Learning Experiences

A pilot conquers an engine obsession

Flying never scared me. To the contrary, I was fascinated every time I hopped in an airplane--whether it was a commercial jet or a Mooney, whether the sky was clear or overcast, whether I was upside down or "right-side up." Indeed, I was enthralled by flying in solid instrument meteorological conditions as a passenger and watching the runway appear right where it was supposed to be on the approach. And the first time an aerobatic instructor friend took me up in a Super Decathlon and demonstrated spins, loops, rolls, and inverted flight, I couldn't wait to do it again, even as I slumped on the FBO's sofa waiting for the "green" to wear off.

While I was aware of the risks involved in flying, I practiced good risk management. In addition, I thought that like all other laws--except the laws of physics--Murphy's Law was subject to interpretation. Moreover, I tried not to focus on the truly catastrophic events in life. Thus, with my positive outlook, I never expected fear would suck the joy of flying almost completely out of my system.

The day that fear crept into my aviation world and took up residence began in routine fashion. My partner, who is also my flight instructor, and I were on our way to Dulles International Airport near Washington, D.C., to visit family in the area. Our Mooney was in great shape, and we'd just had the oil changed and the spark plugs serviced. After filing IFR and preflighting, we departed and climbed through the soup to 9,000 feet, on top of a solid undercast. After we'd been in the air nearly an hour, we descended to 7,000 feet, and were expecting Potomac Approach to assign a lower altitude momentarily. Suddenly, the engine began to--there's no other way to describe it--cough.

My instructor calmly started troubleshooting as I watched in fascinated horror. All I could think about were the mountains somewhere below us in the clag, and I stared as she deftly switched tanks, hit the fuel pump, adjusted the mixture, and informed Approach of our situation. After what seemed an eternity, the engine ran smoothly again. Fortunately, we were close to Dulles, and my partner elected to continue to the airport where we had an uneventful approach and landing.

After arriving at the FBO, we arranged to have an airframe and powerplant mechanic (A&P) look at the airplane. Because it was Saturday and his shop was closed, we left the Mooney there for the mechanic on Monday. That evening, a friend flew to Dulles in his Cessna 182 and picked us up. As we climbed out over the cloud-cloaked mountains, I felt a shudder run down my spine. I kept my ears and body tuned to any unusual vibrations coming from the engine as I reminded myself that we were in a different airplane and the engine wasn't going to quit. Not even Murphy's Law, I reasoned, would permit engine issues in two different aircraft on the same day!

That Monday, the A&P called and relayed his findings. Evidently, the number 2 and number 4 cylinders' upper spark plug wires were loose, and the number 4 cylinder's lower spark plug was loose. Needless to say, I was not pleased with our recent maintenance. When we returned to Dulles to retrieve the airplane, it ran beautifully, but I still couldn't shake my fear that the engine was going to quit at any second. Even after we had switched to the most highly regarded A&P in our area, my engine fixation persisted. Although I never reached the point at which I wanted to quit flying, I was unable to relax and enjoy a flight.

I watched the engine gauges obsessively for any sign of a problem, and listened intently to engine vibrations. Like a dog, I would often "hear" things in the engine--a hiccup, a roughness, a surge--that were audible only to me. Despite the fact that we had emergency procedures down cold, I couldn't shake my nervousness. Moreover, we were now flying a new Mooney and, as my partner/instructor liked to joke, this engine had 12 spark plugs instead of the previous eight. I was not amused, and I hated practicing engine-outs, because I didn't like the sensations of bringing the power back to idle (unless I was over the numbers!).

My love of aviation was fading, and about the only thing keeping me in the air was my hatred of long car trips. I realized that I needed to fix my thinking, rather than just replacing my beloved Mooney with a twin-engine or a parachute-equipped airplane. I figured that if I let fear take over, switching airplanes would simply cause the fear of engine failure to transfer to something else. Then it would be just a matter of time before I'd be afraid to fly at all.

By happy coincidence, I was introduced to an extremely accomplished glider pilot. Although he flies all manner of powered aircraft, soaring was his first love and he'd been doing it for 50 years. He described the joys of soaring so eloquently that I was about to beg for a ride in a sailplane. True to form, though, mean old fear took over my brain and I thought, It doesn't have an engine, stupid! Why on earth would you want to go up in one of those things?! Before I could continue my internal argument, he invited me to try soaring with him, and, to my surprise, I accepted the invitation.

Then it hit me. Gliders don't need engines to fly, and ultimately neither do airplanes. Although I knew this from the very first day of flight training, the idea was finally hitting home in a way that no ground school lesson or instructor reassurances ever did.

I had an epiphany--perhaps the best way to conquer my engine-failure fear was to spend some time flying around without one. Thus, I decided to try soaring solely as a means to inure myself to engineless flight. To my surprise, I got much more out of it than that.

I admit, I was a nervous wreck as the towplane pulled us down the runway and took us to 3,000 feet, and when we released the tow rope. However, as my new friend showed me how to find thermals and we began to climb at 400 feet per minute without an engine, I began to relax.

He demonstrated basic maneuvers, and I became completely engrossed in flying in a way that I hadn't in a long time. I began to use my senses and skills that were lying dormant while flying a powered airplane. I learned to listen to the air around the glider, in addition to the gentle buffet, in order to recognize a stall. I focused much more on "energy management" from a practical standpoint, by turning airspeed into altitude and altitude into airspeed. I used the rudder more than I think I ever have. I was thrilled to see hawks nearby, directing us to the thermals, instead of wondering how much damage they could do to the engine and propeller.

Best of all, I got to practice authentic "engine out" landings and learned to use wind, air brakes, attitude, and visual cues like smoke and water while gliding to the airport for landing. Before I knew it, we had been in the air for an hour and a half, and this was considered a "bad" day for gliding!

I went gliding a few more times after that and may join a soaring club. And I no longer fret about losing an engine. Instead, I am back where I started before our interesting trip to Dulles; I am alert to the possibility of an engine failure but I am not incapacitated by the prospect. I am aware that other pilots experience much worse while flying and are not consumed by fear afterward. I'm still not sure why I was so affected--our engine restarted and got us to the airport, after all. My advice to anyone struggling with some type of fear is to confront it head on. If you're like me, you will fall in love with aviation all over again, and your new (and renewed) skills will make you a better pilot in the process.

"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.