Flying Carpet

Some Lessons A Pilot Never Forgets

Nausea circled my gut like the snow orbiting my propeller. So this must be vertigo, I thought. I peered out the windshield for landmarks, but snow obscured all but a tiny spot of ground beneath me, even at an altitude of only 1,000 feet. To make things worse, the nav radio had obviously failed-how could I drift so far off course on a flight of only 40 miles?

It was almost Christmas, and I was a young college student transporting precious parts for my Suzuki X-6. One of the hottest motorcycles of its day, the X-6 was also notorious for its temperamental transmission. Sure enough, after just a few rides to impress my new girlfriend, I'd been forced to disassemble it for overhaul. The nearest dealer was in Decatur, Illinois, so each discovery of another worn-out component meant another 80-mile round trip from Champaign to replace it. Today was a big day, because after months of waiting the major transmission parts had finally arrived. To celebrate I decided to make the pickup by airplane.

"There's a storm system approaching from the northwest," said the briefer that morning prior to departure, "but we don't expect it here before supper time."

"No problem," I said. "I'll be back by early afternoon." I flew to Decatur under clear skies, hitched a ride to the motorcycle dealership, and collected a bagful of gears and shafts. Then I headed for the Decatur airport restaurant intending to savor its infamous double-decker burger slathered with peanut butter and Bermuda onions. On the way, however, I noticed hazy clouds materializing. Was that a snowflake?

Forgetting food, I phoned flight service, only to learn that the weather system was advancing far more quickly than forecast. "Get out right now and you'll be OK," said the briefer. "The weather's approaching from the northwest. Going east you should reach Champaign well ahead of it."

By the time I finished preflighting the airplane, the ceiling was slate gray, and light snow was falling. Quickly, I took to the air. As expected, the weather rapidly improved. But to my surprise, it soon began deteriorating again. Not being instrument-rated, I descended lower and lower to remain in visual flight conditions.

Now I was getting nervous. Increasing turbulence and a dramatic crab angle indicated powerful winds. Worse yet, flight visibility was diminishing in snow, though for a short time better weather could be seen off my wing to the south. Ominously, the words of my former flight instructor filled my head. "Never enter precipitation you can't see through to the other side."

Knowing I couldn't be far from home, I tuned in the recorded weather for Champaign. "Ceiling indefinite 1,500 feet," it said, "visibility four miles in snow." How could this weather system be beating me to Champaign? Ugh, that swirling snow around the propeller is making me dizzy. Looking away, I noticed the nav needle pegged to the right. Couldn't be right, I thought, I already have 10 degrees correction. Assuming the needle was wrong, I maintained my previously calculated heading.

By now the snow offered just a tiny window to the ground, straight down and seemingly only inches in diameter. Through it passed nondescript bits of farm fields - no sign of the interstate or other familiar landmarks. In an effort to remain calm, I mentally reassembled my motorcycle from pieces spread across my apartment. Then I made the mistake of glancing back at the new parts on the back seat, increasing my vertigo.

Champaign now reported indefinite 1,200 feet overcast and three miles visibility. What if they go below visual minimums? Fighting panic, I focused on my girlfriend, who'd shown such faith in me as a pilot. It was almost Christmas, and this year for the first time she was to meet my parents. What if I don't make it home?!

Just then a fragment of huge grain elevator crossed my shrinking peephole to the ground. Probably it saved my life. So distinctive was this landmark that I knew immediately my exact location; expectations could no longer disguise reality. The nav radio was right after all - they always are in such situations - so I centered the needle and turned southeast. Had I continued on my heading I would have passed north of town, seeing nothing but cornfields until...until....

With the city below to guide me, I soon found the airport, though visibility was so bad it took a 360-degree turn to line up with the runway. The landing was lousy, thanks to my mental state and snow swirling about the propeller, but I knew that I'd cheated fate and should avoid testing it again in the future.

Upon closing my flight plan, I learned that the weather had advanced more from the north than the west, and unwittingly I'd taken off into a scallop in the leading edge. Although I thought I was flying into better weather, Champaign had come down only minutes after Decatur. The briefing had yielded no clue to this.

Among my own errors, the biggest was failing to act when visibility began deteriorating. A simple turn south would have led me to nearby airports in good visual flying conditions. Now I know that it's not the destination that makes a flight successful - just landing somewhere safely. I always know which way to turn toward better weather, even when navigating by instruments. Some lessons a pilot never forgets, assuming he lives to tell about them.

It was almost Christmas, and I might have missed it. I took that special girl to meet my parents, and there she gave the first of many holiday gifts to win my heart - a complete set of metric motorcycle wrenches.

Greg Brown was the 2000 National Flight Instructor of the Year. His books include The Savvy Flight Instructor, The Turbine Pilot's Flight Manual, and Job Hunting for Pilots. Visit his Web site ( www.GregBrownFlyingCarpet.com ).