A perfect day for flying: Visibility is 10 miles or greater, the ceiling is unlimited, and the winds are light and variable. My plan is to fly from Macon to Griffin, Georgia, and have lunch with my son. At Lowe Aviation, where my Gulfstream American Cheetah is based, one of the linemen helps me go through the preflight checklist. The last thing we check is the oil — the level looks good for a flight to Griffin and back.
I have an uneventful taxi to Runway 13 and perform a normal takeoff check. Everything looks good. I receive clearance for takeoff from the tower. During my climbout, the tower turns me over to Macon Departure, which gives me several vectors around traffic. Soon departure clears me to resume my own navigation and to climb to my requested altitude of 4,500 feet. I am now on my way to Griffin.
Just prior to passing 4,500 feet, I cross through the haze line and flying is smooth. I trim the plane and look forward to a calm flight.
About 12 nm out on the 315-degree radial of the Macon VOR, directly above Lake Tobesofkee, I suddenly notice the engine rpm dropping. I immediately apply more throttle, but the rpm continues to drop, so I start a left 180-degree turn to go back to the Macon Airport. I call Macon Approach and let them know that I am returning to the airport. While talking with approach, I continue to check my instruments to determine why I am losing rpm. As I glance at the oil pressure gauge I notice that it is registering zero. Something is wrong with the oil system.
I ease back on the throttle, hoping that the engine has enough oil to last until I reach the airport. Suddenly three hard vibrations shake the airplane, and the engine stops. The propeller rests straight up and down. I trim the plane to glide at 72 knots, tell approach that my engine has quit, and look for a place to land. The approach controller suggests a vector to the nearest interstate, but I decline, thinking that plan is too dangerous. He then suggests a road that lies below me, but that's not good either — too many utility poles, wires, and road signs. During my glide, the controller notifies the sheriff of my emergency. I continue to descend straight ahead. I see a cow pasture directly in front of me that looks pretty good for a landing, and I glide toward it. But, as I get closer, I realize that a deep ditch runs through the middle, with small trees scattered throughout and lots of grazing cows. This certainly is not an ideal place to land but it is all I have. Time is quickly slipping away.
Another airplane is in the vicinity, and approach asks the pilot to look for me. I am busy maintaining aircraft control and I never see him.
My altitude is now 2,500 feet, and I am descending at 500 feet per minute. About four minutes left to glide. By chance, I look off my left wing and before my eyes is a flat, clear cow pasture, freshly mowed. All the cows are in the far corner under some trees. It looks to be about a quarter-mile long. This is a much better location, so I decide to land here. I turn the fuel selector to Off, open the canopy to prevent it from jamming, and tell approach that I am landing. As I round out, I float a little and get concerned about the short distance that is left. I set the plane down firmly, raise my flaps, and cautiously brake to a stop.
I key the mic and announce that I am safe and unhurt with no damage to the plane. Approach does not hear me, but the plane overhead picks up the message.
My next thought is to get out of the plane and try to find a telephone. I look around and see a mobile home in front of me, just on the other side of the pasture fence. I make my way there and knock on the door. I hear a voice from inside inquiring, "Who's there?" I explain that I just made an emergency landing in the cow pasture and I need to call 911 and report the location to the sheriff so he can find me. The resident is somewhat skeptical and only opens his door about three inches. Reluctantly, he hands me a portable phone through a barely opened door and suggests that I make the call myself.
Later on, I meet with the head of aircraft maintenance at Lowe Aviation, and we talk about the incident. He agrees to go to the cow pasture with me to check the airplane.
Minutes after we arrive, three men appear along the fence. At first we think that they may be thieves coming to steal the avionics. They approach and introduce themselves. They are from the FAA. They have learned of the emergency landing and are here to start their investigation.
The maintenance chief and the FAA investigators open the cowling and find no oil. Determining that the leak has to be elsewhere, we open the canopy and look at the floor on the copilot side. It is covered with oil. I give the maintenance chief a flashlight, and he finds a hole in the oil line leading to the oil pressure gauge on the instrument panel. The hole must have occurred under pressure during the climbout because the instrument had indicated a good oil pressure when I did the before takeoff checklist. One of the FAA examiners asks me to write a short report on what happened and how I handled the problem.
Four months later, a pilot from Lowe Aviation test-flies the Cheetah and gives it his blessing. I check the airplane, perform a preflight, and am in the air by late afternoon. I accomplish three takeoffs and landings with little effort, and the engine runs great.
After landing, the maintenance chief presents me with the old oil line and shows me a pinhead-size hole. This is the cause of the oil leak that resulted in the engine failure. I find it amazing that seven quarts of oil can be pumped through a hole that small in just 10 minutes.
I keep my eyes on the oil pressure gauge — where it wasn't in my regular scan before, I check it every few minutes when I fly now. Also, during the airplane's annual inspection, I ask the maintenance technicians to specifically check the oil line running to the gauge for leaks.
Lee Roy Claxton is a retired pharmacist with a private pilot certificate and instrument rating. He has flown his Gulfstream American Cheetah, which he purchased new in 1980, more than 1,800 hours.
"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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