Flight Lesson: Playing Catch-up

Years ago, I read a troubling story. A man had a rough day at work. When he got home he took it out on his wife. She in turn yelled at their son, who then went out to play. The boy was upset, and he kicked the family dog. The point of the story is, who really kicked the dog? The implied lesson is don’t let someone else kick your dog. Well, guess what? I let the dean at my college kick my dog.

I work at a Part 141 flight school located in the Midwest and have been employed here for 20 years. I am an assistant chief flight instructor with more than 5,000 flight hours. Like other institutions, our university is feeling the crunch of an uncertain economic environment. The dean of our college gets pressure from above him in the university food chain. He is a results-driven man. He puts pressure on the chief flight instructor to make sure our students complete their flight courses quickly. The chief, in turn, puts pressure on me.

I had a full calendar. Several students were assigned to me for progress checks. In addition, my personal students were behind schedule. Although he never said a word to me about it, I could feel my boss breathing down my neck. I was determined to catch up, no matter what. (Do you see some hazardous attitudes developing here?)

I was conducting a progress check for an instrument flight student. She was under Foggles and could not see outside. I take full responsibility for these events.

Upon departure from My Home Airport (MHA) the sky was clear with scattered clouds at 2,500 feet reported at the Airport Next Door (AND). (There is an AND in Anderson, South Carolina—and before you ask, these events did not transpire there.)

As the flight progressed, the scattered layer became broken. Ten miles southwest of AND, level at 3,000 feet, I requested from AND tower direct DUUMM—as far as I know DUUMM isn’t an initial approach fix anywhere, just the way I was acting—VOR 2 approach straight in. AND’s tower replied Unable, opposite direction IFR traffic, ILS 20. I then requested direct AND VOR (located on the field) followed by the VOR 20 approach. AND approved because we were above the opposite-direction traffic. We were also above the clouds, visibility more than 10. Were we really 1,000 feet above? I told myself we were, but if an examiner had been onboard I doubt he would have agreed.

Proceeding toward the VOR, I saw a hole in the clouds. I had the student descend below them to 2,000 feet, continue toward the VOR, and expect the VOR 20 approach; I requested altitude modification for the practice approach. Tower approved.

We descended through the hole and I told myself we were clear by 2,000 feet horizontally, but once again I doubt an examiner would have agreed. The bases appeared to be at 2,500 feet. We were now below clouds level at 2,000. After crossing over the VOR we flew outbound on the 010 radial. Tower requested that we report the procedure turn outbound and stated clouds broken 1,600. We were at 2,000 and below the clouds, but 500 feet below? Who was I trying to fool?

As the student began the procedure turn outbound, IFR traffic reported it was climbing to 2,500 feet because we were 1.5 miles directly in front of them. AND tower approved. What frightens me is I never saw the other traffic. I never saw it! We continued the procedure turn, subsequently completed our approach, the IFR traffic reestablished glideslope, and both aircraft landed without incident. MHA, exactly 11.3 nautical miles from AND, was reporting clear the entire time.

I endangered everyone on board both aircraft because I was determined to complete my task. Nothing was going to get in my way. As an instructor with more than 20 years experience, my attitude was inexcusable. FAR 91.155 is there for a reason. How many times have I told one of my students there is always a better day to fly, don’t take unnecessary risks?

Yet, being fully aware of the regulations, the situation, and the potential for a catastrophic outcome, taking a foolish chance is precisely what I did. If the FAA decided to take certificate action against me, it would have been deserved. There is nothing the FAA could do to me that would come close to the punishment I have already put myself through, as I reflect upon how stupid I feel and ashamed I am of my actions. It won’t happen again. Sorry, dean, you don’t get to kick my dog twice.