Bird strike makes first flight memorable
On Sunday, July 3, I reserved another Cessna 172 through a flying club to take my first flight as a newly certificated private pilot with my first passenger--my husband. We decided to take a brief ride over the city, overfly our house, and look at the area where I had spent so much time brushing up on maneuvers. The flight was great; the weather--being Florida in the summertime--had provided a nice window between daily thunderstorms for our flight. After overflying our house, we headed northwest to a large lake surrounded by fields. This area is commonly used to practice maneuvers because of its relatively uncongested airspace and ample places to land should the need present itself.
As we were circling the lake's south shore we commented on all of the new housing developments being built around the lake and the growth of the area in general. As we rounded the western side of the lake we noticed impending storms out of the east and decided that we should start heading back to the airport. As I looked out and scanned the horizon ahead of me, my attention was caught by something above me that I could briefly see out of the top of the windshield. Almost instantaneously, I realized that it was a bird--and it was coming straight down toward us from above. It appeared out of nowhere, and I never had a chance to say anything to my husband. I flinched, shut my eyes, and bent forward toward the yoke. The noise was unreal as the bird hit the windshield.
When I opened my eyes my senses scrambled to take it all in. The airplane was much louder now. I looked out over its nose and couldn't believe my eyes. The windshield was gone. It was obviously super windy, and I could barely hear my husband ask if I was OK. I looked down, expecting to see a bird in my lap. I wasn't injured. I turned around to see if a bird was in the airplane, or against the window in the back, or in my husband's lap. No bird anywhere.
My husband mentioned that right before impact he saw two birds approaching the windshield. He then asked if the airplane was OK. I surveyed the gauges, and everything looked just the way it had a moment earlier. We were still at 2,000 feet and on speed. I looked out, still trying to comprehend what had just happened--and beginning to realize that there was nothing between me and the spinning propeller five feet in front of us. I immediately went into emergency procedures mode and told my husband to get out the sectional chart, as we would need to land immediately.
The flying club's Cessna is based at an airport in Class D airspace, 25 miles from our present position, and I decided that there was no way I was going all the way back there--nor would I be able to hear radio communications over all the noise. Fortunately there were at least three nontowered airports within 10 miles. I remembered that just a few days earlier when my instructor and I were practicing emergency procedures, we had used the runway of a brand-new airport as our desired key point for a short approach. I looked ahead and could see the rooftops of the new white hangars fewer than five miles away. The name of the field wasn't even mentioned on the sectional. It had a nice 2,000-foot paved runway that ran east to west. I made one call on the common traffic advisory frequency to announce my intentions and headed that way.
As I neared the airport, I remembered that the wind was out of the west; I overflew the runway once to make sure that it was safe and then headed east to turn around and set up to land. Because it was so loud, I found myself frequently looking at the airspeed indicator to make sure I wasn't too slow as I came in to land. The airplane sounded way too fast, but that was simply an illusion caused by the lack of the windshield.
Once the mains touched down I felt the tension in my shoulders start to ease. As we taxied toward the hangars, I asked my husband if he had ever spotted the bird. He said that he had and that it had come to rest right behind my seat--he said it wasn't feeling any pain but, amazingly, was in one piece--it did not appear to be injured at all. After shutting down the engine, I climbed out of the airplane and just walked a bit. I had enough adrenaline in me to power a small city. The owner of the private field came down in his truck, and we explained our situation. My husband removed the bird; it was easily three and one-half to four feet long from beak to tailfeathers. It had a long neck, and my husband guessed that it weighed about four pounds.
The airport owner said it was an anhinga or snakebird, so nicknamed for its long, snakelike neck. During mating season, these waterbirds can become aggressive and will dive at anything if they feel threatened by it, he said. The bird may have been in love, but it wasn't too bright. Luckily, the owner of the airport let us park the airplane in a new hangar while repairs were made--a good thing given our daily rain activity and recent hurricane threats.
All is well that ends well, as I believe that I had a great learning experience, and I have more confidence in my abilities and my instruction than I did even after passing the checkride. I suffered just a few minor cuts from the shattered windscreen and a bruise on my collarbone. And my husband said that he was looking forward to our next flight--my second flight as a private pilot.
By Heather D. Churchill
"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.
Related Articles
