My long, long cross-country flight

What happened

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I hadn’t considered the strong westerly wind that had taken me farther east than I realized as I flew southeast toward Providence, and that had slowed me down as I flew southwest toward Poughkeepsie.

Decision Making for Pilots

Every year, approximately 75 percent of all aircraft accidents are caused by pilot error, with a large number the result of poor decisions. Making good decisions doesn’t require superhuman skill or exceptional judgment—just the ability to recognize basic problems, and then take action to correct them. This ASI Safety Spotlight provides recommendations for developing your own set of personal minimums. airsafetyinstitute.org/spotlight/dotherightthing

Joe Ryan, my CFI, and I walked to the weather station conveniently located on the field. After checking the weather, I plotted the 111-nautical-mile course to Poughkeepsie with wind corrections and time to checkpoints, using my trusty E6B aluminum flight computer. I preflighted my Cessna 152 while Joe cleaned the windshield (guess he wanted me to see where I was going).

The first leg to Poughkeepsie was perfect, crossing each of my visual and VOR checkpoints on target and including one of two deviations that Joe had approved. A few miles north of my route was Lake Waramaug in northeast Connecticut, where I had run a 100-kilometer ultramarathon. I wanted an aerial view of the road around the lake that I had spent 8 hours and 54 minutes on. After my brief trip down memory lane, I got back on course and landed at Poughkeepsie. I had my logbook endorsed, topped off the tanks, checked the weather, and plotted the 104-nm course to Glens Falls, following the Hudson River.

I overflew Glens Falls and headed on my second approved sightseeing deviation 13 nm north-northeast to Trout Lake, where I hadspent several summers. I recognized everything from the air, and the only difference was that the dark blue lake was now white, frozen over, and covered in snow.

After my second nostalgic side trip, I reversed course and landed at Glens Falls. After another endorsement, top-off, weather check, and final 137-nm leg course plotting, I departed for Providence. The only significant difference in the forecast was a ceiling of 7,000 feet, which would allow me to fly southeast at 5,500 feet, 1,500 feet below the ceiling and 1,800 feet above the tallest mountains in southern Vermont.

The first half-hour was uneventful, but soon things became eventful. The ceiling was dropping rapidly, and as I descended to stay clear of clouds, I was getting closer to the mountain tops. Not wanting to descend more, I began a climb, not realizing the ceiling was now just a few hundred feet above. The instant I entered the clouds, I knew I didn’t belong there. I lowered the nose and cleared the clouds. Immediately, one of Joe’s mantras was broadcast in my mind: first fly the airplane, then navigate, and finally communicate.

I decided not to continue on my present course but instead divert to Poughkeepsie because I believed the ceiling was higher over the Hudson Valley. I did not know my exact position but turned southwest knowing that would take me to the Hudson River, which I could follow to Poughkeepsie. As time passed, despite good visibility, the Hudson was not in sight, and I was concerned because it would be dark in an hour.

I had never called Flight Service from the air. I knew it was possible, but did not know how they could help without radar. I explained my situation and that I was a student pilot. Using my single VOR, they were able to cross reference my position. Much to my surprise, I was heading directly to Poughkeepsie. It was comforting to have the company of FSS until I spotted Poughkeepsie and switched to tower.

I landed uneventfully in daylight and taxied to the FBO. Using their telephone, I called Joe and explained the situation, telling him that I would be spending the night in Poughkeepsie, and—weather permitting—would return tomorrow. The FBO tied down my airplane and drove me to a motel.

The next morning, I took a taxi to the airport and found that it had snowed overnight. This necessitated an hour of deicing in a heated hanger. My flight home was uneventful, and Joe greeted me with a warm welcome.

Besides my mistake of ascending into clouds, my other error was not realizing why it was taking me so long to reach the Hudson River when I diverted to Poughkeepsie. I hadn’t considered the strong westerly wind that had taken me farther east than I realized as I flew southeast toward Providence, and that had slowed me down as I flew southwest toward Poughkeepsie.

My 7.1-hour cross-country flight certainly was a learning experience in the days when there was no GPS and flight following. The most surprising lessons were that I was capable of a lot more than I would have guessed with my relatively little solo flying experience, and that I was able to call on my stored knowledge and skill when they were needed. That is a tribute to Joe, who taught me well, including repeating critical practices such as “pull carb heat before retarding the throttle” ad nauseum. Most important, Joe’s repetition of “fly, navigate, communicate” kept me safe on March 1. Thank you, Joe.