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Along for the ride

Hours of boredom, with moments of sheer terror

By John Jacobi

My old man was an original jet fighter jock in the North American F–86 Sabre during the Korean War. He taught me a lot of adages regarding flying. One in particular would prove correct: “Being a pilot is hours of boredom, with moments of sheer terror.”

Rudder & Wrench

It was 2006, and I was managing and flying a Pilatus PC–12 Series 9 in the Atlanta metro area. The flight that day was completely unremarkable until reaching the bottom of descent at the traffic pattern altitude of 1,500 feet. We were approximately three miles west of a nontowered field in coastal Georgia. I clicked the autopilot disconnect on the yoke. Nothing happened. I asked my co-pilot to try their side. Click-click, nada again. Things were getting very interesting with an indicated airspeed close to the barber pole and a Cessna Citation at our same altitude on downwind of an intersecting runway. No problem. Memory items kicked in from training in the simulator. I knew my machine. I lifted the safety cover and hit the alternate trim, which should have disconnected the autopilot. Nothing.

OK, we are now officially in the danger zone. It had been almost a minute since reaching traffic pattern altitude, and our ground speed was running about four nautical miles a minute as the airfield passed below us and we headed out to sea. I tried to pull back on the yoke—the autopilot pushed the yoke forward. I tried to turn left; it turned right. I reached to my left, grabbed the quick reference handbook from its spot, tossed it to my co-pilot, and said, “find the breaker, back cover.”

My co-pilot recognized I was referring to the autopilot circuit breaker, asking them to locate the row and number, verify the command with me, and pull it to open the circuit. Lights went out on the autopilot control head, and I got control of the airplane back. Jeez, that was down to the last round of ammo.

It’s not somewhere you want to be as a pilot—in the battle for your life and your passengers’ lives and out of ammunition. If for some reason removing the power from the system had not fixed the issues that day, something more serious in the flight controls would have been at fault and it’s doubtful I would be sharing this story.

If you don’t have command of your ship, you are a passenger, not a pilot.A couple key points to pull away from this lesson. First, without the assistance of a competent co-pilot that day, the ultimate outcome would have most likely been the same, but it would have looked and felt different. One—if not all—of my passengers would have noticed we were out to sea down low, not to mention me awkwardly reaching across to the right of the flight deck trying to find a circuit breaker. Instead, they were clueless to the abnormality until I asked the lead passenger after exiting the airplane for a moment of their time. I explained that the aircraft was not in my control for a few moments, and I had my doubts about letting them and their associates return home later that day onboard their airplane. I would return to home base immediately to have maintenance troubleshoot the problem and organize a charter flight for their return (of course the issue could not be duplicated on the ground later while in maintenance).

Most aviators reading this magazine are single-pilot operators flying their families and friends around in light piston GA aircraft. They do not enjoy the benefit of co-pilots or simulator training. Most do have autopilots or electric trims of varying degrees. So, let’s put the same situation I experienced that day in 2006 into a different scenario.

The weather is socked in at your home airport, but you have flown the RNAV approach to near minimums before. Today you get to the missed approach point and do not spot the runway. Time to execute the missed approach procedure as published. Trying to disconnect the autopilot to hand-fly the missed approach, nothing happens.

Have you ever even thought about what you would do? Hopefully you are immediately trying to find the circuit breaker so you can get back control of your machine. But where is it? Maybe it is down by your ankle on the breaker panel or a late addition upgrade in the far corner of the panel on the other side—you have no idea because they all look the same and it is very difficult to read placards strapped into your seat. Add some more stress to this scenario: nighttime, after a long cross-country, to an airfield you have never been to before, maybe minimum fuel because you had to divert for storms—you get my point.

“But John,” you say. “I am a day VFR pilot only in a brand-new light sport aircraft. I love my glass panel and matching autopilot with electric trim. This will never happen to me.” Never say never. Your elevator trim could run away when you’re turning base to final in the traffic pattern. Do you know how to remove the power from the servo to get control of your aircraft and not become a statistic?

Since that day more than 15 years ago, I always have a few extra red circuit breaker collars in my headset bag. In my experience, most light GA aircraft do not have their autopilot or their electric trim breakers placarded with red safety collars. Remember, if you don’t have command of your ship, you are a passenger, not a pilot. Make certain that in any airplane you own or fly, you can disconnect these circuits with minimal distraction and ensure you stay the pilot in command.

John Jacobi is a commercial pilot and flight instructor in Fort Lauderdale, Florida.

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