Because of a mechanics' strike at my regular airline job, I was flying charters and flight instructing part-time during the summer of 1966. My employer was an FBO that had recently purchased a nice Cessna 337 Skymaster. The 337 was not the greatest performer, but as a 21-year-old unemployed airline second officer, I was grateful to have a job where I was looking out a front window.
For whatever reason, I had hangared the airplane with nearly empty tanks the night before. This was to be one of the smarter things I had done leading up to an unforgettable incident. On the day in question, I showed up early at South St. Paul Muncipal Airport-Richard E. Fleming Field in Minnesota to do a thorough preflight and top off the fuel. I was scheduled to pick up passengers at 8 a.m. at St. Paul Downtown Airport-Holman Field for a flight to Detroit.
The day started downhill with the discovery that the battery was dead on the 337 when I attempted to start the front engine to taxi to the pumps. I rushed off to find the chief pilot. His sage advice was to hand-prop the front engine. He convinced me that the alternator and the entire electrical system were in good shape. It was just that the battery would not hold a charge overnight. During taxi and warmup, the battery would get enough of a charge to start the rear engine, he said.
Just before starting the front engine, I asked Roger, "What if the battery does not get enough charge during taxi?" His answer was that it worked "real neat" to commence the takeoff roll on the front engine. Then, at about 60 to 70 mph, engage the starter for the rear engine. By this time there would be enough airflow to keep the prop turning when the starter got it turned over a few times. This seemed a little hazardous to me, but Roger convinced me that he had done this previously and it had worked very well. What the heck, I thought; he is the chief pilot, and retired Air Force at that. So I agreed and taxied out on the front engine after he propped it.
During the taxi and runup, I had concocted for the passengers a story about why they had to wait while I got fuel at St. Paul rather than arriving all ready to go. With the runup and stories complete, I attempted to start the rear engine. The battery could turn it only a few times, but it wasn't enough. So I elected to try the chief pilot's suggestion. I started down Runway 16 on the front engine only. With just one person and a light fuel load, the airplane accelerated quite briskly. My intention was to abort immediately if the starter did not turn the rear engine. Unfortunately, I did not have a plan for what was about to happen shortly after takeoff.
At about 60 mph I engaged the rear starter and noted an immediate start on the tach. A glance over my left shoulder also confirmed the prop's rotation. The rpm was near normal idle as I lifted off and retracted the gear. Since the rear engine was still cold, I had decided to let it run at a fast idle just above zero thrust for a couple of minutes. About the time the gear was in the wells I felt a shudder, much as one feels just as the prop comes to a full stop on engine shutdown. A quick glance at the tach confirmed that what I felt was true. A look over my left shoulder confirmed what the tach told me. The rear engine had quit, and the prop would not feather without oil pressure.
Suddenly this one-engine takeoff did not seem like such a good idea after all. I already knew that I would never do this again. I began to understand that chief pilots are not necessarily chief because they have the pilot's best interests at heart.
After these thoughts rushed through my head, it occurred to me that it might be a good idea to try another start. Even at its light weight, the 337 would not climb above 100 to 150 feet agl. The first attempted restart resulted in about the same thing that I had experienced on takeoff. The engine started and seemed to come up to zero thrust idle for a few seconds, then shuddered and died. I did manage to gain a few feet while it was at zero thrust.
A turn back to the field seemed like a poor idea at this altitude, especially with the stall warning beeping almost continuously, so back to the restart. I decided to try my hot-start procedure, in which I essentially flood the engine and crank with the mixture closed and the throttle at full. On the first attempt with the "revised" procedure, the engine started, but I was a split second late getting the mixture control to the rich position and the engine sputtered and died. However, I now felt sure that this plan was going to work. On the second try it worked beautifully. At this point a warmup seemed like an unnecessary luxury, so I added full throttle and chandelled back north toward St. Paul and my waiting passengers.
I arrived in St. Paul five minutes early, in spite of all the excitement. My passengers were not at all upset about a short delay when I told them that gas was cheaper in St. Paul. Somehow I was able to greet them and fuel the airplane without conveying my "excitement" over what had just happened. They got to Detroit in time for their meeting and, to keep the battery charged, I started both engines every hour while I waited. We returned home before sunset. When I taxied back in at Fleming Field that night, the chief pilot was standing on the ramp. After having seen that morning's incident, he promised to replace the battery immediately. I vowed to take everything any chief pilot said with a grain of salt. Every time I fuel my Cardinal nowadays, I remember that summer nearly 30 years ago when almost-empty tanks probably saved me from a crash landing.
Bob Peasley, AOPA 159142, of Lonsdale, Minnesota, is a Boeing 757 line check pilot for a major airline. He is a 22,000-hour ATP and CFI who has been flying for 35 years. He owns a Cessna Cardinal and a Beech C55 Baron.
"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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