Never Again

Since I fulfilled my lifelong dream of learning to fly, my wife, Jennifer, and I enjoy the time savings an airplane can provide.

Jennifer's family is from the South and spends much of the year on Hilton Head Island, South Carolina. We live in Baltimore. Two days before Christmas 1998, we rented a very capable Piper PA-28-140 to make the journey to Hilton Head.

A large storm system had set its sights on the East Coast. The flight service briefer assured me, however, that ceilings would remain well above 4,000 feet and visibility would be at least six miles along our route. Based on the forecast, no precipitation was expected before nightfall. I specifically asked about icing and was informed that none was reported along my intended course. Still, I felt apprehensive — a feeling that I did not share with Jennifer.

Like most young couples during the holidays, we were expected to meet familial obligations. We departed from the Martin State Airport and climbed to 3,500 feet. We were happy to find two immediate circumstances in our favor — a strong tailwind and smooth air. For the next one-and-a-half hours, things could not have been better. Our groundspeed approached 150 knots — not bad for a Cherokee 140. But as all fliers know, change comes quickly in the sky.

The first hint of trouble began with a few raindrops on the windshield; in and of itself, nothing to be concerned about. Ceilings remained at or above 5,000 feet, and visibility was very good. It then occurred to me, however, that the ground temperature when we left Baltimore was well below freezing. While contemplating this, the few raindrops were now engaged in a steady assault on the Cherokee. My worst fears were realized upon viewing the outside air temperature gauge — 24 degrees Fahrenheit. "Uh-oh," I thought to myself.

The Cherokee was full of fuel, people, and Christmas gifts. I knew that we were close to the maximum gross weight and did not have any room to take on ice hitchhiking its way south. Sure enough, though, the leading edges were already beginning to take on this most unwelcome of passengers. I knew now that we had to get down — and fast — or else we would land somewhere besides an airport.

Fortunately, I had purchased a GPS with a nearest-airport feature. It told me that we were only three miles from the Mecklenberg-Brunswick Regional Airport in South Hill, Virginia. I headed for it, not knowing that the trouble had only just begun.

During my frantic scrambling for charts and while staring intently at the GPS, I failed to realize that the raindrops, which had been streaking off the windshield, also decided to become ice for the ride down. The windshield was now an opaque mass.

By this time, I was on a wide downwind and could clearly see the runway from my side window, which was free of ice. I thought, "Hey, we'll be fine." I knew that we had some additional weight because of the icing, but really did not know how much. To be safe, I flew my approach 10 kt faster than normal. Mecklenberg boasts a 5,000-foot runway, and I intended to use all of it. Fortunately, no other traffic occupied the pattern — for obvious reasons.

The airfield was close, and we were less than two minutes from touchdown. But when we turned final my confidence evaporated quickly. I could not see! My mind raced. How was I going to flare? When was I going to flare? Were there any obstructions? How was I going to center and point the airplane? All the while, the Cherokee continued its descent.

I can be stubborn and rarely ask for help — what I now recognize as dangerous pride when it comes to flying. So when I said, "Jenn...I need your help," she immediately recognized the gravity of the situation. Desperately putting the airplane into a slip so that I could see the end of the runway and down the centerline, I told Jenn to let me know whether to push the 140 left or right and to tell me when we were about four feet from the ground.

Jennifer had never been a fan of flying, but to her credit she calmly peered from her windows and began calling out commands. "Left!" "Right!" "No! Point the nose right!" "Four feet!" I started my flare. "Point right!" "Right!" We hit hard, fast, and askew. We arrived on the Mecklenberg runway at about 80 kt and continued down it sideways. We could do nothing but ride it out. Upon our slipping and sliding on an ice-covered ramp and taxiway to the FBO, a soft-spoken elderly attendant simply said, "Not a great day for flying." We spent the next two days in a motel riding out one of the worst ice storms that part of the country has seen in decades.

I share this story not to boast about how things went right in a bad situation, but to suggest how quickly they could have spun out of control. Had we been 15 miles from an airport when ice first appeared, I suspect the outcome of our little adventure would have been very different. I endangered not only myself but also my wife, because I let holiday pressures influence my decision making and override my inclination to delay the flight.

As a result, Jennifer has now begun learning to fly. She has convinced me to agree that all future flights shall commence only upon a unanimous and fully informed vote of our two-person family. It is a decision-making system we can both happily live with.

Robert D. Schulte, AOPA 1336016, is an attorney from Annapolis, Maryland. He is a 250-hour private pilot and a partner in a 1969 Piper Cherokee 140.

"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.