Beach bound

That was quite a step up from the Cessna 172 I had earned my pilot certificate in a year earlier. When I sold the Arrow in 2014, I had logged about 1,400 mostly uneventful hours as pilot in command.

I was always looking for reasons to justify this hobby, so I was delighted when my brother-in-law asked me to fly him to North Carolina to pick up his teenage daughter’s friend who was on vacation on the Outer Banks. The friend wanted to come home earlier than his family so he could play in the band for a football game that evening and then participate in a band competition the next day.

It was a beautiful day and the two-hour flight from Farmer’s Pride Airport (9N7) in southeast Pennsylvania to First Flight Airport (FFA) in Kill Devil Hills, North Carolina, was routine. The plan was to pick up the young man and then stop on the way home (about 90 miles away) for lunch. We were only on the ground a few minutes at First Flight Airport and after a quick preflight the three of us launched for our lunch date at Charly’s Airport Restaurant at Williamsburg-Jamestown Airport (JGG). Shortly after departure while still in the pattern I noticed the slightest hiccup in power. Then it happened again. I asked my brother-in-law if he felt it. He had no idea what I was talking about. The hiccup was something only the pilot familiar with the machine would feel.

I switched tanks, adjusted the mixture, and decided to stay in the pattern as we climbed out. The hiccup seemed to go away and for a moment I thought about heading home. Then at about 3,000 feet it happened again. The much larger Dare County Regional Airport (MQI) was just across the bay so I notified ATC that we would be diverting to land there hoping to find a shop with an available mechanic.

It didn’t take long after we exited the airplane to be glad we were safely on the ground. The belly was fully saturated with so much oil it had blown back and was dripping off the tail tie-down loop. Was that there when I did my quick preflight? Did I miss it? Dillon Aviation had an available mechanic and after a brief investigation he determined that it was a bad bearing in the turbocharger. It was allowing engine oil through that bearing and out the exhaust. Had I tried to fly those 90 miles we would have almost certainly exhausted the oil in the pan and seized up the engine.

We rented a car and made the eight-hour drive home, not in time for the football game but in plenty of time for the Saturday band competition. Mission mostly accomplished, daughter happy, safe on the ground, and lessons learned. Ten days later I left early in that rental car in hopes of avoiding the traffic around Washington, D.C., as I drove the eight hours back to Dare County to pick up my ride. That plan was flawed. Even at 5 a.m. there were brake lights as far as the eye could see when I hit the Beltway. How thankful I was to be able to soar above it all on the way home with my new turbo installed at Dillon.