Flying blind

My wife, Azar, and I had four children at the time. But on that flight we had our two younger children with us. We were planning to fly a rented Cessna 182 to St. Louis, Missouri, to attend a medical conference.

My daughter was 7 and our son was 9 years old. I was instrument rated and had 300 hours total time with 50 hours actual and simulated instrument time. Our club airplane was a 1970s 182 that had had an engine overhaul two months prior to the flight. The 182 had conventional six-pack gauges with two coms, one ILS, one VOR, and an ADF with no autopilot. I carried a handheld black and white Garmin GPS195 mounted on the yoke and the current aeronautical charts.

Weather en route was instrument meteorological conditions with ceilings around 1,000 feet and visibility of 10 miles. Weather enroute was forecast to be IMC with 2,000-foot ceilings and 10 miles visibility at the destination airport.

We packed the airplane for the one-week trip; topped off the tanks, staying almost 200 pounds below the maximum gross weight for the aircraft; filed an IFR flight plan; and taxied for clearance. Preflight check was unremarkable. The fuel looked good, oil level normal, and engine compartment looked clean. On startup, all gauges looked normal, the airplane felt good during taxiing, and the winds were calm.

The engine runup was unremarkable and all instruments were in the green and normal range. The takeoff was smooth and we soon entered the clouds at 1,000 feet above the runway. The kids settled in their seats reading books. There were no iPhones or electronic tablets back then and old-fashioned reading was the best activity. My wife, who had been my aviation companion since day one, started reading her book. We had started taking flying lessons together and at the same time and with the same instructor. I went on and completed the program, obtained my private certificate, and later added the high-performance endorsement and instrument rating.

Azar, on the other hand, stopped taking flying lessons after 18 hours of dual instruction. She had felt good about flying and had full confidence in our instructor, but she wanted to take care of our four young kids and quit flying lessons. However, she kept her interest in flying, and remained my navigator for the long flights. She had become competent at reading aeronautical charts.

We reached our assigned cruise altitude of 7,000 feet shortly after Lakeville, Minnesota. At first all looked normal on the engine gauges. Then I noticed an odd finding. The true airspeed had dropped six knots from our usual TAS at the standard settings. I checked with the pilot’s operating handbook and set the manifold pressure and mixture settings as prescribed, but the true airspeed kept decreasing slowly.

In a few minutes the TAS was 11 knots less than expected. All other engine instruments looked normal and the airplane was functioning as before. I increased the manifold pressure to the firewall and TAS didn’t improve. I told Azar something was wrong with the airplane and it wasn’t responding normally. I told her we should return and have the airplane checked out. She agreed and I called ATC for rerouting.

Minneapolis Center asked why I was changing my route and aborting and returning to base. I told them my TAS was suboptimal and I was concerned about engine performance. ATC agreed and gave me a 180-degree turn back. I was flying in IMC with no VFR weather within 100 miles. ATC also instructed me to descend to 4,000 feet, for clearance to enter Minneapolis Bravo airspace in a few miles.

I told Minneapolis Center that I was unable to comply and I wanted to keep my altitude until I had the airfield at a safe distance. ATC immediately asked me if I was declaring an emergency. I informed the controller that I was in dense IMC, flying on instruments, but the engine was producing power and I was able to maintain altitude, and believed I didn’t need to declare an emergency yet, but declined to descend to 4,000 feet, and would keep them advised of my situation.Had I complied with the ATC request, I would have...most likely ended up with an off-airport crash landing.

The Center promptly said, “standby.” After a short pause they cleared me to enter Minneapolis Bravo airspace at 7,000 feet and asked if I needed any further assistance. Ten miles after I made the 180-degree turn and only two minutes after my last communication with ATC, I noticed my directional gyro was not accurate and I kept resetting it. Then I started losing a few hundred feet of altitude.

The most alarming indicator was a slowly tumbling attitude indicator. I had seen this before in another rental Cessna 182 and knew my vacuum pump was failing. I tried to remain calm and immediately pulled the lever for the accessory vacuum pump. But nothing happened and the gauges remained offline.

Right about then, while still at 6,000 feet, a loud bang sounded from the engine and severe vibration started shaking the whole aircraft. It was obvious the engine was failing and that’s why the accessory vacuum pump also had failed to provide vacuum for the key instruments.

I called ATC and declared an emergency, notified them of total engine failure in IMC at 6,000 feet, and requested landing at the nearest airport with an ILS. ATC gave me vectors for the Lakeville, Minnesota, airport.

I knew that my emergency flight training had to come into action or we would all be dead in a few minutes. The first thought that crossed my mind was, “What did my young beautiful wife and two small kids do to deserve to die like this?” I told myself that my family didn’t deserve to die that day and I did my best to fly the airplane at the best glide speed and slow the rate of descent.

I put Post-It notes on the attitude indicator and the directional gyro. I switched the Garmin 195’s screen to the attitude indicator and directional gyro screen and relied on the electric turn coordinator to keep my wings level and on the Garmin to hand-fly the airplane.

The kids asked why the airplane was so quiet. My wife knew what had happened and immediately jumped into action. She first calmed the kids, then pulled up the aeronautical charts and asked me what to do to help. The propeller started windmilling, airspeed started dropping, and some oil showed up on the windshield.

I asked my wife to look up the identifier for Lakeville airport on the maps. She quickly located LVN, the Airlake Airport. For the life of me, I couldn’t remember that. I quickly entered the identifier into my Garmin 195 and headed toward the airport.

ATC gave me vectors to intercept ILS 30 into Lakeville. I asked for radar vectors and told them I had no engine power and no gyros. I remained in IMC for what seemed like an eternity. Luckily both the turn coordinator and ILS instruments were electric and continued to work. I was really worried about losing control in IMC with no engine power. I knew there was no option of a go-around. I made very shallow turns and was able to intercept the localizer.

Right after I had lined up with the ILS, Center came on and informed me that they had lost me on their radar and to continue my present heading and I was cleared for ILS 30 at Lakeville airport. I knew I was alone now and all I had to save my family was the little needle on the 2-inch glass dial called the ILS. I promptly complied with the ATC order, told them my and that I was in dense IMC.

Then being a novice, I told Center that I wanted to cancel IFR! They came back right away and very firmly stated: “Oh! No sir, you’re not cancelling IFR, you call me from the ground phone after you land safely to cancel your IFR, stay on this frequency till field is in sight then switch to advisory and call me on the phone ASAP.”

I asked my wife to keep looking out the front and to let me know if she saw the ground or runway signs. I didn’t want to take my eyes off the tiny ILS gauge; my life, and my family’s life, depended on me not losing the glideslope or the localizer! I knew I had one shot at this. Otherwise it would be an off-airport crash landing.

Azar kept vigil and the kids remained quiet the entire time. I think they knew something serious was happening and Mom and Dad were occupied. Suddenly Azar shouted with joy: “I see the airport!” I looked up and saw the most beautiful sight of all time: flashing rabbit ILS lights dead ahead and perfectly lined up to land.We had descended from 6,200 feet to 1,500 feet msl before finally breaking out and seeing the ground for the first time at around 600 feet agl.

We landed shortly after the numbers and the airplane came to a full stop on the runway. Azar and I jumped out to push the airplane to the first taxiway. For the first time I noticed that a lot of engine oil had soiled the undercarriage and more oil kept spilling out on the runway as we pushed the heavy airplane. Once in the FBO, I called Center and cancelled my IFR. The gentleman on the frequency was relieved to hear my voice on a regular phone.

The most important lesson of this life-threatening experience was the initial refusal of descending to 4,000 feet so many miles outside of Minneapolis Bravo Airspace. Had I complied with the ATC request, I would have certainly not made it to Airlake Airport and would have most likely ended up with an off-airport crash landing.

We called a cab back to our home base, MIC. I informed the flying club of what had happened and that the airplane was in Lakeville. The flying club personnel were shocked to hear my story. But they were more surprised when I asked them if the club’s Piper Saratoga was available to rent for a week. I rented the Saratoga, and the family and I put all our stuff in, filed a new IFR plan for St. Louis, and left on the same morning.

My wife was the hero that spring day in Minnesota and she has been my best partner in all matters of life. Azar and I have flown together for more than 20 years, racking up 1,900 hours total flight time. We own and operate a 1974 Beechcraft Baron E55 with IO-520 engines and glass cockpit. More importantly we’re happy to have two engines. We now live in Northern California and have flown to many far places like Nebraska, Florida, Mexico, and Fairbanks, Alaska, in the Baron. I thank God Almighty for the great outcome of that faithful day in March 1999.

Dr. Hamed Sajjadi is a multiengine-rated pilot and has been flying for 29 years. He owns a Beechcraft Baron BE55.