Learning Experiences

'No go' would have been the better decision

Pilots pay close attention to aviation mishaps, accidents, and close calls. Reading an accident report, we may say, "How could someone be that stupid? I would never put myself in that situation." As a low-time and brand-new pilot, I will never say that again.

In April, a family member asked me to fly out to pick him up at Gillespie County Airport in Fredericksburg, Texas, where he was dropping off his aircraft for maintenance. His airplane would be in the shop for a week, and I was trying to make it convenient for him to get home quickly instead of having to rent a car.

The METARs for Austin and the surrounding area were showing VFR, and the forecast was for improving conditions throughout the afternoon. In the car on the way to the airport, I was wondering what the actual ceilings were, ut instead focused on driving trying to fend off any negativity about the weather. Maybe if I didn't think about it the clouds they would disappear magically.

After preparing the airplane, a Diamond DA40, I taxied over for fuel and text messaged the other pilot that we would communicate in the air on 123.45 MHz. Sitting in the airplane, I called Flight Service and learned that the ceilings were 2,500 feet broken, 4,000 overcast improving to 4,000 scattered within the hour. There were no airmets. The temperature/dew-point spread was good, and there was no forecast precipitation. The forecast convinced me it would be fine for the VFR flight. With a whopping 120 hours under my belt, getting up and feeling it out didn't seem like a big deal. If I didn't like what I saw, it would be easy enough to turn around and fly home.

After filing a flight plan, I took off to the west and cruised at 2,500 feet msl. The visibility was 10 miles or greater on takeoff. The cloud bases would not let me go higher legally. After about 20 nm I noticed the ceilings were beginning to lower ahead of me. Knowing the route very well after having flown it close to 10 times in the past month, I felt like I could fly it in my sleep. Next thing you know, I was descending first to 2,200 feet, then to 2,000 feet. This put me at about 800 feet agl because of the rising terrain near the destination airport. The elevation at Gillespie is 1,695 feet msl. At 15 nm out, the automated weather observation service broadcast was not audible, and it made me wonder if I was too low to receive it or it was out of service.

My immediate concern was visibility and not running into the minefield of towers in the area. There was a woman shooting approaches in her Mooney, and I asked her for a current altimeter setting and wind info, which she was kind enough to give. At that point I told myself I would not descend below 1,800 feet no matter what. After scanning the sectional and looking at the multifunction display, I could see that there were no towers in the vicinity to my right--and then it hit. A full-bore rain shower, and I could not see a thing out the front windows. In less than one minute it went from three miles' visibility and VFR to complete instrument meteorological conditions. The ground disappeared, and I was in a position I swore I would never put myself in.

Immediately, I turned the heading bug 180 degrees to bail out of there and glued my eyes on the steam gauges--attitude, airspeed, and altimeter. The turn seemed to take forever, although it was probably only a minute. If it were not for the autopilot, my workload would have increased tenfold at that moment. After completing the turn, I was at 500 feet agl, the rain was subsiding, and the ground started to reappear out of my peripheral view. The situation improved pretty quickly, but I was done for the day. It was then that I became rattled about what had just happened, and I high-tailed it home to Georgetown Municipal Airport.

After shutting down, my mind wondered for a while about how I got myself into that mess and what I could have done differently to avoid it. A few things came to mind:

1. I let the pressure of wanting to perform for someone else I respected get between me and my personal minimums.
2. It would have been smart to verify weather on ADDS and compare notes to what Flight Service told me over the phone while at the FBO.
3. There were a few pilots at Georgetown who were filling up after landing; speaking to them might have given me a clue as to real-world conditions.
4. At the very first sign of the ceiling or visibility deteriorating, I should have turned back. Not pondered the thought, but actually turned back instead of letting it develop further. Every second counts in these situations.
5. The idea of "going up to feel it out" was wrong. I am not a test pilot nor an instrument-rated pilot, and I had no business probing into conditions for which I was not ready.
6. The fact that I was within 10 miles of the destination airport and I knew the area was a very deceptive bit of motivation to get there. Had it happened 30 miles back, I would have turned then, but because I was so close I figured there was a strong chance I would see the airport and make it.
7. When I made the decision to turn, my judgment and thinking became clouded and not as sharp as usual, much like being in the pattern the first time during private pilot training. Things happened quickly, and my situational awareness dropped significantly. Have a plan and stick to it.
8. I am lucky to have flown in actual IMC on 10 or more approaches with an instructor in the last 30 days. It made all the difference when I had to get my head in the cockpit. The DA40 with all its sophisticated gauges and buttons is only as good as the person pushing them. Had I not known how to work the autopilot and how to scan the instruments, things could have gotten a whole lot worse.

The feeling of irresponsibility running through my blood was strong medicine. On that day I started the chain of events that often leads to pilot fatalities and was fortunate enough to make the right decisions and come out of it smoothly.

In the future I will not break my personal minimums for anyone at any time. I will get a more complete forecast and trust my instinct not to go. I will not push on in less than 5 nm visibility, and I won't take off into weather I might not be able to handle. But mostly I wanted to share with other new pilots that things get rough much faster than you can anticipate. Visibility can go from VFR to junk in a very short time. The last lesson from this is that even when familiar with a route, once you get flustered and visibility is lacking, you can get disoriented very quickly flying close to the ground. The lessons on trusting your instruments is an important concept, but making good decisions on the ground will almost never lead you into having to make these decisions in the air.

"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.