I was the captain on a Learjet 60 for a Part 135 operator based in Ontario, California. My first officer, Robbie, and I were flying a short hop with two skittish passengers, from Santa Monica Airport to McCarran International in Las Vegas. We knew they were nervous flyers because they sat in their Cadillac Escalade chain-smoking cigarettes until we told them we needed them on board.
Robbie and I had flown hundreds of hours side by side in the last two years, including a dozen trips to and from Santa Monica Airport. I had more than 500 hours in this particular airplane and had been to FlightSafety for recurrent training within the last two months.
As we taxied for takeoff on Runway 21, I called for the before-takeoff checklist, and Robbie began to read each checklist item, but was interrupted by Santa Monica tower. “Learjet, your take-off clearance is cancelled. Expect a 10-minute delay.”
It wasn’t bad having a little extra time to talk about our departure out. In fact, between the complex IFR departure procedure and very fussy noise abatement requirements, it is easy to miss a small detail. Having the chance to re-brief was welcome—however, 30 seconds into our briefing, the tower called again: “Lear, cleared for immediate takeoff.”
I took a quick look into the cabin to make sure that our two passengers were still safely buckled in and let them know that we were about to be on our way. I wanted to get airborne quickly in case Las Vegas Approach had another change of heart, so I ran my before-takeoff flow as we taxied onto the runway threshold. Robbie picked up on my cue and again read the before-takeoff checklist. Moments later we were sucking up the gear and making an early turn eastbound toward downtown Los Angeles. On our initial call to SoCal Approach, we were cleared to FL230.
We were particularly light that day. It was a short flight with only two passengers, and we carried just enough fuel for IFR minimums because we had negotiated a better fuel price at the FBO in Las Vegas. The Learjet 60’s vertical speed indicator was pegged at 6,000 feet per minute, only because that was as high as the instrument would read. We were through 8,000 feet within the first minute that we took off.
Then, a single light on the glare shield: PRESS SYS. That came on at 8,500 feet. I lowered the Lear’s nose. We climbed briskly through 10,000 feet, which triggered the cabin altitude warning horn and the red warning light began to flash. It took another 2,000 feet to level the Learjet.
I verified that our cabin altitude was approximately the same as my altimeter indicated and asked Robbie to run the loss of pressurization checklist. The first three items on the checklist were already completed. We were established in level flight and there wasn’t a need to don our oxygen masks. But then the fourth item on the checklist: Cabin air ON. Wait a minute. That should already be on.
I reached over and turned the cabin air switch to ON and the cabin began a slow descent to the correct cabin altitude for our aircraft altitude. We completed the remainder of the checklist and informed ATC of our pressurization problem. With the nearly hyperventilating passengers in the back, we decided to drop into Ontario airport to give the passengers a break from the in-flight drama and to take a moment to go over what had just happened. We were on a perfect downwind for Runway 26R. I called for the before-landing checklist and we touched down shortly after.
The passengers decided to fly on one of our Citation Jets for the remainder of their journey, which required a different crew. Neither Robbie nor I told them that the pressurization problem was because of an error on our part; really an error on my part, as the pilot in command.
It was an unnecessary in-flight incident and an expensive mistake on my part. But whenever a crewmember, including myself, rushes through any checklist—or any required flight task for that matter—I think of that day and slow things way down.
