I had a lucky successful off-field emergency landing with no damage or injury in my 1966 Cessna Skylane in a small pasture in a Pittsburgh suburb. This was after a clogged carburetor created an engine-out situation at 1,400 feet agl. I know that despite the fact that the mechanic and I drained out more than 16 gallons of fuel on board, several friends still kid me that I probably ran out of fuel because of my lifetime reputation of doing such in everything else, including cars, tractors, ATVs, snowmobiles, and dinghies. However, even I know the extreme difference between out of gas in the air, or in a ground vehicle or water vessel.
What I did learn from that experience was that even though I did not run out of fuel, I could have because I did not “stick” the fuel tanks that day. I had “sticked” the tanks about a week earlier and had about 25 gallons, more than enough fuel for a flight to Grove City Airport and then to Beaver County Airport, a distance of approximately 60 nm. The investigating FAA officer scolded me pretty hard for just that reason: I did not know for certain that I had enough fuel for the short trip. Being parked on the ramp at an unguarded airport for a week means you’re stupid not to stick the tanks. It’s that simple. The FAA guy’s constant references to how “stupid” I was sunk in, and, while annoying, it was absolutely correct.
On June 7, 2011, I flew to a Pittsburgh towered airport to watch a nephew play in an amateur golf tournament. When I left my home base on an IFR flight plan for the expected 40-minute trip, I had 60 gallons of fuel based upon my “sticking” of the tanks. It was IMC, and the trip took slightly more than an hour. At the airport they waived the $15 landing fee if you purchased at least 20 gallons of fuel, so I purchased the 20 gallons and had that put in while I was at the tournament. The weather that afternoon was getting worse and I wanted to get home for a family event.
I returned to the airport and paid for the fuel; the lineman was at the other end of the airport fueling an airplane. The only ladder available for me to check the tanks was on a fuel truck about 100 yards away. I had checked weather, and ceilings were above 2,000 feet so I opted for VFR for the half-hour flight home.
The airplane had been sitting inside a locked, fenced, towered airport for four hours with attendants and in sight of the tower operator. I did check the fuel for water with the sump drains, but I thought I could assume I had at least 40 gallons of fuel on board even if the lineman put the fuel in the wrong airplane. I felt safe not sticking the tanks this one time for two reasons: I was in a hurry, and I was too lazy to walk that far for a ladder.
When I turned on the master the fuel tanks registered more than three-quarter fuel in both tanks, as I expected. I was about to holler “Clear prop!” when it dawned on me: In almost four years I’d never started my engine without sticking the tanks.
So I turned the master off, walked to the fuel tank, and got the ladder to stick the tanks. The right tank read 30 gallons. When I climbed up to check the left tank, the cap was not screwed in. It was just sitting there loosely upright. I had walked to the back of the airplane to get a visual of the red gas caps in place, but I didn't notice that the right cap was sticking up higher than it should have been. It was set in the closed position, but was loose. It would have come completely off in the taxi to the runway. Most of the terrain between there and home was solid forest, and flying at about 1,500 feet agl could have meant I needed to be lucky once again. Sticking tanks means you’ve taken responsibility for tightening the fuel caps. I never let a fueling lineman be the last to check the fuel caps are on tight.
