Suckered in

The weather over the Mojave Desert is usually dry and warm, and the winds light. That morning I looked at the weather, as usual, and a cold front was heading toward Tucson, but I concluded the flight would be OK. The cold front was heading east from the Pacific coast, but most of the precipitation was over Palm Springs, California, and Phoenix, and the track we would be on would take us between the severe weather—or so I thought. This was my first mistake; I should have paid more attention.

The Piper Saratoga has a useful load of only 1,050 pounds. It is also quite nose-heavy with full fuel, so with my wife in the back seat and the luggage on board we could only put on 65 gallons to stay within the envelope. At our cruising altitude that was enough for about 3 hours and 20 minutes, and with slight headwinds we could make our refueling stop in Apple Valley, California, in about 2 hours and 15 minutes. An acceptable margin of about an hour. We didn’t file a flight plan for our departure from Tucson International Airport (TUS), but we did request, and receive, flight following. We departed Runway 11L in the early morning sunshine and headed west on a heading of 284 degrees out over the desert in crystal clear blue skies climbing to our planned cruising altitude of 8,500 feet.

By now the only choice was a descent through icing conditions. The controller gave me an IFR clearance and a descent vector to get me to Blythe and said he had no icing reports in the area. I was thinking, Well, you will get a report from me shortly.The first sign of potential trouble came about an hour and 20 gallons of fuel later. As we climbed to avoid the approaching cloud front the windshield frosted over slightly. No worries yet, as the radio traffic was reporting cloud tops at 10,000 feet, we had oxygen on board, and the Saratoga’s service ceiling is 25,000 feet. I continued the climb to stay in VFR conditions, my second mistake. We were now somewhere north of Gila Bend, Arizona, heading toward Blythe, California. Not long after, we had to climb to 12,000 feet to stay out of the clouds and at this point I should have simply turned around and headed back to Tucson where there were clear skies. For some reason I didn’t—get-home-itis or simply not thinking, I am honestly not sure. The radio was now starting to fill with reports of cloud tops at 12,000 to 13,000 feet. No worries, keep climbing, I thought—my third and, as it turned out, almost fatal mistake.

We eventually leveled at 16,500 feet, oxygen cannulas on, feeling a little cold, somewhere a little southeast of Blythe. It was about minus-9 degrees Celsius outside and only a few degrees above zero inside the cabin, despite having the heater full on. The heater was just never designed to keep the cabin warm in such extreme cold. At 16,500 feet we had topped the cloud, but we hit 40- to 50-knot headwinds and it soon became apparent that we would not reach our refueling stop at Apple Valley, which as forecast was in clear VFR conditions (isn’t ADS-B In amazing!). We had also flown long enough and used too much fuel to simply turn around and head back to Tucson and the good weather. I had allowed myself to be suckered into a situation that I thought I would never allow. Thoughts of accident reports in AOPA Pilot entered my head: “We do not know for sure what the pilot was thinking….”

At this point we needed fuel, we couldn’t go forward because of the headwinds, it was too late to go back, and what was below us was a few thousand feet of icing clouds. The Saratoga does not have ice protection, other than pitot heat. I explained my fuel predicament to Los Angeles Center. The controller suggested heading to Palm Springs because the weather there was usually better because of the mountain range to the west. What he meant was the ceilings were higher, not that the clouds tops were any lower or the cloud layer was any thinner. After a few minutes I realized I was having to climb even higher to stay in VFR conditions and reversed course.

I still think about that flight every time I take off. It could have ended very differently.By now the only choice was a descent through icing conditions. The controller gave me an IFR clearance and a descent vector to get me to Blythe and said he had no icing reports in the area. I was thinking, Well, you will get a report from me shortly. I went through a mental checklist of what to do in icing in a Saratoga: pitot heat on, cabin heat on full, double check the alternate air lever but don’t open it unless the engine starts running a little rough, autopilot off, nose down, and an airspeed not to exceed 167 knots, VNO. This would minimize our time in the clouds. As we started through the cloud the Saratoga started picking up ice almost immediately. I held a heading and a descent rate while thinking there is no way we could have held altitude or climbed with this much ice on the airframe. The controller said I was drifting to the right, but I was hesitant to start correcting so simply accepted the small drift. Down we went at about 1,500 feet per minute, trying to minimize the time we spent in the clouds.

Turns out I did this bit about right—or was I just lucky? At about 3,000 feet, having descended through about 9,000 feet of icing, we broke out of the clouds into warmer air and the ice started to melt and fly off the wings and the propeller. As I gently leveled off at about 2,000 feet, put some power back in, and canceled IFR, the last big chunks of ice dislodged from the wings. The landing in Blythe was uneventful, although I made the approach slightly faster than normal just in case there was still some ice on the wings that I could not see. Inspection on the ground revealed clear ice clinging to the leading edges. However, it soon melted leaving a small puddle on the ramp. We refueled and by the time we left Blythe we were on the west side of the cold front and the weather was clear VFR all the way home.

I still think about that flight every time I take off. It could have ended very differently. How could I have let myself get suckered into that situation, the sort of situation you read about in accident reports and say it will never happen to me? I now know it can, and I will never take weather for granted again. Accidents are usually caused by a chain of events, and on this flight that was certainly the case—a chain of marginal decisions leading to a dangerous situation. I had numerous chances to turn around and didn’t take them. I will never forget the option of turning back on future flights. My wife, who was sitting in the back covered in a blanket the whole time, will never forget it either.

Andy Clark is an instrument-rated commercial single-, multiengine airplane, and glider pilot with 2,000 flight hours.