My husband and I decided to fly from Ormond Beach, Florida, to Gwinnett County-Briscoe Field Airport near Atlanta to attend a family reunion. I had passed the private pilot checkride two years previously and had around 300 hours. Somehow, late in life, I had been bitten with the flying bug, and my husband was happy to indulge me. We owned a 1977 Cessna 172, and we tried to get up in the air every weekend. Naturally, for the family reunion, we wanted to fly for three and a half hours rather than drive for eight and a half. Visiting with the in-laws was not my favorite thing, but if it involves flying I’ll do just about anything.
It was late spring, and on the day of our flight it was windy—so windy that my sister-in-law in Atlanta said we shouldn’t fly. I, however, knew more about flying than she did. Winds were 10 knots at our home base, but predicted to be 15 knots with gusts up to 25 knots at our destination. Light turbulence was forecast at various altitudes along the route. I was still having trouble with crosswind landings, but I believed I was getting better. I like a challenge, and I didn’t want to be a wimp.
We took off in early afternoon and encountered moderate turbulence almost immediately. The headwinds had been reported to be the weakest at 3,000 feet, so I flew there. But the conditions were difficult. I had a tough time keeping the airplane at a constant altitude. As we got close to Atlanta, I heard other pilots asking to divert because of the high surface winds. Hmm, I thought. Well, maybe it’s not so bad at LZU. But it also was reporting 20 knots with gusts to 28 knots. Winds were from 300 and we would be landing on Runway 27. A quick calculation showed that to be a possible 14-knot crosswind component. That was within the limitations of the airplane, but I was not sure if it was within my limitations. Logic told me to find an alternative airport, but logic lost to passion and get-there-itis. I entered a left base for Runway 27, doing my best to remain in control of the airplane. I turned to final and put in 10 degrees of flaps. I fought it valiantly all the way down, screaming and making very unladylike utterances. Everything fell off of my lap—notebook, pens, charts—but I focused on staying level and trying not to fly into the ground. Just when we were about to set down, however, a big gust hit the little airplane and sent us back up into the air.
Now what? I couldn’t imagine what it would be like to have to fight the winds again. There was plenty of runway left, so I decided to just go ahead and land, which somehow I did. When we touched down, we were slightly crooked and had a lot of speed. But I was too exhausted from the difficult flight to brake and steer properly. Plus, it seemed that if I braked too hard, the airplane would topple over. There was a nice soft green patch of mostly level grass ahead and to the left, and I just let our airplane go there. We taxied roughly in the turf for about 20 yards and came to a stop. We were on the ground and alive, and had no damage to us or the airplane.
The feeling of relief soon gave way to extreme embarrassment. The tower radioed to see if we were OK. When I told them we were, I was shocked to hear next the dreaded words: “Please call the tower after securing the plane.” Distraught from the treacherous flight and landing, and having lost my writing materials on the floor of the airplane, I had to request “Say again?” three times before I could copy down the phone number. My heart sank: I was going to get in deep trouble for what I did, for being so stupid and stubborn.
We taxied to the FBO. After parking, I called the tower phone number and waited to hear my punishment. But the controller just wanted to find out what happened. I explained how difficult the flight was and how I got in over my head with the winds on landing. He seemed satisfied with that and let me go. I have since established personal minimums for landing conditions and plan to abide by them. In addition, I will ditch the macho attitude and listen to other opinions about flying—even if they do come from my sister-in-law.
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