A Little “Unscheduled” Emergency Practice… At Night

I like to make most of my posts pretty with pictures relevant to each of my stories and posts but this is a little difficult when it comes to these aviation posts due to the nature of the activity. Of all my flights, it was especially the case for this one.

As part of attaining a Private Pilot License you are required to do a number of cross-country flights, one of which needs to be at night (you need three hours of night flight at a minimum). For my first night flight I decided to do the Lunken (LUK)-> Lexington (LEX)-> Lunken flight that I had done before so that there would be at least a certain bit of familiarity, which is especially welcome at night.

For all of my cross-country work so far I’ve opted for the slightly more expensive Piper Arrow because not only is it generally in better condition, but it also has GPS guidance and a more reliable radio navigation suite. Additionally this plane was faster, getting the longer flight out of the way in less time (which also saves money). My previous flight instructor had just moved on to greener pastures and this was my first flight with a new instructor, who recommended that we take the plane I was already signed off to fly solo, the Beechcraft Skipper. Otherwise, I would end up having to be certified to fly the Piper solo and have to do a cross-country flight solo in it, which would set me back a bit more cash. Although my experience in the Skipper so far had left me a bit shaky the appeal to my wallet worked and away we went in “Skippy”.

The flight down to LEX was relatively uneventful aside from it being my first experience having to navigate using the lights from small towns instead of the plethora of visual navigation aids available during the day time. In aviation you have to juggle many more things at once than you do when driving and therefore any additional layer of difficulty begins to tax the student mind further (at first it’s all you can do to stay at one altitude but as your time in the air increases habits form and it becomes second nature – as is typically true about learning how to do anything). We did a quick touch-and-go at LEX and then began our journey back home.

As we climbed to altitude and set up the navigation for our return flight we noticed the first sign that not everything was working as it should. The Skipper has a gas tank in each wing, each holding 10 gallons of gas when full and draws from both of them at the same time (as opposed to many planes that let you select left or right). Our fuel gauge told a different story; the left tank was almost empty but the right tank hadn’t dropped at all. At a fuel burn rate of about 7 gallons per hour and a flight time of about 50 minutes each way, we would need both tanks of gas to make the round trip. Our fuel flow gauge was still high and we had been reassured by the maintenance staff that they were able to run the plane with only the right tank, meaning there should be no fuel flow problems (yes, the fact that they ran this test alone says that there were serious concerns about the tank’s functionality which is never a good sign). We talked through the problem and decided to continue forward knowing that we had another airport between LEX and LUK (Snyder, near Dry Ridge).

Everything continued normally as we flew over the dark land between Lexington and Cincinnati, at least up until Dry Ridge (for those not familiar with the area, this is about 25 miles south of Cincinnati). Although the plane continued to purr along normally, our fuel flow gauge suddenly dropped to zero. Since the instrumentation on Skippy only likes to work half the time anyways, we decided that this wasn’t indicative of imminent danger but decided to start weighing out our options anyways. Snyder airport should, at this point, have been only a few miles to our right. We tuned into their advisory frequency and tried to trigger their radio activated lights to no avail. This wasn’t good. We now had no options for another 15 miles, where we’d find Cincinnati International (CVG). To give us at least one option better than landing in the dark unknown we decided to change course a couple of miles to the left to fly directly over I-75. This proved to be a good decision since the moment we started heading towards the interstate  is the same moment we heard the most terrifying sound you can hear in aviation: the engine winding down to a complete stop.

“Well, this is it, we’re landing on the interstate” is the thought that flashed through my mind. I wasn’t alone, as the next words to come out of my instructors mouth over the radio were “Cincinnati Approach, Skipper eight zero zero mike bravo we’ve got an engine out and we’re landing on I-75.” After confirming our location, heading, and souls on board Cincinnati Approach tried to give us alternative options. At only 4000 feet, you don’t really have any options though. Even if we could find the airport off to our right, 8 miles was not an option for our plane-turned-glider. We started our emergency procedures and began looking for a straight spot on the road.

After a few long minutes of talking back and forth between Cincinnati and descending into a river of moving traffic we got an overdue dose of good luck when our engine started sputtering back on as it finally began to pull some fuel out of the right tank. We took what power we could get out of it and held our altitude as we limped it towards CVG. We notified them that we were still in the air and that it looked like we’d be able to make it there as long as the engine was still holding on. Finally, the welcome sign of CVG’s runway 36R slowly trickled into view. With our engine still running the tower asked us if we were still landing at CVG or if we decided to chance making it to LUK. Before we could even ponder the more precarious of the two options, our engine decided for us by once again cutting completely out. “We’ve just lost our engine again. 36R is in front of us and that’s what we’re taking!” Matt the instructor radioed back. The complex pattern of landing lights was now complimented by the flashing red lights of emergency vehicles now dotting the taxiway beside the runway, just in case things turned even worse. That was the end of our bad luck for the evening though and after an extended glide down the runway we came to a complete stop, safely on the ground and not on the interstate.

A little shaken but still very glad to be on the ground, we taxied to the airport’s FBO followed by a parade of fire trucks. After determining that our plane was not in danger of spontaneously combusting they turned off and headed back to their base. Because the issue only affected the right tank we refueled our now bone dry left tank, ran the engine for a few minutes to test it out, and then finished our flight back to LUK.

In retrospect I think the two most important things I took away from this flight, other than the night-time navigation that I was supposed to be learning were 1) Never take someone’s word that the plane is working when the instruments tell you otherwise and 2) Staying cool and following your training in an emergency does pay off. Although it was an extremely unnerving experience, I’m glad to now have an in-flight experience that many pilots don’t get their entire careers.

One last note that I want to add this story is credit to my flight instructor, Matt, who kept cool and did most of the flying after we lost our engine. I want to give credit where credit is due and he definitely deserves it. It only made sense to have the person with the most hours doing the emergency landing to give us our best chance at walking away, which we did. Thanks Matt!