In the midst of the worst winter in history, I had managed to pick a week of benign weather in January to fly from my new home in North Carolina back into the frozen Northeast to do some business. VFR weather was predicted along the East Coast, so it seemed that I had planned the perfect day for the return trip.
With full tanks in my Cessna 182, I said goodbye to the ice- and snow-covered runways of Manchester, New Hampshire, and gratefully turned southwestward. Soon, the forecast southwest winds slowed my groundspeed enough that my loran estimated that more than five hours would be required to make New Bern, North Carolina. Still, with 79 gallons of usable fuel and a 12.5-gallon-per-hour burn rate, the trip could be made nonstop with ample reserves. There were also plenty of potential fuel stops along the route.
At 4,500 feet over New Jersey, my groundspeed indicated that the total trip would require 5.5 hours. This gave me about a 45-minute fuel reserve, lower than my usual personal limit of an hour but more than adequate to meet VFR fuel minimums. Also, after almost a week away from my wife, get-home-itis certainly allowed this much of a deviation.
The first evidence of an inaccurate forecast came while I was flying over the southern tip of the Delmarva Peninsula toward Norfolk, Virginia. Instead of the blue skies that had been the rule for the first part of the trip, the view ahead was hazy and vaguely white. On past trips the Norfolk area had always seemed to have more cloud cover than the areas north and south of it. This phenomenon was often localized, however, and would clear up shortly after traversing the area. Given the beautiful forecast, I had no doubt that this was the case today. The haze appeared to be low, and I decided to climb to 6,500 feet to see if I could get above it.
Shortly after I passed the Accomack County Airport in Melfa, Virginia, the visibility began to drop and it became apparent that the cloud tops were too high to climb over. Circling back north to maintain VFR, I filed an IFR flight plan in the air. I fully expected to cancel it after traversing Virginia and finish the trip in the clear. Furthering my belief, I overheard flight service telling another pilot that Charleston was VFR. (I was unaware that he was referring to Charleston, West Virginia — not South Carolina.) This deviation wasted no more than 10 minutes, and I was still confident of having sufficient fuel to finish the trip.
The clouds over Norfolk soon proved to contain snow, and at 6,000 feet, I was picking up a little rime ice. Since the outside temperature was 10 degrees Fahrenheit, I reasoned that a climb might solve the problem. At 8,000 feet I was still accumulating ice, so I asked for and was cleared to 10,000 feet.
At 10,000 feet I was in bright sunshine on top of a solid layer. The icing had stopped and was sublimating off the wings, but I had a new problem. The strong headwinds at this altitude had lowered my groundspeed to 93 knots. By the time I had discovered and solved the icing problem, the distance back to a VFR airport was about as far as I had left to go. Checking with flight service, I found that the airports near my route had ceilings well below their NDB approach minimums. Unwittingly, I had put myself into a position where my best option was to press on and hope that I did not miscalculate my fuel usage.
The usually inaccurate fuel gauges were no comfort to me in this situation. Yes, they were reading very near the "E" end of the scale, but they never read full when I fill the tanks, either. How much margin of error was there? Never having flown with the fuel this low, I had no way of judging. Rocking the wings made the needles move, so I hoped for the best.
As time dragged by, I worked to remain calm and ahead of the airplane. I kept track of my position on my VFR chart and noted airports and clear, open terrain below the clouds in case the engine should quit. I drew some consolation from the fact that at this altitude I could not be burning more than 10 gallons per hour.
New Bern has an ILS approach, and the weather there was 800 feet and seven miles. I knew from experience, though, that there was still plenty of ice in those clouds, and I did not want to contemplate flying a missed approach with so little fuel left on board. Luckily, the airport was fairly quiet, and there was little vectoring before I was cleared to land.
The fuel gauges did not move when I rocked my wings now, and ice built up quickly on the struts and wings. My palms were sweating slightly from flying a nervous, less-than-perfect approach. Nonetheless, I broke out at 800 feet with the runway in plain view and landed. When the fuel bill came in, 74.8 gallons had been pumped into the 182, leaving no more than 15 minutes of possible climbing, vectoring, and maneuvering had a missed approach been necessary. Forget trying an alternate.
What did I learn? The first thing is not to even come close to violating my one-hour fuel reserve rule. It would not have made much difference in this case, but any extra time would have helped. Second, take the necessary time to get the full weather picture when it looks as if things have changed during a flight. It did not help that I misinterpreted flight service's reference to Charleston and therefore assumed that the weather was clear farther south. It also did not help that the smaller airports I had planned on using for fuel if I ran low could not be accessed because of unexpectedly low ceilings.
Finally, there is that matter of wanting to get back home. A week of living in frigid cold weather makes the return to sunny warmth look awfully tempting. It is important to err even more strongly on the side of safety when you know that such conditions are influencing your mind. Landing in Maryland and refueling would have delayed my return, by perhaps as much as a day if the icing in the updated forecast had convinced me to wait. But isn't that better than flying along above ice-filled clouds, wondering whether "E" really means empty?
Carl Galante, AOPA 1003242, of Hempstead, North Carolina, is a computer consultant whose hobby is restoring historic homes.
"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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