As usual, I was in a slight hurry. My plans for the weekend were fairly well thought out, even to the times I would leave work, go home, pack, and get the family ready for a spectacular weekend at a west Texas ranch.
Watching the evening weather reports during the week had prepared me for the forecast — 8,000 broken, occasional rain, slight chance of thundershowers with a high pressure system moving in by Saturday. No problem. My Bonanza had good IFR gear, including radar and propeller deice.
After herding the family and gear to the airport, I checked the weather one more time. Uh-oh — a chance of icing at 10,000 feet in west Texas and an increasing chance of thunderstorms. No problem — I filed for only 8,000 feet.
The flying was great departing the Austin area and passing through Llano and San Angelo. The children were happy with their games and sodas, and my wife was busy with a fashion magazine. About 10 miles from Fort Stockton more clouds appeared, and they were lower than forecast. I had not even turned on the radar, since the six-inch dish antenna's effective range is only about 50 miles. Besides, I was below the clouds, and my destination — Alpine- Casparis Municipal Airport — was only 50 miles away. As I continued, I entered the cloud base. The outside temperature was less than 40 degrees but still above freezing. I assumed Alpine would still be as forecast, with 6,000 to 8,000 broken and 15 miles visibility, just as I had heard two hours earlier when I left Austin. My call to flight service revealed Alpine to be 400 overcast, with only five miles visibility, essentially at legal minimums and below my personal minimums.
As I slowly pondered my options, the icing began. A layer on the leading edges was quickly followed by the entire windshield's becoming iced up. Fortunately, I was alert enough to activate the pitot heat and prop deice. Unfortunately, I was not alert enough to ask immediately for a lower altitude. While monitoring center, I heard that the tops were only at 10,000 feet; perhaps I could still get above the clouds and make the Alpine approach if it cleared a little. My wife, sitting backwards, couldn't see the ice; and the children were still engaged in their activities. A quick call to center and I was cleared to climb. My next shock came when the airplane began a gentle shake and refused to climb.
It took almost 30 seconds for me to realize that I was stalling. It became obvious that I was not going to climb to 10,000 feet. Finally, I began to understand the situation and asked for an immediate clearance to make an instrument approach to the Fort Stockton-Pecos County Airport, which was only 10 miles away. Clearance was given; as I turned toward the initial approach fix, I heard the pilot of a Beech Baron at 9,000 feet advise center of severe icing and request the same approach. Fortunately for me, he would have to hold while I made the approach. As I completed the procedure turn in the clouds at cruise power, I watched the ice increase to over 2.5 inches on the leading edge of the wings. Turning inbound and descending to 800 feet, I went below the cloud base but remained on the instruments, since the windshield was coated with ice. Gently, I gave the Bonanza right rudder to allow visibility out of the left side window. About that time, the ice began breaking off the windshield — from turbulent airflow, I assumed. The noise made everyone in the airplane aware of the problem. Although my dilemma was lessened and I could see forward, I still had the problems of an incipient stall and a worried wife asking for reassurance.
Somehow, when approaching the field, I remembered to keep the power and flaps up and lower the gear. As I gently reduced the airspeed and came over the runway end at about 115 knots, I pulled the throttle back. With a thud, we descended onto the runway; and even though I was only five feet above the field, we hit like an airborne tank. Still, the ice was not jarred loose. Slowly, I taxied to the FBO. Within minutes the Baron also taxied in with two to three inches of ice. All of us got out and marvelled at it. Shaking, I walked to the FBO and sat down with a cup of hot coffee to celebrate my extreme good fortune.
After about 20 minutes I was able to discuss the incident rationally. There was no question that my judgment had been slow and faulty, but I chalked it up as experience. At least that is one mistake I'll never make again. Always avoid ice; and if it is inadvertently encountered, take action immediately to get out of it.
Lyle Koen, AOPA 964815, an eye surgeon from Austin, Texas, is a 1,400-hour private pilot who holds an instrument rating.
"Never Again" is presented to enhance safety by providing a forum for pilots to learn from the experiences of others. Manuscripts should be typewritten, double spaced, and sent to: Editor, AOPA Pilot, 421 Aviation Way, Frederick, Maryland 21701.
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