Never Again

Sometimes a really fine stew takes a lot of ingredients and a couple of cooks.

That was the case as my wife and I descended toward Grand Strand Airport (CRE) in North Myrtle Beach, South Carolina, many years ago. We were in no hurry to get down. The temperature was 104 degrees Fahrenheit in the shade, and who knew what it would be on the tarmac?

It was hot even at 13,500 feet, but aloft was the best place to be that day. We planned a 15-minute stop for fuel and a leg stretch, and then right back up to high altitude.

Visibility was at least 40 miles, and you might reason that the chances of conflict with another aircraft would be small on a day with such excellent visibility. But statistics say otherwise; there is actually a greater risk of conflict when visibility is good than when it is poor. This was borne out as we descended toward Myrtle Beach and the mother of all near misses.

Intense heat upsets the atmosphere and produces visual disturbances that we commonly call mirages. We have all seen highways and perhaps runways that appear to be "wet" in the distance. Visual light is bouncing off of disturbed air, giving the illusion of wetness; anything lying underneath this disturbance may be completely obscured from view.

Also, objects in the distance can be seen as offset to the left or right from their actual position, or they may appear inverted. These phenomena caused me plenty of trouble that day.

Grand Strand Airport is on the coast of South Carolina. Twenty years ago when this incident happened, there was an Air Force base about 10 miles to the south and also on the coast (now Myrtle Beach International Airport—MYR). I had never been to Myrtle Beach before and didn't want any mix-ups.

This was before GPS, and the only VOR was at a distance and angle that were not very helpful. The plan was to top the airport at 3,000 feet, make a positive identification, and then descend to a landing.

I established communication with the tower. He gave me the numbers, told me to report on a left downwind, and then he said that I was in sight. That was enough identification for me. I had 2,000 feet to get rid of in a hurry with S-turns, and I dropped my efforts to identify the airport.

On downwind, I saw a very large four-engine turboprop aircraft, with its engines running, that seemed to be off to the side of the runway on a narrow taxiway. It seemed to be perpendicular to the taxiway, and I wondered how such a large aircraft was going to turn around on a narrow taxiway. There was no time to think about it, however. I had altitude and speed to get rid of and a landing checklist to complete.

I reported on base and was cleared to land. On final, the far end of the runway turned into a shimmering blur, but since the runway was at least 10,000 feet long, that didn't seem critical at the time. The tower called up and said, "Uh, Six-Six-Foxtrot, didn't you say you were a Cherokee? I have a high-wing on final."

I never got to answer. His transmission dissolved into static as I descended. The runway numbers that came up were similar, but not what they were supposed to be, and there were too many military aircraft on the ground. The tower had mistaken me for another aircraft, and I had misidentified the airport. I was landing at the Air Force base and talking to the tower at another airport 10 miles away.

I added power to delay the landing so I could sort things out. In the distance, there were four little disturbances in the shimmering mirage at the other end of the runway.

Suddenly, the four-engine turboprop climbed up out of the mirage. He had just taken off from the other end of the runway that I was preparing to land on. We were on a collision course, less than one-half mile apart, and with a rapid rate of closure.

The heat-related visual disturbance had caused the image of the other aircraft to appear on the taxiway when it was actually on the runway preparing for takeoff.

The rules of the airways are the same as for the sea. When on a head-on collision course, both craft shall give way to the right. In such an imminent emergency, however, there is no time to contemplate the regulations. Reacting more on instinct, we both turned to the left.

The risk of midair collision was over, but my low-altitude, low-airspeed, 75-degree-bank turn left me headed straight for the control tower with the stall warning blaring. There was nothing to do except to make another steep, low-altitude, low-airspeed turn to avoid the tower. We passed close enough to see the controllers in the tower pointing at us.

The FAA demanded a full explanation. Fortunately, my explanation was accepted, and I never heard from them again. Although I was not cited for a violation, I still learned some valuable lessons.

It is the responsibility of the pilot in command to know where he is at all times, and this responsibility cannot be delegated. Most of us will agree that our air traffic controllers are competent and professional; but they are not perfect. I let a controller's mistake become my mistake, and that lapse almost resulted in widely scattered aluminum. It is also apparent that extra vigilance is needed because of visual disturbances on hot days when maneuvering near an airport. I learned that a hot sun can burn you in more ways than one.

Robert J. Starr, AOPA 1218220 , is a commercial pilot who lives in Lyndonville, Vermont. He flies a Mooney Rocket.

"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.