Precautionary landing with power
Taking off from Runway 16 at Thun Field in Puyallup, Washington, we turned north toward home and saw a small rain shower directly in our path about 15 miles away. Cityscapes could be seen through the shower, but it would be easy to skirt around to the east toward the mountains, adding only a couple of minutes to the trip back. Diverting west would put us into the core of the Class B airspace, so we turned northeast and continued climbing to 2,500 feet.
As the Pacer came closer to the rain, we needed to turn more and more easterly, because the shower was moving to the east. I tuned in the ATIS at Seattle-Tacoma International Airport. The big airport 12 miles north was 4,000 overcast with good visibility, no mention of rain, and controllers were vectoring arrivals for a visual approach. Renton, about five miles northeast of SeaTac, was about the same.
Having been airborne only five minutes, we now needed to fly directly east and still couldn't see around the rain. At 2,500 feet, we found the ceiling was getting too close and a bit ragged, so we began descending. Visibility to the north soon dropped to less than a mile, and, flying east at 120 mph, we could not outrun the rain and were heading directly into the foothills of the Cascades.
Although we were instrument-rated and current, and I am a CFII, the Pacer was not equipped for instrument flight. An easy decision was made to return to Thun Field, but rolling out in that direction we discovered that the return route was clogged and rain was starting to ping on the windshield. We decided to go south where the weather still looked fine, and land at Kapowsin or Eatonville. But as we flew south, the rain became more intense and the ceiling was coming down. Visibility quickly decreased to less than three miles, and the terrain was rising. We slowed the plane down. Dave, in the right seat, was using the single VOR to find an airport.
Suddenly, it became turbulent, and then it became very turbulent. Unsecured objects were tossed about the cabin. Aircraft control was difficult and momentarily impossible.
We listened again to SeaTac ATIS. Now SeaTac had a major thunderstorm over the airport, and was holding all traffic. In a few minutes, the flight of the Pacer had changed from a routine trip through familiar airspace to a potentially deadly situation. We were down to 300 feet agl over uneven terrain with 30 seconds of visibility and barely able to control the airplane.
Three possible courses of action were apparent. The first was to continue with hopes of breaking out into good weather, but conditions had become so bad that successful outcome of that plan seemed unlikely. It was terrifying trying to navigate, avoid terrain, worry about towers, and keep the plane upright. The second choice was to climb into the clouds, contact Center, and ask for help. But the Pacer's original, clunky vacuum instruments were of little value. The needle and ball would have been impossible to follow in the turbulence, and the compass had become unreadable. It didn't seem that the plane would hold together. The third option was an off-airport landing.
I said it aloud: "We're going to land in the next suitable field. I don't care if we have to take the wings off to get it home and I don't care if we hurt the plane." We began looking at the terrain with the new idea in mind. We followed a road briefly but lost it when it turned sharply in the trees. A green field went by but looked very wet so we decided against it, but later thought nosing over in the muck would be preferable to a collision with terrain. We lowered our expectations and decided to accept any reasonably clear field.
Turbulence had made even talking on the intercom difficult. We crossed an open field at about a 45-degree angle. It looked to be around 1,200 feet long and several hundred feet wide and appeared firm. There was a dirt tire track down the middle. One end had power lines and a fence; at the other end were a house and barn, a silo, and a fence. I considered making a normal, but low, pattern, but almost as soon as we overflew the field it was disappearing in the crud. I started a left turn to make a teardrop pattern. It was the short route back to the field and seemed like it would put us into the wind landing over the barn and silo.
The farm buildings came into view. A landing would require flying between the structures, making a 20-degree turn while clearing the fence and trying to get down and stopped before the next fence. The airspeed was jumping from 50 to 80 kt, and the stall horn was chirping. Heading past the barn it became obvious that we were doing a downwind landing. Turning left the final 20 degrees to line up, the left wing sunk past 60 degrees of bank and full right aileron took an eternity to bring it back up.
We cleared the fence, pulled the power and the mixture, and tried to keep the airplane in a landing attitude. Once in the trees, everything calmed down, and I did a big slip in the flare to bleed off speed until it felt like the airplane would stall. The mains touched the earth. The ground was firm and smooth but undulating, causing the Pacer to become airborne several more times before all three wheels stayed on the ground. The airplane was heading straight at a big gate in the fence. We intentionally veered off into the tall grass on the side, and the little Piper came to rest with no damage.
Rain began coming down with great ferocity and powerful blasts of thunder roared and lightening flashed. A man and a young boy came running to the airplane. The man asked, "Is it OK if my son looks inside your airplane?"
"Absolutely. Not only can you look, but you can sit inside. We'll just step out onto the ground for a moment." Shortly, the rain stopped, the sky cleared, and the birds sang. We paced off the field, checked over the airplane, and took off for home.
If we had continued flying seeking better weather or an airport and been involved in an accident trying, there is more than an 80 percent chance that we would have died. Eighty-four percent of VFR-into-IMC accidents that occurred in 2001 were fatal, according to the AOPA Air Safety Foundation's 2002 Nall Report. Continued VFR flight into IMC has been one of the most consistent killers of small-airplane pilots, and many of those pilots were instrument-rated.
Most light plane operating handbooks have a procedure for making a precautionary landing with power. The description conjures up an image of a calm, methodical pilot who, for reasons never mentioned, lands off-airport while the engine is still running: "Fly over the selected field at a safe altitude noting terrain and obstructions". A better introduction might read, "If the weather is going to crush you, admit defeat and get the airplane on the ground under control. It's better to roll into the trees on the far end than hit power lines at cruise speed."
We may have waited a long time to make the off-airport decision, but the pilots in the accident database never made the decision at all. And most of them probably never even thought of it as an option. Precautionary landings are not part of the Practical Test Standards, and there are no questions about them in the knowledge tests, so they don't always get the attention they deserve in pilot training.
Skill and knowledge can help to avoid a situation with no escape route. But when the weather has blindsided a pilot or eaten away the fuel reserves, it's time to pull the plug, get on the ground under control, and call a time-out. Then call for a pizza.
"Learning Experiences" is presented to enhance safety by providing a forum for students and pilots to learn from the experiences of others. It is intended to provoke thought and discussion, acknowledging that actions taken by the authors were not necessarily the best choices under the circumstances. We encourage you to discuss any questions you have about a particular scenario with your flight instructor.
- By Bob Gill
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