It happens on occasion to all of us who fly, and the experience, if alarming, is useful. That's because the next time it happens, you recognize the meaning without all the time wasted to befuddlement or denial.
Denial? Indeed, emotion plays a role. A twinge of guilt may stab, because the sudden realization that something's amiss carries with it the built-in inference that you, the pilot, overlooked something. Is the engine getting too hot because a cowl plug still lives there? Wouldn't be the first time a pilot did that. So next time, you'll grasp right away why there's a knot forming in your stomach--and you'll then set about diagnosing and solving the problem in a businesslike fashion. Then, having been through it before, you'll also remember that there are some obvious categories to look at first for the remedy. A good first try is that imaginary file folder that houses the list of "stuff I may have forgotten to do."
What could it be? An instrument approach at night, followed by a tight missed approach, is demanding work. Intense concentration on such basics as aircraft control and leveling off at the proper altitude is essential. Then comes flying the missed approach procedure correctly, and getting ready for whatever navigational task must follow. It was under just such conditions that the pilot of a complex single suddenly became aware that the aircraft felt somewhat "draggy" during the climbout--thanks to a workload that had left him maxed out and unable to grab a checklist to remind him to retract the landing gear.
Takeoff and landing practice on a nice day can be a setup for certain predictable omissions. Often the symptom that snaps you to awareness is decreased aircraft performance. Forgetting to remove carb heat after landing or on a touch and go, or to retract flaps, will result in a noticeably anemic takeoff climb, and perhaps a rough-running engine. The flap condition can be particularly dangerous. Attempting to depart with full flaps in some low-powered training aircraft may barely get you above the trees, unless the pilot quickly senses the aerodynamic distress and carefully cleans up the wing. There are a lot of cues to flaps forgotten in the extended position: everything from the obstructed view out the side windows during taxi (in a high-wing airplane), to the airspeed at which the aircraft is capable of leaving the ground, to the extreme nose-down trim required for control. Rate of climb will be shockingly low, or nonexistent, above ground effect. The runup before your first takeoff can be the source of difficulty if a distracted pilot forgets to return the ignition switch to "both" after checking the magnetos. And even before that, some pilots manage to run into difficulties. A new pilot attempting to start a Cessna 172 loaded with enthusiastic passengers had primed and cranked until blue in the face, but was going nowhere until a CFI on the ramp came over, reached through the pilot's-side window, and placed the mixture control in the full rich position as required for engine start.
On rare occasions it isn't a creeping sense that all isn't right that makes you wonder what's wrong with the airplane. Rather, a jolting realization puts your peace of mind in play. Pitot tubes inadvertently left covered when takeoff commences have baffled many pilots into panicky responses to the lack of airspeed indication. This is too bad when some practice traffic patterns with the ASI covered could have prevented the resulting run-off-the-end type accidents. More serious, and sometimes fatal, is the homemade control-wheel lock left in place (such as an easily overlooked bent nail) before an attempted takeoff.
An engine running so smoothly that you are planning to send a box of candy to the mechanics suddenly roughens drastically or cuts out altogether. If it's a hot, humid day or you're running at a moderately low power setting (or both), carburetor ice is a prime suspect. Don't be one of those folks who lands in a field and then notices the melting ice dripping from under the engine cowl.
Pilots who transition from certain Cessnas in which they rarely switch fuel tanks from the "both" setting to Pipers with selectors offering Left, Right, and Off are vulnerable to self-induced engine failures caused by fuel starvation. This too is a poor reason to land among the amber waves of grain. But the psychological jolt of that engine's stopping will deliver a lasting reminder about switching tanks and using checklists.
Remember to fly the airplane, regardless of whether the distracting event is carb ice, a door suddenly popping open, or even an instrument gyro giving up with a jarring mechanical death song. As unnerving as one of these events may be, your first job is to remind yourself that the aircraft is under control and the ground is a safe distance away. If the ground is closer than that, then landing on the runway you just left may become one of your options. But keep your pattern normal. This is no time for unexpected pattern maneuvers, which are officially frowned upon and a hazard to others.
Speaking of the ground, that's not an earthquake that struck the airport just as you started rolling down the runway for takeoff. It may feel and sound like one, but it's just your nosewheel shimmying with violent bang and thrashes. Ease back on the control column and the noise and vibrations stop! And be ready, because the shimmy may return when you land. A modified soft-field touchdown might not be a bad idea today. Check out the shimmy damper with your mechanic when you get back from flying.
Sometimes you discover that a problem has been lurking in the background for quite some time, but it took a change of flight conditions for it to make itself evident. You're flying along in comfortable cruise, but it is now time to descend. You make a small throttle change to descend at your current airspeed; the nose pitches down slightly in response. Suddenly a tremendous thumping noise fills the air. That's when you notice that your shoulder harness isn't fastened. In fact, it's nowhere to be found--until your eye catches the long belt just outside in the slipstream, where the newly altered slipstream has caused it slap against the fuselage, creating the disturbance that has such a devastating effect on your peace of mind.
At times the only problem with a flight is the pilot's inexperience or unfamiliarity with some feature of the aircraft or conditions. That first departure from a runway of modest length with a heavy load under high density altitude conditions can be truly shocking. Especially if you're used to light loads, long runways, and cold, dense air. It takes a fine touch and clear understanding of what's afoot if the pilot is to keep safety margins fat. That new rental version of your favorite aircraft may have a slick nav package. But if you're not master of the comm panel, you may think your radios have deserted you, when the truth is that it's you who has abandoned them. This is a common watch-for item on checkrides and rental checkouts, by the way.
I used to instruct and fly single-engine charters for an outfit whose mechanics were constantly busy keeping our aging and well-traveled fleet of Cessnas airborne. It was a running joke between the pilots and the "wrenches" that nothing ever went wrong with the aircraft. No matter what the pilot thought was the problem, the mechanics knew better and would respond that "it's just the gauge."
It was sometimes true that red-zone instrument readings were false alarms. But others were legit, and got excellent attention from our fabulous fixers. The trick for those who fly is to be able to tell true from false, and if there really is a problem, stay in control and not make things worse than they really are.
Dan Namowitz is an aviation writer and flight instructor. A pilot since 1985 and an instructor since 1990, he resides in Maine.
