Lessons from a night cross-country
After I had reviewed Cindy's flight plan and route on the chart and made a few minor suggestions, Cindy filed our flight plans and proceeded to preflight. Because we were going to be flying visual flight rules (VFR) at night over some open country, we felt it would be better to open a separate flight plan for each direction.
The night Cindy had chosen couldn't have been better for training. It was one of those pitch-black nights near the first day of spring. It would be dark early enough to make this a reasonable evening. There was a high cirrus layer and no moon. Cindy performed the preflight on the venerable 1978 Cessna 172. After she had organized her charts, flight plans, and flashlights, we settled in for a pleasant flight. Cindy had been through many night electrical "emergencies" the week before, so my plan for the evening was to concentrate on having a safe flight and verifying her navigational skills in the dark.
At Spirit's Runway 26R, we were cleared for takeoff to the north. Cindy noted the time for both opening the flight plan and timing her trip legs, and we departed. What a delight! Cindy was on her game. She climbed out over the darkness that is a wildlife area to the west of the airport without a bobble in airspeed; she handled communications perfectly; she went through the climbout checklist items quickly and efficiently while dividing her attention and giving priority to watching for traffic; and the turn to the north was preceded by a slight lift of the right wing to ensure no one was there.
Cindy called St. Louis Approach Control and requested VFR traffic advisories to Springfield. After getting a transponder code from St. Louis Tracon, Cindy asked to leave the frequency for a moment so she could open the flight plan.
As we motored along, I "failed" the electrical system to see how she handled that. I then "burned out" her flashlights. Everything went well. After the alternator "fixed itself," I asked her to point out the closest airports using the chart, the GPS, and just by looking for beacons. I constantly asked her to point out her checkpoints, where the closest town was, where she would put us if the engine died, and so forth. After landing at Springfield, we taxied to the FBO so we could close the flight plan, get a weather update, stretch our legs, and refuel the aircraft.
Once we departed Springfield and opened our flight plan home, I told her that the final test would be for me to "stop instructing." I was going to act like a passenger to see how she handled those distractions. I was in instructor heaven--a great student was doing a great job.
At one point on the way home, Cindy said, "Bob, I've never done this, but we've talked about it a lot. The plane feels like it's leaning a little to the left and I have to hold right aileron to fly it straight. Looking at the gauges, I can see the right tank's down more than the left. Is it OK to set the selector on the left to balance it out?"
I said, sure, not a problem, actually not a bad idea. I also wanted to see if, during the descent, if she would remember the checklist item that says "Fuel on Both"--a landing requirement for a 172. She selected Left Tank. While we made small talk, I waited to see if she'd miss a radio call or lose track of her checkpoints and times. Nope--just a top-notch job.
As we were coming back into Spirit from the north, we would be passing about four miles west of St. Charles County-Smartt Airport, having deliberately dog-legged a little to the west to provide a good visual cue to avoid the surface area of the St. Louis International Airport Class B. We had originally planned to maintain a descent profile that would take us under the 3,000-foot shelf to get to home base. We had already done a "step-down" descent to 4,500 near Jerseyville, Illinois, as a compromise between maintaining altitude and not having to drop the airplane to get under the first shelf. Cindy then performed a profile descent--her plan being to start a descent from 4,500 at Jerseyville to 2,500 slightly north and west of the confluence of the Illinois and Mississippi rivers. This would set us up to go under the shelves of the Bravo, again without performing an aerial slam dunk. Cindy listened to and noted the ATIS at KSUS and started her final radio preselects. As we descended, she enriched the mixture to approximately match our altitude. To our surprise, St. Louis Approach cleared us through the Class Bravo airspace, so Cindy elected to conserve altitude and stop her descent at 3,000 feet.
As we leveled out, Cindy began to run the final descent and landing checklists. "Fuel selector--Both. While we're still high, I will move it from Left to Both in case something bad happens so we have time to react." When she came to seatbelts and shoulder harnesses, there was silence.
Not just quiet. Not just the intercom stuttering for some reason. Complete quiet from the front end of the airplane.
To her credit, Cindy reacted instantly. Before I could say anything, I heard her saying "Pitch for best glide--68 knots; nearest airport--Smartt Field, but we're not gonna make that, I don't think. I do know it's flat between here and there. I am starting to work the emergency flow." This was all done almost simultaneously--she pitched into a 68-knot glide, leaving the altitude that we had told Approach that we would maintain, made a safe but expeditious turn to the left toward the beacon at Smartt, and started her emergency flow.
Well, as pilots of older 172s can guess, I beat her to the punch. As I was looking down at the darkest part of St. Charles County, Missouri--the area between the confluence of the Illinois and the Mississippi rivers--I quickly reached between the seats, turned the fuel valve from Off to Both while calmly saying "Oh, fer cryin' out loud, you turned off the gas!"
About 10 seconds later, the engine picked up again, and we turned for Spirit. Five minutes later, Cindy was running through her final checklists, complying with tower instructions to set up for a right base to Runway 26R, and making a great landing at home.
Afterwards, Cindy said, "I'm sorry. I guess we have to do another night cross-country. I really goofed!"
I said, "Why? You did the right things, and we both learned something." With that, I listed what went right. The trip in general was a textbook flight, from following the plan to having alternates in mind to aircraft and cockpit management, not to mention navigation and situational awareness.
When the emergency occurred, she did everything the right way. She flew the airplane first. No fumbling to squawk 7700, no jumping on the radio to ask for help, no protracted period of startled inactivity. She immediately maximized her possibilities of finding a place to land, even if it meant potentially violating our Class Bravo clearance, turned toward her best alternative, and started through the memory items in the emergency checklist. She told me that if those hadn't worked, she would have then called for help and then verified her actions against the printed checklist. If we still didn't have power, her next step would have been to proceed to the emergency-landing checklist.
The lesson Cindy learned, and she said it before I could say it, was "If the engine stops suddenly, try undoing the last thing you did." She told me that she learned that by the fact that my hand went right to the fuel handle while she was working on setting up for best glide and going for a place to land. Also, always touch and look at the control you are adjusting to verify that you are doing the right thing with the one you intended to use.
What did I learn? First, I was reminded that, at night, options do get narrower--the distance from Smartt Field was one I was comfortable with at that altitude in daylight because of all the farm fields surrounding it. At night, dark terrain surrounded us, with all of its hidden hazards like telephone wires. We should have flown a little closer to it on our flight path toward Spirit.
More important, though, I learned a subtle lesson about complacency. Our flight was nearly perfect until it all almost came apart at the end. A near-perfect student, one whom I am proud to have listed in my logbook, lulled me. It never occurred to me that she would turn the fuel valve to Off. Just about every other time before this incident, I would surreptitiously look to see what my students were doing or had done, just to be sure. This time I didn't and learned that even the best can sneak up on you.
By Robert Meder
"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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