing that might be affected if the production shutdown lasts very long, or if jobs in the component sector are furloughed. The local economy is heavily reliant upon wages paid by Boeing and its parts' suppliers. For now Boeing's workers are still clocking in at the Renton plant, but their union representative says the nine months since the 737MAX was grounded has been hard on them. "Our members care deeply about the work they perform, and they perform it in a fashion to build a safe aircraft. They are proud of the work they do. They are proud of the aircraft that they build, and it certainly has caused a lot of anxiety over these last several months," said Holden. As 737MAX's await re-certification and delivery to the airlines that ordered them, Scott Hamilton believes that the impact of the production shutdown could be felt much more widely than just in the Seattle region if it goes on beyond a few weeks. "I think you're looking at two to three months, would be my forecast. If it goes on to six months, boy, you're going to see employees furloughed without pay. You're going to see a ripple effect down through the supply chain. You're going to see a ripple effect through the US economy." For now these multi-million dollar aircraft stand idle, mothballed in a parking lot while their fate is being decided by aviation regulators in the United States and around the world.

Boeing supplier employees anxious as company halts 737 Max production

Three international flights, carrying hundreds of passengers, had a narrow escape from a mid-air collision in the Delhi flight information region on Sunday after multiple auto-generated warnings by&nbsp;the Air Traffic Control (ATC), according to reports.

The pilots of the three flights will be summoned by the Aircraft Accident Incident Bureau (AAIB), sources in the bureau told news agency ANI.

The three foreign airlines - Dutch carrier KLM, Taiwan's Eva Air, and US-based National Airlines - were flying at almost the same level which is a clear violation of mandatory separation.

The US National Airlines from Afghanistan to Hong Kong was flying at 31,000 feet, the Amsterdam-Bangkok EVA Air plane at 32,000 feet and Vienna-bound Dutch KLM at 33,000 feet.

As per the Directorate General of Civil Aviation's Aircraft (Investigation of Accidents and Incidents) Rules 2017, the AAIB is empowered to summon the pilots of foreign airlines for investigation.

These rules "extend to the whole of India and apply to, and to the persons on, aircraft registered outside India," the DGCA rules say, adding that the rules also apply to an aircraft operated by a person who is not a citizen of India but has his principal place of business or permanent residence of India.

Sources in AAIB said that the bureau has the power to call pilots of any foreign airlines in serious cases through International Civil Aviation Organisation, an international aviation body.

Three international flights, carrying hundreds of passengers, had a narrow escape from a mid-air collision in the Delhi flight information region on Sunday after multiple auto-generated warnings by the Air Traffic Control (ATC), according to reports.

Three international flights, carrying hundreds of passengers, had a narrow escape from a mid-air collision in the Delhi flight information region on Sunday after multiple auto-generated warnings by the Air Traffic Control (ATC), according to reports. The pilots of the three flights will be summoned by the Aircraft Accident Incident Bureau (AAIB), sources in the bureau told news agency ANI. The three foreign airlines - Dutch carrier KLM, Taiwan's Eva Air, and US-based National Airlines - were flying at almost the same level which is a clear violation of mandatory separation. The US National Airlines from Afghanistan to Hong Kong was flying at 31,000 feet, the Amsterdam-Bangkok EVA Air plane at 32,000 feet and Vienna-bound Dutch KLM at 33,000 feet. As per the Directorate General of Civil Aviation's Aircraft (Investigation of Accidents and Incidents) Rules 2017, the AAIB is empowered to summon the pilots of foreign airlines for investigation. These rules "extend to the whole of India and apply to, and to the persons on, aircraft registered outside India," the DGCA rules say, adding that the rules also apply to an aircraft operated by a person who is not a citizen of India but has his principal place of business or permanent residence of India. Sources in AAIB said that the bureau has the power to call pilots of any foreign airlines in serious cases through International Civil Aviation Organisation, an international aviation body.

Mid-air collision of 3 international flights averted, AAIB to summon pilots