Never Again: Surprise Encounter

There wasn’t a cloud in the sky, visibility was unlimited, and there was only a light breeze. A good day for some local sightseeing in my Zenith 601 XLB, I thought. After takeoff, I flew west for a while, and then decided to land at a small airport about 15 miles to the south. Nothing of interest was happening there, so I headed home. I had flown that route hundreds of times. It crosses under the ILS approach to Bradley’s Runway 6, so I usually contact Bradley Approach for flight following. When I tuned approach, there was no chatter on that frequency. Not much traffic today, I thought. It seemed unnecessary to talk with approach, so I just continued to monitor the frequency while I motored north. Silence.

The Class C cut-out for Simsbury Airport faces to the west. The usual procedure is to fly well to the west of Simsbury, turn eastward into the cut-out, and then enter the traffic pattern. That was my plan. I made the turn eastbound, which put me on a left crosswind for Simsbury’s Runway 21. At the same time, I changed frequency from approach to the common traffic advisory frequency. Descending to the pattern altitude of 1,200 feet msl, I slowed to 90 mph and announced that I was on crosswind.

At that moment, my peripheral vision caught sight of a large airplane passing close by my right side. I looked in that direction and was amazed to see a Boeing 737. It had come from behind me and was flying parallel to my flight path, perhaps one-half mile away horizontally, and 600 feet above. Its flaps and gear were down. This was by far the closest I had ever been to an airliner in flight. But it had passed me. Probably landing at Bradley. No danger, I thought. My focus turned back to the landing ahead.

Seconds later, without warning, my airplane rolled almost fully inverted. The view through my canopy was suddenly changed from blue sky to green and brown, except for a small patch of blue off in the upper right corner of my vision. It took a moment to realize I was upside down! I had been flipped inverted far faster than my airplane was capable of rolling on its own.

A friend who had been an Air Force jet instructor-pilot had given me several hours of introduction to mild aerobatics, and his mantra had been, “If the airplane is upset, or you are disoriented, roll toward the blue.” I can’t claim to have consciously remembered my friend’s words, but they must have been at work somewhere in the back of my mind, because that’s what I did. I rolled toward that small patch of blue, and found myself upright again. After a moment to regain my wits, my thought was, That was wake turbulence! A good thing I’m out of it now. Wrong.

Suddenly I was hit again, this time being rolled 90 degrees in the opposite direction. That attitude was not as extreme, so recovery was easier. My next thought was I didn’t know it could hit twice. But now I’m out of it.

Wrong again, because almost immediately I was hit a third time, a severe blow from directly above—as if my airplane had been smashed downward by some gigantic hammer. My head hit the canopy in spite of my shoulder harness. My headset flew off; charts and iPad and dust scattered about the cockpit. I was dazed, but conscious. When my head cleared, the first thing I noticed was my altimeter. It showed 800 feet. I had lost 400 feet in a split second.

As soon as I landed, I filed a report with the Aviation Safety Reporting System. NASA’s response was prompt. An investigator called and talked me through the encounter in depth. I was invited to a two-hour debriefing with our local ATC staff, including a review of the radar tapes of the encounter. I learned that ATC had cleared the airliner for a visual approach. That gave its pilot authorization to fly to Bradley International on his own navigation. The 737 chose a route that crossed just to the south of my airport’s traffic pattern, and 600 feet higher. ATC had pointed out my airplane to the airliner, which acknowledged it had me in sight. I heard none of those transmissions because I had by then changed frequencies to the Simsbury CTAF.

During the ATC debriefing, I was assured that both the airliner and I had followed proper procedures. That was nice to know, but an unsafe incident had happened anyway. With no awareness that the 737 was approaching me from behind, I found myself in the exposed position we are all taught to avoid. Even if I had somehow been warned of the airliner’s approach, I was low and slow, with virtually no time or space for evasive action. I’m left with no explanation of how this episode might have been avoided. That’s uncomfortable.

This situation involved a rare combination of circumstances that aren’t likely to occur often. Most wake situations are avoidable simply by following procedures. But it does teach important lessons. For those who have never experienced wake turbulence, I hope this story encourages you to take seriously the procedures for wake avoidance. I was, by chance, in the wrong place at the wrong time. I was lucky that my airplane stayed in one piece, that I wasn’t knocked unconscious, and that I recovered from the upset. You might not be so lucky.

If the worst happens, and you do get into a wake, your best protection is to know how to recover. Some flight schools offer upset training. I urge you to get that training, or get some training in aerobatics. You’ll have a greater chance of surviving because you will know what an upset feels and looks like, and how to recover. Finally, use flight following any time you are in an area where large aircraft operate. That didn’t provide wake avoidance for me, but it might for you.

Bill Thomas is an instrument-rated private pilot who completed two homebuilt airplanes and helped to restore a B–29.