I was attending a private college in the San Diego area working toward my instrument rating. One of my friends had just passed his private pilot checkride. To enjoy the fruits of his labors he asked me to come along for a flight, which would include his girlfriend.
When I arrived at the airport, my friend mentioned that his girlfriend had invited a friend to also come along. A little concerned, I inquired if he had performed a weight and balance check to see if we could hold an extra passenger. He nodded and said not to worry. Feeling a bit uneasy, but not wanting to hurt my friend's feelings or question his flying skills, I said nothing.
My worries were confirmed when the extra passenger arrived — she was not as slim as I had hoped she would be. The flight from San Diego to the Desert Resorts, California, region would take only one or two hours at the most. Erring on the side of safety, we topped off the aircraft with fuel.
When we were ready to take off, I provided a quick bit of advice, "We'll be heavy — keep it in ground effect to gain airspeed." As our aircraft slowly prodded forward, my worst fear materialized: Our overweight aircraft was not accelerating fast enough. I was hoping my friend would abort the takeoff, but it was too late. We had barely become airborne when the runway was behind us. The stall horn was blaring. The aircraft was sluggish and gaining very little altitude. I thought to myself, "So this is how it ends — a joyride turned fatal because I didn't bother speaking up!"
I will never forget that terrible mushiness of our aircraft — it felt like it would drop out of the sky at any moment. My friend and I both finally caught our breath and released our death grip on the seats to take stock of our situation. We had intended to climb to an altitude of at least 6,500 feet over the coastal ranges, but we came up short — our overweight aircraft did not want to climb. Thankfully, we survived this first journey of poor judgment.
By the time we landed at our destination in Palm Springs, neither one of us wanted to get back in the air anytime soon. But looking toward the west, I could see a line of high clouds edging toward the mountain ranges. I assumed my friend had called flight service to get a weather briefing before our departure, so I tried not to worry about it. He must have noticed the clouds, too. Before long, we were in the air hoping to make it back to San Diego before any adverse weather rolled in.
As we reached the far eastern edges of San Diego, we were flying over the beginning of a weather system, and we could not see any gap in the layer that would allow us to reach Gillespie Field. Neither one of us had anticipated an alternate airport in case of weather. After flying above the clouds for 20 minutes we decided to turn back to Palm Springs.
During the flight on top of the clouds, we had lost our bearings and become completely disoriented. The airplane was not equipped with GPS — the navigation equipment I had grown accustomed to during my instrument training. So, I was counting on my buddy's flight planning to keep us on course. Staring blankly at the sectional aeronautical chart, I thought about how we had gotten into this mess. But I was just a passenger; my friend was the pilot in command so why should I be worried?
I tuned the VOR receivers to help find our position on the sectional chart. I couldn't believe my eyes when I saw where the two radials intersected on the chart. We were nearly 30 nm off course.
To my amazement, just at that moment there was a hole in the overcast. Right below I could see a slender strip of runway. Out of desperation and wanting to conclude this mismanaged flight, I used my judgment — for the first time that day — and firmly demanded that my friend descend and land the airplane before things got any worse.
By the time we landed, the gap in the clouds had closed, but we were safe! Our saving piece of runway turned out to be a small private airfield used primarily for gliders. The FBO manager took kindly to us; he had sensed our plight.
A glider pilot agreed to drive the four of us to our home base at Gillespie. Crammed into his small truck, I couldn't have been happier to be on the ground. During our 75-minute drive home, I tried to recap the series of mistakes we had made and lessons learned.
If something seems amiss, it probably is. I should have insisted my friend recalculate weight and balance. He would have learned that we were well overweight, and he could have planned accordingly. We became disoriented and lost because of the lack of a proper flight plan. A quick call to air traffic control would have helped us out tremendously.
Speak up! Don't let emotions or relationships get in the way of safety matters. I should have voiced my concerns at the very beginning of this flight. Not doing so almost cost my life and the lives of three others.
Joel Boucree, AOPA 3704071, is an instrument-rated private pilot. He has more than 270 hours of flight time in a Piper Cherokee.
An original "Never Again" story is published each month on AOPA Online. Additional information on weight and balance calculations is also available on AOPA Online.
"Never Again" is presented to enhance safety by providing a forum for pilots to learn from the experiences of others. Manuscripts should be typewritten, double-spaced, and sent to: Editor, AOPA Pilot, 421 Aviation Way, Frederick, Maryland 21701; or sent via e-mail to [email protected].
Related Articles
