My first flight instructor drummed it into me, and I have passed it along to all of my students ever since: "There is absolutely no excuse for running out of fuel."
But during a general aviation flight in southern Africa, my determination to avoid fuel exhaustion was put to the test. We had spent a few days photographing white rhino and were preflighting the Beech Baron at an unattended strip, which was identifiable as an airport only by the tattered and faded windsock. Everything was normal, except that it was impossible to check the fuel visually. Because of wing dihedral and the outboard location of the fuel caps, the tanks look bone dry after only an hour of flying. But not to worry. The gauges indicated the tanks were three-fourths full.
After a routine departure, we turned north toward South Africa's Kruger National Park, where we were to continue our hunt for exotic animals. After leveling off at cruise altitude and settling back to enjoy the scenery, I noticed that both fuel gauges indicated that the tanks were only half full. No way, I thought, could we have burned that much fuel in only half an hour. Undaunted, we pressed on.
Not much later, the gauges showed a further decline in fuel quantity. This was getting serious. The indicator needles were moving almost as fast as a watch's second hand. I was convinced that the gauges were in error, but could I risk continued flight over inhospitable terrain? Our destination was still 45 minutes ahead. The thought of a forced landing amid a pride of lions held little appeal. So did landing at the nearest suitable airport. Mbabane offered a large and inviting airport, but it served the Kingdom of Swaziland, which I had heard did not roll out the welcome mat for pilots of South African-registered airplanes. (This was before the abolition of apartheid.) The unappealing choices were clear: risk fuel exhaustion over the bushveld or risk logging time in a Swazi jail as political prisoners.
I was convinced that the gauges were malfunctioning and that there was ample fuel to continue. But then I began to play the "what if" game. What if there was a major leak in the fuel system? What if someone had siphoned fuel from our tanks while the airplane had been unattended for three days?
I could almost hear my instructor's admonition, "There is no excuse for running out of fuel." That helped to develop the resolve needed to make the right decision. We were going to land and accept the potentially unpleasant consequences.
Mbabane Tower cleared us to land with what appeared to be excessive eagerness, like a Venus's-flytrap luring its prey. We had no difficulty finding the tie-down area; we were led there by a trio of Jeeps bristling with machine guns.
After deplaning and explaining that we had made an emergency landing for fuel, we were escorted to a Quonset hut, where we waited for whatever fate had in mind.
Minutes later, a door opened and a man resembling Idi Amin Dada, Uganda's deposed dictator, strutted forth. His military blouse was emblazoned with enough medals and ribbons to serve him well as a bulletproof vest.
"You say that you came here for fuel?" the man asked.
"Yes, sir," was my respectful reply. His eyes borescoped mine.
"Then please tell me," he began. "Why did your aircraft require so little fuel?"
He handed me the fuel slip, which confirmed that the fuel gauges had indeed been in error. I tried to explain the situation, but the man appeared not to comprehend my reasoning.
"You have neither an overflight permit nor approval to land here. This is very serious. Give me your passports."
We complied, and he inspected each one. "I see that you do not have visas for Swaziland." I sank lower in my chair.
He then broke into a broad, toothy grin and asked if we would like to have our passports stamped with an official Swazi seal. "Yes, sir," came the quick response.
The gauges still indicated empty even after the tanks had been topped and visually inspected. We taxied out with great haste and took off without so much as a runup. We did not want to give our host the time to have a change of heart.
There are many reasons why pilots run out of fuel. These include destinationitis (focusing too intently on reaching one's destination), dependency on unreliable fuel gauges, forgetfulness, complex fuel systems, denying reality ("It won't happen to me"), and poor planning.
The latter includes believing that the pilot's operating handbook accurately predicts fuel consumption. In most cases, fuel burn in the POH is optimistic because of engine condition, individual leaning techniques, etc. Also, I regard FAA's minimum required fuel reserve (for daylight, VFR flights) of 30 minutes as too skimpy. No way would I plan to arrive at my destination with so little fuel.
None of these or other reasons, however, is an excuse, because there is no excuse for running out of fuel.
After landing at Londolozi, I looked at my charge slip and discovered why we had been so readily granted permission to land at Mbabane. For visa, landing, and parking fees, and 40 gallons of fuel, my American Express account had been drained of several hundred dollars.
Related Articles
