The same concepts we use in defensive driving apply to flight operations to help us mitigate risks of violations, incidents, or accidents. A little attention to flying defensively may convert those thoughts into mitigation of potential risks in our flight operations.

If you maintain constant situational awareness and utilize all available resources, that’s conducive to safe general aviation operations. Unlike commercial flights with robust support systems, GA pilots rely on their skills and instruments. Vigilance, monitoring traffic, and staying attuned to changing weather conditions contribute significantly to safety.

Avoiding Distractions During Flight Operations

A distracted pilot turns into one that misses critical checklist items, ATC communications, or loses situational awareness. Any of these lead a pilot down a path that could result in further complications—or worse. Keep interaction with passengers, other tasks you might want to perform during your flight, or even management of the resources used in the flight deck—such as an electronic flight bag (EFB) device—to periods where the workload is minimal and you don’t sacrifice attention necessary to complete more critical tasks.

Keeping distractions to a minimum is especially important during critical phases of flight. Setting up for an approach, taxiing at a busy airfield with complicated diagrams, during the actual takeoff and landing, or receiving an updated weather briefing in flight are a few examples of this.

The sooner you can ascertain a risk is present, the earlier you can make a defensive flying decision and avoid…undesired conditions.

Predicting Risk Ahead and Mitigating It Sooner

More than ever before in aviation, we have the ability to try to predict potential hazards and mitigate them at earlier points in our flight operations. A key example is having onboard weather information continuously feeding us updates. We can use it to look further ahead for weather along our route or see updated climate conditions for our destinations that might hint at our need to initiate an alternate plan if minimums are becoming a concern for us in IFR or VFR conditions. When you do this, you can make a decision hundreds of miles away instead of just getting 20 to 30 miles from your destination and being surprised by an AWOS/ASOS/ATIS broadcast that now shows the weather has degraded significantly. The sooner you can ascertain a risk is present, the earlier you can make a defensive flying decision and avoid proceeding into undesired conditions.

Traffic information systems in our panels—or fed to our EFB—help us predict other traffic that may be nearby through awareness of its position. Taking this into consideration, we can receive clues regarding other traffic sequencing to fly the same approach we plan or help us avoid encountering traffic conflicts that might otherwise result in aircraft coming too close together.

Communication and Coordination

ATC services are generally available to IFR and VFR flight operations throughout most of the country—so use them for most flights. Certainly, most pilots understand they are using ATC services when operating in IFR or VFR conditions while on an IFR flight plan, and they must talk to ATC within certain airspace, typically Class A, B, C, and D. But too few pilots leverage air traffic control when outside of these requirement areas, though its services are broadly available.

• READ MORE: Communicate Like a Pro Pilot

A short cross-country in Class E or G airspace might not require the use of ATC services, but a quick request for flight following along the route can help them communicate with you and potentially other aircraft—and perhaps help you avoid other aircraft sharing the frequency. With ADS-B and transponder service over much of the airspace, it is a good practice to fly with a second layer of protection, helping you enhance awareness of potential risks.

I have a few flight training operations at which I provide tests regularly that will get flight following from local ATC when pilots head out to a practice area to train or test. A training flight introduces the risk of the instructor and pilot becoming distracted from their overall situational awareness while briefing and conducting specific maneuvers. Having ATC communication established can give you the chance to be warned about traffic in the area or if another aircraft is flying into the same practice area. You can then adjust position and altitude or even discontinue a maneuver and reposition if the traffic is going to provide a conflict.

If you are operating near an airport, monitor the local CTAF frequency for an idea of what other traffic is doing, including aircraft flying in or out of that airport. This is especially true if you’ll be flying in the traffic pattern and practicing takeoffs or landings. A good habit is to listen to the local frequency about 10 miles out as you approach so as to have enough time to hear other aircraft sequencing into the pattern. You may fly a few miles to the side of the airport to delay your approach instead of having two aircraft enter the downwind at the same time.

• READ MORE: Pro Tips: Situational Awareness For Private Pilots

Listen while on the ground also. Many times I will be listening to the CTAF, or at a towered field, the ground and tower frequencies as I do a run-up, while waiting in sequence, or as I approach a runway for takeoff. This can help build a mental picture of who might be in the pattern, whether they are likely to be ahead or behind you, or if there are other factors that might cause you to avoid unnecessary communications at a particular time.

For example, I was flying recently and listening to the tower frequency while we were doing our run-up and on the ground-control frequency. While monitoring, I overheard that the tower had an inbound aircraft that was having a gear indicator malfunction and that they were going to “roll services” for the aircraft in case it was needed on the landing. It was a great tip for me to just hang tight for a minute in our run-up area and let the situation play out instead of getting on tower frequency and asking for a takeoff clearance with a potential emergency developing.

The good news was that the aircraft landed without incident, and we were only hanging out for a few extra minutes. By listening in proactively, we avoided adding extra radio communications to the mix and allowed ATC to effectively manage its challenges without extra distraction.

Defensive Flying and Safety Culture

Thinking proactively and defensively—and acting as such—is part of a personal safety culture. It is a mindset for our operations that serves to help us identify, avoid, and mitigate risks before they cause problems. It is also one that we can espouse and allow to serve as an example for other pilots.

This is especially relevant when we are trying to foster a safety-centric environment within flying clubs, flight training operations, corporate flight operations, or even just among peers. The goal is to encourage open discussions, share experiences, and learn from each other’s mistakes to collectively enhance safety standards. We can all share ways we can be more proactive and defensive in our flying activities.

Developing the ability to recognize potential risks and being adaptable in handling unforeseen situations are essential traits of a defensive general aviation pilot.

• READ MORE: Best Pilot Kneeboard Options in 2024

Embracing and implementing principles of defensive flying significantly contribute to mitigating the risks inherent to flight operations. It is part of a commitment to safety and a mindset that helps ensure each flight, regardless of scale, remains a secure and enjoyable experience for pilots, passengers, and those within the airspace. Each pilot who operates in this manner helps elevate the safety standards within the overall aviation community. Defensive flying in GA is a fusion of skills, adaptability, and a proactive approach to safety. 

The post Risk Mitigation Through Defensive Flying appeared first on Plane & Pilot Magazine.

“Know your limitations and don’t exceed them”

is common advice for aviators. That statement is all well and good, so far as it goes. It generally encourages you, as the pilot, to do a good job of preparing for each flight and keep up your stockpile of skills by regular training and practice. In doing so, you’ve made sure you’re not going to overstep your abilities. The problem is, there’s more than this one limitation involved in the average flight, beyond just the perils that can be met by our piloting ability. We need to consider the full range of hazards we’re facing, and that involves more than just assessing the pilot’s ability.

The pilot in command (PIC) of a flight certainly has to make sure that he or she’s not exceeding the capabilities they’re able to muster. Knowing when to say “no” is vital to survival, something we need to consider not just at the beginning of the flight, but throughout its progress. However, the aircraft has limitations of its own, ones established both by its design and practical performance. And the operating environment presents its own limitations on our activity, quite aside from the skills of the pilot and innate performance of the airplane.

All three sets of limitations will combine to affect the outcome of our flight. We may be the best pilot ever born, but we can’t force a tired Skyhawk to climb above its genuine absolute ceiling, undefined by any performance chart. And the finest example of a Cirrus SR22 is not going to want to lift a full load out of a backcountry strip on a warm afternoon with a density altitude reading five digits. Each of these three constraints—pilot, airplane, and environment—needs its own consideration to assure adequate safety.

There Are Pilots—Then There Are Pilots

We all like to think we have the right stuff, that we’re the proverbial “good stick” who can exercise every privilege on our certificate to the utmost perfection. On any given day, however, we can be just a little bit off our game. Remember that time you tried for a squeaker landing to impress the kids and you dropped it in with a thump? Face it, if this is your first real low-visibility takeoff into a low cloud deck in a year, you may be legal to do it, but should you?

Your piloting limitations are not a solid wall, but a fluid barrier that rises and falls with your recent experience, fatigue level, and even the amount of preparation. A hastily thrown-together trip into unfamiliar territory means raising your personal minimums for the departure. You should go only if the weather is as benign as forecast, good alternates exist, and you feel good about doing it.

There’s a country song by the late Toby Keith that goes, “I ain’t as good as I once was, but I’m as good once as I ever was.” That optimistic outlook doesn’t apply to pilots with rusty skills. Face it, you took that multiengine commercial check ride decades ago. Can you fly a zero-thrust, single-engine approach to minimums today? Probably not without some practice.

The point is, meeting the POH performance figures is a job for factory test pilots who fly every day. Establish your limitations based on needing half again or double those handbook numbers—plan to aim low and finish high. Always underpromise and overdeliver, not the other way around. You should never write checks with your mouth, or your thoughts, that your body can’t cover. Stay honest in your relationship with the airplane. You can get away with lying to other pilots, but don’t ever try lying to your aircraft about your abilities. That will come back to kill you.

• READ MORE: Pro Tips for Private Pilots: ADS-B, Are You ‘In’ or ‘Out’?

This Plane Has Always Before…

Every aircraft, even my 1946 Aeronca Champion, comes with a set of operating limitations. Beyond the ones printed on paper, there are also practical ones determined from experience. It doesn’t matter how good the pilot is, or how nice the old bird’s running, those limitations are still exactly that—limitations. Don’t ask the airplane to do more than it can. In most pilot-error accidents, the outcome was determined when the pilot made a decision to proceed outside the aircraft’s capabilities. Too many pilots have believed the brochure brag of a 700-mile range and have flight planned accordingly, to their eventual regret. Fuel is consumed in hours and minutes, not miles. Unfortunately, getting away with stretching the gas supply once or twice tends to tempt you into applying it as a matter of course.

Always ascertain which of the airplane’s bits and pieces of equipment are not available. Yes, you ought to be able to fly any procedure without the autopilot’s help, but if you’re faced with a three-hour trip in the clouds, single pilot, do you really want to do that? Sure, you might be good enough to fly an ILS down to 200 feet above the touchdown zone, but if the airplane’s glideslope needle is flagged, you’re going have to miss at the localizer-only minimums. Your superior skills aren’t the limitation; the airplane’s capability is. Be ready to work with what you have left, and that means respecting new limitations.

I have one airplane in my hangar that can only carry 500 pounds of payload with the fuel tanks topped off—that’s it, if I’m going to respect the max-takeoff-weight limit, and I will. I know better than to ask that airplane to do more than it can. We often have to work within the limitations of the aircraft we’re flying. Piloting skills have nothing to do with it. Let’s be real, part of that “pilot stuff” is making the right decision to not exceed the limitations of the equipment, whether it’s because of the engine, airframe, radios, or endurance.

This means knowing what is and isn’t possible with a given airplane’s published limitations. I once had to do a photo shoot from a Piper Cherokee Six with its rear door removed, which is allowable and safe. But then the customer wanted some shots from the other side, and he asked if we could remove the front door and shoot out that opening. No, I said, that’s not permitted by the aircraft operating limitations, and it would be an experiment I wasn’t about to conduct.

Today Is Not The Day

The operating environment often generates additional limitations over and above those of the pilot and airplane. On a recent morning, I was scheduled to test-hop an experimental plane to check rigging, a simple task well within both my own and the aircraft’s limitations. But the reported ceiling was only 400 feet at the appointed hour. So, despite the readiness of the pilot and airplane, the flight was delayed until VMC prevailed.

I often abort a flight in the old Champ for wind reasons. I’ll fly in crosswinds up to 10 mph, but no more, because I know the aged mechanical brakes aren’t able to prevent weathervaning above that figure. Taildraggers boasting more weight, better brakes, and a locking tailwheel may have higher wind limitations, but every day is different, and its conditions must be evaluated, quite aside from the pilot’s and airplane’s own limitations.

For flight in icing conditions, which should actually be called “flight avoiding icing conditions,” we need an airplane equipped for the task and a pilot who’s skilled in its use. It’s not just working boots or TKS that gives us the capability to deal with icing. It’s also important to have a fast climb rate to quickly reach nonicing airspace above the icing layer. In the absence of such performance, we’ll consider the environment to be unsuitable for flying that day.

Even the best airplane, flown by the best pilot, cannot overcome the limitations imposed by extreme operating environments. Thunderstorms, wind shear, severe icing, thick fog, strong crosswinds, and density altitude producing a negative climb rate are all factors that absolutely must be considered in the context of our ability to fly.

We have some wonderful airplanes in the marketplace, outfitted with some truly amazing avionics suites and supported by a great ground-based ATC system. Purchasers of some of those million-dollar singles have been told they can go anytime, anywhere. Not so. There are still times when the limitations of the operating environment prevail.

On Deciding

Aeronautical decision-making, or ADM, is a fashionable buzz phrase that is, in reality, as old as flight itself. Deciding to begin or continue an act of aviation requires consideration of every limitation we’re about to approach. Sometimes our total package of limitations is unbalanced by the aircraft itself, and sometimes it’s the environmental conditions of the day. And sometimes we’re just not feeling up to it. Never let someone else’s decision to fly become your own. Respect all of the limitations.

Editor’s Note: This story originally appeared in the MARCH 2024 issue of Plane & Pilot magazine.

The post Triple Threat of Limitations appeared first on Plane & Pilot Magazine.

Most of us would probably admit that we have done this. I had this inner dialogue recently and found myself in some rough weather, and thought it was worth sharing some of the lessons that I learned through that experience.

I was living at the time in western Kansas, where (put generously) there is not exactly a “thriving” flight training market. As a student trying to work through my ratings toward a CFI certificate, this was a major inconvenience. As a result, I drove 2½ hours almost every weekend to Wichita to take flight lessons. I had been doing this for some time, and the driving was getting old. So, like any self-respecting pilot who would rather be flying, I elected on the weekend in question to rent a Cessna 172 locally and fly to my flight training, with a stop on the Kansas-Missouri border before I turned back around and landed in Wichita, so that I could count it as my long commercial cross-country.

That scenario in itself was not daunting. I’m comfortable flying through controlled airspace (Wichita is Class C with several Class D airports in the vicinity), and I have flown that particular route a handful of times. As was my habit at the time, I glanced at ForeFlight and looked at the METARs and TAFs, saw that there was a convective outlook just east of Wichita but decided that it would probably be fine because radar didn’t show much popping up, and it looked to me (with all my meteorological expertise) that any weather that did develop would stay east. To top this all off, I reasoned with myself that, if it got gnarly, I had a fresh new instrument rating, and I was flying an airplane with an excellent IFR panel (although no autopilot) and ADS-B In weather data.

Hopefully, you are seeing some of the red flags that I did not identify at the time. For starters, I didn’t get a briefing or look into the weather products with any depth. Additionally, I allowed my desire to fly and get to where I wanted to go influence my decision-making, as I rationalized that I had a capable airplane and an instrument rating. I was flying on a spring afternoon with warm weather, a good amount of humidity, and convective activity predicted. Not a good combination.

I drove out to my local airport, preflighted the airplane, saw that there wasn’t any significant weather between me and my destinations, called for a clearance for practice, and departed into VFR conditions. The first portion of the flight was relatively normal, and all I saw was some cloud buildup in the distance. This did not immediately concern me, as any weather was predicted to remain to the east of my path. As I flew over Wichita, the cloud bases started looking closer to my altitude. In addition, clouds were developing and growing in height all around. Wichita Approach started becoming very busy with flights asking for deviations around the building weather. I found myself in the same predicament and used the FIS-B weather in the panel to look at METARs in the area, knowing this was not the time to have my first real experience with actual IMC conditions.

• READ MORE: Who Is Responsible When a Student Pilot Makes a Mistake?

When I could get a word in edgewise, I requested to amend my flight plan and divert to my final destination. After some questioning from ATC, the deviation was approved, and I was given vectors to that airport. As I approached, I encountered heavy rain and had to dodge several cloud banks. Approach offered a visual or an instrument approach, and I elected to take the visual because the airport I was landing at has just two instrument approaches. The only one I was even close to was a VOR-A approach that would require a high descent rate, not to mention a final approach course that was very close to some of the aforementioned clouds. Thankfully, the visual approach and landing ended up being uneventful, and I got the airplane parked and tied down moments before more heavy rain began.

So what about the lessons learned? I have a few takeaways that have changed the way I plan my flights and make go/no-go decisions:

1. Don’t fall for “get-there-itis.” I could have easily driven to my training that afternoon. This was half get-there-itis and half “I haven’t flown in too long.” I put myself in a situation that could have ended up being much worse than it was because I didn’t consider all the factors that could have influenced me to make a safer decision.

2. Always get the briefing. This could be one from any of the following sources: ForeFlight or another EFB, Flight Service’s website, 1800wxbrief.com, or actually picking up the phone and speaking to a briefer.

3. Get better at interpreting weather products. Weather has always been a weak point for me, but I have never taken the time to really study up on those deficits in my knowledge.

All things considered, this situation never escalated to a serious risk, but it was still a thought-provoking experience and one that I will think of every time I plan a flight.

My future students will get the importance of understanding weather hammered into their minds from day one of flight training. As they say, a good pilot is always learning. 

Editor’s note: This story originally appeared in the JAN/FEB 2024 issue of Plane & Pilot magazine. 

The post Lessons Learned: Do I Really Need a Briefing? appeared first on Plane & Pilot Magazine.

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.

That said, you have lots of opportunities for making “first solo” flights, including ones taken not by choice but by necessity. Some are the ones we make in single-seat airplanes. Taking off in an airplane with no way to “get some dual,” or even to ride along to observe, is an awesome experience. It can not be undertaken without preparation, because you have to get it right the first time. Once you’re in the air, there’s no way to get help.

I well remember my first experience in this regard. The airplane was a Stits Playboy, a sporty low-wing homebuilt with an O-290 Lycoming up front. Before I took off, the previous pilot leaned over the side of the canopied cockpit and pointed out the relevant controls and switches, told me a safe speed to use on final, and turned me loose to learn on my own. I had plenty of experience with control sticks and tailwheels, so I just filled in the new blanks presented by the little Stits.

• READ MORE: Are Touch-and-Goes Good Practice?

During World War II the 200-hour wonders who strapped themselves into single-seat fighters were prepared about as well as they could be. They were products of a system that saw them begin with plenty of dual in tandem primary trainers, followed by advancing into more powerful basic trainers and then progressing into challenging advanced trainers. All of these machines had the student sitting in the center of a cockpit set up for one person, with a joystick in the right hand and throttle in the left, a tailwheel rolling along behind. The one-seat P-40s they eventually flew on their own were just more of the same.

Key to the process was adherence to procedures, worked out to minimize hazardous unknowns, and lots of study and classroom work, so the transitioning pilots would thoroughly understand the progressively more complex systems they were tackling. Experienced individuals would stand on the wingwalk and work the novices through their checklists until it became second nature, perhaps even blindfolded to prove they could find the required items quickly.

Getting as Close as You Can

As I flew other single-seat airplanes, I always tried to avail myself of as much knowledge as I could in advance by reading the flight manual and limitations, asking questions of my predecessors, and just sitting in the cockpit to become familiar with the setup. Sometimes it’s possible to get time in a similar two-seat airplane, which is how I approached the Cessna AGwagon spray plane. The Cessna 185 is a close approximation, and even though I had considerable previous time in Cessna 180s and 170s, I first went up in the Skywagon with an ag pilot for a little review.

Most spray planes have familial resemblance to two-place siblings, like Piper’s Pawnee and the Super Cub. On the other hand, Dean Wilson’s long-winged Eagle ag plane had no two-seat approximation, but I had flown other biplanes and had no problem adjusting to its size and seating. The DW-1 was built to be work-all-day friendly, so it held no surprises other than the spoiler-assisted method of making tight turnarounds.

The ultimate in getting prepared was being checked out in the Bede BD-5 homebuilt. The Bede folks had a “Truck-a-Plane” engineless BD-5 at the factory, rigged up on an articulated frame attached to the front of a hot rod pickup truck. Pushed down the runway in it at flying speed, one could practice liftoffs and touchdowns, and feel out the ailerons and rudder response. To learn how the landing gear operated, they just picked up a BD-5 and sat it on sawhorses shoved under the wings. You could then climb aboard and find out how to work the gear lever without jiggling the joystick in your other hand.

The point is, if you’re compelled to fly a single-seater, get as much knowledge as possible and work up to it through flying dual in similar aircraft. Of the couple of dozen one-holers I’ve flown, all were approached with careful progression through close approximations.

Solo Without a Checkout

In a similar vein, there may be times when you will be called upon to fly an aircraft with multiple seats but without the benefit of a formal checkout flight. That can be about as much of a “solo flight” as those single-seat experiences. As a ferry pilot, a lot of the planes I’ve picked up were simply left sitting in a hangar or tie-down, waiting for me to deliver it elsewhere. One quickly learns to rely on nothing in the way of installed equipment, despite assurances that “it’s ready to go.” In the first hour or two of the trip, you verify what you have and don’t have.

I once was engaged to ferry an aged Cessna 170A, and I soon learned it had no generator output. Eager to get it home, I obtained a NAPA battery charger and plugged it in at every fuel stop, juicing up the battery so I would have a starter and radios for the departure. In the middle of my final leg, I finally found a hidden unmarked switch under the dash that, when actuated, turned on the generator. Lesson learned.

Labels, even when installed, don’t always mean what they say. Tasked with taking an imported German motor glider out to the West Coast, I received a telephone checkout from the pilot who had brought it partway, mostly describing the quirks of its VW-based Limbach engine and three-position propeller pitch. When I tried to start it, the engine refused to fire. It turned out the fuel cock said “auf” when the gas was on, which turned out to be German for “on.” The label was correct—it was the pilot who was deficient.

• READ MORE: Effective Braking Techniques

When alone in the cockpit, it is doubly important to take every precaution to learn how to operate the systems because your only resource is what you bring to the party. Never assume “it’s just another airplane.” That may be true, but operating characteristics vary from one model to another. Late one afternoon, I arrived via a delayed airline flight to pick up a Piper Arrow that needed to be repositioned across the state. I had planned on being home well before sundown, but by the time I was finally deposited onto the Arrow’s ramp, the day was far advanced. With no RON (remain overnight) kit or flashlight, I fired up in the waning twilight and blasted off. Once underway, it occurred to me I really needed to turn on the panel lights, and none of my fumbling with the switch panel found success. Cell phone flashlights hadn’t been invented yet.

Finally, I recalled the stylish panel of 1970s-era Pipers utilized rolling rheostat switches beside the rocker switches, one of which turns on the instrument lighting. Panic subsided when I brought the darkened cockpit to well-lit life. The issue was my mission-focused urgency to get into the air without taking time to review the flight manual’s operating details of an airplane type I hadn’t flown in years.

Whether flying in a single-seat aircraft or alone in a multiseat cockpit, the responsibility of being pilot in command is the same. You are making a solo flight, and it’s up to you to do all the CRM (crew resource management) required to assure safety of the flight. Free of the distraction posed by having company, you should be able to do an even better job of single-pilot CRM. Instead, we often take the freedom of flying solo as a chance to ignore our duties.

There’s Always a First Time

There will be many first solo flights in your career beyond that one at the beginning of your life as a pilot. It may be the first time you climb into a cloud deck after attaining your instrument rating or the first time you bring up the landing gear of a retractable-gear airplane. Pushing the throttles of a twin-engine airplane forward on takeoff for the first time as the captain is never to be forgotten. Doing your first aileron roll or loop with no aerobatic instructor on board is a satisfying first solo as well. I will never forget that first tow release when being turned loose to fly solo in the club’s glider. Getting it back to the gliderport after hunting lift was now my responsibility entirely. Docking a seaplane on my own, without banging a float or missing the right spot to cut the engine, was another first that went into the favorite memory storehouse.

The point is, there will be plenty of first solos for us to remember as we pursue our aviation dreams. Treasure them all—big and small. 

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

The post Multiple ‘First Solo’ Flights 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.

Pilots understand that adherence to professional standards is nowhere more critical than during approach to the airport and landing. Fighter pilots instinctively understand this. When they return to the airfield or aircraft carrier, the formation gets a little tighter and the radio calls are more concise.

They follow the rules partly because they understand the cost of making a mistake is high, and they know everyone is watching.

The Super Bowl of traffic pattern operations is Hartsfield-Jackson Atlanta International Airport (KATL) during rush hour. Hundreds of flights coordinated into an aerial ballet, a series of machine-gun-like radio instructions, carrying thousands of passengers safely to their terminal just in time so they can run and catch their next flight. Achieving this level of safety and efficiency requires everyone to adhere to a strict code of behavior. However, the same may not always be said of the traffic pattern at your local towered or especially nontowered airport.

So why do we care about traffic pattern discipline so much? According to the FAA’s Airplane Flying Handbook (AFH), the vast majority of midair collisions occur in good visibility between aircraft going in the same direction, near uncontrolled airports, and at altitudes below 1,000 feet. Sounds like Saturday afternoon in the touch-and-go pattern. Maybe it is worth a few minutes to review the basics of traffic pattern requirements, midair collision avoidance, and proper pattern etiquette.

High Wings, Low Wings, and the Standard Traffic Pattern

The “Friendly Aviation Administration” is sufficiently concerned about traffic pattern etiquette to have just released an update to Advisory Circular 90-66C, “Non-Towered Airport Flight Operations.” However, this updated AC, the AFH, and Pilot’s Handbook of Aeronautical Knowledge (PHAK) are all quick to point out that the FAA does not regulate traffic pattern entry—only the traffic flow pattern. Thus, all traffic at a nontowered airport is expected to blend into the existing left traffic pattern unless right traffic is specified on the sectional chart or the chart supplement.

However, if we look carefully at the recommended box-shaped general aviation traffic pattern with its series of straight and level legs connected by brief 45- and 90-degree turns, it is designed to nearly eliminate the blind spots associated with both high- and low-wing aircraft. The 45-degree entry leg allows for aircraft entering and those in the pattern to see each other out the side windows while still in level flight. The level downwind and base legs, each separated by 90-degree turns, perform the same function. We might ask, why does the FAA recommend traffic on the crosswind leg turn onto downwind after reaching pattern altitude? Once again, it reduces the risk associated with the high-wing/low-wing blind spot.

Nonstandard Patterns, Blind Spots, and Belly Checks

So, what happens when things do not go strictly to plan? A couple of recent accidents come to mind.

On May 12, 2021, a Cirrus SR22 at Centennial Airport (KAPA) in the Denver suburb of Englewood, Colorado, made what may have been a nearly constant base turn at higher-than-normal pattern speed and literally flew right through the rear upper fuselage of a Fairchild Metroliner on a straight-in approach. Thankfully, the Metroliner landed on the runway, and the Cirrus parachute saved the day for the single.

Then, on July 17, 2022, there was an accident involving a Piper Malibu and a Cessna 172 both operating at North Las Vegas Airport (KVGT). The towered airport has parallel runways: 12R/30L and 12L/30R. The Piper Malibu was making a teardrop-shaped constant left turn to final from midfield, was assigned Runway 30L but appeared to line up on Runway 30R and collided with a Cessna 172 making a right base to final turn to the same runway. All four occupants of the Cessna and Piper were killed. These two accidents highlight a significant visibility limitation inherent in every aircraft. Once we have accounted for the high/low-wing visibility limitation, the remaining blind spot is the belly of our own plane.

• READ MORE: Pro Tips: Situational Awareness For Private Pilots

Our fighter pilot friends can’t see through the floor of their jets either. OK, so the F-35 with its $400,000 pilot helmet actually can, but that’s another story. When a fighter pilot executes a quick descent or a sustained steep turn, a quick roll to the left or right, often called a belly check, allows them to clear this primary blind spot. Fly the pattern too fast, fail to roll out on the base leg, or fly a nonstandard curvilinear turn to the final approach, and you increase your risk of being belly up to other traffic. Follow the recommended pattern etiquette, and you dramatically reduce the chance of a collision.

Another example of mixing curved and box patterns is the overhead pattern. This approach, often used by warbirds, especially in formation, consists of an initial leg at pattern altitude, followed by a 180-degree “pitch out” to the downwind and another 180-degree turn to final. This military pattern is a great method to get fast airplanes, especially in formation, slowed down, separated, and on the ground quickly, notably at a towered airport where the traffic flow can be managed. However, at a nontowered airport it places the airplane turning downwind from the overhead pattern belly up to anyone joining the downwind from the 45-degree leg. The same thing occurs with the curvilinear turn to final.

The moral of the story is that mixing curvilinear and box patterns creates belly blind spots that the designers of the recommended nontowered airport traffic pattern can’t help you with.

The Crosswind Entry Option

Gather any 10 pilots together and ask about the best method for entering the downwind leg crosswind from midfield and watch the arguments begin. The option preferred by the FAA involves crossing the airport at midfield 500 feet above pattern altitude and then making a constant turning descent to join the 45-degree leg to downwind (see AFH Chapter 8, fig. 8-3). This approach makes it easier to blend into traffic.

However, the constant descending turn to the 45-degree entry leg places the pilot belly up to aircraft entering on the 45-degree entry. Sounds like a belly check is in order. The other alternative involves entering a midfield crosswind leg at pattern altitude and then joining the downwind. The plus is that all the traffic is in the pilot’s front and side windows before the turn. The downside is that two aircraft, one turning downwind from the crosswind leg and another on the 45-degree entry, are belly up to each other. Whichever you choose, it is good to understand the plus and minuses of each, and the need to check your belly blind spot for traffic.

Proper Communication Etiquette

There is no requirement to make radio calls in the pattern at a nontowered airport. In fact, NORDO (no radio) airplanes are welcome. Having said that, our friends at the FAA remind us that concise and accurate “self-announcement” is the proper etiquette. The term self-announcement is a reminder that each transmission should announce your position and intentions so that others in the pattern can plan accordingly. The updated advisory circular goes to great pains to drive home a couple of salient points.

First, radio calls should include the type of aircraft and the N-number. Recently, I have noticed pilots substituting the color and type of aircraft for the N-number. I fly at a busy feeder airport that serves at least five flight schools. So, when a pilot transmits “blue-and-white Cessna turning base,” I casually look out the window and note that there are at least five Cessnas that fit that description in the pattern.

Second, the FAA reminds us that the phrase “any traffic in the area, please advise” is a nonstarter. I believe the point it is trying to make is that traffic pattern radio calls are not a conversation. Rather, each “self-announcement,” starting at 8 to 10 miles out and ending when we clear the runway, is for the benefit of the entire pattern to provide a safe environment.

Start Planning Early

Hey, I seem to remember that my CFI asked me to start planning my arrival before takeoff, not 10 miles out! Hmm, I thought the traffic patterns here are all left hand, right? Not so fast. If the letters “RP” are listed below the runway length and elevation on the sectional, then a glance through the chart supplement will reveal right-hand traffic prevails on one or more runways. Preflight is also a great time to catch up on possible noise restrictions, NOTAMs, special instructions, and nearby transmission towers.

I am also an advocate for spending the extra bucks to get ADS-B In as well as ADS-B Out. Having the airport traffic pattern picture on a portable iPad while still 10 miles out is priceless. I tend to use the traffic information to correlate the N-numbers I hear on the radio (no aircraft colors or paint schemes please) with traffic locations. All the while I remember that ADS-B of any kind is not required at Class D or nontowered airports. Once established on the 45 to downwind, your Mark One Eyeballs are the best collision avoidance devices. I transition to 100 percent out the window, but the aural traffic alarm provided by the ADS-B In receiver is good insurance while scanning outside for conflicting traffic.

Keeping the Tower Crew Happy 

What might the tower crews want us to remember? First, some smaller towers have radar and some do not. In either case, it is important to keep your patterns close in and avoid the dreaded “bomber pattern.” What the tower cannot see, it cannot control. Second, at a busy training airport, be ready to go when you call the tower. If given a clearance for an “immediate takeoff, no delay,” the tower expects your wheels to start turning right away. This is not the time to start the pretakeoff checklist. If you are not ready to go, just say so and stay put. Third, keep your radio transmissions informative and brief. If you have a question, please be sure to ask, but beware of the long-drawn-out soliloquies that block the frequency. Fourth, if cleared to land number three, make sure to visually identify both number one and number two. Failure to do so may result in one of those high-wing/low-wing close encounters, or worse, on final approach. Finally, just like at a nontowered airport, be on your guard at all times for traffic. Good traffic pattern etiquette requires teamwork between the tower and pilots.

Be Safe Out There

Greasing on the perfect landing (are we down yet?) is one of the most satisfying parts of flying. Our behavior in the traffic pattern is a reflection of just how professional we are. Just like the jet jocks who clean up their act as they approach the airport traffic pattern, we all have a responsibility to be prepared, know the rules and recommendations, and execute the proper traffic pattern etiquette. Midair collision avoidance is a team sport that requires each of us to know where to be and what to do once we get there. Fly safe!

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

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The accident occurred on a cloudy, cold February afternoon in 2021. The National Transportation Safety Board (NTSB) has released its final report, and it contains some clues to the pilot’s thinking. There are no surprising mechanical or meteorological findings. No unexpected revelations. Instead, it was as it initially appeared—a normally functioning airplane flown below the published approach minimums out of the clouds and into the ground.

Cessna 441s are workhorses—this one powered by two 715 hp turboprop engines—and they are popular with charter operators. This 1978 model Conquest II had two pilots in the cockpit. One was a professional 18,000-hour airline transport pilot (ATP), the other a 770-hour pilot with a commercial certificate who had recently retired. It’s unknown who was in what seat, or who was flying at the time of the accident. What we do know is the more experienced pilot had been thinking about the instrument approach at their home airport for hours.

At 9:24 a.m., the ATP-rated pilot called Leidos Flight Service for a weather briefing. The plan was to fly from Belvidere, Tennessee, to Bowman Field Airport (KLOU) in Louisville, Kentucky, on to Thomasville Regional Airport (KTVI) and then return. It was “severe clear” at the destination, but closer to home a cold front was passing overhead. Right away the briefer talked about possible icing, as conditions were conducive for ice to form on wings and propellers in a cloud layer aloft. The briefer said, “The only trials and tribulations you have this morning [are] going to be punching through that layer as quickly as possible, minimizing the time in the clouds.” Asked if he had anti-ice or deice equipment on the Cessna, the pilot replied, “Yep, uh-huh. But I don’t like to use it.” The briefer calculated the icing layer was about 3,000 feet thick, and the pilot wouldn’t be in it long if he climbed at a good rate. The forecast for hat afternoon was for improving weather.

When heading back to home base, the pilots found the weather had not cleared. When they started the approach, the ceiling was 800 feet overcast, visibility 9 sm, with the ground temperature right at freezing, light rime icing conditions in the clouds, and tops of the clouds at about 4,000 feet. But for a Cessna 441, that’s well above the minimums published on the RNAV GPS RWY 36 straight-in approach of 400 feet and 1¼ sm. The final approach track has several altitudes, crossing the fixes at YOKUS at 4,000 feet, and WETSO at 3,000 feet, and with the LNAV/VNAV minimum altitude of 1,367 feet. The runway elevation is 979 feet.

The Cessna correctly crossed YOKUS at 4,000 feet and started a descent. It did not stop as prescribed at 3,000 feet but continued gently descending. At 2,300 feet, the radar data ends, at 2,100 the ADS-B data ends. The airplane hit trees close to the WETSO intersection at an elevation of 1,880 feet. It rolled inverted, hit the ground, and caught fire.

There was no distress call, and no medical or other unusual factors. The NTSB concluded the probable cause to be “the pilot’s failure to follow the published instrument approach procedure by prematurely descending the airplane below the final approach fix altitude to fly under the low ceiling conditions, which resulted in controlled flight into terrain.” It added, “the pilot likely attempted to fly the airplane under the weather to visually acquire the runway.” This might not be as rare as we’d like to think. While staying at published altitudes is a basic safety rule for instrument flying, a 2020 Embry-Riddle Aeronautical University peer-reviewed research study found compliance approaching the runway to be remarkably poor.

In fact, 96.4 percent of the 114 pilots descended below their stated personal minimums on a simulated ILS approach by an average of 303 feet. And 81.5 percent descended below the published federal minimums (by an average of 43 feet). The researchers noted, “These values are highly concerning.” The authors concluded that “pilots are knowingly or unknowingly accepting additional risk during a very critical phase of flight… A simulated (i.e., cash bonus) manipulation designed to mimic external pressures had no effect on pilots’ lowest altitude flown.”

The accident pilot had a possible motivation to descend below instrument altitudes. It’s not discussed by the NTSB, but this incident mirrors a fatal airline accident from December 1, 1993, at what is now called Range Regional Airport (KHIB) in Hibbing, Minnesota. A 19-seat twin-turboprop was on the localizer back course approach to Runway 13. Like other similar aircraft, the Jetstream 3100 was susceptible to tailplane icing. So a technique had evolved among line pilots to minimize their exposure to icing conditions. The NTSB report said the pilot’s “probable intention was to descend at higher than normal rates of speed to minimize the time in icing conditions.”

The Jetstream crew started the approach a little high, above the clouds, and descended at 2,200 feet per minute once on the final course. This high rate of descent inside the final approach fix was against written company procedures, partly because, when leveling out, it leaves little time or space for correcting errors. The airplane quickly descended below the minimum altitude and crashed into woods 4 miles from the airport—at about the same relative runway position as the Cessna 441.

In both accidents, the pilots were trying to manage the threat of airframe icing in the clouds with anti-ice or deice equipment they didn’t completely trust. They were trying to fly safely. And while minimizing time spent in cold, wet clouds is a valid general strategy, rapid descents inside the final approach fix is a dangerous practice. In both cases, no actual airframe icing was observed by investigators.

In trying to avoid icing, the pilots ignored basic instrument flying rules. Good pilots work hard to minimize threats, but sometimes risk management can be like holding too tight to a balloon. Push hard enough in one place, and it blows out somewhere else.

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

The post After the Accident – Below Minimums appeared first on Plane & Pilot Magazine.

Although I’ve been flying for more than 20 years, I only recently received my commercial certificate, and shortly thereafter, my very first assignment to fly a family from San Antonio to Telluride in a beautiful Piper Turbo Saratoga, a PA-32-301T. The aircraft is owned by the family and managed by their longtime pilot, Nat. The job was exactly what I was looking for, and I excitedly became acquainted with both Nat and the aircraft. It was explained to me that they have made this particular trip in this particular aircraft dozens of times.

Nat recommended that I fill the tanks, put all the luggage in the nose compartment, and everything would be “spot on.” In preparation for the journey, I took the free online mountain course offered by AOPA, watched a couple of YouTube videos, and honestly felt quite comfortable. Despite having absolutely no mountain experience, I was not about to turn down my very first paid flight. I may not have even performed a weight-and-balance check had the flight not been to KTEX. After all, it was only me and two passengers. The hundreds of hours I had in a similar Piper, a Cherokee Six PA-32-300 boasting a useful load of 1,560 pounds, was working against me.

The scheduled flight was more than a week away, falling during the busy Fourth of July weekend. I retrieved the POH and generated an aircraft profile in ForeFlight. Nat was right. To complete the 700 nm trip nonstop would require full tanks. Moving on to weight and balance: pilot (220 pounds); front passenger (230), his wife claimed to be 135 (I added 20 pounds for her overinflated lips); passenger luggage (50 each); pilot luggage and flight bag (30). I was shocked to see the result sitting 351 pounds over the allowable maximum gross takeoff weight with a forward center of gravity to boot. The useful load on this Saratoga is only 1,011 pounds. I hate to think what might have happened had Nat requested I complete this flight at the very last minute. Relying on my knowledge that he had completed this exact trip on numerous occasions, combined with the fact that he weighs about 20 pounds more than I do, I believe I may have accepted the mission without ever even looking at the weight and balance.

An aircraft’s performance was calculated for a standard degree day at sea level, when the engine was new and producing 100 percent power. As an engine wears and ages, a marginal decrease in performance and power occurs. Many issues, like a cylinder with very low compression or an issue with a valve, might not be detectable when operating during the vast majority of the time. However, when operating in the demanding and performance-stealing conditions of high density altitude, these previously undetectable problems can prove to be catastrophic. Non-turbo engines lose 3.5 percent of their rated horsepower for each 1,000 feet of altitude. If one is departing an airport with a 7,000 feet DA, 25 percent of the horsepower is lost (3.5 times 7 equals 24.5). If an old, tired engine is only delivering 94 percent of the power it did when it was new, an additional 6 percent is unavailable. This results in an aggregate loss of 31 percent of the rated horsepower. The combination of a decrease in performance attributed to high density altitude and an aircraft that exceeds its maximum gross weight limitation has caused the loss of far too many pilots and their unsuspecting passengers. 

Once set up, it takes less than two minutes to perform a weight-and-balance check on any of the aviation mobile apps. Do not be a victim of complacency. Add the following items to your checklist:

• Lean the engine to peak performance by increasing the throttle to full then slowly decreasing the mixture until the maximum rpm is reached. Leave the mixture at this setting.
• Set the flaps to the recommended takeoff setting. This setting is found in the aircraft’s POH.
• Calculate 50 percent of the runway remaining length and identify the corresponding marker or landmark that will let you know once you reach this point. Multiply your rotation speed by 0.7 and, if your aircraft is not at this speed by your designated 50 percent spot, abort the takeoff.
• In non-turboed aircraft, the horsepower adjustment for density altitude is calculated with the equation related earlier. A 160 hp engine operating at a density altitude of 7,000 feet will only deliver about 121 hp, and the prop is less effective at the higher density altitude as well.
• Accidents involving high density altitude are often associated with aircraft that are also overweight. I believe it to be one of the most preventable accidents—and it can be prevented before the aircraft ever leaves the ground. If you are operating in high density altitude conditions with a loaded airplane and you have any doubts whatsoever, you can always postpone the trip until early the next morning or another time of day when the temperature and density altitude are both likely to be lower.

I created reference charts with the weight and balance recommended by Nat and the calculation following the POH-specified loading requirements. Both were significantly over the maximum, though the POH figures would at least have given us a better chance.  The weight and balance recommended by Nat was actually 550 pounds outside of the recommended envelope because of the forward center of gravity.

The POH for this aircraft mandates that all luggage be loaded in the rear unless the fifth seat is occupied. Only then should luggage be loaded in the forward baggage compartment. The added weight of the air conditioner plus the turbo results in an aircraft that necessitates loading as instructed by the POH and not relying on habits or instruction from well-intentioned pilots. Needless to say, I didn’t take the flight.

Once my days on Earth are done, I hope to be riding the clouds, and no airplane will be required. Had I taken this flight and it ended with disastrous results, I might have earned a ride to hell. 

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

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Unfortunately, in the world of aviation, bad decisions can be more than a mere inconvenience or life lesson. In fact, they can be the last poor decision you ever make.

How do we protect ourselves from bad aeronautical decision-making (ADM)? One way is to learn from others’ mistakes. Have you ever read an NTSB aviation accident report and thought, “I would never do that! I would never get in that kind of a situation.” Well, it’s likely that the subject of that accident report also said those very words.

ADM begins well before the wheels leave the ground. In fact, the decision-making to scrub a flight should start the moment you roll out of bed, rubbing the sleep out of your eyes. Yep, the go/no-go decision process begins before the flush of the toilet.

Ask yourself how you’re feeling. Did you get enough sleep? Remember that fatigue results in symptoms similar to being inebriated. Few aviators walking the face of this planet would think about drinking and flying. Statistics prove that, yet they also prove that there have been more than a few accidents with fatigue contributing to the accident sequence. 

And speaking of inebriation, let’s not forget the eight-hour rule “from bottle to throttle.” That well-known saying uses a standard timeline for pilots to refrain from alcohol if they have a flight in the coming hours. However, many experts agree that for some individuals, eight hours is not enough to rid your system of the ill effects of alcohol. Your weight and what you’ve eaten will generally dictate your tolerance to its harsh effects. While an eight-hour period might be enough to pilot an aircraft safely, many of you might need considerably more time between bottle and throttle, even if you are considered “legal” in the eyes of FAR 91.17 and the law.

• READ MORE: Say Again?

In addition, excessive consumption of alcohol the night before a flight may cause a severe hangover for your planned next-day sortie. You might have fun on the dance floor with the lampshade on your head, but remember, they make movies about hangovers. Throwing caution to the wind and scrubbing your flight because of an excruciating hangover might be as good of a decision as you will make. Good advice? Scrub the flight, take two acetaminophen, and call me in the morning.

How about your stress level? Did a significant event recently happen that is weighing heavily on your mind? Job issues? Family health issues? Spouse/partner trouble? These can negatively impact your judgment and might be a good reason to make that “no-go” decision and fly another day instead.

In addition to the negative stressors, major positive life events can also affect judgment. These can include starting a new job, welcoming a newborn into your family, getting married, and even buying a home.

The fact is that any significant life event, whether positive or negative, can make it difficult to concentrate and can ultimately compromise the safety of your flight. If you feel overwhelmed, it’s probably a good indicator for you to make that “no-go” decision.

Also, take a quick inventory of the medication you are taking. Did you take anything that could affect your thought process and decision-making? Let’s not forget about herbal supplements as well. And something as innocuous as over-the-counter cold medication could put your head in a tailspin. Be prudent and cautious with your medicines. Err on the side of caution.

Once you have passed the IMSAFE checklist (below), it simply means that you are physically and emotionally fit to fly. It does not mean that you are immune from bad decisions. Several influences can tempt you to ignore your personal minimums leading up to a flight.

Peer pressure is undoubtedly near the top of the list. Whether the perception of other pilots negatively influences you or you want your passengers to be in awe of your piloting skills, sometimes you have to say no.

Peer pressure also contributes to another “malady” that can lead to your day in the sky ending badly. “Get-home-itis” is a well-known condition in aviation circles that contributes to preventable accidents. It is the overwhelming desire to depart when other conditions—such as bad weather, maintenance issues, or failing any of the IMSAFE checklist items—dictate that it’s best to wait until later to fly. Get-home-itis usually is preceded by self-induced or passenger-related pressures to get home. You have likely read NTSB accident reports where the probable cause may not directly state “get-home-itis.” Still, the report makes evident to the casual observer that poor pilot judgment, combined with the crushing desire to get home, resulted in the often serious or fatal accident. While you may survive a singular bout of this condition, there’s no guarantee, and the statistics work against you if it becomes a recurring theme in your decision-making process.

So, how can you avoid falling into this potentially fatal trap? After all, you wouldn’t intentionally make a decision that would jeopardize your safety or that of your passengers.

Our most significant safeguard to prevent these irreparable mistakes is to acknowledge—and remain conscious of—the fact that we are susceptible and vulnerable to the flaws of human nature. It sounds simple enough, but we all know that admitting your faults—especially every time they arise—is easier said than done. The FAA recognizes five hazardous attitudes for pilots: anti-authority, impulsivity, invulnerability, macho, and resignation. Regardless of your social status, intelligence, or general goodness as a human being, you can exhibit one or more of these attitudes for a moment in time—and, unfortunately, that is all it takes to make an irreversible mistake. We all must recognize our potential to adopt these attitudes and consciously try to avoid or mitigate the associated risks.

• READ MORE: NTSB Finds Improper Maintenance Was a Cause of 2020 Crash of Piper PA-28

In the end, a good rule is to recognize that a decision to scrub a flight, extend your pattern, hold over that fix for another circuit, or say something doesn’t feel right and return to the hangar is the best alternative to making that one irreversible bad decision. There are no do-overs. Learn from others, avoid becoming the statistic others read about, and say, “It won’t happen to me.” For some, statistically speaking, it will happen to them. Don’t let it be you.

As pilots, we face several challenges in our quest to enjoy our world of aviation. We’ve made a significant financial investment and  put in considerable time and effort to become FAA certificate holders. You could have all the piloting talent of a Top Gun fighter pilot, but if you are lax in your decision-making, your destiny is that of a statistic in the worst possible sense of that word. While most of us are born with good judgment and the ability to make sound decisions, we all could use a little reminder and remedial training on what it takes to make good decisions.

It’s also wise to remember that while you may think you fly the airplane with your hands, you mostly fly it with your head. Make good use of your mind and excellent decision-making ability, and live to fly another day.

Whether it’s bad ADM or some other culprit, what if you find yourself aloft and realize you are now in a dangerous situation? This results from a chain of events that typically precipitates the terror that comes once you find yourself in the unenviable position of danger in an airplane. And while the steps leading up to that point in time might have taken a while to develop, in a moment you realize the seriousness of your predicament, and your reaction is called the “startle effect.”

The startle effect occurs as a first response to something unexpected that triggers involuntary physiological reflexes. Sweaty palms, increased heart rate, and muscle tension are some of the few physical characteristics of someone experiencing it. Decision-making and the inability to quickly assess the situation will likely be affected. Luckily, the startle effect typically lasts less than a second or two, at which point the return to cognitive thinking and the subsiding of the condition allows for assessment of the situation.

While you may be a victim of this circumstance, you would most likely experience the psychology of surprise during any life-threatening airborne emergency, regardless of how it develops, whether because of a bad decision to take flight or something beyond your control, such as an engine failure from a catastrophic component malfunction. This occurs when the variance between your expectation and what presents itself occurs.

Sometimes the surprise supersedes the startle effect. And, sometimes, they go hand in hand. Examples of this would be an engine failure on takeoff or a sudden foray of a VFR pilot into IFR conditions. The effects are similar to the startle effect.

But how can the startle effect lead back to good ADM? Several factors contribute to it, including fatigue, stress, distractions, and other things you will find on the IMSAFE list. Therefore, reviewing this checklist before every flight will help assure any situation resulting in the startle effect during your journey will be handled to the best of your ability and capability, minimizing the risk inherent in startle and surprise.

As certificated pilots, you should conduct your flights to mitigate risk and allow for the safety and well-being of you and your passengers, as well as those on the ground.

Save this article, and put it under your pillow at night. Do whatever it takes to make your skies safe, and live to fly another day.

The FAA’s “IMSAFE” Checklist

Illness: Are you sick or feeling sick?

Medications: Have you taken any medications that could affect your thought process and decision-making? This could be something as simple as over-the-counter cold medication.

Stress: Are you under any undue stress, whether positive or negative? Family, financial, and spouse/partner issues are common stress inducers. Stress is known to affect judgment negatively.

Alcohol: Even though the eight-hour rule “from bottle to throttle” is well known, many experts agree that for some individuals eight hours is not enough to rid your system of the ill effects of alcohol. United Airlines now requires its pilots to refrain from drinking alcohol for at least 12 hours before reporting for duty.

Fatigue: Have you had enough sleep and nutrition? This is something you’ll need to reevaluate during your preflight. We are all individuals, so six hours of sleep and a Big Mac are sufficient for some of us to get through the day. For others, 10 hours and a well-balanced meal fit the bill. Whatever it is for you, ensure you are well rested, fully nourished, and ready for flight.

Emotion: Have you experienced any emotional, upsetting events preceding your planned flight? Are you dealing with the severe illness of a family member? Did you have to spend a day in court? Did you get into a shouting match with the neighbor? Were you on the receiving end of road rage? All these factors can harm your emotional health and, in turn, produce additional stress. As noted above, this is a vicious circle that certainly could affect your readiness to fly.

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

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