My first real life-or-death emergency began when the approach controller, who spoke perfect English with a moderate German accent, cleared me for the approach into the Stuttgart (Germany) International Airport. It was June 3, 1971, and I remember the flight as if it happened last night.
"Cessna Two-Six-Golf, turn right to a heading of 220 degrees, cleared to intercept the localizer to Runway 26. Contact Stuttgart Tower on 118.8," the controller instructed.
I read back the clearance and began my turn. As I was telling my copilot and passenger what a beautiful, though dark, night it was, the Cessna 182's engine quit. We were 2,500 feet agl, approximately three miles from the end of the runway when it happened.
As a flight instructor I had taught the procedures many times — only this time, it was for real. I ran through the emergency procedures, but the engine failed to respond. As I looked toward Stuttgart airport, my selected landing area, the approach lights — which were moving up in my windshield — told me that I wasn't going to make it.
Decision time. I had a dark night, a dead engine, and no possibility of reaching the airport. The only landscape visible was the autobahn below us, illuminated by the cars traveling east and west.
"Jim, you handle the radios. Declare an emergency. Tell them we have lost the engine and are going to set it down on the autobahn," I told my copilot. "Bill, watch for cars, trees, and bridges," I said to my passenger.
As I turned 20 degrees to the right to establish my final approach to the autobahn, everything seemed under control. The westbound traffic was lighter, so I chose to land that way. There were no bridges — at least none that we could see at this time — but there were bushy trees in the median. At 1,000 feet above the road, we saw the sports car maintaining a constant pace below us. A collision looked unavoidable.
Decision time again. As I continued my approach, I reasoned that the people in that car were not a part of this emergency and should not be involved in it. I decided to land in the median if the car didn't get out of the way.
With the alternate plan in mind, I continued my approach to the autobahn. When it was obvious that we would collide with the sports car, I moved the Cessna 25 feet to the left and began impacting the highest bushy trees. Just then, the driver of the sports car saw us, slowed down, and allowed me to shift back over the road and touch down ahead of him.
I felt relief as the wheels touched. Our ordeal was not over, however, as Bill yelled from the back seat, "Look out! There's a bridge ahead!"
I slammed on the brakes and we came to a stop under the bridge. As we exited the airplane, we saw a line of cars forming behind the sports car. The driver and his son had set out emergency flares to stop traffic on the autobahn. A few minutes later, a German police helicopter was overhead, illuminating the scene with bright floodlights. The police were based at Stuttgart Airport and had scrambled when we declared our emergency.
We had landed approximately one mile short of the airport. Total damage to the Cessna was a broken navigation light on the right wing, which had occurred as we coasted under the bridge.
Back in 1965 when I was working on my private pilot certificate, I was taught that proper cross-country fuel management was to burn out of one tank for an hour, then use the other tank for an hour. This procedure continued until one tank ran dry, at which time you switched to your remaining fuel in the other tank. This way you knew exactly how much flying time you had left.
I had followed this procedure on our trip and had run the left tank dry. Inspection of the fuel tanks after the incident revealed 10 gallons of fuel remaining in the right wing. Further inspection revealed no reason for the engine stoppage, with the exception of possible fuel unporting. Three important lessons were learned from this trip.
First, never run a tank dry unless your specific aircraft owner's manual approves of the procedure. I have never run a tank dry since that night. In fact, the Cessna 182 manual now tells you to land with the fuel selector valve handle in the Both position. The manual further states, under Fuel Limitations, "Operation on either left or right tank limited to level flight only."
Second, use all of your resources in an emergency. Had it not been for Jim's handling the radios and Bill's watching for trees, bridges, and cars, the outcome could have been significantly different. I was very fortunate in having two commercial pilots on board.
Third, stay proficient. Practice your emergency procedures regularly. When an emergency occurs, your proficiency may very well make the difference.
Richard J. Vosika, AOPA 1070575, of Minneapolis, is an Airbus A320 ground instructor for Northwest Airlines. He is a 1,200-hour CFII who has been flying for 29 years.
"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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