|
Getting your Trinity Audio player ready...
|
You get experience by making mistakes and surviving, and then, as a result, become a safer more confident pilot. Some mistakes, however, we just should not make. This is a story of one of those chain of mistakes that did not result in an accident and that I escaped from unscathed with way more experience than I had ever wanted.
At the time, I had been flying for about 10 years and had my commercial license and instrument rating, and I was very current. I am a civil engineer, and at the time, I was president of a local growing engineering firm. And, in addition to the recreational benefits of my flying, my ability to fly made expanding our business much easier and more efficient.
I was a partner in a 1984 Mooney M20K, based at 06C, Schaumburg, Illinois. It was a very fast and capable aircraft, well-maintained, with great partners. It had a heated prop as well so a little bit of ice protection.
I was a partner in a 1984 Mooney M20K, based at 06C, Schaumburg, Illinois.
The Situation
I had been invited to a mid-afternoon interview with a planning team in Kalamazoo, Michigan for a major development project with a local industry. It was early winter, but the current skies and projected weather looked favorable, so I decided to fly rather than drive.
The meeting went very well, but started late and went long. Everyone was fully engaged, and we won the project. All good, but then it was time to fly home, it was well after sunset. I decided to fly first and eat later due to approaching weather (mistake #1), and, after a weather briefing, estimated I could get to Chicago (DuPage Airport (KDPA)) before the weather from the west did (mistake #2). I assessed my personal condition and noted I was tired, but a short flight and get-home-it-is grabbed me (mistake #3).
The Flight Plan
I filed an IFR flight plan, KAZO-GIJ-OXI-MAPPS-EON-JOT-ILS2L-KDPA, then VFR to my homebase, 06C. This was a standard approach—make it into DPA with an 800’+ ceiling and the Tower would carry you to the pattern into 06C, about six miles to the northeast, solidly under the ORD Class B airspace. There are no instrument approaches at 06C., but it generally worked very well. The flight time would be about an hour and a half.
My plan was to make it into DPA with an 800’+ ceiling and the Tower would carry me to the pattern into 06C, about six miles to the northeast.
The Flight
I departed KAZO, and began to realize how tired and hungry I was but did not divert (mistake #4). The weather was challenging, but quite flyable, until just before the JOT VOR, which was the outer marker on the ILS2L approach. Rain had begun as the approaching weather had arrived. The outside air temperatures were +8C back south of the lake, but as I approached JOT, it rapidly dropped to -5C. It was exactly the wrong condition to be flying in. Chicago Approach then added pressure, telling me there was a King Air coming in behind me and I should keep up a good speed.
Very soon I was on the approach and thought I could still make 06C. The ATIS called out the overcast at 800’ AGL, the minimum I needed (mistake #5—not mine, but it counted anyway.) I held at 800’, assuming I’d see the runway lights below me and then I could continue to 06C. As I crossed the runway threshold, it was solid IMC and I had to go missed. I asked the Tower what the current ceiling was, and the response was that the ATIS was old and the ceiling was actually 400’ and you’ll have to go around. Back I went to Chicago Approach.
Now, it’s raining, -5 degrees, I’m even more tired, and the ceiling is half of what was broadcast. Chicago advised me that I was to land at DPA, and it was not a request. Chicago vectored me quite quickly, recognizing my icing potential, and I came in at 400’ AGL. I intended to get down to the glideslope, but my fatigue got in the way, and I was still socked in at 400’ as I crossed the RW 2L threshold.
Tower told me to go around and, for the first time in my flying career, I replied “unable”. Powerful words at that point. The controller, who was clearly on my side and accommodating, asked what my intentions were. My quick response was to do a right 360 and land. I knew the airport well and knew I would be clear of obstructions, just avoid CFIT. I never got approval, but he simply told me to be careful and good luck.
As I turned right and descended, at about the 90-degree point, I could begin to see the ground below. By 180 degrees, it was clear below. I went for the speed brakes, gear down, full flaps, landing checklist, and dropped the last few hundred feet. I verified they had centerline lighting and the controller’s response was “You’d better hope so, yes”. Relieved, I made a smooth landing and taxied up to the Flight Center.
As I got out, I realized there was no surface ice on my windshield or side windows and none on my wings. I felt better, until I stepped onto the ramp to find it a continuous sheet of ice. I had a guardian angel on my shoulder that night working overtime.
I called the controller to thank him for his help. We had a very positive conversation and no paperwork for him! I was able to move the plane to 06C the next day in clear skies.
I went for the speed brakes, gear down, full flaps, landing checklist, and dropped the last few hundred feet to a smooth landing.
The Mistakes
The list is long and, by and large, my fault. The best scenario would have been to stay in Kalamazoo, but then I wouldn’t have been able to write this story or gain this experience.
Once I got up and realized my fatigue level and lack of food, I could have stopped in South Bend, Lansing, or any number of other places east of the weather. And, once the temps dropped, in the rain, I should have diverted back to the southeast.
The IMSAFE Checklist is easy to follow, and I have never violated it in the 15 years of flying since this fateful and lucky flight, and I anticipate I never will in the future.
I’m now older, wiser, still alive, and a whole lot smarter in my choices. It was major lessons learned.
Bob serves as the Treasurer for the Waukegan Post District, which governs Waukegan National airport, where he is based.
He is a Civil Engineer, retiring as Chairman of Gewalt Hamilton Associates, Inc.
Now married 53 years, he has 4 children and 8 grandchildren, 2 of whom are headed for an aviation career.
- I Am UNSAFE Checklist—Lessons Learned on a Fateful Night - February 28, 2025
- Multiple Cessna 172RGs made me a better pilot - September 27, 2024
- Let George do it! - June 10, 2024
Bob, I’m happy you are on the ground! What’s interesting about your make-shift CTL is I witnessed that not too long ago (probably in January). I heard a single engine piston over my house in low IFR conditions – my home is located right over the final approach course of an approach. Given the weather, I thought this was a bit odd.
And sure enough, someone had been flying a C172 4+ hours and was trying to get in on the RNAV 07. The flight track reminded me of what you described above: he was about 300 feet maybe above the threshold and then did a left 360 and landed according to the ADS-B track. Strangest thing I’ve ever seen on FlightAware! I thought it was just bad ADS-B data since the pilot was pretty low. But now, maybe, just maybe, he too had an “unable” moment like you (just not as dramatic since this was at an uncontrolled airfield).
Bob Hamilton
[email protected]
Bob,
You gained some real experience on this flight. I tell people that “experience is the knowledge we gain from the mistakes that don’t kill us”. I have “experience” as well and developed my own little algorithm for flying that is an expansion to IMSAFE and PAVE. I call it my rule of thumb”4”. I can fly (1) day or night, (2) single engine or multi-engine, (3) IFR or VFR, and (4) mountains or flat land. When I as young, I wrestled all 4 of the highest risk of these: night, single-engine, IFR mountains and almost killed myself in the process. Now I don’t mis any more than 2. The other thing that you point out is your fatigue level. I have learned that fatigue is just like hypoxia: by the time you realize you have it, you have had it for a while and you need to address it immediately or bad things happen. The adrenaline we generate as part of flying masks my true fatigue state. Thank you for sharing and I am glad it all worked out. Making a 270/360 turn when you are below the clouds, low, at night, and tired is a pretty hard thing to do. Good job.
Bob Hamilton
[email protected]
Uncle Sam wasn’t too concerned about my fatigue at night in unfriendly territory, so when it came time to start GA flying I set the mission goal as “fun” and since no one was paying for my services, the sked was mine to set. As I bounced down an NDB in a clapped out 152, vacuum gyros bouncing hither/yon, dark night, at minimums after 180 windshift on final (unique terrain wind patterns), I looked over at my CFI for this training flt and decided dark night, hard IFR, SE, single pilot ops did not meet my definition of fun.
I will “thank” Uncle Sam for teaching me to recognize when my performance is sub-par due to fatigue or distraction, at this point I prefer to find my fun on sunny days checking to see if the little rings at the top/bottom of the attitude gyro are still there.
The biggest mistake you made was forcing the flight home, in winter, with a storm approaching in a non-FIKI aircraft. You definitely got lucky. I fly a FIKI jet and nothing scares me more than the thought of landing with icing conditions, so I avoid it like the plague (we have ended vacations 2 days early to avoid winter weather at the home airport).
I am also based at 06C, ASEL CP IA. I have made that same plan, flying an approach into KDPA, then VFR to 06C under the deck. I have never had a situation where the ceiling was too low. Thanks for the article and lessons learned. I’ve always told both Chicago approach and DPA’s tower what I planned on doing. Did either know what your plan was? I’m surprised the tower didn’t inform you the METAR was old and ceilings were 400′ AGL, and that you should plan to land.
Bob, interesting story and thanks for sharing, but I’m not sure, reading your account, of what exactly happened. It seems like you’re on an IFR approach to Rwy 2L, you’re above the glideslope, and are socked in, all the way down to and including 400′ AGL, and when you’re above the rwy threshold, you’re still socked in. In other words, you can’t see the runway, or really anything but your gauges, yet you’re over its threshhold, at 400′ AGL. And then you elect on your own to simply do a 360, and try again? Like you mentioned, you never got clearance to do that, and also, you did it while in IMC, you didn’t cancel, didn’t request a contact approach or special VFR, and figured that because you knew the airport, you’d be okay? Did you climb? Or did you figure while maintaining 400′ AGL, during your IMC 360, you wouldn’t hit anything? I guess mainly what I’m wondering is that if you couldn’t see anything at 400′ AGL while over the rwy threshhold, how you figured you Would then see something, during the ensuing 360, enough so to land? Why not just fly another approach and on that one, adhere more closely to the glideslope?
Bob Hamilton
[email protected]
As I was reading this article, I suddenly realized I think I know this person… I quickly flipped up to the title and saw a familiar face!!!
Bob is an incredible guy and highly skilled pilot… Now that my heart rate has come back down, I’m glad to know that he made it safely… with another lesson for us all.
Bob Hamilton
[email protected]
Great story & analysis. This is why it is vital to train in real imc & adverse weather when pursuing and maintaining an ifr rating. Decades ago, as a nugget ifr student, I was tasked with flying my Mooney from a class B to a class C airport thru imc, heavy rain, mod.turbulence…. with a friendly/experienced cfii in the right seat. This “tough love” event was of inestimable value, and helped me develop situational awareness & deal with task saturation. It served me well when forced to later deal with unforecast icing(FZRA), ITO, thunderstorms, approaches to low minimums, and to know when to delay a flight . Know your limitations. PAVE and IMSAFE are good beginnings.
I have used a more detailed mnemonic for unhurried preflight planning a day or two before ETD: “People(nonpilot pax on board?,my current proficiency); Plane,Powerplant,Panel,Plumbing(elec.,vac,hydraulics,etc) squaks ; Plan(no,not that one; the real one in your head; is it Prudent?); Places(runway closure?will FBO be open? mountain pass open?); Precipitation(storms,wind,icg forecasts); President(sua ¬ams); Performance(single engine ceiling v MEA?,rate of climb at cruise alt.);Possibilities(alternate courses of action); Provisions(fuel reserves & emergency gear)”. Customize one for yourself & make it easy to remember.
Bruce Landsberg’s 5 page paper “Operations manual for the application of common sense” appeared many yrs ago in AOPAPilot mag. It describes many useful rules for the cross country flyer.
Great story, Bob, and great lesson learned. I’m reminded of a similar get-home-it-is experience I had 20+ years ago as an F/A-18 pilot.
I had flown a weekend X/C to NAS North Island, CA, from MCAS Beaufort, SC, as a flight of two F/A-18’s. When we fired-up to come back home on Sunday morning, my jet had a maintenance issue which prevented me from departing. I called the squadron in Beaufort, advising them of the situation, that I was sending my wingman home as a solo, and that I’d be coordinating with F/A-18 maintenance personnel at nearby MCAS Miramar to get the jet fixed ASAP. Needless to say, the Squadron Commander was not happy. One of his jets that he needed for local training on Monday morning was likely going to be stuck on the other coast.
As the local maintenance guys worked on fixing the problem, I kept doing the math. If I could depart by time X, I’d make it to MCAS Beaufort by time Y when the airfield closed on Sundays and all would be well. Needless to say, we blew through time X before the jet was fixed, so I wasn’t going to make it home before the airfield closed that day. Initially, I was just going to suck it up. I has to make a fuel stop at JRB Forth Worth, TX, and I thought to myself that I’ll spend the night there, get a good night’s sleep, launch first thing in the morning, and then take my “tongue lashing” from the CO when I got back to Beaufort mid-day on Monday (and I should have stuck to that plan).
But, when I got Forth Worth and they were refueling my jet, I got a wild (my first stupid) idea. I wasn’t feeling all that tired and I knew Charleston AFB, which is just 43 nm from MCAS Beaufort, was open 24/7. I could fly there, get a few hours of shut-eye on the couch in Base Ops, and then launch bright and early for the 10 minute flight to be landing at MCAS Beaufort when the airfield opened at 0700. The squadron maintenance folks could then do a “daily & turn” on the jet and have it ready for the first training missions at 0800.
When I arrived at Charleston around 0100, the flight line folks asked if I needed fuel. I said, “Gent’s, it’s 0100 and y’all been working hard don’t need extra work. Besides, I’ve got plenty of fuel for the 10 minute flight to Beaufort.
Don’t worry about it.” (my next stupid decision). I found the couch in Base Ops and curled up for a couple of winks. When I did my preflight planning the next morning, I gave the weather a cursory look. It was VFR at Charleston and VFR at Beaufort, so I didn’t even bother the weather forecaster for a briefing (my next stupid decision). I filed my VFR flight plan and walked to the jet. Outside, the skies were clear. Looking up you could see all the stars and not a cloud in the sky. But, as I taxied out to the runway for takeoff, you could see the beginnings of what is a classic weather phenomena around the South Carolina Low Country area. As the sun comes up, a low fog/cloud layer crops up which usually persists for a few hours until the sun gets higher and burns it off, or the winds pick up and churn it away. I decided to take off. I’d be landing at Beaufort in 10 minutes. (my next stupid decision)
As I blasted off, climbed up to 3000 feet, and pointed my nose towards Beaufort, I looked all around and, as far as the eye could see, it was a blanket of low white clouds with the sunshine from the cresting sunrise shining on top of it. I looked back towards Charleston and couldn’t see the airfield. I knew that those clouds were lower than the TACAN approach mins (the only navaid we could receive on the F/A-18) and that it was probably below the 200-1/2 PAR mins at Charleston, so I wasn’t going to be landing there. Then I looked at my gas gauge and said to myself, “Well, stupid. It sure would have been a good idea to fuel up, wouldn’t it?”
Ten minutes later I was overhead MCAS Beaufort. The tower had opened and when I asked them what the weather was, they said, “100-1/4 in fog.” The tops looked like they were probably 300 AGL. I asked tower if I could do a low approach and see if I could “stir up” the clouds. They said to give it a whirl. I was able to “see” the runway on my ground-mapping radar and align myself to it. I dropped down to the top of the clouds and flew the 12000′ length of Runway 5/23, even tapping afterburner to “heat up” the air. Of course, it did nothing to the clouds. There was no way I was going to be landing there any time soon.
Now, I’m doing the math in my head. Can I make it to some place with legal weather? I climbed up to the “delta pattern” overhead the airfield, slowed down to max conserve airspeed, and dialed up the “Pilot-to-Metro” frequency at Beaufort to ask the forecaster for the weather at various divert airfields. All the near ones were just as bad as Beaufort, and I was going to be REALY tight on fuel for the further ones that had questionably legal weather.
Just about then, the “weather gods” smiled on me. A hole in the clouds opened up over the approach end of Runway 32. I could see the numbers and about 1500′ of the 8000′ runway. I asked tower if I could land on 32. They said, “You can have any runway you want. Cleared to land.” I dropped my gear and flaps and swooped in to land, just as the hole closed back up behind me.
The “get-home-it-is” lessons learned for me were to not cut corners (skipping a good night’s sleep to avoid a “tongue lashing”, skipping a refueling because it’s “just a 10 minute flight”, and skipping a weather briefing from the forecaster again, just because it’s “just a 10 minute flight” and it’s in my “back yard”) no matter how “easy” the flight seemed to be. “Lady Luck” was on my side that day. It could have been a MUCH different story had I needed to divert to NAS Jacksonville, FL, MCAS Cherry Point, NC, or other similarly far away airfields with what little fuel I had in the tanks.
Whidbey could be “fun” as well, tower in the Puget Sound end fogbank calling 0/0, but fortunately opposite end inland threshold CAVU.
Always better to be lucky than good, but good helps!
Bob Hamilton
[email protected]
I have seen few airline pilots flying the mid-category turbo props getting into serious problems. Some have their comfort level and tolerance level very low. They are persuaded to take up flight when they are out of their zone levels. If others are going, why not him or them. This where a poor decision making situation pops up. It is not a happy ending for some.
Greetings Bob –
My most heartfelt congratulations on a superbly written article.
I was overwhelmed by my reading- I felt as I was sitting next to you.
As many readers can attest to – “Been there-have that T shirt”
It’s amazing how when doors close and well planned options evaporate- our biggest worry is not about injuries – our attention is centered on error.
How ironic.
“Great stories do come from poor judgment”
Once again- thanks so much for illustrating how I can be a better aviator.
Regards
Mario
As always, a great write up Bob! Thanks for sharing!
IM SAFE and PAVE are an integral part of my personal checklist. I use Goose (previously Miracheck) to develop my personalized checklist.