In flying, much is made of personal limitations. This is especially true of low-time pilots and newly certificated instrument pilots with regard to flying solo in instrument meteorological conditions (IMC). On paper, and in the comfort of the pilot lounge, setting personal minimums is easy. They seem inviolate.
But what if they aren't? What if there are external pressures to get something done that, in theory, can be done, that looks safe on paper? It is quite typical for the average general aviation pilot to feel those pressures. More than we would like to admit, trying to respond to those pressures has led to accidents that should never have been allowed to occur. Low-time pilots die while scud running, landing in high winds, or flying tired.
The airlines have done a pretty good job over the years of taking some of the decision-making quandaries out of the hands of pilots and crafting hard-and-fast rules around them. Most airlines forbid takeoffs with tailwinds in excess of 10 knots, they have established minimum weather criteria for an approach and landing that all but guarantee an airport will be available, and pilot rest schedules are cast in stone.
But sometimes the door is left open, not only to the captain of a jet but also to the private pilot in a Cessna. One such item is the limit on crosswind landings. Another, non-airplane-related pressure, is that of the passenger. For the private pilot, passengers can be the worst stressor in the aeronautical decision-making equation. Without realizing it, passengers can make you feel like you are not a "real" pilot if you won't fly in certain weather conditions. They will remind you about important deadlines, meetings, or family commitments. If the passenger is a person of authority, you might feel your job is threatened. All of a sudden, flying doesn't look so fun or appealing. More on this later.
Every modern airplane has a maximum demonstrated crosswind component, published in the pilot's operating handbook (POH) or aircraft flight manual. To state that the maximum demonstrated crosswind component is always a limitation would not be accurate. It just means that during the flight-testing program, the maximum crosswind at 90 degrees to the runway that was experienced was the stated number. The test pilot then landed the airplane, in control (a fairly important requirement), and logged the data.
Maybe that number then goes into the limitations in the POH, or maybe it doesn't.
If it doesn't, then the pilot is left to determine what his or her comfort level is. Most aircraft can be flown and controlled in excess of the stated maximum demonstrated crosswind, but, technically, you become a test pilot when you elect to do so.
In the 172, I have landed with true crosswinds that were sustained at 20 to 25 knots. It's not the easiest thing to do, but it can be done, and I wouldn't want to do it in winds that were much higher than that. But at the time, I was flying five to six hours a day in the airplane, and I was perfectly at ease trying it.
The Canadair Regional Jet (CRJ) that my company operates has a maximum demonstrated crosswind component of 22 knots, which is not much for an airplane that is many times heavier than a Skyhawk. In 2004, a limitation of 27 knots for a 90-degree crosswind was issued for the CRJ. While there was not a limitation on the gust factor, the wise pilot will give any gust over 27 knots some serious consideration before landing. Remember, the wind readings that you get from the tower may or may not accurately reflect what is happening as you near the runway threshold.
Storms a'brewing
During a recent nor'easter storm on the eastern seaboard, the winds were sustained at 30 to 35 knots in most places. In some it was sustained at 35 to 40, and in many cases, peak gusts were 40 to 50. To make matters worse, the strong winds followed a fairly sizable snowstorm that still had the airports in recovery mode. On a flight from Jacksonville, Florida, to La Guardia Airport in New York, the winds in New York were so bad that the airport was down to one runway for all operations, creating a huge backlog for flights inbound from all over the country. The final approach was bumpy, turbulent, and slow. Fortunately, it was into a direct headwind.
Going into Portland, Maine, those winds were 40 to 45 degrees off the runway, and sustained at 40 miles an hour. The ATIS was also reporting that ice had formed on the runway and that freezing rain had started falling. On the ramp, the braking action was reported as poor to nil. In this case, the decision to divert was easy and instantaneous: We had a limited fuel load because of the short flight (in order to meet our maximum landing-weight restriction), and the weather was too dangerous in several aspects.
A few hours later, while returning to Portland, the rain had cleared out, and the runway had been treated, but the winds were approaching 50 knots. The crosswind component had shifted from 40 to 50 degrees to 30 to 80 degrees, the braking action on the ramp was only fair to poor, and it was dark. However, the center 75 feet of the runway was reported clear, and the braking action on the runway was reported to be good. The decision to launch the flight in the first place had already been made, because all of the dispatch criteria had been met. From a pilot's point of view, conditions were not the most optimal, but some of those other pressures began to come in to play, and it was time to earn the so-called "big bucks."
The last couple of years have been rough for the airlines. Ticket prices are down, passenger loads are down, public perception is not what it was, and competition is fierce. In this case, flights had been cancelled and diverted for two days, greatly inconveniencing thousands of people and costing everyone involved a fortune. Not sending a flight because of wind alone was not a decision to be made lightly.
After considering all the options and talking several times amongst the crew and our dispatcher, we came up with a plan that we could all live with. We would fly to Portland, make two attempts to land, and if we couldn't get in, we would return to Boston or Bangor, Maine. We would take as much fuel as we could and hope for the best.
Once we got into the Portland area, the descent was bumpy, rough, and uncomfortable. The Portland airport is right next to the ocean shoreline. Next to the airport is a small ridge, and between the runway and the ocean is a small channel, all of which combine to make the winds swirl even more. It would be fully understandable to expect an encounter with wind shear, but, while the winds were changing direction and the airspeed was sporadic, the wind shear computer never did activate.
During our descent, we had briefed a plan in case we were ever uncomfortable with the approach. Essentially, we would need to make a decision to commit to the landing before the engines were brought to idle, and wanted to ensure a landing in the beginning of the touchdown zone. Unlike a piston engine, which responds immediately to an input from the throttle, turbine engines are slow to develop more thrust. During the approach, the wind remained pretty consistent with regard to direction, but it was a more direct crosswind than it had been. It was also gusting more, no doubt because of the influence of the terrain. The wind at altitude, though, was matching what the tower was showing, only stronger.
In front of us, a Boeing 737 was able to land, and reported no wind shear or control problems, and also reported good braking action.
Just when we thought we were going to make the landing, we hit a strong gust at about 150 feet. The airplane, going relatively slow, was pushed off the centerline of the runway, climbed briefly, and was showing an increase in airspeed. A go-around was the only safe option. During the transition to the climb, the wind readout in the tower was showing 45 knots, while we were indicating 50 at our altitude, which made sense since we did not have the terminal or other obstructions to slow the velocity.
Time to make another decision: attempt a second approach or divert. We agreed that we had probably just had an unfortunate encounter with a gust, and decided to try it again, per the original plan. If we had to do another missed approach, we would return to Boston.
Were we feeling external pressures? Not really, because we were not changing our previously agreed-upon plan. It would be easy to say that we were feeling the need to complete the flight just because the guys in front of us had landed (sound familiar?), or because of the economic expense of not completing the flight, but we never felt that we had to finish "because everyone else did." That's an important distinction. Pilots tend to be mission-oriented, wanting to get the job done, but it is important, in any aviation environment, not to let such desires cloud your judgment. As soon as that starts to happen, it's time to step back and reevaluate, if not divert.
On the second approach, we had a better idea of what to expect in dealing with the winds. The ride was similar, and this time, as we approached the runway, the wind was swinging back to more of a quartering headwind, which would make the landing itself infinitely easier. We got a final wind check when we reached the approach lights, liked what we saw, reduced power, and landed right where we wanted to.
Having faced similar scenarios in the past, I can say that experience both hurts and helps. It hurts because sometimes you feel like if you accomplished something before, you should be able to do it again. It helps because it allows you to remember just what your comfort level is, and reminds you of any repercussions you may have had to deal with; sometimes, it is easy to grossly overdo in your mind just what those repercussions are. Sometimes you are right at the edge of that comfort line, and that's when, as Kramer once said on Seinfeld, "you need to listen to the little man inside."
Crosswind landings always pose a challenge. Most pilots at some point will exceed the maximum demonstrated component, and do so safely. The question becomes dealing with winds that are well in excess of that, especially on relatively short and/or narrow runways. At some point, you have to be willing to admit defeat and either divert or postpone the flight until another day.
People power
Pressure from our friends, family, and colleagues can be tremendous, and until you have been in a plane and dealt with such a situation, you can't underestimate what that pressure can be like. When you know that you are not being safe, either because of your experience level or the quality of your equipment or some other factor, it is time to put your foot down and refuse to fly. In the future, you will be more aware of the pitfalls, and your "big picture" view will grow a little bigger to try and avoid a similar development. One thing about Part 121 airline flying that I truly appreciate is the limits that are placed on "get-home-itis."
Regardless of whether you actually fly the flight, you need to have a backup plan, one that is as foolproof as you can make it. You need to be sure that others are not putting you up to something you know isn't right. On this day, we had a plan, or we would have refused the flight.
Charles "Chip" Wright, AOPA 1086994, of Hebron, Kentucky, is a CRJ captain for Comair.
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