Flying Carpet

Ordinary aviatiors save the day

"Suddenly I smelled gas. There was barely time to delude myself that it might be fumes from a nearby factory, when the engine quit." The alarming news came from my friend Kevin Steiner. He'd been returning to Phoenix in his Velocity kitplane after dropping his wife and fellow pilot Brooke at Banning, California. Only 10 miles from home, he had already contacted the tower for landing clearance when he lost power. "You're cleared to land on any runway," radioed the controller upon learning of the emergency.

"I told them I wouldn't make the airport," said Kevin. "I was only 2,000 feet above ground, and even at best glide speed found myself descending at 1,100 feet per minute, so there wasn't much time. I picked a desert wash beneath me, reported my position, completed the emergency checklist, and circled down to land."

"Wow! Are you OK?" I asked.

"Sure am, though it may take a little while to get over this. The arroyo was flat and clear, but tiled with fist-sized river rock. Although I touched down smoothly those stones really slowed me down. The plane shook violently and stopped in less than 300 feet. Once I knew there was no fire danger, I radioed the tower that I was unhurt. They sent a spotter plane, and soon afterward rescue vehicles arrived. Behind them came hoards of TV reporters."

Relieved that my friend was uninjured, I asked about the fate of the futuristic four-place Velocity that he and Brooke had so painstakingly built. Amusingly painted with its pearlescent finish peeled away to reveal an underlying alien spaceship, the aircraft had been featured in national magazines and exhibited at 2004's Copperstate and Sun 'n Fun fly-ins.

"The plane came through amazingly well," said Kevin. "One wheel pant was torn off, and the gear struts are a little battered. The prop never struck the ground, but due to the jolting and sudden deceleration I'm removing the engine to check mounts and connections. The wings, fuselage, and paint came through without a scratch. Frankly, I'm impressed with the durability of the design. After the incident a friend helped me detach the wings so the plane could be hauled out on a flatbed truck. By bedtime last night it was back in the hangar. At this point we suspect a faulty fuel pump."

Kevin attributed his safe landing to luck, but I noted his exemplary piloting. He took prompt action, picked a field immediately, lined up properly for landing, and as demonstrated by the lack of damage, maintained positive control until fully stopped. Years ago when I was climbing the career ladder we envied pilots who'd successfully handled such emergencies because they were as good as hired at their first airline interview. "You've proven yourself," I told Kevin.

Joining us on the phone, Brooke explained that when flying together, "Kevin and I routinely quiz each other on 'where would you land if the engine quit now?' We even did that en route to Banning yesterday." Both were certain that the practice had helped to save the day. Brooke also shared a funny postscript. Rushing home from California in a borrowed car, she phoned and asked a friend to watch evening news coverage of the incident. "Did my husband look OK?' she asked, petrified, following the broadcast. "Kevin looked soooo handsome on TV!" her friend gushed. "I knew then that my spouse would survive," Brooke quipped.

I was sharing the story with my wife, Jean, when the phone rang again. This time it was Jon Harris-Shapiro from Philadelphia, recently rated as an instrument pilot. "You'll never guess what happened yesterday," he said. "I was flying a Piper Archer on instruments to Reading, Pennsylvania, with two first-time passengers, when the electrical system failed."

"You've got to be kidding!" I said reflexively. Events like this and Kevin's engine failure represent many pilots' nightmares.

"No, we were between cloud layers when the battery died, so I squawked 7600 on my transponder in hopes air traffic control would see I'd lost my radios and continued toward Reading using my portable GPS."

"You shot an instrument approach using your handheld?"

"Pretty much. I'd preprogrammed my route into the GPS, but it was unsettling to realize it was all I had for descending blind through an overcast layer. My handheld doesn't display approaches or step-down fixes, so before letdown I consulted my sectional chart for obstructions."

Approximating the instrument landing system final approach course with his portable GPS, Jon descended until clearing the clouds at 2,000 feet. "My one goof-up was landing on a flashing green light gun signal instead of waiting for the solid green, but no one in the control tower seemed to mind. Oh, and after landing I realized that in the excitement I'd forgotten to remove my headset--of course it was useless without an operating intercom or radios, so I'd been yelling over it to my passengers throughout the ordeal."

I asked Jon what lessons he'd gained from the experience. "I'll certainly identify symptoms of alternator failure much sooner next time," he said. "The handheld GPS was worth every penny I paid for it. And as my instructor taught me, 'Always know where to find blue sky when flying instruments.'"

Jean asked if I was upset by both of these incidents happening in the same day.

"No," I said. "Actually I find it heartening that by keeping their cool and following their training, ordinary aviators can overcome such challenges and emerge with nothing worse than a good story."

Each of these emergencies is so fortunately rare and yet so universally dreaded that all pilots wonder how they'd handle them. Here's my answer. Neither of these guys is overly experienced, yet each proved that when things go wrong in an airplane and you do what you are supposed to do, there is a distinct possibility of a happy ending. What better news could any pilot ask?

Greg Brown was the 2000 National Flight Instructor of the Year. His books include Flying Carpet, The Savvy Flight Instructor, The Turbine Pilot's Flight Manual, Job Hunting for Pilots, and You Can Fly! Visit his Web site.