Safety Spotlight: Hubris and inexperience

It starts with a U.S. Air Force “Navigation Proficiency” program, which permitted pilots to fly to any airport in the country with enough runway and support equipment, so long as they departed after noon on Friday and returned before noon on Monday. As a single lieutenant flying F–15s in the New Mexico desert, I took full advantage of this program. On this trip I was joined by three other pilots, all lieutenants—a flight composition normally prohibited on navigation proficiency flights, because the Air Force believed (absurdly, we thought) that experience would be helpful.

The trouble started on our second leg, from Panama City, Florida, to Sawyer International Airport, in Michigan’s Upper Peninsula. We launched out of Panama City in the late afternoon for the 1,000-mile trip north with a weather briefing that looked sketchy, but acceptable, and jet stream crosswinds close to 100 knots at altitude. Since I had led the first leg, I was number four on this leg, the most desired spot on cross-country flights. We knew fuel would be tight, but we were legal, and we filed and declared the appropriate alternate field with no real thought of actually using it. The alternate was only a legal requirement. We’d plan on unrestricted climbs up to FL450 and get clearance direct to Sawyer. Besides, our performance on the first leg was proof our planning materials were conservative, and we could outperform the flight plan profile for fuel.

On departure, we were delayed in our climb and rerouted. Eventually we were cleared to FL450 and once in the 40s received clearance direct to Sawyer, with a little less fuel than planned at level-off. The jet stream wasn’t quite as forecast, and we had a slight headwind component, so we burned a bit more fuel en route than planned. We could still make Sawyer with barely enough to make the divert field, so we were “legal.”

Approaching 100 miles out, we updated weather for Sawyer and received discomforting news. The airport was socked in with prevailing weather below approach minimums; however, there was a “TEMPO group” (temporary group), which improved over a 30-minute period near our ETA. We pushed the throttles up to ensure we’d arrive during this window and burned a little more fuel.

Approaching the initial approach fix, well behind the aircraft because of our discussion about the weather, our flight lead made an unusual decision to fly the approach in reverse flight order. He cleared me forward to start the approach as he and the others began to take spacing in two-mile intervals. I was caught off guard and was unprepared for the approach.

I departed the IAF and began the penetration well behind the airplane. I flew the approach, focusing on the basics, but without the precision needed in such a challenging situation. Eventually, I reached decision height, with no runway in sight. I executed a missed approach, and advised my wingmen on our intra-flight radio, but added that I flew a bad approach and they might break out with a good approach.

Low on fuel, just having gone missed approach, with barely enough fuel to make an alternate field that was also reporting poor weather, I committed to remain at Sawyer on vectors and try a second approach. Meanwhile, number three (second on the approach) also reported going missed and that he too flew a poor approach. He followed me on vectors for a second attempt. Eventually, number two broke out and advised upon landing that he broke out at minimums, and he passed a head’s up for ice on the runway. Number one landed behind him. I came around for my second pass, completely focused, flying as precisely as I ever had. I broke out just below minimums, slowed for flare, and then executed a full aero-brake to handle the icy runway. A few tense minutes later, number three landed behind me.

We paused off the runway and gathered ourselves. We had piled on so many mistakes in this scenario, we were lucky to get away with them—and we knew it. Stubborn commitment to make our destination despite mounting evidence we should reconsider; late decision making; calling last-second, unbriefed audibles; getting behind the airplane; not being mentally prepared to use our alternate; dismissing the trip as routine. I’m sure you can name a few more. At the root of it all, though, was our attitude: hubris, over-confidence, an air of invincibility. I’ve never forgotten that flight or the lessons it taught me, and I’ve realized that many pilots before and since weren’t as fortunate to emerge from such a scenario.

Go fly and take confidence that you have the judgment to avoid scenarios where “hope” is your strategy and “luck” will define the outcome.

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