But this rainy afternoon, neither of us was contemplating our future with Skyway. We were scheduled to fly the afternoon shift in a Beech 18 over the eastern half of our route system, and it promised to be a long and difficult day. We would fly 11 legs—nearly eight hours of flying without the aid of an autopilot. What would really make it stressful was the weather.

No sooner had I revived my tea-making activities when I heard the Auster start. After some introductory coughing and spluttering, it settled down to a healthy roar. For God’s sake throttle back, I muttered into the teapot. They didn’t. The noise got louder and closer. There was a horrendous clatter and crash, a tinkling of broken glass—and then silence.

Over the last several months, I have committed several aviation sins. I once went on a flight without checking the weather. I recently departed without calculating my takeoff distance or obstacle clearance. On more than one occasion, I landed from a non–“stable approach,” being both below and above target approach speeds. I’ve flown non-standard traffic patterns. I’ve flown outside the glide range to the nearest airport. I’ve even flown without talking to ATC or filing a flight plan.

Now, when a fuel-injected motor starts dying of thirst, it doesn’t just peacefully expire—it has several false stops interspersed with bursts of power. As an engine gives up, the aircraft swings violently toward it. This is counteracted by a bootful of opposite rudder, which generally coincides with its recovery, causing an even more violent swing in the other direction. When both motors quit simultaneously, the bursts of power, swinging, and kicking of rudder present an unusual spectacle to the casual observer on the ground—and a frightening demonstration of chaos to the less casual spectator aboard.

Each week, IFR Focus delivers practical insights through videos, quizzes, interactive scenarios, and feature articles. Topics range from flight director use to ice protection to the real-world application of procedures and regulations. It’s not a rehash of training materials—it’s the kind of content you discuss over coffee with a fellow instrument pilot after a challenging flight.

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.