"Then, there we were, bouncing down the runway without a mark. We had survived! We pulled over, and I got out to inspect the airplane: one flat tire, and the VOR antenna along with a quarter-sized piece of the vertical tail's fairing was missing. The other airplane, a Cessna 182, had taken it with him.
"The really scary thing about the incident was that later another instructor owned up to being in the 182, and he hadn't even seen us. He wasn't aware we had touched. He had been shooting crosswind landings on another runway with a student. I had visually cleared the runway before we began our go-around, but apparently he was obscured by the doorpost, and I didn't see him until the last instant."
That was the report that I wrote to the airport manager about the incident, and it underscores how easy it is to hit or get hit. Two instructors, big airport, lots of runways and airspace, but we were just in the wrong place at the wrong time.
Midair collisions are insidious and often defy the odds: What, for instance, were the odds of the two airliners famously coming together over the Grand Canyon in 1956?
The specter of a midair hangs over all of us, but it shouldn't take the joy out of aviating. The basics of avoiding a midair are just that -- basic. Rule one is to keep your eyes outside the cockpit as much as possible. Many pilots become preoccupied with navigation, the radio or GPS, and other inside jobs. There should be a degree of guilt attached to every second that you spend with your eyes inside the airplane.
Two sets of eyes are better than one, and three are better than two. Get all of your passengers into the act; tell them to advise you of any airplanes they see. A friend of ours was struck by a much faster airplane that circled around behind and slowly converged on him, hitting his airplane in the rear fuselage and causing extreme damage. Both airplanes made it back. Here's the irony: A backseat passenger had seen the airplane coming all the time but thought that it was somehow planned.
Your own eyes should be constantly sweeping back and forth in an arc that extends from well behind both wing tips. If you watch longtime flight instructors, who spend a lot of time flying in the traffic pattern, notice that even while they are talking to a student, their eyes are constantly searching the wing-tip-to-wing-tip arc.
If you see an airplane, first determine whether it is moving in your field of vision. An airplane that has no relative motion is an airplane that you stand a chance of hitting. The old nautical saying that applies here is "a steady bearing off the bow": if it isn't moving right or left in your field of vision, your paths are going to converge. It may be approaching you, or you may be overtaking it -- and yes, you can overtake other aircraft, even if you're flying a common training aircraft like a Piper Cherokee or Cessna 172.
Remember that the smaller the image of the other aircraft is, the harder it is to detect relative motion. When it gets closer, if there still is no relative motion, take evasive action. Although it is hard to make general statements about evasive turns, when aircraft are converging -- almost regardless of distance -- it's usually better to turn toward the other airplane's tail rather than trying to turn inside of it. The federal aviation regulations state that converging aircraft should alter course to the right, an especially elegant solution if both aircraft turn to the right -- but the pilot of the other aircraft may not see you.
The closer the two airplanes are, the more critical the direction of the turn becomes. If you try to turn inside of the other airplane and bank toward its nose, there has to be room for your turn radius. When turning toward the nose, remember that the turn radius may carry you in front of the other airplane. Let's not forget that you're likely to lose sight of the other traffic.
In the event you don't see the airplane until it appears a collision is imminent, some split-second analysis and an extreme reaction are required. This may be a time where you have to fight the natural instinct to pull back on the yoke.
Gravity helps an airplane descend quickly but fights it in the climb. You would be amazed how quickly an airplane can change altitude when the controls are aggressively pushed forward. That's the most counterintuitive move anyone can make in an airplane, however; we simply aren't trained to push. Still, if two airplanes are at the same altitude, all other things being equal, a firm push will clear the airspace much more quickly than a hard pull.
Another reason not to pull back is that if the other pilot sees you, he's likely to pull too, so both of you are climbing into the same piece of airspace.
If there's room to roll smartly into a bank, a pull is definitely called for, but not until the bank is well established. Roll, then pull.
When we say "smartly roll into a bank," we mean just that. Forget everything you've learned about being smooth -- if the other aircraft is close, your life will depend on being aggressive in your moves. Yank the throttle closed, slam the ailerons to the stop, apply plenty of rudder, and pull the yoke, but not so hard that you stall the airplane. With the power off, the airplane will lose speed, which will allow it to turn more tightly. An airplane that's approaching a 60-degree bank won't gain much altitude with the pull, but the pull will make the turn radius much, much tighter. As a general rule, in that type of hard turn most pilots will inadvertently drop the nose, so in addition to tightening the radius, the backpressure will actually tuck the nose farther down, and the airplane will be diving in a tight turn. This is good, as it will maintain enough speed to keep from stalling as it works with gravity to clear the airspace more quickly.
But such a scenario is unlikely. Studies have shown that only about 5 percent of midair collisions occur from a head-on angle. On the other hand, 82 percent happen at overtaking angles of convergence -- the rate of closure will be relatively slow, since both aircraft are pretty much flying in the same direction, but it's difficult for the pilot of the aircraft being overtaken to see the traffic behind him.
A large percentage of midairs happen at fairly predictable points of convergence that vary depending on your phase of flight. Cross-country concerns, for instance, differ slightly from those experienced while flying in the pattern.
Even though the points of convergence in the traffic pattern may seem obvious, they should be reviewed frequently. The AOPA Air Safety Foundation reports that most midair collisions occur within five miles of an airport; 80 percent occur below 3,000 feet agl, and nearly a third occur at or below 500 feet agl.
Common cross-country points of convergence can greatly increase the possibility of a midair. Some are so subtle that you might not even consider them.
Although not frequent, midairs are an unpleasant fact of aviation life. Take it on yourself to be the one who cures every situation. Pretend the concept of right-of-way doesn't exist and always give way to the other airplane. Consider yourself the moveable chip in any traffic conflict and resolve the situation. Above all, keep your eyes outside looking for traffic. There is simply no substitute for vigilance.
Budd Davisson is an aviation writer/photographer and magazine editor who has written approximately 2,200 articles and has flown more than 300 different types of aircraft. A CFI since 1967, he teaches about 30 hours a month in his Pitts S-2A Special. Visit his Web site.