My instructor suggested that I fly from my familiar home airport near Houston directly to Victoria, Texas, and back. This would satisfy the FAA cross-country distance requirement and introduce me to a new airport. I was starting to build confidence. I had been a good student and was aggressive about learning, so I proposed adding a third airport. I would fly to Brazoria County Airport near Lake Jackson, about 60 miles south of Houston, to visit my parents and have lunch.
My instructor said, "You'll be more nervous with people waiting for you. This will add emotional pressure you wouldn't normally feel. You're increasing the flight's complexity more than you realize."
He does not realize how good I am, how in control I am, I thought. Somehow, he agreed to my suggestion. I later realized that my instructor was allowing me to develop PIC judgment by learning from my decisions.
The day started badly. In spite of having reserved an aircraft, the plane's fuel tanks were less than half-filled and one anticollision light was burned out. I switched to Three-Eight-Zero, another Cessna 152, which I had flown only once before. Then I performed my second preflight inspection of the day. Consequently, my takeoff was about 45 minutes late. Frustration, anxiety, and sloppiness crept into the flight as the minutes ticked by.
As I leveled off at 4,500 feet, I had a first anxious feeling, about my mom. Unless I could make up time en route, I would arrive 45 minutes late, enough to make my mother nervous.
As I began the descent into the airport, I had some difficulty raising Victoria unicom. On another flight I had experienced radio difficulty in the hill country surrounding Central Texas. I mistakenly assumed that terrain was causing the radio problems, ignoring the relative flatness of the South Texas coastal plains.
As I turned base to land, I decided to make up some time by not refueling at this stop. In spite of the bad beginning, I was feeling good. I was in control.
Victoria Airport was new to me. I listened diligently to the radio, made my calls, taxied back to the runway, and departed on the next leg.
As I leveled off at the new cruising altitude of 5,500 bound for Brazoria County Airport, I had guilt pangs about my parents again. They would arrive at the airport in about 15 minutes. Of course, they would arrive ahead of me, despite the brief stop at Victoria.
As I trimmed the elevator and set the mixture for cruise, I reviewed my performance as pilot, navigator, and communicator. For the first time, I realized I was making mistakes. Since I had never switched the flight logs on my kneeboard before takeoff from Victoria, I had not started tracking my progress. I spent the next few minutes switching logs and charts.
After activating the second leg of my flight plan, I decided to increase the amount of mental focus on this flight. I called for VFR traffic advisories. On several other cross-countries, the controllers who provided flight following helped me to stay on course, gave me occasional traffic advisories, and told me of en route concerns. My radio skills were improving based on my exposure to the world of communications. I had some difficulty radioing Houston Center, but eventually I was receiving radar service.
I found another consequence of my quick turnaround in Victoria: I had forgotten to reset my watch. The Cessna was cruising above a mile of air, but there was no takeoff time noted on my navigation log. I quickly noted the current time and estimated backward based on my point-to-point flight planning. Wouldn't this would be good enough? After all, I would not get close to my fuel limit, and the airplane had a fuel gauge. At that moment I recalled the unreliability of reading fuel levels on gravity-fed tanks and the inaccuracy of fuel gauges.
Houston Center called. They were having trouble receiving my transponder and Mode C. After I recycled the transponder several times, they discontinued flight following. Did I have a bad antenna? A shiver went up my spine as I reconsidered my decision to depart Victoria without topping off the fuel tanks. No problem, I have more than two hours of fuel remaining; I am in control.
My number one VOR was leading me to my destination. I decided to triangulate my position using the second VOR. After a few minutes, I established a bearing to the second desired station. I noticed that I had drifted off my heading as measured by the directional gyro. Quickly, I looked at the first VOR. It said I was tracking directly to the station just north of Brazoria County Airport - but the tiny indicator flag said "Off"? I had lost radio contact with the station! There was no way to know when I had lost the station or how long I had been flying on a slightly deviated heading.
That was the first "Ugh" feeling.
I had become victim of "fixation" by not cross-checking the navigational instruments. Does the VOR share the same antenna as the transponder? I did not think so. However, I needed to concentrate on finding my current position, not worrying about bad antennas. Switching to dead reckoning, I noted the time. The next VFR checkpoint should have been in view, but it was not. Only one checkpoint remained between my destination airport and me. I called Brazoria County Airport and obtained an airport advisory. The airport is not towered and lacks radar capability. Of course, I told them nothing about not knowing my location. After all, I could not be far off course.
After another seven or eight minutes, I got nervous. The airspace around Houston is complicated, including a large area of Class B airspace. I knew I wanted to stay clear of Class B and the other troublesome areas, but I knew I could be getting close. I had to determine my location.
I decided to call Houston Hobby Approach and ask for vectors to Brazoria County. Masking fear with ego and pride, I decided not to declare myself lost; I would tap dance in the gray area of asking for vectors only.
They replied, "Three-Eight-Zero, Houston Hobby Approach; squawk 4723 and ident."
I complied. And I waited. And waited. Until they called back and inquired as to whether I had followed instructions. They could not see my transponder. Not again, I thought. Geographic radio interference seemed less likely in this flat portion of Texas.
With no transponder and too many VFR targets on their radar screens, Hobby could not distinguish me in the crowd of general aviation traffic. They suggested that I climb from 5,500 to 8,500 feet while making standard-rate turns and then call them back. I would be, of course, the only VFR aircraft doing so, and thus would be identifiable. Then they could give me vectors to Brazoria County Airport.
"Roger," I said meekly, thinking that they probably knew I was lost.
As I climbed through 7,000, I watched another light airplane pass below me at about 1,500 feet agl. I discarded a fleeting thought that I could follow that airplane. Undoubtedly it was heading for an airport. No. I would be OK. I was minutes away from receiving vectors to safety.
I leveled off on a reverse course at 8,500 feet and called Houston Hobby.
"We've got you, stand by for vectors."
"Roger," I said, as calm washed over me. The invisible guardian, my helper, was charting my course. I would be fine.
My brother-in-law was an air traffic controller and has trained and managed many other controllers. He has since told me how much time I wasted by not declaring myself lost. The controllers treated me as an attorney treats a hostile witness. Of course, I did not possess this wisdom as I flew with ignorant bliss after ATC had finally spotted me.
Time was passing slowly by as I contemplated my newfound happiness with the ATC system. I cannot tell you exactly how much time passed before I realized there was no radio traffic. This void encompassed more than just my pending vectors to Brazoria County; I was listening to dead air in busy Class B airspace. Suddenly and painfully, the improbability of radio silence on this frequency dawned. I looked at the radio. The dial was dark. I shaded it with my hand. It was dead.
Electrical power failure. Why hadn't I considered that? "Ugh" number two.
I lost control. My first slammed into the empty passenger seat. The slow buildup of failures was too much for me. I cursed like a sailor.
"OK. Calm down," I told myself, trying to regain composure. This is why I train, right?
The low-voltage warning light was not on. It should have been. The ammeter pegged on a dead battery. I cycled the master switch. A little flicker on the ammeter, but no sustained power.
The emergency procedures netted no resolution to my situation. So I spent some time thinking about the bigger picture.
What tools were at my disposal? The engine was running. I had well over an hour of fuel. The sky was clear with plenty of daylight left. I had a whiskey compass, a directional gyro, and an attitude indicator, among others. I still had my knowledge of navigation and the area; I grew up on the Texas coast in Lake Jackson, just south of the Brazoria County Airport. Time to put the "visual" in VFR.
Coastlines have unique characteristics. That would be my savior. I banked my airplane south-southeast to fly to the coast. Within 15 minutes, I started to make out the soft edge of the Gulf of Mexico hugging Texas. In a few more minutes, I had located Galveston Island and the chemical plant where I had worked before going to college. A few minutes later, I had plotted a course to Brazoria County. I turned the airplane, began a descent, and noted the time.
The airport appeared off the left wing on time and just where I thought it would be. With no radio or lights, I scanned vigilantly for other aircraft as I entered the left downwind pattern for a southerly "no flaps" landing by the book.
Now about 45 minutes overdue, I taxied up in front of the FBO where my parents were waiting. They had arrived at the airport early. While waiting in the lobby, they had overhead my original call to Brazoria unicom asking for an airport advisory. My father, a pilot with five digits of flight time, did not think the call was from me because the N number was not the one I had told him I would fly. Mom had heard her son's voice.
I was happy to be on the ground, but unhappy about the unreliability of this airplane I had just rented from the flight school. My first telephone call was to cancel my flight plan. My second call was to my CFI. I told my story, trying to communicate my frustration regarding low-quality rental equipment. To my surprise, he was thrilled. "You did great!" He was a talented instructor indeed, and I was thankful for the lessons he taught me later as we discussed this flight and others during my training.
A week passed before I flew again. My next flight was to be the required long, three-legged cross-country. I taxied out as PIC for that flight with a newfound understanding of my shortcomings and a sense of pride in my accomplishments so far in my flight training.
Related Articles
