There’s a Chinese saying: “An upper class learns lessons from other people’s mistakes; a middle class learns from his own mistakes; the lower class can’t even learn his own mistakes.” That’s why I go to aviation safety seminars: to listen and learn. But I must admit, like a cliché in the seminar, I often thought, I will never make that kind of stupid decision or mistake.
It was a beautiful summer day in June. I was about to fly to Martha’s Vineyard to meet two other flying buddies from Long Island. I had delayed the meet-up time by a half-hour. That’s the beginning: get-there-it-is.
I already knew there could be another on-and-off issue: I might not be able to start the engine on the 1970 Cessna 172L that I had owned for several years. The previous weekend I had flown to four different airports in upstate New York, including two grass fields. I had to manually start the engine at the second airport. I figured four out of five is not too bad. The worst case was I would have to hand-prop, which would not be a big deal. The mechanic was able to start it every time he tried, anyway.
After preflight, I couldn’t start the engine. Usually, I would ask my FBO guys to sit in the pilot seat and apply the brake for me. But I hadn’t seen anybody that day. I asked my passenger to help me, even though I knew he wasn’t a pilot. He had been in various small airplanes a few times. He gladly agreed to help.
I had been told many times that manual prop start is dangerous, and my understanding was the risk was limited to the person who did the hand-prop. I told myself to be careful and everything would be fine. As a lifetime marathoner, I’m pretty fit, nimble, and quick. When did my pride suddenly become arrogance?
Things turned scary after I successfully hand-propped the engine. I had put in only a little bit of throttle, but the airplane began moving forward. I tried to chase it, but it just went a little faster, and I kept yelling “apply the brake.” There was some miscommunication, and the passenger probably did all the wrong things he could. The airplane turned left and went onto a ramp between two rows of aircraft, then turned left again and hit a Bonanza, which in turn hit two other airplanes. In the end, it was about $150,000 to $200,000 in property damage, but no one was injured, no explosion, and no engine oil or gas leaking. That’s the only silver lining.
Looking back, after being interviewed by FAA, I had never received formal training in hand-propping. I had limited experience and learned by watching others. I had no idea why I was so careless this time, which was pretty uncharacteristic of me. I am a longtime motorcycle rider and was always safety conscious.
Things always look clearer afterwards, and may look so obvious—and make me look so dumb. Despite seeing no soul around, I could have helped myself by applying the parking brake, by tying down the aircraft, and by using chocks instead of trusting a nonpilot friend. Another lesson learned from this incident is the need to teach my passengers some basic things, such as the operation of the throttle, brakes, and others. Communicate clearly to make sure they understand. Take some back-up measures, in case things go wrong. I thought a lot about it afterwards, and realized again the responsibility that a pilot has—not only to himself but also to other people, in or out of the airplane. Flying is fun, but safety is not a funny matter.
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