"Negative, sir, zero zero victor."
It all began in Wichita, Kansas. My wife and our next door neighbors had decided to make an overnight flight to Dallas for dinner and breakfast. A Cessna Cardinal RG from our local flying club was to be our transportation to the big city.
The weather forecast was pretty typical for mid-September - it included a chance for evening thunderstorms in the North Texas region. Otherwise CAVU (ceiling and visibility unlimited) prevailed all along our route.
Our VFR flight plan called for us to parallel Interstate 35. The winds were light so I computed a time en route of a little over two hours and twenty minutes. Our 4:30 p.m. takeoff time would put us in Dallas after dark, but that wouldn't be a problem. My main concern was the possibility of thunderstorms.
I'd flown the route from Wichita to Dallas many times, usually IFR in a company twin equipped with radar. I considered filing IFR for this flight, but didn't because my experience with ATC told me it was possible for a controller to inadvertently run me into a thunderstorm. It's not that ATC doesn't care or would purposely put an unwary pilot in harms way, it's just that their radar equipment tracks airplanes - not weather.
Having grown up in Oklahoma and having lived in Kansas I had a great respect for the power of even a small thunderstorm (and still do). I elected to fly VFR - out of the clouds - where I could keep a constant watch on the situation. I figured the worst case would be a diversion to some small Texas airport to wait out the weather.
After takeoff from Wichita I climbed to 5,500 feet and got on my Interstate course line. The first hour passed pleasantly enough. The air was smooth, there was nothing but farmland below, and with the sun falling ever lower in the western sky, the world took on that gorgeous yellow-red tint.
Ahead I could see some buildups slightly east of our course, and I could begin to make out the beginnings of a cloud layer somewhat below us. To stay below the clouds I nudged the airplane into a gentle descent. Ten minutes later, I leveled off at 3,500 feet. We were coming up on Ardmore, Oklahoma, where the terrain elevation is a little under 1,000 feet. With 2,500 feet of room between us and the ground I wasn't too concerned about hitting anything.
We were cruising below a broken layer of clouds and it was beginning to get dark. To be a step ahead I tuned the second nav receiver to the Love Field VOR, even though we were too far away to receive a useable signal. The Ardmore VOR was on the number one radio, and the DME said we were 10 miles south of it.
Passing the Red River, I was becoming concerned about how dark everything looked to the South. Our ride was still smooth and the visibility was good so I decided to continue. The Love VOR was beginning to come alive, and the Gainesville airport, just ahead, was wide open, so I still had a good back door if necessary.
Five minutes south of Gainesville, the DME on Nav 2 came alive and said we were 40 miles north of the Love VOR. I was beginning to see lightning flash off southeast and the glow of the lights from the Dallas metro area was unmistakable.
"Dallas approach, Cardinal seven six zero zero victor is thirty five north of the Love VOR at three thousand five hundred, squawking twelve hundred with information Bravo, landing at Love."
"Roger zero zero victor, squawk two four five three ident please."
I tuned the requested numbers into the transponder and punched the button marked "ident".
"Zero zero Victor, radar contact thirty two north, descend to and maintain two thousand five hundred."
"Leaving three point five for two point five, zero zero victor," I said, establishing a 500-foot-per-minute descent. Over the sea of lights that make up the Dallas metro area, I was now seeing lightning to the east, south, and west. A few raindrops smacked into the windshield, and I could tell the rain was heavier ahead.
"Zero zero victor, Dallas approach. You're ten north of Love Field contact Love tower now on one eighteen point seven. Good night."
As I acknowledge the frequency change I started down to pattern altitude. The rain was coming down heavier, which began to obscure everything. The buildings of downtown Dallas disappeared in the veil of rain. Lightning seemed to be coming from everywhere.
My inner voice began talking to me - Patrick, I hope you know what you're doing.
Love tower told me to enter left base for Runway 13. The tower could see my landing light, but I just could not see the airport, even though I knew it was very close.
"Cardinal zero zero victor we're going to turn the runway lights up to see if that helps."
Suddenly the airport popped out of the sea of lights. I could see the runway off to the left and that I was much too close to land on it. "Runway in sight. Zero zero victor."
"Roger sir, Cardinal zero zero victor is cleared to land Runway 13."
For a moment I was undecided on the best way to get to the runway. I reduced the power, and the airspeed indicator said I could safely lower the landing gear. Down went the gear handle. It was really beginning to rain hard, so it was important to keep the runway in sight. I was so close the only viable option was to make a 270-degree turn to the right away from the runway to kill off some altitude and to line up with the runway.
I was about to start the turn when I saw that the green light did not come on when the gear stopped moving. In addition to keeping track of my altitude and heading, configuring the airplane for landing, and keeping sight of the airport, I now had to deal with a landing gear problem. I started the turn to the right. My plan had been to tell the tower, but now I had to fly with one hand and try to figure out whether the gear was down with the other.
We could see the main gear out the side windows, but not the nosewheel. Not wanting to take a chance on a burned out bulb, I swapped lights with my right hand while I flew with my left.
" Zero zero victor, you're turning away from the airport!" There was clear panic in the controller's voice. "You're cleared to land any runway any direction."
Man oh man. How am I supposed to talk to this guy with my hands full of airplane. I've got to get this airplane down and right now or else. He's just going to have to wait. Let's hope it's just the light.
It's not my habit to ignore the tower, but in this situation I just didn't have enough hands. As quickly as I could I slipped the green light into my shirt pocket, and took the yellow light from its socket and began screwing it into the vacant socket.
Watch your altitude. Watch your altitude!! Get some power on. Keep a steady bank angle. Thirty degrees is just fine. Come on light. Get in there.
The yellow light came to life! The gear was down and locked. I was turning through what could now be thought of as a turn from right base to final.
"Love tower, zero zero victor is right base for landing runway one three. Sorry I couldn't talk to you for a minute there. I had my hands full working on a landing gear problem."
The guys in the tower were not angry at what I'm sure they thought was a pilot who had mistaken other lights for the runway. They acknowledged my intentions and cleared me to land once again on Runway 13.
We were passing through a heavy rain shower as I lined up on final approach. However the air was still smooth and a strange sense of calm settled over me as I went through the familiar motions on final. What had been a frantic set of movements only a few seconds ago, settled down into what appeared, even to me, to be calm, well-practiced actions. The landing was smooth.
I've thought about this flight many times. I pushed it to the edge of the VFR envelope and got myself in a situation where, when things began to go wrong, I could have been in real trouble. Fortunately, it was just a burned out bulb. But, because I failed to plan my arrival properly and couldn't find the runway, I let the airplane get ahead of me for a minute or so, which is never acceptable, even for an instant.
I had become so used to flying twin engine airplanes in IFR conditions that I failed to respect the planning it takes to fly a small airplane in an acceptable manner. There is a new word for it these days. I "disrespected" the airplane. I was intent on a fine dinner in Dallas with my wife and my best friends.
I was instrument rated but I didn't carry my instrument charts with me. I should have. Then I could have configured the navigation radios for an instrument approach. I should have known where the outer marker was. I didn't. I should have been prepared to navigate on my own to the final approach course. I wasn't. I should have planned ahead. I didn't. The flight could have been costly, but fortunately for us all, it wasn't. Thorough preflight planning includes the landing. It's your responsibility as pilot in command.
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