I had purchased my Piper Cherokee 235 in December, but because the weather had been bad and because of the holidays, I had only flown the airplane 15 hours. I set a goal to practice IFR with a safety pilot and gradually work up to actual IFR. Eventually I would practice to minimums with a qualified instructor. I had received my instrument rating four years earlier and prided myself with staying safe and current.
One February Sunday seemed like a perfect day to work in some actual IFR with enough margins to keep me safe. DUATs weather for the Winchester, Virginia, area showed 3,000-foot ceilings with visibility at 10 statute miles and a temperature of 4 degrees Celsius. It also showed a possibility of occasional moderate rime ice between 10,000 and 22,000 feet. Wind at 6,000 feet would be out of the southeast at 25 knots with a temperature of plus 2 degrees. This was perfect; initial altitudes for approaches at the Winchester and nearby Martinsburg, West Virginia, airports were between 3,300 and 3,700 feet, which would keep me in the clouds during the initial approach phase. I called the Leesburg, Virginia, Automated Flight Service Station to file and get a standard weather briefing. The briefer said, "Even though it doesn't call for icing, keep your eye on the outside air temperature gauge." He explained that there might be a pocket between 3,000 and 4,000 feet with ice. I thought to myself, "It is plus two at 6,000 and plus four at the surface — how did he come up with a pocket potential of ice?"
Washington Dulles Approach cleared us to 3,000 feet direct to the nondirectional radio beacon, and said to expect 4,000 feet and radar vectors for the ILS approach to Winchester's Runway 32. We took off into what appeared to be worsening conditions. It began to rain, the kind that clings to the windshield. I asked my passenger, Dave, a nonpilot, to keep an eye on the outside temperature and watch for signs of ice. At about 1,000 feet agl, we went into solid instrument meteorological conditions (IMC). Everything seemed normal other than the ceiling was now down to 900 feet. So much for a leisurely series of practice approaches; I would be bringing it down to the minimums or holding until the weather improved.
About the time Dave said, "Your wings are filled with ice," the airspeed indicator started reading incorrectly and the engine began running rough. I looked up and the windshield was covered with ice. A glance at the wing showed that ice was building fast. I was now at 2,500 feet in solid IMC and still close enough to the airport to get my bearings for a smooth approach. "Dulles, November-Six-Six-Mike-Kilo picking up icing." Dulles responded that they would give me radar vectors for the approach, and cleared us to climb to 4,000 feet. Having flown the approach a number of times, I realized that we were flying toward the mountains with a minimum safe altitude of 3,700 feet. The ice began to build. At maximum power, my airplane, which would normally climb at 800 to 1,200 fpm, was struggling with 300 fpm at 80 kt. The airplane started to buffet; Dave asked, "Why are we shaking?"
I knew that I had to get the nose down or we would stall. "Dulles, November-Six-Six-Mike-Kilo unable to hold altitude, needs immediate vectors to intercept the localizer." The airplane was flying but the controls were mush. At full power, all that I could do was hold altitude. In a turn, the airplane wanted to drop. I was vectored to intercept the Winchester localizer just short of the final approach fix. I was concentrating so hard, I overshot the localizer and flew through it. I was trying to intercept from the opposite side when Dulles called. "I realize you can't hold altitude but try to maintain 3,000." (I was now at 2,700.) Further, "Would you like to intercept or get radar vectors to an area of VFR approximately 30 miles north?"
It is bad enough to hit the localizer and set up an instrument approach procedure with things running smoothly. Here I was, pitot tube semiblocked, the engine running rough because I had the carb heat on full, and airframe icing. I would have to catch the localizer just off the final approach fix without the margin for error that you would have farther out. "I'll intercept the localizer," I responded. Just then, Dulles said, "Radar contact lost." I told Dave to report visual contact with the ground or airport, and watch the altimeter and do not let me go below 1,000 feet. I intercepted the localizer and managed to ride the glideslope down. At 1,500 feet, and descending to 1,000, I asked, "Anything visual?" "No," he said. I was not about to take my eyes off the instruments and if we did not break out at 1,000 feet, I was prepared to execute a missed approach. Dave said, "The ice is starting to come off." Dulles called, "Six-Six-Mike-Kilo, report on the ground after landing." Dulles was obviously concerned as well. At 1,000 feet, "You sure you do not see the airport?" I asked. "Not yet, still in the clouds," Dave said. I went down to 980 (minimum was actually 965) and Dave said, "I got it, just off to the left." I looked and there it was, just as it was supposed to be. We were slightly high, but with 5,500 feet of runway, it was no problem. The landing was perfect, and we taxied to the terminal to call Dulles Approach and flight service.
I found out later that just as we had taken off, a rain shower came into the area, dropping the ceiling to 800 feet and reducing the outside temperature. In today's world of computers and automation, it is easy to eliminate the briefer. However, the real lesson that I learned was that a one-on-one discussion with a professional flight service briefer should never be eliminated. "Keep your eye on the outside temperature gauge" still rings in my ears. Thanks, flight service, you may have saved my bacon.
Thomas Kline, AOPA 1202757, of Winchester, Virginia, is an instrument-rated commercial pilot. He owns a Piper Cherokee 235.
"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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