"State your intentions." Those are three words I'd rather not hear from ATC again. My partner in our aircraft, Brian Inskeep, and I had flown from Greenwood Municipal Airport, south of Indianapolis, to Jeffco Airport in Denver. Inskeep had business and family to attend to, and I went along for the ride. Because of our commitments it was going to be more flying than visiting — we left on a Sunday and were planning to return the following day — but that was OK with us, since we like to fly.
We had recently purchased N424TP, a very solid Piper Lance. It had a mid-time Lycoming engine, Bendix/King KLN 90B GPS receiver, BFGoodrich Stormscope, and a three-blade propeller. We had speed mods from Laminar Flow installed and the wing smoothed when we had the airplane repainted. As a result, speed at 8,000 msl was usually around 160 knots, not bad for a Lance. That speed, plus being able to carry full fuel and 947 pounds of people and cargo, make the Lance the ideal airplane — in my eyes, anyway.
Inskeep was a newly rated instrument pilot with about 350 total hours; I was a new pilot with a total of 90 hours. We had filed IFR because of weather on our departure, and we had instrument meteorological conditions for the first hour of our flight, which went flawlessly. The Lance purred like a 300-horsepower kitten. We made a fuel stop in St. Joseph, Missouri, and arranged for someone to fuel us on our return the next evening. The weather from St. Joseph to Denver was beautiful.
The next day, weather showed level 3, 4, and 5 thunderstorms in Indianapolis waiting for us. They were scheduled to clear before we got home, but the front was moving slowly and it was going to be close. We decided to go, figuring if the front hadn't cleared, we would stay in St. Joseph and catch some sleep in the airplane.
After a normal preflight, which showed that we had full oil and fuel, we received our clearance and taxi instructions from Jeffco Tower. We programmed our waypoints into the GPS with the engine running, allowing it to warm up. We were expecting less than maximum power because of the 5,670-msl field elevation and the fact that it was 78 degrees Fahrenheit and the barometer was 29.97, making a density altitude of 8,060 feet. Although Inskeep has mountain-flying experience, this was our first time in this airplane. Neither one of us knew what to expect performancewise.
We were to fly heading 020 and climb to 8,000 feet, about 2,430 feet agl. The engine didn't sound right — more important it didn't feel right. In a full-power climb the Lance vibrates, but this was different and we both could tell. We had logged about 50 hours in this airplane, enough to know when something is not quite as it should be. During climbout we both remarked how mushy it felt powerwise, but we wrote it off to high density altitude. The instruments showed nothing abnormal; the only thing different was the 23 inches of manifold pressure, instead of the normal 25.
As we neared 8,000 feet Inskeep asked me if I smelled oil. I didn't. After he leveled off he allowed the airspeed to climb before throttling back to cruise power. When he did throttle back, all hell broke loose. One of the through bolts on the number-2 cylinder had broken, but had not separated from the engine. The rest of the bolts had been slowly losing their torque, and as a result, the cylinder worked itself loose and took this moment to separate itself from the engine. We didn't know this at the time — all we knew was that the engine exploded and covered the left side of the airplane with oil, completely blinding Inskeep. As he radioed Mayday, I grabbed the emergency checklist and we went through the procedures: best glide 92 kt, fuel off, mags off, find something soft to land on. After informing ATC that we had lost the engine, the controller came back with those three words, "State your intentions." Inskeep informed them we were going to find a field and land. ATC told us the winds were from the north in our area, and to call ATC when we landed, if possible.
We found a field, but as we approached we saw numerous fences — not a good thing — and a ditch big enough to hide a truck in. Inskeep spotted another field out of my window. It ran to the north, looked smooth enough, and, other than the power lines on the approach end and an oil well busily pumping oil, was completely empty and covered with short growth. We couldn't tell from the air, but it also ran uphill slightly, and was soft without being mushy.
We went through our last run of the checklist as Inskeep did S-turns to both dump altitude and get a look at and line up on the field. Once on final, as Inskeep flew the airplane, I kept him aware of the wires, the 2,000-foot tower (did I mention the tower?), and the oil rig. Other than the fact that we were power off — and the pilot couldn't see — the approach was perfect.
I told Inskeep when we cleared the wires, and he dumped the gear and the flaps and told me to open the door. I counted down to touchdown and told him when to flare. We set down on the left main for the first 20 yards, the other main kissed the earth, the nosewheel settled gently, rose, then settled again. That's when we both jammed on the brakes. We were down, we were safe. Three hours later, after the reporters, the fire department, the amazed witnesses, and the FAA inspector left, we ate at a Mexican restaurant, and I had a margarita as big as your head.
This airplane is a leaseback aircraft, and as such, it gets 100-hour inspections. Its last 100-hour was an annual. The maintenance of this aircraft and its logbooks are impeccable. The engine had about 1,200 hours on it, with a 2,000-hour TBO. It never showed any trouble before this flight; in fact it was an extremely strong-running engine, as well as reliable. We had no reason not to trust it.
The fact that we had both recently finished training — Inskeep's instrument, my primary — meant that we had emergency procedures fresh in our minds. This outweighed our mistake in attributing the engine's sick performance to density altitude and our continued flight even though we both felt that something wasn't quite right. The FAA inspector congratulated us and commented that we had done an excellent job because we hadn't put a scratch on the airplane. Other than grass stains on the prop tips, there was no evidence of an off-field landing.
Next time you're flying, pull the power. A few minutes spent practicing emergency landings could help prepare you for two minutes that could make all the difference in the world. We didn't ever have time to squawk 7700, but we did fly the airplane, and we found a spot to land. I explain to friends the difference between a crash and a forced landing. I don't want to do it again, but at least I know I'm ready if I have to be.
Keith Haemmerle, AOPA 3326043 , of Indianapolis, is the co-owner of a Piper Lance.
"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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