My first for-real IFR flight after earning my instrument rating involved flogging a Skyhawk from the DC area to Asheville, N.C. It was at night, over the Appalachian Mountains, along V222, in IMC. The headwinds were stiff enough that I was obliged to stop into Hickory, N.C., for fuel and a bathroom.
Refreshed, with an empty bladder and full tanks, we lifted off into a pitch-black sky. We literally saw nothing until maneuvering for the approach into KAVL. I was younger then and considered myself bulletproof. And not without some reason: I was painfully current on instruments, knew the route well and had confidence in the airplane, which I’d flown a good bit before this trip.
On the ground in Hickory and away from my passenger, one of the FBO staff looked me up and down, and then said, “Night, IFR, over the mountains, in a single?” I shrugged and may have mumbled something about the airplane not knowing it was a lousy night to be trying to go somewhere, or that there were mountains underneath its flight path.
All of which was true, but also irrelevant. If the little Lycoming in that Skyhawk had decided at some point to take a vacation, I would have had my hands full. The situation quite likely would not have had a favorable outcome. Among other things, this was well before GPS and avionics with “nearest” buttons, much less moving maps. I would have depended on ATC for advice on the nearest airport or Interstate highway, at least until I drifted down below radio and radar coverage.
Of course, it turned out that the Lycoming didn’t hiccup and even got us back home a couple of days later without any drama. But I had put myself in one of the riskiest situations possible.
Would I do that now? Maybe, if the trip was important enough. I might alter the routing a bit to stay over lower terrain and/or closer to possible divert fields. A second engine would have been nice, too. Ultimately, I’d probably rejigger things to fly the trip in daylight, even if in IMC.
Today, from the lofty perch of this magazine’s editor-in-chief, it’s easy to point at that flight as an example of what not to do. You, gentle reader, might take to heart the admonition, but you might not. You might think, “Well, he flew over mountains in IMC at night and survived Why can’t I?” And that’s a perfectly good question.
The answer is that you can do the same thing, right up until you can’t. It could be the weather worsening or deciding to press on without stopping for fuel. It could be an engine or electrical failure. It could be something else entirely.
With all that in mind, let’s explore a similar flight’s outcome and how it confirms some of our worst fears.
Background
On September 14, 2022, at about 2300 Eastern time, a 1979 Piper PA-32-300 Cherokee Six was destroyed when it impacted wooded terrain about 15 miles southwest of the Charlottesville-Albemarle Airport (KCHO) in Charlottesville, Virginia. The solo private pilot (male, 30) was fatally injured.
The airplane was in cruise flight at 7500 feet msl when the pilot reported a rough-running engine, followed by a total loss of engine power. The pilot was attempting to glide to KCHO.
Four days earlier, the pilot had diverted uneventfully to Martinsville, Virginia, due to weather. He purchased 72 gallons of fuel, left his airplane there and flew home to Pennsylvania on a commercial flight. The pilot returned to Martinsville on the day of the accident to relocate the airplane back to Pennsylvania.
Investigation
A debris path about 100 feet long was observed, extending on a 060-degree magnetic course, consisting of trees severed at a downward angle of about 45 degrees. The airplane came to rest upright, oriented on a magnetic heading of 240 degrees. The cockpit and cabin were consumed by fire.
The airplane’s logbooks were not recovered and were presumed destroyed during the post-crash fire. However, the maintenance facility that completed the most recent annual inspection on August 1, 2022, was able to provide copies of their work order and logbook endorsements for that inspection. At that time, the airframe had accumulated a total time of 5125 hours; the engine had flown 1250 hours since it was factory-remanufactured.
Flight control cable continuity was established from the cockpit to each of the respective control surfaces, except for a separation in each of the rudder cables, consistent with impact forces. The propeller remained attached to the engine. Both propeller blades remained in the hub. One blade appeared straight and undamaged. The other blade was bent aft about 90 degrees. The spinner was crushed on one side. The fuel selector valve exhibited thermal damage and was positioned to the left main fuel tank.
The crankshaft could not be rotated by hand. Removing the rear accessory case housing revealed fragments of the connecting rod caps on top of the oil sump baffling. Removal of the oil sump revealed about one quart of oil remained, along with additional metal fragments. No oil was observed on the ramp at the departure airport and no oil streaks were observed on the airplane, but the post-impact fire consumed a majority of the airframe.
The lower oil cooler return line was found loose with no safety wire installed before removal from the engine. However, no evidence of oil leakage was observed on the line.
Four cylinders could not be removed from the engine case, but the #1 and #2 cylinders were removed and their respective connecting rods remained intact. At engine teardown, the remaining four connecting rods were found fractured. The crankshaft remained intact.
The connecting rods for cylinders #3 through #6 had separated from the crankshaft but remained attached to their respective pistons. Their connecting rod journals were blackened, scored, melted and missing base metal. All oil feed areas from the main journals to the connecting rod journals were free of obstructions.
The non-instrument-rated private pilot had flown a total of 134 hours, with 28 in Cherokee Sixes. He was current, with 41 hours flown in the last 90 days, and 15 in the previous month.
Probable Cause
The NTSB determined the probable cause(s) of this accident to include: “A catastrophic engine failure due to oil starvation, which resulted in a total loss of engine power at night over mountainous terrain.” The NTSB’s final report added, “Due to fire and impact damage, the investigation could not determine the reason for the oil starvation/loss that ultimately resulted in the loss of engine power.”
How can we prevent outcomes like this? One response can’t be definitively answered because we don’t why or how the engine lost its oil. We obviously can fly in daytime instead of at night, allowing us to better pick an off-airport landing spot. More altitude would have helped, too. But the best way to prevent engine failures over inhospitable territory is to not fly over inhospitable territory. Choosing a different route over lower terrain with more airports would have increased the likelihood of gliding to a runway after the engine quit.
