Accident Probes

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.

Whenever Im around non-pilots and the subject of personal aviation comes up, the conversation inevitably turns to the skill set one needs to safely operate an aircraft. (Im sure this is nothing new and has happened to you.) My generic answer is something to the effect of if you can drive a stick-shift car, you can fly a fixed-wing airplane; the motor skill requirements are pretty much the same. Of course, thats not the end of it, especially if youve never driven a stick but have several thousand hours of flight time; in addition to the requisite motor skills, pilots also must be able to prioritize tasks, often performing one or more simultaneously. An example of the latter might involve maneuvering in a traffic pattern while conversing with ATC over the radio and changing the engines power setting, all at the same time. When the smoke clears, its not unlike downshifting, braking and turning a stick-shift car, all at the same time.

By the time this magazine hits your mailbox, winter will be full-on in most parts of North America. Even if you spend most or all of your time in a warmer climate, your weather will change, with cooler temperatures, more wind and the occasional low-lying clouds, with rain. In other parts of North America, youll likely experience the full range of winters offerings sooner or later this season. Good luck. Of course, winters colder temperatures and denser air mean enhanced aircraft performance, at least when compared to summers typical heat and humidity. But the season brings its own set of aircraft performance challenges, especially when it comes to precipitation. This time of year, moisture from the sky can come in many different forms, not all of it liquid. And an airplane doesnt have to be airborne to be affected; merely parking one outside in winter precipitation can have a major impact on flight operations.

Each year, the AOPA Air Safety Foundation (AOPA/ASF) releases its excellent Nall Report, a review of a previous years accidents and causes, taken from NTSB data. And each year when perusing the report, we find pilot-related accidents-as opposed to mechanicals or unknown causes-to lead the pack by an overwhelming margin. In 2006, the last year for which the AOPA/ASF has crunched the NTSB data, pilot-related causes comprised 73.8 percent of all accidents and a whopping 79.1 percent of fatals. In fact, from 1999 through 2006, inclusive, maneuvering has accounted for approximately 25 percent of all accidents in the U.S. The annual numbers vary, but never dip below 20 percent and too-frequently arch above 25 percent. Breaking down the numbers, we find maneuvering accidents as a whole-which AOPA/ASF says “often involve questionable pilot judgment, such as decisions to engage in buzzing, low passes, or other high-risk activities”-outpaced all other fatal accident causes in 2006, including weather and those occurring during the descent/approach flight phases.

My most recent night flight involved a relatively short hop across the Florida peninsula. It was one of those humid, heavy summer nights when remnants of the days thunderstorms were still about, forcing FLIB and airliner alike to seek alternate routes and taxing controllers who just wanted a calm evening. Still, I had a few things going for me: Training, currency, experience and the occasional cluster of ground lights denoting a small town. I filed IFR at 8000 feet for this short hop, because I didnt want to try doing it at a level low enough to stay VFR-legal (there are way too many cellphone towers out there these days), and climbing high enough to get above the buildups wasnt practical. It was yet another case where having the instrument rating to spend maybe 90 seconds punching in and out of billowing clouds during a 45-minute flight meant all the operational difference in the world.This was one of those nights where the natural horizon wasnt all that apparent, due to the moist, summer haze over south Florida extending up to my altitude, plus the number and size of the buildups. Although I could see each buildup, and navigate around or through them, the natural horizon wasnt consistently visible.

Almost 20 years ago, I rode coach from JFK to Osaka, Japan on a Northwest Airlines 747-400. Taking my time in deplaning, I managed to sneak a peek at its cockpit and chat briefly with the crew. I was astonished to learn the airplane weighed nearly 900,000 lbs at takeoff, close to or at its maximum gross, and burned almost half that weight in fuel before landing. I can presume the airplanes handling characteristics at takeoff versus landing. While transport pilots routinely operate at maximum weight, the rest of us rarely do. So, on our first gross-weight takeoff in, say, 10 years, the airplanes desire to roll farther and climb more slowly than were accustomed can be an eye-opener. Ive written previously in these pages about how my airplanes FAA-approved maximum gross weight is 250 pounds heavier than its manufacturer intended, thanks to wingtip fuel tanks installed pursuant to a supplemental type certificate (STC). That STC comes with various paperwork, but does not include revised performance charts showing expected takeoff or climb performance. From experience, I know a climb at the higher gross weight requires patience.

Some of the more memorable flights Ive made over the years involve flying over or through mountainous terrain. The terrain itself, of course, is visually interesting, with vivid colors and shapes, contrasting with the overwhelming monotony other geographic areas may present. I will long remember a late afternoon, eastbound flight over New Mexico, with some of my favorite music blasting over the headphones as I watched the terrain underneath change to its nocturnal state. I was overflying the terrain, though: The airplane performed as it always does at 13,000 feet msl. The weather was utterly benign, yet Im glad I was cruising instead of taking off or landing. On another occasion, I found myself looking at decent weather but strong winds aloft for a flight over other portions of New Mexico, plus Arizona and Nevada. I scrubbed that flight due to the forecast winds at altitude, which were at or above the airplanes stall speed.

We like our airplanes panel. Sure-theres a lot of stuff on the market today that simply wasnt available the last time we spent any real money at an avionics shop. But the existing equipment gets us where we want to go with very little drama. En route, George does most of the flying, while we follow along on the big-screen color moving map, then hand-fly whatever approach is appropriate, whether a visual, an ILS or something in between. We have stereo music supplied by an iPod or other device, headsets to match and a portable Garmin GPS navigator with Nexrad weather capability. We also carry a poor mans electronic flight bag-a Windows-based tablet computer-with approach procedures and other materials for pre-flight planning or airborne use. Itd be tough to get lost. It wasnt always that way: When we first bought the airplane, color moving maps were rare and one hadnt been installed in it yet, even though we had a second-generation GPS navigator, and there was no backup artificial horizon, like now. The flip-flop radios are new, also, as is the dual ILS capability. A couple of years after all that stuff was installed, a close friend asked, “How long did it take you to learn using this equipment?” That question took us back to the first flight with the moving map, which mostly included a series of jerky turns in various directions as we told the system different and competing combinations of things we wanted it to do while the autopilot tried to follow along. It was a “heads-down” flight: We paid much more attention to the toys than to the airplane and who/what was nearby. “Were still learning,” was the reply.