Conquering the stall/spin
It happened on my first solo flight away from the airport. With my touch and goes out of the way, it was time to start practicing the other required maneuvers. My instructor, Tom Tweeddale -- who has 43,000 hours and counting -- has a spot picked out about 10 miles west of Denton Regional Airport in north Texas, then a nontowered airport (now it's Class D). It's about 100 square miles with roads and well-defined landmarks around it so new students don't get lost. His students typically practice stall recovery, steep turns, and ground reference maneuvers there. This particular day was choppy with a slight north wind at 1,900 feet agl. The visibility and the ceiling were unlimited.
Once at the practice area, I made a sweep around it, getting a feel for the Piper Cherokee 140. I looked for traffic. I made my turns. I maintained my altitude. I was flying! But I wasn't practicing because I was a bit nervous -- I had to put the airplane into a stall and recover without my instructor sitting there next to me to grab the yoke if I did something wrong.
The first few stall recoveries were perfect. One to the right, one to left, one straight ahead, a couple more just to say I did more than one. That's when it happened.
I was doing a power-off stall in a left-hand turn when a small gust hit the airplane from two o'clock at about the same time that a thermal grabbed the right wing -- all about a half-second before I applied full power (without enough right rudder).
Over it went, green alfalfa fields spinning in my cockpit window. The only thing going through my mind at the time was a cartoon-like picture of the Cherokee sticking out of the mud with its tail in the air.
I pulled back on the yoke -- nothing happened, of course -- and relaxed it. "No!" suddenly sprang from my mouth. Even in complete terror, my subconscious obviously wasn't going to give up while my conscious mind fervently searched for a solution. The ground was still turning. That's when I got a grip on myself and realized that under power, I was just getting to the ground faster. So I pulled the power back to idle to give myself time to think of a way out of this problem.
The airplane immediately rolled out of the spin (no more torque), straightened out, and started descending at a leisurely pace. When I realized I was going to live, I applied power to level off. I was at 1,200 feet agl. If you had asked me how long it took to do that, I would have guessed about 10 minutes. In reality, it took a few seconds. In the pattern, I'd probably be dead.
Afterward, I climbed back up to 1,900 feet agl. I was extremely shaken. If I had thought I could have landed the airplane, I would have and quit the program right then and there. However, I knew I would never have put it on the ground in one piece.
Instead, I continued to practice -- not stalls, but ground reference maneuvers. For the next hour, I did nothing but S-turns at 800 feet agl. I did manage to calm down. And the fact that I could do these turns helped to restore my confidence so that I could return to the airport and land, despite the fact that my legs and arms were shaking horribly.
When I got out of the airplane, my instructor knew something was wrong. I told him what had happened, and he immediately said he knew what had gone wrong -- and we needed to get back up there and practice as soon as possible. "Not likely! I was in a dive! I was heading straight down! You didn't tell me that could happen!" Tom always said that he wanted to make sure nothing happened that would ever scare a student. Scared students give up on their dreams.
We went back up just a week later. However, every night preceding that lesson, I laid awake in a cold sweat. And during the day, I read everything I could on the stall/spin. A pilot buddy brought over books for me to read on the subject. I devoured them.
It turns out I didn't invent anything new after all, and Tom did know what had happened. In fact, he had told me how to get out of these -- pull power, neutralize the ailerons, apply opposite rudder, and release elevator pressure. It wasn't until I got over my mortal dread of flying again that I realized something: I remembered what he had said, but I hadn't really understood it until I actually experienced that stall/spin. I wonder sometimes if there are students out there who think they know what to expect in such situations but really don't.
For the next few months, I practiced many, many stall recoveries, dual and solo. I just couldn't completely commit myself to the maneuver, though. And Tom wouldn't move on to the next subject until he felt I was comfortable. He said, "I'm not going to give you a break the plane won't give you."
It did become fun again, although a couple of times I wanted to kick him out the door -- but my truck was at his sidewalk-wide private strip, and it was a long walk from where I could actually land the airplane. I suspect the extra instruction in stall recovery added about 25 to 35 hours to my flight training time. Luckily, Tom was extremely patient with me. I later found out the same thing had happened to him, so it gave him a unique frame of reference. It's a testament to Tom that I was able to get back into the cockpit. I trusted that he would work through this with me.
I'm over stall/spins now. At least, the thought of putting the nose in the air and listening to the rumble of the airflow separating doesn't send a chill up my back anymore. But I still lie awake sometimes thinking of that day. I know that if I ever find myself in that situation, I'll survive.
Even better, I know how to avoid it. That's the secret, and one that took me awhile to realize. Don't let it happen in the first place.
By Thomas L. Bont
"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.
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