My boyfriend and I had planned a weekend trip to Las Vegas from our home base on the California coast. The "June gloom" had settled in early Saturday morning but was predicted to lift, according to the weather briefing I had received. We are both VFR pilots so we decided to wait it out. Around 11 a.m. the ceiling lifted to about 900 feet — and cleared up completely at Fillmore, a town about 15 miles to the east. It was reported clear and calm all the way to Vegas.
I was a new pilot at the time and had not yet asked for, nor had I received, any special VFR clearances. With some prompting from two experienced pilots at the field that day I telephoned the tower, identified myself as a VFR pilot, and asked if they would give me a "special VFR clearance" to Las Vegas. They said no problem and were happy to help, since our sea-level field has frequent low ceilings and this request was not unusual.
I completed a thorough preflight. The Cessna 172 was in great shape, and I knew that the weather out of the area was excellent. I had all my numbers and flight plan and was ready to go. I contacted ground and told them that I was the "special" one who had called in earlier for a clearance. They instructed me to taxi to the run-up area and my clearance would be ready then. Once there, I again requested "special VFR." ATC gave me an altitude, heading, told me when to turn to another heading, and frequencies. I wrote everything down and read it back to them. "Readback correct, cleared for takeoff," they said. I was uncomfortable about the clearance. I knew the altitude would put me right in the clouds. But then I thought, "I'm new at this. They know far more about this stuff than I do. Maybe the ceiling just went up a few hundred feet and I can't tell. After all, I've never had a special clearance before, and they do it all the time — it's ATC, and they know what they're doing, right?"
I eased the throttle forward, applied a little right rudder, rotated at 60 mph, and the beautiful little Cessna was flying. Watching my numbers — airspeed, altitude, heading, engine gauges — and not wanting to miss anything, I asked my right-seat companion to keep his eyes on the outside while I kept mine on the control panel. At 900 feet I was in the soup; it was totally white, I could not see a thing, and I was in a turn to my next assigned heading. I thought, "OK, I must have done something wrong here." I went back to the clearance I had written down, and checked my instruments and gauges. I was doing everything just like they told me to. ATC asked me if I was IFR. The question confused me. I was in thick clouds so I told them, "Yes, I'm IFR. I can't see a damn thing." But I said it wrong — I'm a VFR pilot; I was not supposed to be in this. I called the tower back, attempting to correct my last transmission, and told them that I was not an IFR pilot but I was in IMC. The tower said something about the adjacent Class D airspace I was entering, gave me the new frequency, and told me to call them.
I normally have good communication skills. Every CFI that I have had has complimented me on my radio work. But I could not communicate. All I could do was fly the airplane. I started to change to the frequency they gave me and saw my directional gyro spinning. At first I couldn't believe it. I had no sensation of turning. After stabilizing the airplane I was disoriented. Numbers were not making sense to me. I couldn't figure out where I was or which direction to go. All I could think about was that the area that I was flying into blind has one nontowered and two Class D airports, and a military airfield, all in very close proximity — not to mention instrument approaches and mountains. The only safe place that I was sure of was up. I crammed the throttle in and started a 30-degree-bank turn, climbing left, and held it there until I broke out into the beautiful blue above, about 15 minutes after takeoff.
I caught my breath, made sure that the airplane was stabilized, and called approach. They said they were happy to hear from us but that I should call the tower when I landed. I did. I found out that I was given an "IFR to a VFR on top clearance," instead of a "special VFR clearance." I am a sixth-degree black belt and have taught environmental awareness, spatial orientation, self-protection, and self defense as well as karate for 20 years. I was amazed that I could not feel the airplane in a spiral. Neither could the pilot in the right seat. I actually thought that the DG was broken until I cross-checked it with the attitude indicator.
This experience could have been avoided had I used my common sense and recognized that the clearance given to me would put me in the clouds. I had the weather report. I should have called the tower back and refused the clearance. It is wrong to assume that others know what they're doing and that you don't, even when you have done your homework. Anyone can make a mistake. There are no hideouts, compromises, or misgivings when you are flying in the left seat. You are ultimately responsible. Pilots must pay strict attention and use logic and common sense in every aspect of flying. Every flight has its lesson.
Barbara Hale, AOPA 1357223, of Oxnard, California, owns a Cessna Hawk 172 XP and a Cessna 150L.
"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.
