Learning Experiences

Beware of bargain-basement flight training

When I met "Zeke" in the 1970s, he was the sole flight instructor for South Florida's "Mack's Flying Service," now long defunct, whose magazine ad offered a "guaranteed multiengine rating" for $399. Zeke boasted that to get it one had to "go like an orangutan."

Young, naive, and secure in my ability and immortality, I brushed off Zeke's admonishment until one day over the Everglades, when it almost became my epitaph.

Mack's had just one multiengine aircraft: an early Piper PA-23-150 Apache, Zero-Five-Pop. The Apache was Piper's pride in the late 1950s. But now, 20 years later, her right spinner missing and her paint nearly as badly worn as the hangar's, Zero-Five-Pop was clearly weary. Torn upholstery, hangar rash, and other signs of use and abuse merely added to the mystique. I saw two engines, five seats, and another rating that would pump up my pride, if not my pilot proficiency. Sure, I was ready to go like an orangutan!

Mack's financial formula was based on attracting enough students to fill Zero-Five-Pop and keep her and Zeke flying all day every day. The airplane was an airborne classroom! Mid-day brought a 20-minute lunch stop during which Zeke refueled the bird while consuming two submarine sandwiches. Then back in the air.

Flying over the Everglades, we took turns in the left seat and learned the old bird's peculiarities. Turns, stalls, slow flight, and landing procedures were flown at 5,000 feet msl. Initially, so was the engine-out technique.

At first, a lost engine was a piece of cake. Zeke would ease a throttle back to idle, and the left-seat occupant had to respond by quickly lowering the nose, identifying the dead engine, and going through the motions of feathering its prop. But if a student was slow to react, Zeke emphasized the need for speed by seizing the yoke and thrusting it forward. The resulting negative Gs would cause the tow bar to float weightless in the cabin.

Then pretend turned to perspiration. At 2,000 or 3,000 feet over the Glades, Zeke would shut down an engine. The Apache's two 150-hp four-bangers hardly could have been described as brimming with testosterone even when new. But with only one of the old mills turning, the 3,500-pound aircraft flew like a manhole cover.

If an engine "failed" on takeoff, or on go-around after an aborted "landing," a pilot had to quickly decrease the angle of attack, attain best single-engine angle-of-climb airspeed (VXSE), and feather the dead engine. Apaches have only one hydraulic pump; it is on the left or "critical" engine. Losing the critical engine, therefore, means losing the ability to activate the landing gear, and Zero-Five-Pop would not maintain altitude on one engine with the gear down.

A hydraulic system hand pump -- whose red handle protruded ominously from the center console -- had to be extended and pumped. With 100 strokes or so, one could retract the gear and then at least maintain altitude. When pumping, Zeke would shout, "Go like an orangutan!"

Zeke usually had affinity for altitude. Zero-Five-Pop's dead engine frequently refused to restart, and Zeke remedied the problem by diving until the prop began to windmill. The old Lycoming would come back to life, or at least it always had.

Fear began to replace audacity when I was selected as the first student to perform an actual engine-out simulated landing from 700 feet above the Glades.

Sounded simple enough. Straight ahead lay a sawgrass marsh that resembled a minuscule island. But the surface was about as rigid as a cloud. My assignment was to shoot an approach to this "airport," so I concentrated on stabilizing Zero-Five-Pop's descent, adding flaps and adjusting power until the airplane was in landing configuration with the gear down and we were but 200 feet over the water, descending on a quarter-mile final to "Sawgrass Island" International.

Suddenly Zeke struck. The left engine abruptly quit, and the propeller quickly came to a stop.

Full power! Yoke forward! VX! Raise flaps to 10 degrees and feather the dead engine.

But Zero-Five-Pop continued to lose altitude. I shouted at Zeke to restart the engine. On this sultry day, with five souls aboard, the remaining Lycoming was simply too weak to do the job. We were going down in the Glades; but Zeke held the microphone to prevent me from declaring an emergency.

I was sweating like an open fire hydrant as the altimeter slipped through 100 feet. I screamed at Zeke again, and this time he cursed me and shouted, "Critical engine."

I had failed to realize that the hydraulic system had died with the engine, and the gear still was extended! Zero-Five-Pop was down and dirty with only about 75 feet left between us and the swamp's sawgrass.

Grabbing the red ball, I yanked out the handle and pumped furiously, all the time trying to maintain V_X and catch a glimpse of the approaching water. Zeke still was shouting, "Go like an orangutan." But he was trying to restart the left engine, too.

Never will I forget the sickly sound of that worn starter motor surging to the varying output of a battery out of amps. It would crank normally for several seconds, then stop, groan, and repeat the performance. Altitude: 50 feet. Speed: 87 kt. Soon, I thought, we'll be mowing grass.

When the gear finally retracted, I was able to maintain altitude but could not climb. We were skimming the water. Zeke now was focused intently on the unresponsive left engine. I heard nothing from the other three students, but I strongly suspect that they all were praying. Their prayers were answered. The left engine finally arose from the dead.

We flew directly back to Mack's, where Zeke upbraided me. "You just killed four innocent people," he bellowed in my face, "and yourself, but you don't count!" I was filled with self-reproach.

But a few days later I flew with an FAA examiner. Our single "approach" was made at more than 3,000 feet, and during the entire flight check a "dead" engine was one that the examiner -- an older man -- throttled back to fast idle. I got my coveted multiengine rating.

Zeke had endangered our lives. He had tried to pin the guilt on me, but his simple-minded teaching techniques had put us where there was no room for student error.

If we're fortunate, we get what we pay for, but rarely more and frequently less.

Mack's was a rarity; I got more than I paid for. I got a rating, and I got several thousand safe flying hours afterward. Most important, I learned that there is no place in aviation for hotshots -- those whose egos are so distorted that they abandon concern for safety in a vain quest to convince others that they are the flashiest and most fearless fliers in Dodge. For that education, we came close to paying the ultimate price.

"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.