Pride goeth before empty fuel tanks
Respect for my father and awe of his past led me to finally take a $5 Cessna Introductory Flight during my senior year of college. I will never forget those 30 minutes in Cessna N3915J. It was a beautiful Texas fall day in 1966. There was a high overcast, and the air was cool and clear. Although I'll never know how I would have responded if it had been hot and turbulent, on that particular day the conditions were absolutely perfect. As a result I was completely and irreversibly hooked, and I began taking flying lessons as soon as time and money allowed.
I flew my first solo cross-country flight in a Cessna 150 in July 1967. After successfully completing that trip, I eagerly prepared for my second solo cross-country. The trip was planned from Denton to Waco to Mineral Wells, Texas, and then back to Denton. Although these cross-country flights were intended to practice basic procedure and navigation, I was to learn a very important additional lesson on the next trip.
The first leg was uneventful. I departed Hartlee Field in Denton and flew south to Waco. The weather was perfect, the air reasonably smooth, and I was excited about the opportunity to put my newly acquired skills to practical use. I had a quick bite of lunch in Waco, and I remember taking a few minutes just to sit and enjoy the process and the day. What a great day!
The next leg was from Waco to Mineral Wells. My plan was to stop there and refuel for the last leg back to Denton. Everything on the cross-country portion of this leg went well, too. At the appropriate time, I contacted the Mineral Wells control tower and received instructions to enter a right visual downwind for a landing to the south. I descended to pattern altitude, made a textbook-perfect 45-degree entry to the downwind leg, and reported, "Cessna Eight-One-Niner-Five-Foxtrot, right downwind." The controller told me to "continue" and said he did not yet have me in sight.
I continued downwind and was just past midfield with the controller abruptly and tersely called, "Cessna Eight-One-Niner-Five-Foxtrot, I have you in sight now on a left downwind. There are numerous helicopters in your vicinity. Continue with caution, and call left base."
Immediately I realized the mistake I had made. The controller was correct; I had entered the wrong downwind on the wrong side of the airport and was now directly over the U.S. Army helicopter training base that was located on that side of the field. There were numerous helicopters in my vicinity, just as the controller had said, although-fortunately-it did not appear that I was in imminent danger of colliding with any of them.
I don't recall what color that 150 was actually painted, but at that moment I sensed it was coated in bright, "day-glow" orange! I was sure that everybody in Mineral Wells-and most certainly everyone at the airport-had seen my mistake and now were waiting for me to land so they could see just who this bozo was. I then made an instant decision that reflected a flaw in my character and a serious lack of sound judgment. When I called "left base," I requested a touch-and-go landing instead of a full stop. In that Mineral Wells moment, I reasoned that having less-than-planned fuel on board was better than the humiliation that I knew was waiting for me on the airport tarmac.
After the touch-and-go landing, I departed the traffic pattern and turned toward the east. About halfway back to Denton, however, my pride and the resulting desire to hide my blunder were displaced by a combination of reality and fear. It began to look like I might not have enough fuel to make it to Denton. I really didn't know how accurate the fuel gauges were, but both the left wing and right wing tanks were indicating uncomfortably low quantities. At that point, I actually began looking for suitable forced landing sites. The one good thing was that there were nothing but flatlands below me for most of that leg.
I anxiously continued, thinking that I'd just put the airplane down when I had to. As I got closer to Denton, however, pride once again took over. I began to think that I might just be able to get by with mistakes I'd made if I could just make it back to Hartlee Field. That incredibly poor judgment led me to overfly Denton Municipal Airport (on the southwest side of town) and proceed to Hartlee Field, which was on the northeast side of town.
Only by the grace of God did I not run out of fuel somewhere over the city. It still bothers me to think about what the outcome of a forced landing somewhere in Denton could have been. Instead, I landed safely at Hartlee Field, parked the airplane, and told no one of my incredible stupidity.
Entering the wrong downwind at Mineral Wells-although dangerous in this case-was an honest student-pilot mistake. Not stopping for fuel, however, was an extremely bad, pride-driven decision. And not stopping on the west side of Denton was immeasurably worse.
Pride, I've learned since, usually takes one of two forms. One form is the "notice me" variety. This kind of pride can actually cause a person to work harder and do a better job, although the real motive is to be liked, noticed, or appreciated more.
The other kind of pride is the "don't notice me" variety. This version is more dangerous because its motivation is usually fear of embarrassment or humiliation. Left unchecked, this fear overpowers all concerns about consequences, which is why I was more worried about what people in Mineral Wells would think of me than I was about what my actions would do to the airplane's fuel status. This kind of pride obviously obliterates clear thinking and can lead to a chain of poor and potentially dangerous decisions.
I was very fortunate that this flight ended the way that it did. In the final analysis, though, it was one of my most beneficial early training flights, as it provided a very sobering lesson about aviation-and about life: Take care, lest pride (or anger, or fear, or any other emotion) overcometh you and ruineth your day!
That lesson is just as significant to me today as it was right after the cross-country. It is just as applicable in the heavy iron that I've flown in the thirty-some years since as it was in the Cessna 150. Thus, one of my personal commitments-as a direct result of that episode of blinded judgment in Texas many years ago-is still to always weigh my motives carefully, so that I'll never again allow myself (or my crew) to make a decision that is emotion-based or is an attempt to cover up a mistake. One Mineral Wells moment in a lifetime is enough.
"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 Jerry E. Tobias
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