A check of the manifold pressure confirmed the turbocharger was no longer providing the usual 30 inches of power. Instead, the gauge showed around 19 inches, which was what a normally aspirated engine should produce at that altitude. Suspecting a problem with the turbo system, pilot Josh Harnagel theorized an intake hose had come loose and feared an unplanned maintenance stop would interrupt the trip.

“I was somewhat frustrated and annoyed by the situation, but not overly concerned,” Harnagel said in a July interview.

Harnagel decided to head for Meridian, Mississippi (KMEI), anticipating a quick repair and a short delay in the business trip. At the time, he had just more than 2,500 hours of flight experience. He is a commercial pilot and a CFI. He learned to fly from his father, who owned a World War II trainer and taught him aerobatics, tailwheel, and lots of basic “stick-and-rudder” skills. Harnagel also knew the airplane well, having completed Bonanza type-specific training, including engine failure simulations. He also knew the maintenance history and was sure the airplane was well maintained.

• READ MORE: The Wisdom of Flying Tight Traffic Patterns

“Although I knew there was a possibility that the problem could be serious, I was confident this was probably a minor issue because there were no indications otherwise,” Harnagel said.

He began descending so the engine would (in theory) produce more power, when a routine scan of the engine gauges revealed zero oil pressure. “There was an immediate spike in my stress level as I realized the engine was likely to quit very soon,” he said.

Harnagel checked for nearby airports and changed the intended destination to Newton, Mississippi (M23). Suddenly, the engine began to shake violently as it entered its final convulsions, having dumped all the oil overboard.

“It seemed the engine was going to shake itself off the airplane,” he recalled. “I quickly shut the engine down by closing the throttle and turning off the fuel and mags, but the wild vibration continued for a bit before the engine finally seized completely. The vibration was so intense, I noticed screws falling out of the panel.”

With residual oil spilling onto the hot exhaust, there was a plume of gray smoke and the smell of burning oil, so Harnagel knew there was a possible engine fire. He began an emergency descent to hopefully decrease the likelihood of combustion. Realizing there was no fuel or ignition available, so the probability of engine fire was low, he resumed a “best glide” descent. However, the altitude lost in the emergency descent meant the Newton airport was no longer an option.

“I looked around and accepted that I would soon be landing somewhere other than on a runway,” he said

Noticing what appeared to be a suitable open field, he set up a spiraling approach while he communicated his situation to ATC. He had previously declared an emergency, so ATC was trying to give him a phone number to call. With everything going on, Harnagel wisely ignored this and returned to focus on flying the power-off approach to a field that now seemed somewhat short for the Bonanza. Flying the circling approach toward the tree line surrounding a cow pasture, he heard the “chirp” of the stall warning.

“[I told myself,] don’t stall! Don’t stall!” he said. “I waited to decide on whether to drop the landing gear or not until I could get a better idea of the surface conditions.”

With the field seeming firm and not too rough, he selected “gear down” on short final. The airplane’s touchdown was surprisingly soft, and it rolled rapidly over the uneven terrain before coming to a stop just before the row of trees at the end. Quickly exiting the airplane, Harnagel and his passengers began to reflect on what had happened. Subsequent inspection would reveal the failure of the turbocharger with the resulting loss of oil leading to a catastrophic failure and destruction of the engine.

• READ MORE: Least-Routine Float Landing Ever

Another pilot flying a Piper Cub in August 2017 had a different experience. Jason Archer was giving a lesson to a new student on a beautiful day in Massachusetts when the engine simply expired. No warning, no vibration, just a sudden quiet. Just before, the two had been enjoying the scenery and the simple pleasure of flying low and slow over the hills and forests.

At the time of the accident, Archer had been flying for about eight years, accumulating more than 4,000 hours with more than 2,500 hours of instruction given. He was flying almost daily in Cub-type airplanes, teaching basic skills to a variety of students.

Archer took the flight controls from the student and quickly ran through the short list of possible fixes. Switch tanks, carb heat “on,” ignition on “both.” No change, no power.

“I quickly went through [thinking] ‘this doesn’t make sense,’ to ‘I can fix this,’ to ‘I need to fly the airplane,’” Archer said.

Archer also remembers hearing the voices of his flight instructors saying, “Don’t panic. Fly the airplane. Work the problem.” He told me that was weird, but it helped keep him focused.

“I didn’t have much altitude, and there were no good options available, with a carpet of forest broken only by tiny fields, too small even for the Cub,” he said.

He briefly considered a lake but quickly rejected the option, knowing the airplane would likely flip over, making escape impossible. Archer remembered hearing that a landing into trees could work if done properly, and with no other viable options, he committed to putting the gliding, yellow Cub into the oncoming row of trees.

“I remember having this strange kind of intense focus where things seemed to happen really slowly,” he said. “I felt like I was in complete control of this event, even though thinking I had no control over the outcome.”

Maintaining a speed just above a stall, he flared at the last moment before seeing and hearing the crash of branches as the airplane came to a quick stop, 10 feet off the ground in a cherry tree. In the ensuing silence, he confirmed that both he and his passenger were OK. Help arrived soon in the form of a landowner with a ladder. Both shaken occupants freed themselves from the wreck and climbed to the ground.

Both Harnagel and Archer remembered feeling a flood of emotion afterward with many thoughts: “Did this really just happen?” “What did I do wrong?” and “What could I have done differently?” In Archer’s case, the engine had suffered a broken crankshaft gear that immediately stopped power output.

As I listened to both Harnagel and Archer tell their stories at EAA AirVenture this past summer, I couldn’t help but think back to my own experiences with similar events, including a couple of engine failures and one memorable flat spin. Over many thousands of hours and years of aviation experience, it seems inevitable that some bad things will happen. Do this long enough and there will be some bad days. I’ve often wondered about why some such events lead to destruction while others result in remarkable success. What can we learn? Are there survival skills to be passed along to help the next pilot who encounters similar in-flight emergencies?

So, after a bit of discussion and reflection, here are my thoughts.

First, as Archilochus said more than 2,500 years ago, “We do not rise to the level of our expectations. We fall to the level of our training.” This certainly rings true. Both Harnagel and Archer were able to perform in the face of significant danger, ignore the onrush of emotion, and focus on doing the next right thing. We tell pilots to think logically about the choices available, but in reality, given the fear and stress that come rushing in whenever we face the possibility of disaster, this is not easy. Again, through training, practice, and experience, we can improve the chances for success.

• READ MORE: Off Airport Landings Are Risky Business

Both pilots had the foundational skills needed to keep the airplane under control and fly it all the way to a stop while protecting themselves and their passengers, despite the fear and emotion that naturally accompanies such events. Only through proper and regular training can we depend on our abilities rather than simply hope for the best. It also illustrates the importance of proper training in basic aircraft control. The ability to fly the airplane instinctively, manage the energy, and visualize the resulting flight path is critical. Unfortunately, many instructors do not teach this, and many pilots never learn how to do it. On the day when they are required to call on those abilities, often they come up short.

There is another related aspect to this, which is to simply refuse to quit. One of the deadly hazardous attitudes for pilots is resignation. It is easy to just give up when the situation seems hopeless or overwhelming, but that mental strength to just keep trying, while pushing aside the emotional rush, allows us to have the best chance for success. Another consideration in all such events is the role of luck. As Laurence Gonzales writes in his excellent book Deep Survival: Who Lives, Who Dies, and Why, you can do everything right and still die.

So, perhaps we should give some thought to the types of flying we choose to conduct. Maybe flying at night or in low IMC in a single-engine airplane is something we might avoid. For others, the risk is acceptable with proper equipment and mitigation strategies. We all accept that there is inherent risk in our aviation activities, knowing sometimes events conspire against us. When that time comes, I hope, like Josh Harnagel and Jason Archer, you rise to the challenge and have a great story—and outcome—to share.

Editor’s Note: This story originally appeared in the November/December 2023 issue of Plane & Pilot magazine. You can hear more of Harnagle’s account on ILAFFT episode 66. 

The post A Tale of Two Engine Failures appeared first on Plane & Pilot Magazine.

On April 26, 2022, at approximately 11:12 a.m. ET, while in level VFR flight at 2,000 agl and cruising over the nondescript Ohio landscape, 2,000-hour-plus pilot Marc Epner experienced the unthinkable in his Cirrus SR22, N973SD—a total engine failure.

Cue the sweaty palms.

What makes this event unique is the fact that the Cirrus Airframe Parachute System, affectionately referred to as CAPS, was intentionally, albeit not consciously, not activated as Epner recalls. “The brain told me what to do,” he says. “I knew exactly what to do and reacted accordingly.” This included establishing the best glide speed, picking out a suitable landing area, a restart attempt, sending out a Mayday call on Guard—121.5—and successfully landing the airplane. Elapsed time from engine failure to safe landing: 1 minute, 36 seconds.

While the timing of the event had a positive outcome—10 minutes later and the failure would have occurred over a populated Cleveland, which would likely have necessitated the need to activate the CAPS with unknown results—Epner never doubted the need to declare an emergency to ATC. In fact, it can be said that if you are questioning whether you must declare an emergency, in all likelihood, you should. Once the “startle effect” at the outset of the engine failure subsided, previous scenario training kicked in with laser focus, allowing for Epner’s successful landing. (For more information on the startle effect, see the article “Scrubbing the Flight” in the September 2023 issue of Plane & Pilot)

The same cannot be said of an accident that might have been prevented if an emergency had been declared on September 15, 2017. The noninstrument-rated pilot, his wife, and two children took off from Fort Collins-Loveland Municipal Airport (KFNL), now known as Northern Colorado Regional Airport, en route to Canyonlands Regional Airport (KCNY) in Moab, Utah. They found themselves in instrument meteorological conditions (IMC) at night over mountainous terrain in a Cirrus SR22. The National Transportation Safety Board (NTSB) reported that “…the flight was likely operating in [IMC] at the time of the accident, [which] included light to moderate icing conditions. The airplane likely encountered intermittent IMC beginning about 30 minutes after takeoff and continued into an area of solid IMC about three minutes before the accident occurred.”

In this case, the pilot was already on flight following and talking to ATC. He was attempting to circumnavigate mountainous terrain at night in bad weather. He was below the minimum en-route altitude (MEA) for that area and, for whatever reason, did not declare an emergency with ATC. Perhaps he believed he could salvage a bad situation. Maybe he was relying on the advanced technology of the glass panel to protect him. Or maybe he was concerned he would get into trouble after the fact with the FAA. Sadly, we will never really know his reasoning or motivation to forgo a Mayday call. What we do know, according to the NTSB final report, is the aircraft struck terrain with the airframe and engine showing severe fragmentation consistent with a high-energy impact likely caused by the pilot experiencing a loss of control because of spatial disorientation, which resulted in a subsequent descent into terrain with fatal results. 

Pilots are generally an intelligent breed. So why are some pilots reluctant to declare an emergency? Even when they know in the back of their pilot brain that such a declaration can bring valuable resources to the forefront while improving the chance of surviving the crisis, many still refuse to send out that Mayday call.

According to former NTSB senior investigator Greg Feith, there should be no ambiguity in declaring an emergency when a critical in-flight emergency occurs. The long-standing myth that sending out a Mayday call and declaring an emergency will result in copious amounts of paperwork for a pilot is simply untrue. Sure, there may be some documents to complete, but it’s not anything that should prevent a pilot in distress from taking such action.

Feith says the benefit of an emergency declaration—including having a controller one-on-one to assist, clearing the frequency and airspace as required, priority handling, and having another set of eyes available to provide critical information—should outweigh any concern of increased paperwork while increasing the chance of a good outcome.

• READ MORE: ICYMI: More Details Emerge in Piaggio Crash

One of the other common myths and concerns of pilots, according to Feith, is the FAA will use the emergency to impose a fine resulting from conditions that occurred leading up to it. “The FSDO (Flight Standards District Office) is not out to ‘get’ anyone,” Feith says. “While they must enforce the rules, there should be no concern if the pilot has done what the FAR tells them to do, and you have demonstrated good ADM (aeronautical decision making).” This includes proper preflight planning and making appropriate decisions as the emergency unfolds. It is not worth risking lives because of a propagating myth.

And it’s not just the FAA and NTSB that encourage a pilot in distress to ask for help from ATC early in an emergency. Rocky Sparks, a U.S. Air Force controller at Seymour Johnson Air Force Base in Goldsboro, North Carolina, says that while he was working an otherwise normal shift, a Cirrus pilot advised him of an engine failure while at 7,500 feet msl. This quickly set a series of events in motion, including clearing the airspace and providing heading and distance information to the nearest airport (which, in this case, was unattainable). In addition, Sparks notified the appropriate emergency responders of the pending forced landing.

By declaring the emergency early, the Cirrus pilot had the benefit of a controller to keep everyone informed of the situation as it unfolded, including the aircraft’s trajectory. In this case, the pilot chose to deploy the Cirrus CAPS when a safe landing at an airport or field could not be assured. A safe descent under the canopy ensued and, with the assistance of ATC, ground-based emergency responders arrived within minutes of the disabled aircraft’s touchdown.

But what if the pilot does not decide to declare an emergency when it seems the situation would dictate that one is unfolding? According to Feith, ATC can declare an emergency on the pilot’s behalf. If the controller senses it is life-threatening, it can and will be handled as an emergency.

However, in some cases, there is a gray area, and the controller is waiting for the pilot to confirm the emergency. According to multiple sources, the controller will attempt to determine the extent of a possible emergency by asking the pilot, “What are your intentions?” At that point, it is up to the pilot to state they are declaring an emergency and need assistance. Those magic words will allow full ATC resources to be available to the aircraft in trouble.

An example of where this could have changed the outcome of an accident occurred on January 25, 1990. The commercial airline flight, Avianca 052 from Bogotá, Colombia, to New York, tragically ended when the aircraft ran out of fuel and crashed into a hillside in the village of Cove Neck, New York, on the north shore of Long Island. Eight of the nine crewmembers and 65 of the 149 passengers on board were killed.

The NTSB determined the crash occurred because of the “flight crew failing to properly declare a fuel emergency.” The ambiguity of the pilot stating he was “fuel critical” instead of declaring a fuel emergency resulted in aircraft sequencing that was not prioritized the way it would have been had an emergency been declared. This crash directly resulted in positive changes in how Part 121 carriers manage and report fuel-critical emergencies.

• READ MORE: Alleged Drunk Pilot Runs Plane Out of Gas, Crash-Lands on Highway

With all the resources available to pilots when they are presented with an in-flight emergency, it is incumbent on the entire pilot community to remember that declaring an emergency to improve the chances of a good outcome and surviving the crisis should take precedence over any concerns about doing so. We are all taught to mitigate risk in the cockpit. According to the statistics and experts, declaring an emergency early will reduce risk and improve the odds of living to tell about an in-flight crisis during that next hanger flying session. Sweaty palms optional.

Editor’s Note: This story originally appeared in the November/December 2023 issue of Plane & Pilot magazine. 

The post I Do Declare appeared first on Plane & Pilot Magazine.

“Straight out departure approved, cleared for takeoff 29 Right” is a call I have received thousands of times as a commercial pilot and CFI at my home base of Zamperini Field in Torrance, California (KTOA).

The seasonal “May gray” morning had predictably and gradually morphed into an inviting “severe clear.” My left seat passenger—we’ll call him Scott, mostly because that’s his real name—and I awaited our turn at the hold short line at Taxiway Juliet for his return to the sky.

Scott had a few hours in a Cessna 172 as a new student about five years earlier but had paused his training because “life got in the way.” Sound familiar? Anyway, the path to achieving his goal of a private pilot certificate was now free of obstructions, and he was both excited and motivated to move forward.

During the preflight briefing, we had discussed his limited experience and what to expect in flight. But mostly this was to be a fun, nonstressful return to the sky.

Ha.

Takeoff was as normal and magical as it gets. All of you pilots and passengers who love to fly know exactly what I mean. N174GF is one of my favorite airplanes in our fleet of 172s. Dependable and rugged, she has been one of my go-to trainers.

The plan was to fly west to the shoreline, turn to the south, and hand over controls to Scott. Our fun lasted 80 seconds.

The explosion occurred at about 800 feet agl—quite loud even with noise-canceling headsets. The oil-filler cap flew open as the cowling momentarily lurched to the right. Instantly, the engine lost power and the airplane started to shake. Not too violently, but enough for me to think, “Hey!?”

Aeronautical decision-making (ADM) is one of those topics that, although not necessarily exciting, is as important as breathing.

I emphasize it quite often during training, constantly offering differing scenarios and situations to my students that require them to perceive, process, and perform. I realize we’ve all heard this ad nauseam, but that doesn’t make it any less true or important to hear repeatedly.

ADM is something that needs to be practiced—a lot. One doesn’t actually think of the words “perceive,” “process,” and “perform” in an emergency, but the brain needs to be trained to think quite rapidly in this linear form. I don’t believe this process comes naturally to most, so it must be practiced. I do. My students are learning too. We all should. It’s what saved our bacon—and the airplane.

After the one- to two-second mandatory shock period, I initiated a coordinated 45-degree left bank to return to the airport. The prop was still turning, power pulled to idle while I’m declaring an emergency and informing the tower I’m coming home. We are fortunate to have parallel runways at Torrance, which has always been a comfort knowing that we only need a 180-degree turn instead of 270 degrees for the “impossible turn.” I’m not really fond of that expression.

We were still doing about 80 knots. There hadn’t been sufficient time to slow down at this point, and we returned to the runway environment almost too quickly.

After being cleared for 11R, I realized I needed to descend a bit and opted to go to 11L. So much for my comfortable 180. We did another 45-degree left bank for a short right base to the runway. Did I say short? More like brief. Still too high and fast, I made the decision to overshoot to give us a little extra time to get closer to the ground. Another 45 degrees, this time to the right and then back to the left to line up. I don’t even want to add up the total number of degrees I turned.

I know what some of you are thinking: Where were this guy’s flaps? Tucked nicely away in place at the trailing edge of the wings as they were when we lifted off. While turning right base, the tower reported to me “winds 270 at 9.” This was a right quartering tailwind for us. I had determined that we were going to land long and did not want to float any farther than necessary. In hindsight, as I applied a forward slip, I should have dropped the flaps for drag, but I had already made the decision not to.

Did you know that you can steer a 172 with both mains locked up? Neither did I. I call it “differential skidding.” We rounded out a little less than halfway down our 5,001-foot runway and we floated. I coerced the airplane onto the asphalt and applied the brakes—hard. We were slowing down but not enough for a comfortable exit at the last taxiway, Hotel.

There is a grass field at the end of 11L, so I informed the tower we were going off road a bit. I managed to steer between the REIL stanchions, and 50 feet or so later, with back pressure on the yoke, we came to a smoother-than-expected stop. After a brief pause to return to a normal sinus rhythm, I turned to Scott and said matter-of-factly, “You know I’m going to have to charge you extra for all the excitement.”

He smiled and said something to me I am quite proud of, and something all pilots would like to hear from their passengers after handling an emergency: “I wasn’t the least bit nervous because of how cool you were.” This even gets me a bit emotional as I write it.

I was working. My job was to get him, me, and the airplane safely back on the ground. There was no time to think about anything else. Less than three minutes passed from “cleared for takeoff” to me saying “okey dokey” to the tower as I powered down in the field.

It is wondrous and amazing to me how quickly the human brain can function in a time of need or danger. All flight instructors have had airplanes that occasionally act up or students that unintentionally do things that can ruin their day, but constant training and practice for these ever-changing circumstances generally leads to successful outcomes.

The turn back to the airport is a maneuver I have been practicing for most of my flying career. In my own Cessna 182, I have experimented with different altitudes to determine the lowest I could accept and still make a successful landing on the runway and not somebody’s backyard. For me, it’s about 800 feet.

Before taxiing to the hold short line, my students are required to give me a safety takeoff briefing. I’m certain all of you CFIs do this, right? It’s the standard fare about engine trouble on the takeoff roll, reducing power to idle, applying the brakes, and exiting the runway at the first available taxiway. Or it’s engine issues just after rotation with the runway still underneath, reducing power to idle, landing on the remaining runway, applying the brakes, and exiting at the first opportunity.

And, thirdly, there’s losing power after takeoff with no runway available, trimming for best glide, and then landing the aircraft straight ahead.
I have recently added a fourth option, probably to the chagrin of some designated pilot examiners. If we have achieved an altitude of 800 feet or more, we are returning to the airport.

We have previously discussed the details of doing so in the classroom, but the final words of the briefing are, and said while they are looking at me, “If this happens, your controls.” I strive to ensure my students understand these are not mere words but actions. As a matter of fact, once they have completed the takeoff briefing, I clap my hands and say, “Now we have a plan!” My entire family will smile as they read that part.

The dependable and rugged 174GF, sporting a shiny brand-new No. 2 cylinder, is now back in the trainer business, having been test-flown by yours truly. It had something to do with “getting back on the horse.”

I will leave you with this: “A systematic approach to the mental process used by pilots to consistently determine the best course of action in response to a given set of circumstances.”

Some of us will recognize this as the definition of ADM, or aeronautical decision-making. All of us pilots should. Use it. Practice it. It works. It’s the reason I am able to write this to you. That and just maybe a little help from above.

And as for Scott, he told me he’d return for another lesson in a couple of weeks. As of this writing, I’m still waiting…

Editor’s note: This story originally appeared in the August 2023 issue of Plane & Pilot magazine. 

The post Lessons Learned – ADM to the Rescue appeared first on Plane & Pilot Magazine.