There is no question that flying can cut hours off of your travel time by taking a more direct route. Being a conservative pilot, you accounted for the hills and valleys by flying along highways, but what about over farmland and prairie? No instructor would hesitate to send a student on a cross-country over such territory. For this article, let's assume that you are flying a solo cross-country over western Kansas with a 4 p.m. takeoff. You left work at 2 and are looking forward to the flight. It's late fall, and the first snow fell a few days ago. Patches of snow still dot the landscape.
Maintaining an altitude of 3,000 feet above ground level, you have been doing an excellent job with your navigation log - when, suddenly, the engine stutters and quits. You instinctively pull the carburetor heat on, push the fuel mixture forward, and check the fuel shut-off valve, when you notice oil on the windshield. The oil pressure reads zero. Having failed to establish your best glide speed, you've already lost a thousand feet. Realizing that you must set up for an off-field landing, you look around, seeing nothing but fields - some planted, some not. Recalling your training, you pick one and set up a normal pattern, pretending that you are lining up with a runway. Using your best soft-field landing technique, you attempt to hold the nose off, but flare a little high. Suddenly the nose drops, the nosewheel hits the soft mud, and over she goes. Everything goes dark.
When you come to, you are disoriented because the windscreen and windows are covered with mud. (Imagine your disorientation at night or in water.) You are hanging from your seatbelt; your forehead throbs, and you feel something dripping. A burst of adren-aline travels through your veins. What should you do? Concentrate on surviving. Right now your biggest threat is fire, so if you hadn't done so before impact, shut off the fuel valve(s) and turn off the battery switch. Then, get out of the airplane.
Bracing yourself, you release the seat belt and quickly fall to the ceiling. Finding some familiar reference points, you locate the door handle. After a few good kicks, you manage to force the door open, grab your coat, and climb out. Now what? You are in the middle of nowhere wearing trousers, loafers, and a midweight jacket. As you watch the sun set you can feel the temperature drop. You had been advised by your CFI to dress for the most rugged terrain you might ever have to walk out of on this or any other flight, but you were pressed for time and are still wearing your office clothes. There must be a farmhouse around, but you don't see any buildings. You weren't receiving VFR traffic advisories from air traffic control, and everything happened so fast you never had time to make a "Mayday" call on 121.5 MHz. Even with your VFR flight plan activated and the flight school keeping tabs on you, it could be hours before anyone realizes you are missing, and by then it will be well past dark. Are you prepared to spend the night?
Quite unexpectedly you became the hapless victim in that movie plot, and whether you become a statistic or survive depends on your innovation and will to live. There is no time to waste; you are losing precious body heat. Don't panic; think logically. You know help is on the way, so hang in there until it arrives.
Nearly every survival school teaches the following priorities: first aid, shelter, signaling, water, food. (Food is the last priority because you can go for days without eating, but you must have water.) Is there a first aid kit in the airplane? No, but your instructor had you make one to keep in your flight bag, and now you know why. Placing a gauze pad over the cut in your forehead, you secure it with an elastic strap from your kneeboard. With direct pressure, the bleeding should stop within five to 10 minutes. Keep moving - it's time to find shelter.
Feeling your hands and feet getting numb, you ponder why you ever decided to learn to fly. Right now, your family is preparing dinner, thinking that you should be home any moment. You can almost smell the chicken roasting in the oven. Hey - snap out of it! You can discuss your flying options later, but if you don't stay focused on the matter at hand, you won't have to worry about eating any more dinners. Hypothermia is now your biggest threat, so you need to find shelter before it gets dark.
Tempting as it may be, getting back into your airplane is probably the worst thing you can do. There's a reason refrigerators are made of aluminum, and your airplane just became one. Without the sun, the fuselage will stay cold and lower your body temperature. Assuming there is no fire danger, remove whatever you can to make a shelter, keeping in mind that fuel may be leaking through the vented caps. If you must leave the aircraft, find something that will protect you from the wind. If you have pen-gun flares or other signaling devices, get them ready to use. Unless you see lights from a farmhouse, do not leave the landing site; it's easier to spot an aircraft than a person. Minimize use of your flashlight - you may need it later for signaling.
If you are confident that no fuel is leaking, it may be worth trying the airplane's radio or external lighting. However, before reaching for the master switch, consider the antenna location and the danger of igniting gasoline fumes with electrical power. If the antenna is mounted on the upper fuselage, you won't have any transmission capabilities, so leave the battery off. If it's on the belly, you may be in luck. Use extreme caution if choosing either option. If you brought your cell phone, step away from the airplane and turn it on - but remember that coverage can be spotty away from population centers and major highways.
Fire is one of the most basic signaling devices. Assuming you find something to burn, you may be able to start a fire even if it's wet, using fuel and a match or lighter. Again, use extreme caution; avgas is extremely volatile. While these risks must be weighed carefully, building a fire not only captures people's attention, it also will keep you warm.
I highly recommend that every pilot carry a signal mirror. A mirror is good day or night because it reflects light from a fire, flashlight, strobe, or flare. I carry one that is taped between two pieces of thin plywood. Should it break, I'll have multiple mirrors.
Given our scenario, it should be obvious which direction is west, but if your mishap occurred at midday, you can determine direction by placing a three-foot stick vertically in the ground and marking the shadow's tip. Ten minutes later, place a second mark and draw a line connecting the two. The line from the first mark to the second points east. It's also possible the aircraft compass may be usable, but you must have a means of removing it. (A Leatherman tool makes another good addition to your flight bag.) Again, survival schools strongly advise you to remain with the aircraft, but if you are positive about a town's orientation, going there may be worth it.
Water is low on this priority list because we assume that people are looking for you. Besides being signed off for this cross-country, you filed and opened a flight plan and rented an airplane from a flight school. No doubt a number of people will be concerned when you fail to return. Survival schools do not teach rationing water; if you have it, drink it to avoid dehydration. Always melt snow first to prevent hypothermia.
Fortunately several airliners reported your emergency locator transmitter - you flipped the manual activation switch to make sure that it was transmitting, in case it didn't activate automatically - and your flight instructor knew your route, so with the help of the sheriff's helicopter, you were picked up three hours after you went down.
Regretfully, all search and rescues don't end so quickly. But you must always believe that people are doing their best to find you. Survival is simple if you choose to live. Anyone can and will survive by preparing for the worst. This preparation means that you have done everything possible to make sure you will fly another day.
Mark W. Danielson is a retired Navy pilot who currently flies for Federal Express. He has been a CFI for 24 years and has flown more than 8,500 hours.
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