I was on board my Cessna 150, which I had affectionately named "Toro," at Pembina Municipal Airport. The North Dakota wind was calm and my instructor, Tom, was sitting beside me. I had just completed my third perfect landing
of the day. “A real dandy,” said Tom. “Turn around and taxi back to the ramp.”
I taxied back and Tom said to leave the engine running. He opened the door, got out, and gave me a look of farewell.
“What are you doing?” I asked.
Tom replied, “You’re ready.”
Tom shouted over his shoulder as he walked away. “You can do it,” he said. “You are not alone. I will be talking to you over unicom. Make sure you are tuned to 122.8.”
I taxied onto Runway 16 and added power until the throttle was wide open. I had one eye on the runway and the other eye on the airspeed indicator. At 65 mph I eased back on the yoke and Toro was airborne. My confidence was increasing. By the time Toro reached 800 feet my fear was beginning to abate.
My time in the air was better than I expected. I forgot that I was alone and spent my time drinking in the beautiful scenery of the Red River Valley. I looked at my watch and couldn't believe that a half hour had already flown by. It was time to make a 180-degree turn and head back home.
I entered the pattern at the required 800 feet. Tom was out on the runway making wild waving gyrations with his arms. “Welcome home,” I thought he were saying.
I entered downwind one mile west of Runway 16. Opposite the touchdown point, I reduced power to 1,500 rpm, reduced speed to 85 mph, and extended the flaps to 10 degrees. Turning base at 45 degrees downwind of touchdown, I added another 10 degrees of flaps and reduced speed to 80. I must remember to lead the turn to final so I don’t overshoot, I thought. I should have been at 400 feet on the turn to final, and I was. I kept the speed at 80 and added another 10 degrees of flaps. This reduced the speed to the perfect 75 that I wanted.
Something wasn’t right. I’d executed the prelanding procedure perfectly and the airspeed said 75; however, I was approaching the runway way too fast and too high.
The second time around produced the same result. I was really starting to get worried. But I really had no choice. I’d have to try one more time, and this time Toro will have to set down wherever she sets down. I executed another textbook landing procedure. Again too fast and too high. There were only 30 minutes of fuel remaining. Toro was going to set down no matter what happened. I came streaking in over Runway 16 at blinding speed. I pushed forward on the yoke and forced the gear into the runway, although the speed was in excess of what could be thought of as safe. There was a fine line between slamming on the brakes, which could cause Toro to flip over on her back, and gently but firmly applying just the right amount of pressure to effect the maximum braking power. There was a gully at the end of the runway that would produce the same results if Toro didn’t stop in time.
I was dancing on the brakes, trying to use just the right amount of differential pressure. The runway end was approaching fast and then it disappeared from my view. The next conscious moment I had was of Toro’s engine idling peacefully. I opened the window and saw the front wheel at the edge of the gully.
My fear changed to anger. I swung Toro around and went back to Tom who was waiting at the end of the runway. I didn’t give him a chance to say anything. I spit out, “What happened! I did everything by the book and nothing worked.”
“Well, Jo, you did everything just fine, except for one thing,” he said. “You didn’t look at the windsock. The winds here changed from light and calm out of the southeast to strong and gusty out of the northwest. You were landing downwind with a 25-knot tailwind. Your groundspeed when you touched down on the runway must have been well over 100 miles per hour. Next time look at the windsock before landing. OK?”
What would you do? Discuss this scenario with your instructor!
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