Accident Probes

Unless our flights purpose is training or flying for recreation, were usually trying to get somewhere for a reason. Were on a mission, so to speak, and have the goal of getting from Point A to Point B as quickly and efficiently as possible. Unfortunately, we sometimes omit “as safely as possible” from that list. Its human nature to have a goal for most of our activities, something pilots often express in the form or a flight plan. Events, conditions or fate can conspire against our ability to meet those goals, however. Examples include mechanical, physiological or meteorological obstacles.

Whenever were in a single, and sometimes with twins, where wed land in event of engine failure should be a conscious thought. The usual answer is the nearest airport, something facilitated in personal aircraft several years ago by Loran navigators, and carried forward with their GPS-based successors. Having been there, done that, I know theres a wide range of emotions, thoughts and priorities going through a pilots mind when power production stops and theres an urgent need to land somewhere-anywhere!-right now.

The Cessna 150 I first soloed had a time-between-window-openings of about three hours. My instructor and I had suffered the event a couple of times on my way to soloing at-as luck would have it-about nine hours. Sure enough, as I lifted off the runway on my second touch-and-go, the window on the “far” side of the 150s “cabin” decided it was time I had some fresh air and noise. As if I needed another challenge. What I really needed was three hands: one for the yoke, one for the throttle and one to grab the window latch. Not capable of all three tasks, I climbed away from the runway to what I considered a safe altitude, loosened my death grip on the throttle, reached over, closed the window and latched it. After an otherwise uneventful circuit, I landed to pick up my instructor, who was still laughing. For all I know, he still is.

Learning to fly as I did in the relatively flat Eastern U.S., I never really had to deal much with windy, mountainous terrain until after I earned my instrument rating and started using a personal airplane for transportation. My most memorable encounter involved flogging a Skyhawk north out of Asheville, N.C., at 9000 feet. Improbably, I had a tailwind. All was well until passing Mt. Mitchell, the highest point in North Carolina. While I enjoyed the tailwind, I did not enjoy the mountain wave it generated. I soon found my relatively heavy 160-hp Skyhawk needed to be in a climb attitude with full power-which aint much-to maintain a descent rate of less than 300 fpm.

When it comes to botched landings, Ive certainly had my share. In perhaps my worst one, I vividly remember plonking a 182 down on a paved, beachside runway many moons ago. About halfway through a series of six or so times the airplanes nosewheel contacted the runway, I managed to inform my passengers, “This is the worst landing Ive ever made.” Lucky them. Still, we survived the ordeal, and were able to fly the airplane home later that day.

If pilots engage in many cross-country flights during their careers, theyll often find themselves landing at a destination airport and then departing shortly thereafter. The landing may be to pick up a passenger, to refuel, to take a potty break or for any number of other reasons. As we gain experience, we also develop familiarity with the aircraft and with various aspects of the pre-flight ritual. One of these aspects is getting a weather briefing for the next leg, something were often tempted to short-circuit. After all, we just flew through that weather and landed here-how much could it have changed while we were in the head? The temptation during a quick turn like this is to pay the fuel bill, check the fuel caps security, light the fire and push on to the next stop without doing much else. We just climbed out of a perfectly good airplane. What could go wrong?

Years ago, when I was still just a student trying to figure out a Cessna 150, I managed to convince a CFI to sign me off for soloing a Cherokee 140. It was bigger, had a low wing (not that theres anything wrong with that) and four seats. At the time, it seemed like a 727. At this point in my training, I also had been signed off for solo flights to and from a couple of nearby non-towered airports.Soon, I decided to go fly the thing around the local area. Hearing this, the FBO asked me to visit one of those nearby airports to drop off some small items. I willingly agreed, loaded the stuff and launched uneventfully. Soon, as I cruised toward my destination, it dawned on me: I had never landed a 727/Cherokee 140 by myself. Since Im still around to write about it, its obvious it all worked out. I remembered my training, ran the checklist and spent most of my time in the pattern ensuring the airplane was ready to land. Would that we all paid as much attention to readying the airplane to land as we do simply moving various switches and levers.

Its been a while, so Ive forgotten plenty of things I learned when earning my multi-engine rating several years ago. As one result, Id be dangerous until and unless I obtained some remedial instruction in a conventional twin. Meanwhile, I have enough experience with night operations, complex airplanes and flying into unfamiliar airports to know I would not approach such an undertaking lightly, and wouldnt even consider it in a twin without a competent-in-type pilot sitting beside me, preferably in the left seat.

These pages often explore the differences between flying during the day and at night. Weve also been repeat offenders when it comes to emphasizing recent experience with a proposed operation and cautioning about allowing a four- or five-digit number of flight hours cloud our judgment. Despite our wishes to the contrary, its all too frequent when a single event highlights all three of these accident-causing factors. At night, of course, the eye can play various tricks on us. These include false depth perception and autokinesis, where a stationary light appears to move. But even more universal and insidious is our frequent inability to discern the natural horizon at night. Put another way, when flying over remote, unlighted areas, the lack of a natural horizon can make VFR flight problematic at best, and hazardous at worst.

Way back when I was training for the instrument rating, I was enraptured by the entire concept of operating an aircraft without visual reference to the world outside. Part of that love affair-which continues today-had to do with the elaborate rules and procedures designed both to keep the airplane and its occupants out of the weeds while ensuring everyone associated with its operation knew what to expect. For the average VFR-only pilot contemplating the instrument rating, theres a lot to learn-and by no means do I know it all-but theres also a very clear philosophy behind it. Once the underlying rules are understood, the actual flying often is easier than doing the same trip VFR.