A Life Wasted

Flying Lessons 1985

"Yeah, that's what I said." I took a deep breath to calm myself. "I'm a student pilot. Minimal instrument training. The Cessna 150 I'm flying is not IFR rated and definitely doesn't have anti-icing gear. Please suggest nearest airport."

"Crap" the controller said. I would later observe air traffic controllers only exhibited a sense of humor when they're worried. "Negative on anything close. What does it look like outside your window." As he was speaking snow began to hit the windshield. Big thick flakes, that grew more frequent as I watched them. I responded, "In the snow now. The storm is converging with me as we speak. Visibility is dropping fast. I had five miles a minute ago, down to about a half mile now. Any chance of getting on top?"

"Not in a 150 Cessna," he said. "This one tops out above 35,000." The 150 Cessna had a maximum ceiling of about 12,000 feet. "Do you have an autopilot?" "Negative," I said. "Not in this thirty year old trainer." "Right. Are you declaring an emergency," he asked. Any pilot in command, which I was even without a pilot's licenses, could declare an in-flight emergency. Doing so would cause the air traffic control system to divert aircraft out of my way and open any runway to my immediate use. It would also be an admission that I had failed. "Negative on the emergency," I said. "But a heading out of this crap would be appreciated." A few minutes later the air traffic controller at Cleveland Center had a plan. "Columbus is showing light snow with a mile visibility on their runway. I've notified Columbus Center of your situation so they're waiting for your call. Contact them on (whatever the radio frequency was) and they'll guide you in. Good Luck."

I changed to the frequency for Columbus center's northern approach. They were ready the moment I called. They'd already calculated my bearing and gave me a course change that would bring me to the Columbus airport. In the short time it took to make the radio call and to change my heading my little airplane had disappeared in the snow. When I looked out either of my side windows I could only see a few feet of the large wing. The rest of the wing was obscured. It was a complete white-out. This officially put me in IFR conditions, which was illegal for any one other than an IFR rated pilot. Following the rules I keyed my mike and said, "Be advised I am in IFR conditions with zero visibility." I was surprised at how calm I sounded. "Roger that," the controller was now a woman. "We won't worry about a VFR pilot flying IFR as long as you don't break anything." That was said tongue and cheek, but the next question was all serious. "Any icing?"

I didn't like this question. I knew icing was a build up of ice on the wing surface and a disruption to air flow over the wing. I knew because I'd read it in the FAA hand book. There was even a picture of what ice on the wing looked like. However, I was flying a high wing Cessna, so I couldn't see the top of the wing. I had no idea how to tell if ice was building up there or not. "No visible icing," I said. "But that doesn't mean much in a high wing airplane. Anyone report of icing?" The controller paused then said, "Yes, but at a higher altitude. You're the only one we have below 10,000. Confirm your altitude is still 6,500." When she said this I remembered that the lower the altitude the warmer the air so the less likelihood of icing. The controller was subtly suggesting I request a lower altitude. "Confirm 6,500, request altitude change to 3,000." My request was immediately approved.

Flying straight and level was difficult for me in these conditions, but a controlled decent was more so. After logging a thousand hours as a pilot, flying that airplane in those conditions would have still been difficult and dangerous for me. As a student pilot with twenty-five hours in my log book it was insane. I didn't think about it then. More than once I glanced at the empty seat to my right as a reminder that I was alone and had to handle this myself. On the radio I sounded calm and under control. I was calm. I should have been terrified, like on that wild ride between Freeport Bahamas and Ft. Lauderdale. Then I was terrified, but now I was relaxed and under control. I've always been amazed at the calm voice exhibited by pilots of doomed planes. You know, the pilot who would calmly report, "We've lost our right wing and are crashing. Should be on the ground any moment. Would you please close my flight plan." I couldn't understand how they could be so calm until this moment. Pilots are calm because its their only option. You panic, you die. So you don't panic. It was a lesson for me: panic is not an option. Panic is a choice.