THE VINTAGE INSTRUCTOR
Emergencies . . . reports DOUG STEWART
S
everal years ago I had a job flying a Piper Mirage for a wonderful elderly lady. In the winter this airplane became a snowbird, shuttling the lady and her many friends and family from the icy skies of New England to the sun and warmth of Southern Florida. During this period of time I was establishing a love/hate relationship with the Mirage. Although the airplane was capable of flying high and fast, it kept me constantly alert for something to malfunction. Things like a gear light going inoperative or the autopilot having a brainfart and wanting to fly right through a preselected altitude were typical. At least it kept me on my toes during the long hours of en route flying. It was essential to keep a constant scan going including not only the flight instruments, but all the engine instruments and annunciators as well. Because of the complexity of the aircraft, insurance requirements mandated annual recurrent training. During the recurrent training I had received that year I learned that one of the things that had been failing on the Mirage was the turbocharging system. What would typically happen is that an oil seal would fail in the turbocharger, causing it to seize. The loss of oil would then lead to the second turbocharger failing, and soon thereafter the engine would seize. Fortunately the Mirage was a 6
NOVEMBER 2003
great “cabin class” glider. Its long, clean wing yielded great gliding characteristics. So if you were high enough when the engine failed, you could travel quite some distance before having to commit to a landing. I had even heard of an instructor who had managed to travel 50 miles down the Florida coast, riding the thermals that existed not far offshore, during a simulated power failure. On one particular flight back to Great Barrington from Florida my passengers consisted of the owner of the airplane, her teenage goddaughter, and a sedated cat. Because we were at flight level 210, the route always took us out over the Atlantic from the Del-Mar-Va peninsula toward the eastern end of Long Island. Ahead was an area of cirrus. As I turned on the pitot and stall warning heat, I had a strange foreboding feeling entering the clouds. We had not been in the clouds for much more than 10 minutes when I heard a loud, high-pitched squealing. Taking my headset off made the squealing louder, but I couldn’t determine the source of the noise. I intensified my scan, paying particular attention to the ammeters. On a previous flight we had had alternator trouble, and I thought the squealing might be coming from one of the alternators singing its swan song. All of a sudden there was a “POP” as the cockpit windows in-
stantly fogged up and the acrid smell of hot oil filled the cockpit. My eyes went to the manifold pressure gauge where I saw that the manifold pressure had dropped significantly. A quick check of the pressurization gauge showed that the cabin pressure had jumped up to 12,000 feet from 8,000 feet. A sickening feeling hit my stomach as I realized we had just lost a turbocharger. I quickly called New York Center and said, “Uh…New York, 93Q . . . we’ve just lost a turbocharger. I need a turn to the nearest airport . . . NOW!” Center responded: “93Q turn heading 260, Atlantic City is 52 miles to the west. Do you want to declare an emergency?” My response was negative. My flawed thinking was that the engine was still running. My training had told me that it was quite probable that in a short time the second turbo would fail, followed in quick order by the engine, and then I would get to experience just how good a glider that airplane would be. I would declare the emergency at that point. Center instructed me to descend to FL 190, which I refused. If I was to become a glider, with land more than 30 miles away, there was nothing as useless as altitude above me. Looking up the Atlantic City ATIS frequency on the en route chart, I dialed it into the number two comm, and listened as the ATIS reported
300-foot ceilings with a half-mile visibility, using the ILS to Runway 13. I quickly dialed in the localizer frequency, figuring that if the engine quit I could at least track the localizer back course, and if luck were with me, I might get myself to the airport. As I got closer to Atlantic City I asked Center for lower. The Stormscope showed that I would have to descend through a small cell, but I was willing to take the risk and remain on the localizer, tracking straight in to my destination. As I descended I started to regain manifold pressure, but I also started to pick up some ice. Strangely, the ice was forming on the top of the wing, where the center of pressure was. Descending through 8,000 feet I was passed to Atlantic City Approach Control. They asked me if I “minded” if they brought a Lear in front of me. I thought that a strange request. ATC had never given me that kind of option before. Since my manifold pressure had now stabilized, I saw no problem with “letting” a Lear in front of me, especially since I still had altitude to lose, and distance to cover. The engine was still running okay, and manifold pressure had normalized, as I no longer needed a turbocharger to boost the pressure. As I turned to the base leg for the ILS I was passed to Atlantic City Tower. Just as I hit the flipflop switch on the radio I heard the tower controller saying: “Sorry, the airport is clos…” My heart came up into my mouth. I thought the airport had gone zero/zero. What would my options be now? The engine hadn’t quit yet, but…. The controller continued: “…ed for an emergency.” My mind had been racing way ahead of the controller, but the realization now dawned on me that I was the emergency. As I broke out at just under 300 feet, I could see yellow emergency vehicles parked at every taxiway intersection, red lights flashing.
Although I had never declared an emergency, ATC had declared the emergency for me. I was being given priority service. That is why
Why had I not declared the emergency? Was it the dreaded “paperwork” that follows the declaration of an emergency . . .? Declaring an emergency would have given me priority treatment. approach had asked me if I “minded” the Lear going in ahead of me. The worst part of the trip now lay ahead of me. I had to drive from New Jersey to Massachusetts with a teenage girl that couldn’t stop talking, leaning in the space between the two front seats chewing and popping her gum when she wasn’t talking. Beside her in the back seat was a very ill cat. The cat didn’t stop voicing her discontent except when she was voiding herself through every orifice available. The drive gave me ample time to think about the events that had just transpired. Why had I not declared the emergency? Was it the dreaded “paperwork” that follows the declaration of an emergency (so it is falsely said)? Why are we, as pilots, so reluctant to declare an emergency? Declaring an emer-
gency would have given me priority treatment. And so what if I had been found negligent, or careless, or reckless. At least I would be alive to defend myself. It made me think of the Columbia Airlines tragedy on Long Island. The crew told ATC that they were “fuel critical” but never declared an emergency, and thus were vectored back around on a missed approach to sequence behind other traffic. How many lives were lost when they ran out of fuel before getting back to JFK? It is true that ATC can declare the emergency for you, as they had in my case, but how many controllers would do that? Many controllers are not pilots, and in many cases are ignorant when it comes to analyzing a potential emergency. A tower controller at Danbury, Connecticut, did not think it necessary to declare an emergency for the pilot who stated, after his engine started to run rough, “better get out the equipment.” The pilot was not given priority sequencing (having not declared an emergency) and ended up having to go around, and when the engine quit for good on the go-around, he crashed. So if you find yourself in an emergency situation, do not hesitate to declare the emergency. In numerous cases you will not have to file any report of any kind. Remember, the regs say, “…shall, upon request . . . file a report” (italics are mine). They do not say that you have to file a report. And if you do? Wouldn’t it be better to stand in front of six people, explaining your actions, than having six people carry you on their shoulders in a box? Declaring an emergency might ver y well be the defining moment that takes you from being a good pilot to being a great pilot! Read more about Doug’s work at www.dsflight.com. Vintage Airplane
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