Learning Experiences

In 1984, after some 15 years flying mostly single-engine Cessnas and a Mooney 231, I bought a three-year-old Cessna 340 to handle my increasing number of business trips. I had noticed the 340’s autopilot did not always engage properly; the button was a little sticky and sometimes I had to push it pretty hard to get it to work. One business trip had me in Princeton, N.J., on a day with a low overcast. During the meeting, I kept looking out the window at the sky as the ceiling lowered below my comfort minimums.

I am a newly certified private pilot with 100 hours in a Cessna 172 Skyhawk. My Learning Experience took place March 3, 2013, on a relatively short flight from New Hudson, Mich., to Flushing, also in Michigan. Looking back, I should have immediately recognized the telltale signs of an electrical problem, but didn’t. The first sign of trouble came shortly after takeoff when the number 2 comm radio failed. I copied the frequencies down and transferred them to the number 1 radio, then turned it off.

This is a story of a trip with two surprises, one with ATC and one with the airplane. Both resulted in momentary confusion, but they taught me two important lessons

At approximately 1245 Central time, the airplane was substantially damaged during a forced landing. The solo pilot was not injured. Visual conditions prevailed. The airplane had undergone maintenance on its fuel system and was being ferried to Midland, Texas. While cruising at 8500 feet msl, the pilot switched fuel tanks and subsequently lost fuel pressure. The pilot attempted to restore fuel pressure but was not successful. During the ensuing forced landing on a road, the right…

The mission was a relatively short weekend hop for my Comanche 250. Prior to departing, I called Flight Service, learned it would be a beautiful VFR day and filed an IFR flight plan. My two passengers, one of whom was taking her first flight in a personal aircraft, and I departed on schedule and had an uneventful flight. Until we prepared to land. Nearing the destination, I was vectored to the downwind for a visual approach to the towered airport and began performing a GUMP check before landing. I pushed the toggle switch to lower the gear but nothing happened. I checked the circuit breakers. They were all okay. I hit the toggle again—and nothing happened again. I told the tower the landing gear did not come down and we would fly straight-out and lower the gear manually. They asked if I wanted to declare an emergency. I replied, “Not at present.”

It was a beautiful July afternoon in Illinois. I was flying a Piper Arrow at 8500 feet msl, with no worries in the world. Weather was CAVU, and the outside-air temperature about 70 degrees F at this altitude. Yet, I noticed the engine’s rpm would not stay where I set it. Airspeed also decreased accordingly. In response and mildly annoyed, I kept pushing up the power. It didn’t help. I also tried tightening the throttle quadrant’s friction lock, but that didn’t help, either.Meanwhile, I was safe, still flying, and able stay at altitude and airspeed with throttle control. Then, the “Red Flag” popped up, and the lightbulb in my brain came on! Induction blockage! Mr. Piper’s Arrow is powered by a fuel-injected Lycoming engine. We’ve all been told one of the advantages of fuel injection is eliminating the possibility of carburetor ice. But just because an airframe/engine combination doesn’t have a carburetor doesn’t mean it can’t suffer an induction-system blockage.

Only afterward did I get the shakes, probably as the adrenaline flow subsided and my metabolism returned to normal. The event in question involved a partial engine failure, at altitude, within sight of some long, beautiful runways.

It promised to be a fun afternoon. I had recently gotten checked out in my flying club’s T210 Centurion, so I grabbed a non-club pilot friend and went flying. We were going to visit some local airports and chase down $100 hamburgers while I got used to flying this beast without an instructor.

A pilot launching for Hawaii proves the first few moments of any heavy or overweight takeoff are critical.

With 200 hours and my VFR-only private ticket, I felt confident about the day’s flight. I was taking off at 0500 with the small airport at Uvalde, Texas, as my destination. Weather and everything else looked pretty good for the 1.5-hour hop, with scattered clouds and a higher broken layer above.