![The author asked himself: ‘Do I want to take this problem with me into the air or abort and figure this out on the ground?’ [Image: Joel Kimmel]](https://www.flyingmag.com/wp-content/uploads/2026/05/ILAFFT-e1779113468184.jpeg)
I was 17 years old, halfway through my private pilot training, and loving every minute of it. I would read the PHAK during my high school classes just for fun. I couldn’t get enough and still can’t.
It was time for my solo cross-country and my instructor and I planned for me to fly from Lincoln (KLHM) in Northern California to the towered airport in Chico (KCIC), over to Willows (KWLW) and back to Lincoln.
This was in a Piper Archer, still one of my favorite aircraft to this day. I felt excited, confident, and focused.
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My first leg to Chico was uneventful. I did a full stop and taxied back. Upon reaching the end of the runway for my departure to Willows, I called the tower and was cleared for takeoff with a turn to the southwest.
I lined up, advanced the throttle to full, and started picking up speed down the runway. Almost immediately, I could tell that something was definitely off. I checked rpm to find that it was not at full power and sputtering at least 400-500 rpm short of takeoff power. Although I had over 6,000 feet of runway remaining, my young pilot brain didn’t like the sight or feeling of picking up speed and losing available runway as my plane was assuredly not at full power.
In the moment, all I could think was, “Do I want to take this problem with me into the air or abort and figure this out on the ground?” Luckily, I decided on the latter. In just a few short seconds I decided to abort the takeoff and reduce power. I let the tower know I was vacating the runway.
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I had no idea what the problem was, but at the time, the only thing that came to mind was carb ice. This was a warm, if not hot, early summer day in California, and performance was already negatively affected. I knew carb ice can occur in conditions people don’t always expect. On the taxi back, I cycled the carb heat several times and paid close attention to how the engine responded.
I then did a proper, thorough run-up before attempting another takeoff. Watching rpm like a hawk and doing my best to feel for any vibrations out of the ordinary, I advanced the throttle for a second attempt. This takeoff was smooth as ever, and the rest of my cross-country ended successfully.
What I learned that day wasn’t about carburetor ice, or even engine troubleshooting. It was about decision making, preparation, and communication. Decisions can be made easier and faster if proper preparation takes place first.
A takeoff brief should include actions to take in an abnormal situation. Had I had explicitly briefed, “If I don’t have full power by X point, I will abort,” the choice to discontinue the takeoff would have already been made. I was lucky that the runway length gave me a few extra seconds to think. On a shorter runway, those seconds may not exist. I wonder how I would have responded if this occurred at the shorter, more narrow runways of Willows or Lincoln. Would I have been more tempted to take off regardless of my power issue?
I had also never communicated with a tower in an abnormal situation. There may have even been a moment where I thought, “I am allowed to abort a takeoff, aren’t I?” I think there was some initial reluctance to deviate from normal operations, but again, I decided that I didn’t feel comfortable taking a sputtering engine into the air with me, and I told the tower just that.
Discomfort with breaking the flow of operations is insignificant compared to discomfort with a questionable engine at 500 feet agl. The tower didn’t have a problem with an aborted takeoff at all. Since then, I’ve never hesitated to speak up when something doesn’t feel right, and the tower’s calm, straightforward response that day made it even easier to do so in the future. There was no pushback. No frustration. Just professionalism. I learned that controllers are partners in safety. Thank you, Chico tower.
In hindsight, the scenario had all the ingredients that can quietly nudge a pilot toward poor decision making—student solo at a towered airport, first cross-country flight away from home, a schedule to complete, and a subtle abnormal indication rather than a dramatic failure. After all, emergencies happen to everyone else, right? I could have rationalized that this wasn’t too much power loss, but in the end, it was power loss regardless of how much.
I am grateful that I learned these lessons the easy way and plan to act on what I learned so I never have to relearn them the hard way.
This column first appeared in the April Issue 969 of the FLYING print edition.
