OVERTHEAIRWAVES.COM
The Bi-Weekly Journal for the Proficient Pilot
The Rule Book and Personal Minimums .... Hogwash!
When searching for answers to why we continue to experience over 300 fatal GA accidents year and year, we often need to look no further than faulty flight instruction that instills an iron-clad belief in the sanctity of the FARs. Right or wrong, many flight schools and independent CFIs strip their students of any independent thought and, in its place, hold out the FAR/AIM as the holy grail on ALL matters pertaining to flight. Similarly, an equal number of flight schools and CFIs insist that their students establish a set of personal weather minimums to safeguard themselves from getting into situations they cannot handle. What’s wrong with teaching the FARs and the importance of setting personal minimums? Under normal circumstances, nothing. But much of our flying can be anything but normal . . . particularly if we want to obtain any reasonable utility from our airplanes.
For example, this past week I completed several days of business-related travel in my known-ice-certified Cessna 210. The last leg of this trip involved a non-stop 900 mile flight from Panama City, Florida back home to Buffalo, NY. The first half of this flight was splendid. A 70 knot tailwind in sunny skies at 19,000 feet boosted my ground speed to just over 260 knots. It was the second half of the trip that produced a bit of nail biting. My preflight briefing revealed the presence of a massive weather system from the Gulf of Mexico to Canada being pushed along by a slow moving cold front. It covered the entire eastern one-third of the nation. While clear above 15,000 feet, below was a cauldron of mixed snow and rain, reports of icing, and turbulence. AIRMETs Sierra, Tango, and Zulu were all in effect. Forecast weather at my destination called for a 900 foot overcast ceiling and two miles of visibility due to blowing snow. Typical Buffalo stuff. My planned trip squared with all applicable FARs and I was okay with the forecast weather in Buffalo. I launched knowing that the only challenging part of the trip would be the final descent into Buffalo.
Then the normal stuff ended!
It was about two-thirds into my flight, over Charleston, WV where I decided to check the operation of my de-icing wing boots in preparation for the descent. The boots went part way through the normal cycle, then stopped inflating. I glanced quickly at the vacuum pressure gauge and noted that the primary vacuum pump had just failed, leaving me with only a smaller secondary pump to keep the gyro instruments operating. I was in clear skies with the stars and moon twinkling brightly over the solid undercast just below at 15,000 feet. The failed pump was significant but it certainly did not rise to an emergency declaration status.
As for personal minimums . . .
As indicated above, I was okay with the forecast 900 foot ceiling and two miles visibility at Buffalo that I received before launching. I dialed in the Buffalo ATIS and discovered that the ceiling and visibility had recently dropped to just above minimums in blowing snow. Again, my mind curiously raced back to all those pilots who insist on having personal minimums before commencing any flight. What these folks always seem to forget is that . . . weather changes. It can become worse, dramatically worse without warning! The risks were ratcheting up quickly. Once I gave up the security of VFR weather on top of the 20,000 foot undercast, I would be committed to continue the descent. All the while, I was wondering about the continued operation of my secondary vacuum pump. I was also wondering about the distinct possibility of accreting ice on the descent. Once I started down, I wanted to get safely on the ground as quickly as possible. The Buffalo Approach controller, aware of my situation, issued my descent clearance with “pilot discretion” down to 2,500 feet and instructed me to intercept the localizer for Buffalo’s Runway 5. His instructions gave me the altitude freedom to deal with possible icing as I needled my way down through the cloud layers. I began picking up light icing and impact snow on the leading edge of wings as I descended through 4,000 feet. I had all of the other de-icing components (pitot heat, prop and windshield heat) operating. The final chore was to find the runway. The latest reported visibility was one-quarter mile. I glanced at the vacuum gauge and wondered what would happen now if the remaining pump failed. Did I dare plan on executing a missed approach and returning to this mess for a second try? While no pilot should ever be mentally committed to land, regardless of visibility, I was beginning to suffer this malady. If ever I was focused on keeping needles centered, speed under control (and remembering to lower the gear), it was now. Now inside the final approach fix, a solid wall of hypnotizing snow, reflecting off my landing light, filled the windscreen. With just 100 feet to go before reaching minimums, there was no sign of anything below. No familiar lights of the city were penetrating the clouds and blowing snow below. Then, almost like magic, I caught a quick glimpse of the runway approach light system just as I reached decision height. I continued down and rested the landing gear on several inches of fresh powdery snow in the softest landing of my flying career.
The job was not over
The tower controller could not see me as I rolled to a stop. I refused his instructions to exit the runway at Taxiway Echo because I could see that it had not been recently plowed. Same thing with Taxiway Delta which, too, was sitting under about eight inches of snow. The only remaining route to the FBO was via Runway 32, which was hardly distinguishable from the surrounding terrain due to the blowing and drifting snow. I reported off of the active runway and inched my way to the FBO.
Lessons worth noting!
People do not generally die in airplanes under normal operating conditions. It’s when things begin to go wrong that poorly trained and non-proficient pilots meet their fate. An unexpected component failure, a sudden encounter with non-forecast icing, continued VFR flight into IFR conditions . . . these are the things that can hurt us and our passengers when aloft. The rule book often doesn’t apply in these situations. Tragically, those who know and only fly by the rules but who lack awareness of the real world of flight are the ones that fill the NTSB fatal accident reports. As for personal minimums, don’t EVER launch into IFR conditions unless you are sufficiently proficient to land to published minimums. This business about personal minimums makes good academic sense, but it is filled with logic holes in the real world.
As one of our local pundits once said, “You can’t jump the Niagara gorge in two small leaps!”