The day was clear and sunny, without a cloud in the sky. The April morning was so quiet that it seemed a shame to break the serenity by starting an airplane engine. It was a beautiful beginning to a day that would end much differently.
Two other pilots and I were on a mission to rescue a stranded 1969 Mooney M20C Ranger. We were members of a small flying club at Rota Naval Air Station on the southwest coast of Spain. The Mooney was stuck with a broken starter at Salamanca, a Spanish air base to the north. Another club member had flown the Mooney on a cross-country to the base, where the starter decided that it was not coming home. I was a young private pilot, and this was an opportunity for quality flight time.
Our plan was to fly a Piper Warrior north to the air base, hand-prop the Mooney, and return with both aircraft — simple enough in theory. I would fly in the left seat of the Warrior on the way north and pilot the Mooney back, as I was current in both aircraft. The second pilot was a new CFI. He would fly right seat in the Warrior, and a third pilot came along for the ride.
The area that we would be flying over had very few navaids available and even fewer places to land in case something went wrong during the flight. I had done my cross-country planning: The flight was 259 nautical miles, and the course was 015 degrees. Accounting for winds aloft, the cruise speed of the Warrior, and the fact that we would have to climb over some mountains on the way gave me a flight time of approximately 2.7 hours.
With the planning and preflight complete, we climbed on board and launched into a flawless sky. Our course was roughly parallel to the border of Portugal and about 50 nm east of it. Although the landscape was beautiful, it was apparent from the charts and the view from the aircraft's windows that alternate airports were few and far between. There was one hard-surface runway at Talavera La Real near Badajoz, about 45 miles to the west of our course along the Portuguese border, but other than that there were only one or two small strips, and they were not documented. This would be an important factor on the return leg of our trip.
We arrived at Salamanca after 2.9 hours and climbed out of the Piper to stretch our legs. A Spanish military vehicle drove up and directed us to what we assumed was the duty office. Since none of us was fluent in Spanish, conversation was difficult, and it appeared that we would not be allowed to file the required flight plan to depart. Finally, after three hours of frustrated hand-waving, animated discussion, and some cajoling, we were allowed to file and depart.
After preflighting both aircraft, we were set to prop the Mooney. On the third try, the engine came to life again and we were set to go.
After takeoff, we climbed to clear the Sierra De Gredo mountains. With the highest peak along our course at 8,200 feet, we climbed to 10,500 feet on a course of 195 degrees. As we passed over the mountains, the air was cool, so I set the cabin heat knob to a comfortable temperature.
After a short time, I started to get a slight headache. Believing that I was possibly dehydrated, I got out my water bottle and aspirin. But my headache grew progressively worse, and I began to feel nauseated. We were an hour out of Salamanca — should I turn back?
I radioed the Warrior and briefly explained my situation. We were at the halfway point of our flight and pushing forward, but my nausea was worse and my headache severe. We decided to descend to 8,500 feet and continue, but I was having trouble concentrating and had the autopilot holding the course. The Warrior crew was looking at the charts for a place to put down but had no suggestions. They were unaware of the severity of my condition; I was beginning to believe that I would pass out.
After what felt like a lifetime, we started to cross familiar territory. I was in bad shape and nearly flew past the airport at Jerez. I started a descent and had the airspeed well into the yellow arc all the way down.
I always enjoy flying the Mooney and am never in a rush to get out of the airplane, but after this landing I was out so fast that I think I set an egress record. Incredibly, I felt better almost immediately and after 10 minutes I felt completely fine. What had happened? The club mechanic had the answer immediately: "Sounds like carbon monoxide poisoning to me," he said.
We took off the lower cowling and what we found stunned me. The exhaust plumbing had broken at a joint directly over the heater hose which led into the cabin. After I turned on the heater, I was breathing raw exhaust. I couldn't smell it or detect it in any way. The Warrior crew had not used their heater and did not know that I had.
I was lucky that the flight was on a perfect VFR day. Had it occurred at night or in instrument conditions, I doubt that I could have continued to navigate. I should have taken the sudden onset of the headache and nausea more seriously, and communicated the severity of my condition to the other aircraft.
I continue to use aircraft heaters but have a healthy respect for them, and I am alert for any symptoms of carbon monoxide poisoning any time that I turn the heater on. It's also a good idea to pick up a carbon monoxide detector and place it in a prominent place on the panel.
Greg Dunham, AOPA 834156, of Seattle is a commercial pilot with instrument, multiengine, and single-engine sea ratings.
"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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