Back before the days of Nexrad on a GPS screen, controllers were usually the only resource for pilots of light airplanes without weather radar to avoid bad weather. Even though their screens were not optimized for showing weather, they could usually steer a pilot around the worst areas. Controllers have also been very helpful in pointing out conflicting traffic. Most of the time the traffic has been "no factor," but every once in a while I am very glad I got the alert from the controller.
The problem with all this wonderful help from controllers is that we can begin to rely on them too much. We can figure that as long as the controller has us on his screen, we don't need to watch for traffic as much, or we don't have to worry about the weather ahead, or it doesn't matter if we are not aware of restricted airspace up ahead. Murphy's Law states that just when we need the controller's help the most is when the controller will let us down. The problem is that we never know when the controller is not paying attention to us at that moment, or has decided that it is none of his business if we fly into a mountain or thunderstorm.
The accident in April 2006 that claimed the life of test pilot Scott Crossfield provides a chilling example of this. Crossfield had carefully checked the weather numerous times before departing Prattville, Alabama, en route to Manassas, Virginia. He knew thunderstorms were forecast, and mentioned to an acquaintance that he "might need to work his way around some weather, but it did not look serious." The only weather avoidance equipment in the 1960 Cessna 210 Crossfield was flying was a Stormscope.
As he was proceeding en route at 11,000 feet, a squall line of Level 5 to 6 (intense to extreme) echoes consistent with heavy precipitation supercell thunderstorms developed across his intended path. The controller Crossfield was talking to was aware of the storms, he knew other aircraft were avoiding the area, and he was only working one other airplane at the time, yet he never called Crossfield to warn him of the dangerous weather ahead. The NTSB reports he stated this was because "he felt that weather conditions displayed on his radarscope were unreliable," and that "pilots have a better idea of where adverse weather is and he expects them to inform him on what actions they need to take to avoid it."
Another striking example was covered in last month's Aftermath column by Peter Garrison. In October 2004 an air ambulance Learjet 35 departed Albuquerque at 3:15 p.m. with two pilots and two medical crewmembers. After a short leg to pick up an additional medical crewmember in El Paso, they flew to Manzanillo, Mexico, where they picked up the medical patient and one accompanying passenger. They departed Manzanillo at 8:40 p.m. and arrived at Brown Field Municipal Airport in San Diego, California, around 11:30 p.m., where they dropped off the patient and passenger.
As the crew prepared to depart for their home base, there were many indications of the fatigue they must have been experiencing after being awake for almost 18 hours and working an 11-hour duty day. Just after midnight, a crewmember filed an IFR flight plan back to Albuquerque with the San Diego Flight Service Station, but did not request any weather, the clearance or a clearance void time. As the crew prepared to depart, the cockpit voice recorder showed that the captain and copilot listened to the remarks portion of the ATIS, but did not listen to the weather information.
The NTSB report states that the copilot then attempted to contact "Brown Field Municipal Clearance," obviously unaware that the tower had been closed since 10 p.m. When he received no response, he attempted to contact Tijuana tower, located about five miles away, and San Diego FSS with no success. Finally the captain said, "All right, let's just do VFR," meaning that they would depart VFR and then pick up the IFR clearance in the air. They apparently did not consider using their cell phones or the satellite phone the airplane was equipped with to call FSS and get the clearance before they departed.
The crew decided to depart to the east on Runway 8 to avoid San Diego and the Class B airspace to the north and west of Brown Field. The problem is that to the east, the terrain rises over 3,000 feet within seven miles. With the last minute change to a VFR departure, there is no evidence the crew checked the terrain or consulted the instrument departure procedure, which requires a climbing left turn to 280 degrees to avoid the mountains to the east.
Once airborne, they contacted the Southern California Terminal Radar Approach Control controller, who gave them a transponder code and asked them to ident. He then told them to turn to a heading of 020 degrees, maintain VFR, and expect an IFR clearance above 5,000 feet msl. At that point the airplane was only 3.5 nm west of the mountains, and the NTSB report points out that "the heading issued by the controller resulted in a flight track that continued toward the mountains." A review of the controller's display data recording revealed that the controller's computer system issued both an aural and visual minimum safe altitude warning a few seconds later.
