I’ll start with a confession: I have never ditched an airplane. I don’t have any plans to ditch an airplane. So what follows is theoretical, which may not always be the best way to fly. But pilots like to be prepared for whatever might happen, so some theory is important.
Aviation Safety ran an article, “Ten Myths About Ditching,” in 2002, and others since then, which contains a lot of information worth studying. It concluded that ditchings are generally survivable; that high-wing airplanes do slightly better than low-wings; that an airplane won’t nose over and become a submarine; many open-ocean ditchings are survivable; data doesn’t favor landing gear-up to landing gear-down; the airplane will probably float; ditching doesn’t take extraordinary skill; survival equipment might not be needed; multi-engine airplanes ditch; and a helicopter probably won’t sink like a stone.
Will I Have To?
The first consideration in ditching is to decide if you might have to, and to plan the flight to avoid situations in which you may. This is another example of thinking, “Never put an aircraft someplace your brain hasn’t been to first.”
In one 2002 example, a Cessna 175 ditched in the Great Salt Lake after the engine failed while cruising at 5600 feet msl. The current elevation of lake (it’s changing rapidly) is 4200 feet msl, so the airplane was about 1400 feet above the water. A rough guess at the 175’s glide ratio is 9:1, so with no wind, the airplane could glide a little over two miles until it hit the water. Staying within two miles of shore might have prevented the ditching, but this is one of those cases where the pilot really stacked the deck against a favorable outcome: no medical, no BFR, and the airplane’s last annual inspection had been nine years earlier. The pilot and one passenger suffered minor injuries; another passenger was uninjured.
The rumor I heard through the Salt Lake Flight Standards District Office was that they spent the night on the wing of the floating airplane; it’s hard to know how to react to a rumor. But notice: the airplane floated.
Prevention Is the Best Cure
In another example, I was a contract second pilot on a King Air. The King Air is certified for one pilot, but the passengers wanted two, which got me a day’s pay. Often, a contract second pilot’s job is to shut up, make good radio calls and be snappy with the baggage, so I wasn’t sure what to say as we approached Lake Michigan. I finally spoke up and asked if we had a plan. Plan?
Lake Michigan is about 70 nautical miles wide at its widest. The King Air has excellent glide performance with gear and flaps up and both engines feathered, about 12:1, so it needs about three miles or 18,000 feet of altitude to glide the 36 miles to shore. But if the goal is to get to an inland airport, you might be more comfortable looking for 48 miles of glide, which requires four miles or 24,000 feet of descent. The plan might be to cruise at FL250 or higher.
- READ MORE: What to Put in an Airplane’s Emergency Kit
I have crossed Lake Michigan in a single-engine airplane. It wouldn’t glide that far or go that high, but I picked the narrowest spot I could find and got flight following. That didn’t eliminate the risk of ditching but did cut down on the time one spends beyond gliding distance to land. It’s also important to know which way the wind is blowing at altitude, and maybe staying as high as you can as long as you can until letting down into, say, nearby Oshkosh.
Water or Mud?
Not all “land” is created equal, and you might not want to “ditch” on the spot you glided to. One of the standard VFR routes into Salt Lake City International from the north goes along the east shoreline of the Great Salt Lake, often at altitudes like 1000 feet msl. Great, right? The problem here is that a lot of the east shore of the lake is a kind of muddy ooze, not a hard-packed beach or flat agricultural field. I imagine that landing in mud is like flying into a brick wall; the airplane could stop quite suddenly.
In some regions, islands might also be a problem. In many cases there is no real beach or shoreline, so the ability to glide there might have you landing in the water next to an unclimbable cliff face. If you can’t get to shore, is that any different from landing in open water?
If you do manage to land successfully on an island, you may find it difficult to get to the mainland. A helicopter might be able to land there, that is, if you are within range of one and its pilot or crew is willing to make a long overwater flight.
South Florida can pose some unique ditching considerations. When flying the Florida Keys, it’s relatively easy to find a route and altitude that keeps you within gliding range of something resembling terra firma. From the air, the small islands look like one could ditch next to a beach and wade ashore, and then hit 911 on their cellphone for a ride home. The Everglades may not look inviting from the air, but there are some high and relatively dry spots along with the sink holes. And all kinds of critters.
What to Do?
The Aeronautical Information Manual (AIM) discusses water landings in Paragraph 6-3-3, Ditching Procedures. It lists three factors for successful ditching: sea conditions and wind, type of aircraft, and pilot skill.
A lot of the pilot skill in a ditching involves understanding sea conditions, that is, how the sea is behaving. There may be a swell, a train of waves following a certain pattern. This is easy to see from many elevated places along the Pacific coast, but may be hard to observe on the water or a beach. The AIM says that, when possible, the ditching heading should be parallel to the swell, which might mean a crosswind landing. If the swell and the wind are aligned, the AIM also recommends that airplanes with slow landing speeds land into the wind and avoid hitting the face of the swell. In any case, touch down at the lowest possible airspeed and sink rate with a nose-high attitude. You should read the whole discussion.
The situation is intrinsically confusing. I’m still looking for a chance to add a seaplane rating to my certificate, which would provide instruction on and practice with reading the water. Perhaps some boating experience would help, too.
Other Ideas
Many pilot operating handbooks (POHs) have a ditching procedure as either an abnormal (Section 4, if published after 1975) or emergency (Section 3) procedure. Some of these are quite precise: for one Cessna single, the procedure is to establish a 300 fpm descent at 55 knots. That takes power; fly at 65 knots (flaps up) or 60 knots (10 degrees of flaps) if there is no power.
The power-off speeds have a higher descent rate, but there is no published minimum sink speed, so do what the POH says. There is some margin above stall speed, so you should be able to reduce the descent rate while flaring. The POH also suggests opening a window to allow water pressure to equalize, and putting something soft in front of your face.
Helicopters are a different matter. One two-seat helicopter POH suggests coming to a hover just above the water, having the passenger get out, and then flying a short distance away before touching down to prevent helicopter pieces from hitting the swimming passenger.
The Cirrus POH has the most succinct instructions of all: pull the CAPS parachute handle.
Does Ditching Total the Aircraft?
Yeah, pretty much. There may be some exceptions, though.
I used to own a Jantar single-seat glider. It didn’t have a POH but there were “operating instructions” that covered the POH material. They included a procedure for restoring the glider to flyable condition after a water landing.
The glider had minimal electrics. Something with more sensitive systems might require a more complex procedure than the old trick of putting your wet cellphone into a bag of rice. It might be too much to make the effort worthwhile.
If you find yourself in this situation at least track down the maintenance manuals to see if there is a similar procedure. The simpler the aircraft, the more likely it can be returned to service. Most likely there isn’t, but it’s definitely worth taking a look.
On the other hand, the airplane already let you down once. Do you really want to give it another opportunity?
The Rest of the Pilatus Story
The PC-12NGX turboprop ditching shown in the main image resulted from fuel starvation about halfway through a ferry flight from California to Hawaii. While en route at FL280, the crew attempted to transfer fuel from a ferry tank to the mains. The engine flamed out and the crew was unable to obtain a restart. Descending out of 8000 feet msl, they abandoned restart attempts and focused on ditching.
According to the NTSB, “After preparing the survival gear, donning life vests, and making mayday calls on VHF 121.5, the PIC performed a full-flaps, gear-up landing at an angle to the sea swells and into the wind. He estimated that the swells were 5 to 10 ft high with crests 20 feet apart. During the landing, the PIC held back elevator pressure for as long as possible and the airplane landed upright. The pilots evacuated through the right over-wing exit and boarded the six-person covered life raft. A photograph of the airplane revealed that the bottom of the rudder was substantially damaged. The airplane remained afloat after ditching.
“The pilots used a satellite phone to communicate with Oakland Center. The United States Coast Guard (USCG) coordinated a rescue mission with a nearby oil tanker, the M/V Ariel, for rescue of the crew. According to the pilots, during the night, many rescue attempts were made by the M/V Ariel; however, the ship was too fast for them to grab lines and the seas were too rough. After a night of high seas, the M/V Ariel attempted rescue again; however, they were unsuccessful. That afternoon, a container ship in the area, the M/V Horizon Reliance, successfully maneuvered slowly to the raft, then the ship’s crew shot rope cannons that propelled lines to the raft, and they were able to assist the pilots onboard. They had been in the raft for about 22 hours. The airplane was lost at sea.”
Editor’s note: This article first appeared in Aviation Safety magazine.
