Five of us owned a Cessna 140 in a loosely formed club. There were rules to follow but we really didn't have meetings or get-togethers to discuss them. One of the rules was: When you finish flying, you fill the airplane with fuel and restore it to flying condition.
When I returned after a flight one summer evening, I discovered the fuel pumps had been shut down for the night. The airplane's right fuel gauge read three quarters, and if I came out the next evening to fly again, I could fill it. Anyone else who wanted to fly could use the left tank, which was full.
I returned the next evening and ran a complete preflight on the airplane; everything looked good except the right wing tank. I couldn't touch the fuel, and the gauge still read three-quarters full. I untied the airplane, started it up, taxied to the runway, and ran the preflight checks. Everything checked out OK. I took off and did three touch-and-go landings. The next time around, I came to a full stop and taxied back for another takeoff. Three airplanes were waiting in line to take off ahead of me. While I was waiting a young man hollered at me, "How about a ride?"
"Sure, walk around behind the airplane and get in," I said. He did, and we finally got our turn to take off.
Everything was fine until we were near the end of the runway, about 150 feet in the air, when the engine lost power. What happened next took place so fast that I didn't even have time to be scared.
I set up a glide straight ahead, but there was a house across the road and poplar trees that were too tall to clear. To the left of the house was an apartment building. To the right was an unfriendly-looking hill. Maybe I can get back to the airport, I thought, because the engine was still producing some power.
I made a turn to the left and started to run through emergency procedures. I pulled on the carburetor heat, checked the magnetos, pushed the mixture to rich, checked the primer, confirmed the throttle was full open, and checked the gauges, while simultaneously descending and looking for a place to land.
The fuel selector valve had three positions, with "Off" to the left, "Left" in the center, and "Right" on the right side. It was on the floor in front of the seat, with no positive locking in any position — just line the selector up with the marks. I was afraid to touch it without looking at it for fear I would get it between tanks and stop what flow of gas there was. Also, I didn't want to take my eyes off of the ground at that low an altitude.
When I realized I wasn't going anywhere but down with so little power, I picked the best looking place and put it down.
We hit some small trees with the right wing, bending them over but also lifting the airplane up a couple of feet as it slipped over them. As the airplane came to a stop, I realized the engine was still running smoothly. Since we were in a clear area, I ran the engine up to check it out, then shut it off when I couldn't find anything wrong. We got out and looked over our tire tracks. We saw that when the trees lifted the right wing, it allowed the right wheel to clear an 18-inch-high rock. Those trees kept us from nosing over or losing a landing gear.
I called the FAA to find out what I should do. They said to leave the airplane where it was until the next day when they could check it over. I got some ropes and stakes and tied it down.
The next day, the FAA called me to say they had investigated the airplane and wanted to know which tank I had been flying on. When I told them the right tank, they said they thought so since it was out of fuel. There was just enough fuel in the tank to keep it running when it was on the ground. Because the 140 is a taildragger, fuel runs to the back of the tanks when it's sitting on its landing gear. The FAA called it an incident because nothing was damaged and no one was hurt. The wing didn't even show marks from the trees.
Some critical information emerged once the airplane was returned to the airport. One of the men in the club who didn't fly much, if at all, maintained the airplane. Just before my flight, he had done the annual inspection on the 140 and used fuel out of the right tank — without replacing it or letting anyone know. I assumed the three-quarter reading was right because that was the way I had left it the night before. It was almost empty, and the fuel gauge only worked down to three quarters of a tank, we found out.
Lessons learned: Never assume. Never take off on a partially- filled tank when you have a full one. Be able to switch tanks in flight without looking. Always have an advance plan for when the prop stops or the engine slows down. Fly without this kind of plan and it may be too late to decide on one. Once airborne, continuously look for a place to land. Once committed to a course of action, you must fly with cool, calculated precision to a forced landing, because with all your options gone, it's the only chance you've got to reduce the chance of damage or injury.
Edgar A. Siewert, AOPA 062327, is a retired Army sergeant major who lives in Oklahoma. He has accumulated more than 300 hours in 47 years of flying.
"Never Again" is presented to enhance safety by providing a forum for pilots to learn from others' experiences. Manuscripts should be typewritten, double-spaced, and sent to: Editor, AOPA Pilot, 421 Aviation Way, Frederick, Maryland 21701.
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