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It was 3am in Hackensack, New Jersey. I was sitting at a bar after work with two friends, talking about what we wanted to do on our next days off. It was early June 1981 and the weather was turning warm. We all felt the need to get away. I immediately pitched a plan to fly us to Billy Mitchell Airport (HSE) on the Outer Banks of North Carolina, a place I had read about in a magazine. We were all in our early twenties, so of course the guys were on board.
At the time, I was a 150-hour private pilot working toward my instrument rating. The flying club I rented from was based at Caldwell, New Jersey (CDW). I called the next day—after waking up around 2 p.m., thanks to our late night—and scheduled the newest Cessna 172 on the club’s roster for the following day. I was very familiar with this airplane and had been using it for my instrument training.
For those unfamiliar with Billy Mitchell Airport, it’s a 3,000-foot unattended airstrip within Cape Hatteras National Seashore. No gas, no services, not much at all—just a few tiedowns, a couple of porta potties, and a beautiful beach. The airplane would carry the three of us, a makeshift tarp tent for under the wing, a small cooler, and sleeping bags with pads for the ground. I figured that, since there was a small store up the beach about a mile away, we could grab beer, water, ice, and food after landing. (Today, there are a few more options near the airstrip.)
When I arrived at CDW to preflight my preferred aircraft, I was told it was down for maintenance. The only airplane available was a 25-year-old C-172 that had seen heavy use as a trainer. I wasn’t happy, but I wanted to get the weekend underway, so I agreed to take it.
I was told my preferred airplane was down for maintenance and the only airplane available was a C-172 that had seen heavy use as a trainer.
I completed my preflight and calculated the route early that morning using sectional charts and a calculator. We’d fly south around the west side of Newark (EWR) airspace, past Cape May, across Delaware and the Chesapeake Bay, then down through Norfolk to Elizabeth City, North Carolina (ECG) for fuel. Winds and weather looked good, and ECG was reporting clear skies and 10+ miles visibility. The forecast called for six miles visibility on arrival—not a concern. I filed my VFR flight plans, gathered my friends and gear, and we launched, picking up flight following enroute.
Everything went as planned until the Chesapeake Bay Bridge and Tunnel came into view. Washington Center handed me off to Norfolk Approach just before we crossed the bay. The fuel gauges showed 3/8 full, still above where I expected them to be. We’d had a bit more headwind than forecast, but checkpoints were appearing within a minute of my plan. Still, something in the back of my mind began to itch.
With just 75 miles to go and over a quarter tank remaining, it shouldn’t have been a problem… should it?
I asked Norfolk Approach for the latest ECG weather. They reported clear skies and six miles visibility, as forecast.
My once-healthy fuel gauges were now hovering just above 1/8 full on both sides.
But 30 miles south of Norfolk, things started to get interesting. ECG’s ATIS was now calling for clear skies and four miles visibility. Meanwhile, my once-healthy fuel gauges were now hovering just above 1/8 full on both sides. How could I have burned that much fuel in just 50 miles?
I discussed the situation with Norfolk Approach. They asked if I wanted to declare an emergency—I said no, not yet. They advised me that I was now eight miles closer to ECG than to Norfolk (ORF), which still had clear skies and 10+ visibility. ECG had dropped to 3.5 miles. “Say intentions.”
At that point, it felt like I was watching the fuel gauges drop before my eyes. I elected to continue to ECG rather than turn back. I was on a direct course. The Norfolk controller wished me luck—not the most reassuring sign—and handed me off to ECG Tower, who had already been briefed.
When I checked in with tower, I reported my position and ATIS info. Tower advised that a new ATIS was up: the field was now IFR with 2.5 miles visibility. My stomach dropped. I requested a Special VFR clearance, which was immediately granted.
To make things worse, the fuel gauges were now bouncing on empty. I was five miles out at 2000 feet and still couldn’t see the field. I was acutely aware I might only have one shot at this.
At three miles, I spotted the airport and advised tower. They cleared me to land on runway 28. With some slipping and flaps, I made the landing and taxied to the FBO—closed for the afternoon—and shut down. Billy Mitchell would have to wait until tomorrow.
When I returned the next morning, it was sunny and clear. I walked into the FBO, filed my flight plan, and asked them to top the tanks. I didn’t say a word to my friends as I watched the fuel truck’s counter spin… and spin. The Cessna took 38.5 gallons—out of 40 usable.
I had made the right choice continuing to ECG, helped along by a little luck.
Everything ran through my mind. How could this happen? What did I miss? Was my flight planning that far off? Did the aircraft perform that differently from the newer one I was used to flying? Should I have stopped at Norfolk when I first got that uneasy feeling? I still think about it, more than 40 years later.
We continued on to Billy Mitchell Airport that day and had a great time. But I can tell you this: no matter what the numbers said on the flight home to CDW, we made a fuel stop in Ocean City, Maryland.
- A Quarter Tank and a Prayer - June 20, 2025
It sometimes takes a near-miss to heighten our ADM discipline. Especially when we’re at that age when bad things only happen to others. Thanks for sharing!
I have a few non-aviation experiences that creep back into my psyche now and then to remind me good outcomes are best earned than left to luck.
Well, no, Hoss, you made the wrong choice, helped along by a little luck. I’ve seen (and experienced) similar luck. I’ve also attended a funeral, promulgated by the luck running out short of the airport. Glad we both outlived our invulnerable years. Too many don’t.
“I had made the right choice continuing to ECG, helped along by a little luck.”
For those not paying attention…above quote is referring to the choice between Norfolk and ECG…point of the article is that that should not have been a necessary choice…plenty of places to stop short before Norfolk.
Goal of our flying is fun, it is NOT fun to be hoping for better news from fuel gage. Whether it’s weather coming down, headwinds or rerouting, stop short, top the tanks and the flight again becomes fun vs a nail-biter, and you owe it to those who put their trust in you as PIC.
Great article thanks for sharing. It easy to spill about a good war story, but its ones like this that give the most training. Great presence of mind to keep going and land safe. Best Wishes.
Similar experience Jeff, some 20 plus years ago. Thanks so much for sharing yours. In my case, the prop stopped (during my pitch black night descent to 700′ AGL, to an airport which my lack of preparation prevented me from knowing it no longer existed), as both gauges by then had become excessively intimate with the “E” part. Somehow there was enough vapor in the other tank to re-start the engine, and thanks to a vector given me by an alert friendly Controller, had enough (I hesitate to call it “fuel”) in the tank to get me safely 7 miles northwestward to a wonderfully lit runway at Martin State, at 1 in the morning. Feels like I’ve been living on borrowed time ever since.
How far off were your fuel calculations and why was it burning so much fuel? Did you bother to find out or just go along your merry way?
While I went on my merry way to HSE, when I returned to CDW, I discussed the situation with the owner of the flight school and club aircraft who also was my instrument and commercial instructor. There were many variables that could have led up to the situation. A few were: 1. A high time engine. Degraded performance 2. While my check points were not off by much, unexpected winds 3. Proper leaning at altitudes. We have all done it many times, but… 4. Power settings properly cross checked 5. Confirming tanks were level when I checked both tanks were full during preflight.
Too much GetThereitis. Landing at ORF (or CSP) would have solved the problem. If you have to think about gas, then you should be stopping for gas if you can. This wasn’t a transoceanic flight with ETPs and PNRs. And that is just talking about gas. What if ECG had gone IMC? Sometimes the only thing between bad headwork and an accident is luck.
I won’t criticize folks for these near misses but I’d rather die of a lot of things other than “pilot error”. Besides, I’d rather stretch my legs at a fuel stop than stretch my luck. I never want to declare “low fuel”, especially with a passenger on board.
Thank you to the folks who responded to my article. Your comments are appreciated. I have a few comments on the comments.
Obviously, stopping at Norfolk for fuel would have been the most prudent option. This is the point of the article. When voices are speaking to you in the back of your head and stomach, listen.
While I went on my merry way to HSE, when I returned to CDW, I discussed the situation with the owner of the flight school and club aircraft who also was my instrument and commercial instructor. There were many variables that could have led up to the situation. A few were: 1. A high time engine. Degraded performance 2. While my check points were not off by much, unexpected winds 3. Proper leaning at altitudes. We have all done it many times, but… 4. Power settings properly cross checked 5. Confirming tanks were level when I checked both tanks were full during preflight.
Personal lessons learned.
1. My personal fuel reserve comfort level was increased substantially. In other words, this never happened again.
2. While uncomfortable and embarrasing, admitting to ATC you have an issue, no matter what the problem, can be the best thing you can do to help yourself and passengers. In this situation, I did not have to explain anything to ECG. They already knew.
3. It made me a better Air Traffic Controller. I was able to gently communicate options to pilots who may have gotten themselves into awkward situations be it fuel, weather, etc. I can’t tell you how many pilots, from commercial airline to C150’s I have been able to help because they didn’t wait until it was a full-blown emergency to discuss their situation.
Be safe and continue to enjoy the freedom of flight.
Right on. Great article.
I fly by the bladder method. 2-3 hours in, and yours truly is on the ground getting gas, bathroom break, and food. I’ve been doing this for 25 years and it still works for me. I must be onto something…
The bladder technique works well. Reminds me of a license plate that has been posted! It reads –
PB4UGO