Rick Saves 747 Lands Safely

How do I get myself into these situations? I asked myself. As I made my way up the stairs I was thinking that I had never even been in a 747 before. Nearing the cockpit door I was stopped and told that the entire flight crew has been incapacitated and removed from the cockpit, We were about 70 miles from Minneapolis and I was the one who had to land the airplane. "Oh-boy - this should be interesting" I said to myself.

I walked slowly into the cockpit trying to absorb as much as possible of the environment. It was very dark - almost black but with hundreds of instrument and panel lights softly illuminated. I sat down in the left seat and instinctively reached for the handle to slide the chair up into position. Wow, look at all these instruments and switches, I thought. The cockpit was 5 times wider than anything I'd ever flown before, like sitting in the drivers seat of a motorhome.

My first actions where to inventory the panel and center console. Many of the instruments were familiar but most were not. I found the H.S.I. Airspeed, Altitude Indicator and other basic instruments laid out pretty much like in the single engine airplanes I was use to flying. As only a private pilot with an instrument rating I started thinking that I might be a little over my head about this time. I reviewed the side panels and overhead also. I didn't see anything that I thought would be useful as it appeared to be mostly circuit breakers and a lot of switches with placards I couldn't read due to the dimly lit cabin.

Next I thought I'd get on the radio and get some help. All I needed was some headsets, or a mike. But in the darkness my eyes had not adjusted yet to the lighting - I couldn't find anything. I started looking for a place to plug headsets into thinking I could start from there and hopefully follow the cords back to wherever they were hiding. No luck. I was also hoping that my scan for the headsets might lead me to wherever the cockpit light switches would be at so I could get some light in here and see what all these things were labeled. No luck with that ether. Okay I thought - Ill worry about that in a minute or two, as I knew I had a couple of other things to figure out. Like where I was and how to get to the airport.

I looked for checklists - nothing. I figured the Pilots Operating Handbook would be about the size of a Webster's Dictionary and  Id find what I needed in that about the same time the NTSB issued its final report on the impending crash - so I went back to inventorying the instruments and controls. I did find an Minneapolis approach plate clipped to the pilots yoke. Thank You Jesus! - I said out loud. Now I had something in front of me that was familiar.

It was 1AM on Sunday mourning, we should be south east of Minneapolis inbound from Miami. Looking out the windows I could see a thousand stars glistening above a moon lit overcast layer below. It was beautiful I thought - hopefully not the last time I ever get to see it I reprised. The altimeter read 7000 feet and everything was holding as the auto-pilot was doing its job in the absence of the regular pilots. We were on a northwest heading - as I suspected.

"Okay" I thought, "time to start learning how to fly this thing" I tapped the auto-pilot switch on the yoke. "I don't know if this thing knows how to land itself or not - but I'm going to have to fly it at some point or another" That may have been my first mistake. As I banked slightly left I noticed the significant climb rate I had started. Wow - guess I really don't need much back-pressure on the yoke. As I started to roll right and return to my heading I began to realize the mass and momentum of the airplane. When I over banked to the right and had turned through my inbound course I started a hard bank left with the yoke again to correct. It was at that point I accepted that I knew nothing about flying something this heavy. Way too much left bank! I started to crank in a hard right when something told me I was making a mistake. Wings level I thought - we'd get back on heading when we get back under control. I gave the yoke a slight right turn and then returned to a neutral position. Slowly the wings role level and I ended up on a heading about 40 degrees off of my original auto-pilot controlled direction.

I'd climbed nearly 3000 feet and thought that there was significant room for improvement in altitude control. I tapped the trim down a couple of times and watched the VSI indicate a decent rate. A very gentle turn towards the north slowly rotated the DG to a heading of about 350. Close enough I decided and turned my attention towards trying to locate the auto-pilot so I could again engage its wizardry. Again no luck. What I wouldn't do for a flashlight.

I lost the altitude I gained in my turns and returned to level flight at 7000. My roll rate problem was improving but only with a conscious effort to minimize control movement. I had to learn to wait for the airplane. I figured I weighed about 4 or 5 hundred thousand pounds - based only on the few tid-bits of information I had gleamed over my lifetime about 747's.

It's like moving a mountain - and then having to stop it.

Again I scanned the controls for items I would need for the instrument approach. Still hoping I would find something that would allow me communication with someone on the ground who could at least say a prayer if not offer a greatly accelerated course on flying this monster. Luckily I recognized the lighted numbers on the center console as a navigation radio.

According to the approach plate it was set to the Farmington VOR. I turned the OBS on the H.S.I. to get a centered needle and noted I was on a TO heading and not to far off of course for a interception. It was at that time I noticed a rolling counter near the top of the panel and summated that it must be the DME as it was counting down rather quickly. Having found those two items my hopes of saving the airplane grew considerably. I had the basic instruments located and some navigation equipment. Good to go - I said out loud. Knowing that for all practical purposes I was only going to bring the wreckage closer to the emergency vehicles.

With a airspeed of over 300 knots I knew I would have to slow down at some point and that would cause a change in the trim of the airplane and possibly the control responses. I decided to reduce power gradually and adjust attitude with trim to compensate. I figured that if I did everything a little at a time my chances of making a big mistake were reduced. It felt pretty weird grabbing all four of the throttles in one hand and moving them ever so slowly and minutely. I scanned the panel containing the engine gages hoping I'd see something move in correlation to my retarding the throttles. As I watched four gauges lower I figured I'd found what would be in my terms the manifold pressures. A little adjusting to make them all match up again was required and I noted the asymmetrical yaw of the airplane while they were uneven.

I thought about how two weeks ago that I didn't know what asymmetrical meant before starting to study for my commercial and multiengine ratings. - Thank you Martha King!

After a few lessons in using the electric trim on the yoke I had the airplane stabilized at just over 250 knots. Although the gages said so - I couldn't tell any difference. Years ago my father had told me that a 747 would take off at about 150 mph. Although I've learned not to bet the house on Dads knowledge of many things - He did teach me to fly when I was 11 years old and that information was better than anything else I had at the time. If 150 mph would make this thing lift off the ground I figured that 250 was a good speed to work with. I could go 100 knots ether way and not put myself over the edge.

Time to start doing that pilot thing.

My attention was being drawn to the approach plate, as the solid layer of clouds below meant it was my only chance to get to the airport. I started to manage the oscillations by limiting my inputs and remembering the huge amount of mass that I was trying to jerk around like a Cessna 150. Big airplane - Small steps.... Small steps...

It took both hands to move the landing gear lever. At first I thought I wasn't doing it right or that there was a lock or trick of some sort to it. But engineering is not match for brute force and I forced the lever down. The airplane shook as I felt the huge gear descend into the slipstream. Airspeed slowed and I needed to push the nose down as I started to get above Glide Slope. I decided to wait on any further power reductions.

The airspeed indicator had none of the familiar markings. Only a few white lines painted on the rim of the instrument. I figured they meant something to someone so I decided not to go below the lower one - stay below or at the center one and not go above the higher one.

Airspeed was increasing rapidly as I kept trimming for more nose down to stay on glide slope. Only when I reached for the flaps did I notice that I was thick in the soup and without weather information I had know idea when and where I would break out of the clouds. I reached over the center console and moved the flap handle first one notch - then two. I didn't want to get to carried away and find myself off the glide slope and have to do a go around. No, a go-around would not be acceptable I told myself. If I have to I will. But not unless I really have to.

I thought about what the controllers would be thinking about now. I looked for the transponder signal the emergency code but once again wasn't able to find it in the dark.

Way to fast - On the GS but pushing 280. I pulled the throttles back rather boldly but then advanced them again. More flaps I decided. I was surprised to find so many flap positions - why bother I thought. More flaps! With the flap lever about three-quarters of the way back I decided to increase power and maintain 230'ish knots. I figured a high airspeed but stable approach angle was better than a unstable one. I'll figure out any changes I might need when I get a look at the runway.

Over controlling again! - As airspeed bleed off the roll rate changed - at least in my mind it did. Again I started to oscillate left and right. I was staying on course using the rudders a little to compensate so that I could at least stay moving in the general direction of localizer.

Two miles, 1340 MSL. (700 AGL) RUNWAY! Dead ahead! - Bad choice of words. I reached for the flap lever again and although I was making a decent attempt at GS up to this point I started over trimming without realizing I was holding the switch on the yoke back with my other hand. Needing two hands - I pushed harder and harder on the yoke to keep the nose down before I realized my mistake and reversed the switch. The large trim wheel on the side of the center console spun and spun and spun. As soon as I could hold the attitude I wanted with one hand again I let go and with my right hand and swung at the flap handle flipping it to its lowest position. The drag of full flaps was too much - airspeed started to drop. Again I gripped the throttles and pushed them several inches forward. Still rocking back a forth - less now than before, I knew that my chance to land the airplane safely was coming up soon. Real soon.

With the glide slope lights showing me a little lower than I would have liked I decided not to pull the power back as I approached the runway. I could see all the cars on the freeway and thought about how ignorantly we all drive by the airport runways never thinking that something as big as a skyscraper might fall out of the sky on top of us.

Suddenly and surprisingly a electronic voice started screaming at me "PULL UP! - PULL UP!" The approach lights had started to glow red and a quick look at the airspeed confirmed that I had allowed the nose to drop while looking at the cars on the freeway. I started to pull back on the yoke - thinking I would need to start breaking the descent soon anyway's I hauled it back pretty good. Trimming the elevator as I went I tried to imagine how high I would be sitting on the ground and that flaring to low would be a typical thing for a novice (novice?) pilot to do. As the descent reduced the electronic flight instructor in the instrument panel shut-up and I thought about how interesting of a device it was.

I looked down the runway - as far as I could - and decided that as I was well aligned and my roll control had improved - that I would make the final commitment to land. This was it. Pulling back on the throttles I raised the nose to flair.. A quick glance at the airspeed showed me about 160 just as the right mains touched down and then the left. The cockpit shook with vibration of the wheels and slowly the nose dropped to the ground. I was approaching the halfway point of the 10,000 foot runway when the nose wheel hit the ground and now all I had to do was stop this mountain of metal. I braked as hard as I could - I'm sure my seat raised out of the seat as I stood on the peddles. Interestingly I expected to hear skidding but only rumbling of the gear on the runway.

The force of the heavy breaking and occasional differential braking for correction to keep me on the runway was significant. Everything in the cockpit was shaking and rattling now. The runway end was approaching and I was still moving along rather quickly. I pushed on the brakes as hard as I possibly could and held them, all the way to the numbers on the end of the runway. With just 200 feet or so of runway ahead of me I was able to release most of the brake pressure and roll to a comfortable stop. On the runway. In one piece.

The many people who had gathered around behind me in the cockpit began to clap and cheer my landing safely and saving the plane. Then the white cockpit lights came on and the windows turned gray as they had stopped the program running on the 747-200 simulator I was sitting in.

Sweating - I sat there thinking " I did it". It may not have been the real thing, but it will be as close as I ever come to being able to fly a large jet like that.

No longer will I have to wakeup in the middle of the night - just before the landing.

(This is a true story. I had made the arrangements to simulate the flight scenario as told in advance with the operators of the full motion flight simulator. To be fair - I did not consult with any pilots or prepare at all for the flight. It was a simulation as best I could re-create it to be as close to real as possible.)

I want to thank Mr. J. Mac MacClellan, Editor in chief of Flying Magazine who wrote an article about a year ago regarding Private Pilots and there ability to assist in jet aircraft emergencies. Although I found some of his comments to be somewhat true - like being able to find the radios and such - I most respectfully disagree with his concept that a Private Pilot would not be useful in the cockpit. Although if not for Mr. J. Mac MacClellan's article I doubt seriously if I would have gone on to pursue the opportunity to test myself in the simulator and accomplish what is in my mind - one of the greatest challenges in my life. So thank you J. Mac MacClellan. Your wrong - and I will never forget it.

And I also need to thank my friend Gordo (Gordan) Miller.   He was the key person in arrangeing the simulator time and without him - I would not have had the opportunity to prove Mr. J. Mac MacClellan wrong.

Rick Wagner
(There should be a Captain in there)

Those Damn Liberals

My daughter home from college this Christmas season got me talking about my understanding of liberal people.   Coupling that with the polarization I see emerging from the Arizona shootings I begin to think about their being a solution to this seemingly never ending battle between the two major political factions.

Challenged for my understanding of liberals - I struggled with how to define Liberals and what is so obviously wrong with them.  I mean seriously, how do I begin to define a group of people who think so different from those like me? 

Liberals like to say they are looking ahead and not behind, they welcome new ideas, they care about the welfare of people like health, housing and schools, their jobs, civil rights, and civil liberties.  Liberals believe they can break through the old boundaries and create a new social world of fairness and equality. 


Here's the rub -  I believe we all embraced these same concerns - although we see different solutions on how to achieve them.

Conservatives believe that being liberal means deciding issues based on knee-jerk feelings and not on comprehensive facts.  Some think liberal opinions are reached without carefully and fully thinking through the risks and costs which conservatives hold out as the holy-grail of good decision making.

Liberals want to try new policy believing it wouldn't hurt to try it.   Conservative are not at all willing to experiment with policy for fear recovering from mistakes will be paid for dearly.

So how do we unite the two sides and stop the war between liberals and conservatives?

I go back to when I was a youth and fighting with my own brothers: 

Big fight - all hell breaking loose.  Furniture tipping over, dog barking, sister crying....

The fighting was stopped.  It was not allowed to continue or escalate to where the house was on fire.   The yelling and screaming at each other, the war of hateful words and threats and mud-slinging was just plain stopped.   A parent would intervene, get both our sides of the story and both of us would be made to understand the other persons feelings, or ownership etc. and then we would both be scolded for bad behavior. "It takes two to tangle" I heard a million times.   We would have to shake hands and apologize and would often discover we could go beyond the 'feelings' of the moment and work or play together.   Sometimes becoming best of friends.

So how do we do that in America?   How do we stop the fighting?

I believe we just stop it.   Leaders on both sides - in the White House, the Senate and House of Representatives, State Congress and in all political corners stand up and say ENOUGH!   It's OVER!  We shake hands,  We make hate speak not a tool to win the argument but unwelcome behavior.  We talk facts, We debate what is being discussed so we understand each others 'side' to the topic, we argue without threats, ridicule and mud-slinging,  and we vote.  And that's the end to it.

We did it with the N-word - we can do it in regards to the hate-speak.   We stop the hate speak arguments and just tell our side of the story - and move on. 

We all know what happens when we tried to re-ignite the flames.

Joe Zamundio, armed citizen

Joe Zaumundio rushed into the epicenter of the Arizona bloodbath with intent to confront the armed shooter. Joe helped subdue the shooter and hold him to the ground. Why? In Joe Zamundio's jacket was his concealed defensive pistol. When asked about his weapon he responded "I carry this with me everywhere, mentally, it makes you feel like your almost obligated, in situations like that."

Joe Zamundio, armed citizen - was able to immediately rush in to defend the others and subdue the attacker, confident that he could fight back.

~ CNN video 'Shooting witnesses jump in to help' - January 10, 2011

Spend Their Money - Not Mine!

I'll be straight forward and tell you that I don't support citizen sponsorship of additional taxes in the form of raising recreational user fees. This is happening in many states in both hunting and fishing arenas. Many first see this as a well intended effort to improve the future resources and expand responsible conservation, but personal experience has taught me to look more closely at the proposals.

In just about every case the fee increases being proposed are targeted to "non-residents". In other words - tax them, not us. Don't raise my hunting fees - raise 'their' hunting fees. Don't spend my money, spend theirs.

In addition, as a employee of the state for many years I have seen where these 'targeted funds' have been assimilated into a void of any measurable impact to the resources they were labeled to support. I know first hand how government works and how money is its drug and spending is it's addiction. These efforts do nothing more than pump up discretionary spending and operational perks that would have otherwise been unfunded. Sure you can point to checks being written that appear to be directly related to wildlife management and conservation - but where did the funding come from for those new trucks and utility quads, and what was wrong with the three year old ones?

Its not like any state has a natural resource zero budget. Significant funding is built in to each legislative budget session. The addiction to spending is the problem, not the lack of revenues.

More often leadership is confused with 'getting more money' and not responsible use of the existing funding.

If you havn't already figured it out I will spell it out for you. There is never going to be enough money to do all the 'right' things we can think up. The need is bottomless. The possibilities are endless. Doing enough with what we have should be the focus.

Comparisons of other states non-resident fees mean nothing. One state is not being cheated out of revenue by another. 'Seek first to understand' is a trait for success. You may find the funding for your neighbor states fees is offset by other higher fees. Each state needs to determine its own costs and expense and in my opinion that should be shared equally amongst the persons utilizing those resources.

Another viewpoint is the impact these increases have on the revenues generated by the towns and businesses that provide services and products to the hunters and fisherman. I can speak with first experience on how the ATV trail fees have substantially reduced tourism dollars coming into what were formerly abundant commerce in small towns. It was a bad idea to begin with and we all know how hard it is to get your money back from government. And who sponsored that tax? It wasn't the towns, or the ATV riders, or the businesses that were then booming and now closed. It was a group of citizens who thought ATV's should be paying more, because they could obviously afford it and it was the right thing to do.

I like to ask these tax and spend citizen sponsors to put their cards out on the table and when given a close look we can often see the real bases in raising revenues by spending 'those other peoples' money.

If citizens wanted to do make a difference and do the right thing for natural resources, they'd open their own wallets and share some equality with their neighbors.

Yesterday we had some whack-job shoot 20 people killing 6 and possibly more may die as a result of their wounds. I think what we need in this country is to stop treating everyone as 'them' and start living together as 'us'. Maybe then the jealousy, bitterness and hate will be reduced and we won't have the vicious political battles and misguided actions that come from it.

More Dead from Gun Free School Zone - Epic Failure

President William J. Clinton signed the Gun Free School Zones Act of 1995 effectively preventing the lawful possession of a firearm by non-government and law enforcement authorized persons on or near school property.

The Columbine High School massacre and the Virginia Tech massacre are two of the more recent disastrous examples of how Gun Free School Zones have been an epic failure. 

Today - family, friends and students in Omaha morn the death of their assistant principal shot to death by an armed high school student.

It shouldn't be, and its not right, and there must be a better way - but, I believe we need a solution immediately.  We need to now look at school officials and employees having the ability to carry a defensive weapon just like the 20,000+ persons with a pistol carry permit are doing in just about any other place in this state. 

There is little to no hope of stopping someone with a gun other than to shoot them. The police will arrive 4 minutes later. They can't be everywhere. The only people safe in 'gun free school zones' are the ones with a gun.

In Minnesota we have a proven process already in-place to qualify people who can lawfully carry a weapon and defend themselves, their co-workers, and students immediately when a threat is presented.   I think its time we look at a defensive posture in schools rather then time after time being able to only wait for the ambulances to arrive. 

The problem is that most school boards who have the legislatures ear are comprised of folks that idealistically see "the gun" as the problem.  They wrongly believe that armed school staff would only make the problem worse. Until school boards and school administrators change their course of thinking, evil-doers will be able to walk into any school and shoot and kill whoever they please unimpeded until police arrive.

And there will always be guns and there will always be evil-doers.   It only makes sense to address the problem - at the point of impact.

Zero Seven Papa, Are You Declaring an Emergency?

April, 1996

There I was, 5,000 MSL (about 4,000 AGL) with my wife beside me in our 1954 Piper Tri-Pacer. The problem was that I was at full throttle and pitched for a standard climb, but we were descending..
I'd been cleared to 7,000 and instructed to contact Center upon reaching that altitude

TriPacer Zero Seven Papa is 25 miles off of Park Rapids at 5000 and cannot maintain altitude, we're turning back.

Center responded :

07P are you declaring an emergency?

Oh boy, not those fateful words! I thought for a moment. Was I really going to say the E-word? Was I?
It was barely one week after getting my instrument rating, my first real IMC cross country, and my wife's first IFR experience...and things were not going well.
Just then a severe engine vibration started. I mean so sever I thought the engine might rip off its mounts (if it hadn't already). I immediately pulled back on the power and dropped the nose.

Zero Seven Papa has severe engine vibration, we're iced up badly and cannot maintain altitude, I've pulled the power and have lost the airspeed indicator. We're turning back to Park Rapids!

Again Center responded:

Roger 07P, understand you're turning back to Park Rapids. Are you declaring an emergency?

What I wanted to say was "What more does it take!" But this wasn't the time for witty rejoinder.

We were iced up bad, real bad. I fought to look away from the panel to see what was almost three-quarters of a inch of clear ice glued to the front half of the wing struts. It was in three distinct layers, each about a quarter of an inch thick. The lower layers adhered further back than the top layer.

I looked at the pitot tube and saw a one-inch ball of ice stuck to the end. It looked like a horizontal lollypop. No pitot heat in this Tri-Pacer, either.

The ice covered the bottom of the wing, making it look as smooth as a well sanded composite. All the details were gone — inspection plate covers, flap hinges, screw heads — all concealed under the ice blanket.

I keyed the mike to say the words that I had feared to say. What the hell, I thought — if I get out of this one, I'll gladly deal with the FAA!

Affirmative. Zero Seven Papa is declaring an emergency at this time.

How'd I get into this mess? Our earlier 125 mile flight from the Blaine Airport in Minnesota northwest to Park Rapids — to have dinner with relatives — had been uneventful as we flew through and on top of a cloud deck of about 5,000 MSL and landed Park Rapids in good VFR conditions.

After an early dinner, we planned to depart for home at 6 p.m. Cloud bases then were 1,200 feet and the only significant issue was the possibility of icing climbing through 4,000 MSL to our cruising altitude on top. I asked my wife, Gail, to look for icing on the struts and tires as I had noticed a several degree drop in OAT to just about 0C. She replied that she didn't see anything. I checked out my window and saw nothing that would indicate any icing conditions.
Two minutes later, all hell broke loose...

As we climbed out of 4,500 it was becoming obvious that we were nearing the tops of the clouds. An occasional whisper of lighter skies encouraged me that we'd soon be on top and I'd be able to relax a little as I was nervous as hell. The air was bumpy and I was working up a sweat.

I knew my experience level. As an IFR pilot for all of one week, I was as green as they come. But even I knew something wasn't right with this picture. Airspeed read 90, attitude indicator showed us pitched for a climb, but the VSI was showing no climb, and maybe even a little descent.

"Scan, scan, scan. What's wrong?" I asked myself. Why aren't we climbing? I checked everything: carb heat, engine instruments, flaps up, throttle and RPM okay. Everything checked out. Damn, must be ice. Need to get out of the clouds, need to get just a little higher.

I released just a small amount of back pressure from the yoke and then pulled back to a best rate of climb pitch. Almost on top! I can feel it! 5,000 feet, blue sky with just whispers of cloud above us. Almost there! Almost...

Suddenly, the altimeter started to drop and the vertical indicator slumped to about 700 FPM decent. Oh *$%#! The airspeed still read 90. That can't be! This airplane doesn't stall at this airspeed or in this attitude. Then I remembered my pitot tube lollipop, and the situation started to become clear.

By this time Gail had become nervous as I had been talking out loud about getting on top.  Having picked up that it was the ice that was keeping us from climbing, she looked understandably concerned.

I dropped the nose and released pressure on the yoke. I cranked in a couple of turns of down trim to reduce the pitch angle. I wasn't going to let this puppy stall again with the airspeed indicator inop.

That's when I called Minneapolis Center and said the E-word.

Zero Seven Papa you are cleared direct to Park Rapids, altitude your discretion at or above 3100, weather at Park Rapids blah blah blah...

Like I really cared about the winds and temperature at the airport right now.



I felt like I was starting to loose it. Overload: confusion, fear, lost... But at the same time, I realized the only one who could help me was me. It was all up to me to get us out of this. All the stuff I was supposed to have learned in IFR training was going to have to pay off now...in spades.

The plane felt like a lead sled. After several attempts to bring the power back up, I must have thrown the ice off the prop, because now it would throttle-up smoothly. Finally some good news. Full power.

My highest priority task was now clear: to find a pitch attitude that would keep the plane flying and stop my descent...or at least reduce it. The ASI was still frozen at 90, so I used "feel" and the attitude indicator to find the best pitch. With full power and a 300 FPM descent I could stay just above what felt like an impending stall . This seemed like the best compromise available.

Next task: I knew I had to turn around. But to what heading? I'd become completely disoriented as to assigned headings, so I couldn't remember a course reversal number to work with.

Center radioed they had put a airliner in a hold overhead as they would loose radio contact with me as I descended. I changed frequencies as requested and they asked for periodic updates on my situation. A call from the airline pilot came next saying he was overhead and would stay with me. Right after that Center reported they could no longer receive me clearly and for me to relay through the airliner.

For a short period of time, I felt lost. Confusion and panic were starting to set in and I started to think we wouldn't make it. I was worried throughout the whole ordeal that maybe the vibration wasn't prop ice after all...maybe something was coming apart in the engine, maybe it would go to hell again.

"Fly the plane, fly the plane," I kept hearing this voice in my head. Actually it was many voices, the voices of all the instructors and other pilots I'd flown with who over the years had said a thousand times "fly the plane!". So I did.

I requested the airliner ask center for a reverse heading to fly back to PR. I said I was disoriented and had made several turns off-course since things went bad. Center said that I was below their radar coverage and they couldn't give me vectors, but they advised that if I was still on my previous outbound course, a heading of 300 would get me back.

I'm not sure if it was the turbulence or the situation — or maybe it was me — but it seemed harder and harder to control the airplane. I struggled trying to stay straight and level, but wasn't doing a very good job of it. I was over controlling badly, banking 30 degrees left, than right. I've never flown this badly, I thought. I better start flying better or we're not going to make it.

My wife bumped my shoulder to get my attention and asked very seriously "are we going to be all right?" I didn't know. I told her that I thought so but to be honest ,didn't know. "Your lips are saying you think so;" she said, "but, your knees are saying were screwed." Gail doesn't miss much. My legs were shaking badly and I had not realized it before.

Then the airliner radioed that Minneapolis had requested "say souls on board". It was a real hard thing to key the mike. "Tell Minneapolis that zero seven papa has two very scared souls on board," I responded. What else could I say? It was the purest truth I'd ever spoken.

When Center asked for souls on board, that was a real turning point for me, A reality check on my mental condition. I knew then that not many people get asked that question and have the opportunity to talk about it later. This wasn't a practice approach. I couldn't flip up the hood and say "damn." No missed approach on this one.

I had to fly better than I had ever flown before. I had to think better and faster than ever before. I had to get it right this time or we were going to die. I wasn't about to kill my wife and myself and leave our children orphaned. I could feel the adrenaline coursing through my system.

I started the turn inbound but nearly lost it as the left wing and nose dropped, and the airplane didn't respond to my control inputs to roll level and pull up. Vertical speed was over 1,000 FPM down. I figured a spin had started as the DG began to spin quickly to right. I pulled the power, dropped the nose, kicked opposite rudder, and held it until the DG stopped spinning. I held the nose down for a period of time I thought would be adequate, and then pulled back after leveling the wings and added power again. We got going pretty fast but slowed down quickly also. The attitude Indicator came slowly back to normal and I pitched and powered back again to best rate of "descent" as it were.

I thought about the recent articles I'd read that argued that spin training was not necessary. Right!

A glance back to the DG reminded me that I had again forgotten the heading to fly. I took a deep breath and decided to reprogram the VFR GPS I had with us. It was originally set for Blaine and under normal circumstances would have been my secondary reference for a return heading but I wasn't thinking as clearly as I normally was when I was just out shooting approaches.

Punch in the "nearest airport search" function. Bingo! Why didn't I do that long ago? Dummy...
Frequently I told the airline captain what was going on. It felt good to have someone to talk to who would understand what I was saying and possibly what I was going through.

The GPS gave me a heading number but when I made a very shallow turn to that heading on the DG, it became obvious that the DG had precessed a lot (or tumbled) during that little spin episode. To avoid another situation like the last, I turned slowly — mostly with slight rudder pressure and very shallow — to a GPS course that agreed with the GPS heading to PR. Slowly we kept descending throught the grey murky swirls of thick clouds.

We're finally heading in the right direction, but we still have a long way to go, I thought to myself.
Scared, sweating, and angry with myself for putting my wife helplessly into this situation, I sat there balancing the pitch with the "feel" of the airplane hoping I could milk out the altitude we would need to get us back to the runway.

At first I thought that all I could do was stay on course and wait. Then I remembered one more thing my CFII once told me: if you run out of things to do, you're forgetting to do something! So I kept scanning, double-checking everything, pre-landing checklist. I started working on options, thinking about what was coming up next. Trying to get back to one step ahead of it.

I'm a experienced skydiver and my wife has made one jump herself. While we waited to break out of the clouds, I thought about how stupid it was for us to ride this 42 year old fuel tank into the trees or swamp below when — if we had had chutes — we could have just jumped and been assured of our lives. I've made hundreds of jumps, and I was starting to have doubts we were going to make it back to the airport. No fear, no questions, no regrets, Just open the door and jump.... Screw the plane, I thought, that's what insurance is for.

Not a terribly productive train of thought, I decided. No chutes aboard. Fly the plane.

It seemed like two hours — actually about six minutes — before we reached the bottom of the cloud deck. We broke out of the clouds at 1,100 feet AGL but were still unable to maintain altitude. Airspeed now read zero. Not that it mattered; I wasn't going to believe the ASI no matter what it said at this point.

The windshield and side windows were iced over and we could only see  left, right looking behind, and nothing forward. I'd landed once before using the GPS to align to the runway so I thought I could do it again. That gave me some confidence, and I needed all that I could get.

When we went below 600 feet Gail and I looked desperately for a place to set down, I had told her we might want to take our chances on a road or field as we were getting down pretty low and I didn't think we'd make the runway,. But there wasn't anywhere else to go. No roads or fields, just trees and swamp. Our decent rate was down to about 100 FPM or less now, and seemed to be getting better. Unfortunately the visibility was only just over a mile so our ability to see possible landing sites was limited. I knew I had to keep on the GPS course to the runway. I couldn't turn away just because I thought I saw something.

Center relayed through the airliner a request for what approach I wanted. This struck me as hysterically funny. Here we are, about 400 AGL without a VOR signal, 8 miles GPS from the airport, and Center wants to play it by the book.

Tell Center 07P is 400 AGL and has no forward visibility due to ice on the windshield. We're going to align to the runway with GPS and hope we don't hit anything.

The airliner relayed Center's reply:

07P climb to 3,100 as soon as possible to minimum IFR altitude, if able. Be advised there are towers east and north of the airport

Great, just what I needed: towers! Makes the prospect of missing the airport even more delightful, I thought to myself.
Things started getting better. Three miles out I was able to climb some as the ice was coming off a little at a time. A three-inch hole had started to defrost near the bottom center of the windshield. I got up to about 500 feet AGL but decided to increase airspeed rather than altitude for the remaining few miles. We had been riding at just over minimum controllable airspeed for a long time and I felt better going just a little bit faster.

The GPS did its job, again, and we soon were dropping down to the runway. The GPS showed a 100-knot ground speed over the threshold and I still had power at 100%.

When only a couple of feet above the runway I pulled power back just a little and pulled back on the yoke enough to maintain flight. Wrong, the plane stalled and hit the runway like a ton of bricks. I had taken the precaution of asking my wife put her coat over her face and fold her arms to protect her head. I didn't think I would be able to control the overweight skinny legged milk stool at that speed, but I was wrong about that, too.

I braked hard. I couldn't see much out the little hole defrosted on the windshield so I wanted to stop real bad. Then...we were stopped. On the center of the runway. In one piece!

Large sheets of ice were falling off the bottom of the wings and crashing into pieces that scattered down the runway. I turned around to see fire trucks and police cars waiting with all their lights on sitting on the ramp. I had not noticed them before, They were not in my three-inch view path, I guess.   Hey! We made it!!

I thanked the pilots of the holding airliner, and I meant it. I don't know if they were trying intentionally to be calming or assuring, but they were. The Center controller had been cool and professional, sympathetic to my situation and impressively quick in putting the airliner overhead to keep me in communication. I thanked him also. When the airliner relayed we were down and okay, you could hear the relief in everyone's voices. Mine too.

And I thank my wife who, after helping to bust the remaining ice off the airplane, was brave enough to get back in and fly back with me when I really needed someone to fly with.

"Unforecasted freezing rain" said the FAA inspector investigating the incident about a month later. I'm okay with that, there was no way I could tell it was freezing rain at the time. I felt particularly good about the "unforecasted" part — at least the Feds didn't have known icing to hang my ticket on.

In any case, I promised they'd never hear my name and "Ice" in the same sentence again, and they were okay with that.

I guess you could say I learned a lot from that one.

Hunt & Ski Adventure

I never started out trying to create any adventure beyond going into the woods and hunting for a few hours on the 4th day before the 2010 deer season ends.   Starting at 1pm it took longer than expected to gather up my gear and get loaded up for the 3/4 mile journey down the road to the north parking lot of the Linwood School Forest.       Hunting in this section of the forest is not permitted, but the groomed cross country ski trails that run next to the Wildlife Managment Area seem too inviting to ignore.  It's a  1700 yard walk from parking to legal hunting area now that the gates have been closed due to snow on the unmaintained roads.

In the parking lot at 2:30pm I started putting on my snow camo bibs and jacket, and threw the new TenPoint crossbow sling over my shoulder.   I snapped the 30 year old cross country skis to my boots and started down the trail - one I haven't been on for many years.   Soon after starting I came across a couple of skiers headed toward me.  They had stopped on top of the hill I was just starting up.   I stepped to the side and called out that it would take me a while to pigeon walk up the hill so they may as well come down rather than wait for me.   The woman stayed on the top of the hill while the man started down the trail obviously out of control and inexperienced on skis.   He crashed into the snow at the base of the hill but said he was generally uninjured except for his pride.   The woman called down to say she would take off her skis and walk down - which she did.    I stared up the hill pigeon walking the edges of my skis.   Not bad I thought to myself after cresting the hill.  I thought I might be more winded than what I was.   Now comes the unexpected part - going down the other side of the hill.   For the most part it wouldn't be to difficult I thought,  I was once a fairly accomplished down-hill skier and would often be labeled a 'hot-dog' on the hills.   That was a long time ago.   As I picked up speed and started challenging my balance I looked down trail to discover that right at the base of hill was a 30 degree turn to the left.   Fortunately for me others had also zoomed down the straight section and were not able to successfully navigate the radius of the trail making for a fairly well traveled alternative route out into the now frozen and snow covered marsh.   Still standing as I slid to stop in the deeper snow I felt a sense of accomplishment as I had not down-hill skied in maybe 20 years.    Several more up hill walks and down hill terror runs followed as I made my way to where I could leave the trail and cut cross-country over a marsh and into the legal hunting area of the Gordi Michelson Wildlife Management Area.

The snow was plenty deep and my skis would help support me to only sink in about a foot when off-trail.  Very much a contrast from the groomed x-country trails which are very hard-packed but torn up from what looks like a large heard of deer that must walk these at night.   Well used deer trails crossed the trail every few yards.  One would think it impossible to not stumble on deer in these woods - but so far I had seen nothing.

Arriving at the edge of the WMA and the Forest I propped my skis and poles against a tree and went off on foot for another 50 yards where I came across a area with significant sign of where deer had been bedding down and a freeway style deer trail running through the wooded area between open marsh and open field.   This is the squeeze area where deer would have to pass through if they wanted to stay in the protection of woods when moving from the hunting area to the non-hunting area where they are safe, but is lacking for food.   I found a fallen tree in a brushy area that would mask my presence and keep me within 40 yards of either edge of woods or that well traveled trail.    It's now nearly 4pm.  

I loaded my crossbow using the hand crank to pull back the 185 pound string to its cocked position and inserted a bolt (arrow).   I sat quietly for about and hour, then stood leaning against a tree for another half hour or so.   It gets dark quickly in the woods.  One minute your thinking its still good - the next your looking for a flashlight.

There comes a time when you think 'its over' and you start to arrange your gear for the trek back to the truck.  I dismounted the bolt in the crossbow but would leave it cocked as I had nothing 'soft' to fire a unloading bolt into.    I found my skis and poles and started down the trail back towards the north parking lot.   This is when it started to get interesting.

I thought there might be some moonlight to work with - but my night vision didn't seem to be kicking in and I found it difficult to stay on the groomed trail.   I did happen upon my off-trail track coming across the marsh but I decided to stay on the groomed trail as I thought it would just circle the marsh and bring me back to where I wanted to be on the other side.   That turned out to be wishful thinking and it wasn't to much longer and I realized that I was approaching the south parking lot and not going in the right direction at all.   Recalling that there would be a branch or split near the south entrance that would take me back to the north I continued on until I found the second groomed trail headed back the way I needed to go.    What I had not counted on was that this alternate route was more of a advanced trail - where on the way in during daylight I was on the 'easy' trail - I was now heading down the advanced trail, in the dark.   I dug my new headlamp out of the new fanny pack and with it in 'floodlight' mode I could easily see the ski track and trail - for about 20 feet ahead of me.    Did I mention this was the advanced trail?   Not long after starting I discovered why it was marked as advanced.   Starting down a moderate grade I was able to coast and needed to make very gentle turns.  As the hill became steeper, the turns became tighter and my speed was increasing significantly.     Snowplowing on cross country skis is somewhat of a art as without any heel attachment keeping the skis from crossing each other is a bit of a challenge.   At some point I gave up on attempting speed reduction and focused on stability vs. velocity.  It was just about the same time I started picturing myself falling in the snow and pushing a broadhead through my throat.   Steady - steady - Zoom!  I was really hauling butt down that hill!   Manuevering through the two turns I coasted maybe 30 yards across the flat at the bottom of the marsh.  I think they could hear me yelling Wahoo! all the way out to the parking lot.  

The hills and turns after that one were not nearly as difficult - or possibly I was just less afraid of them after conquering the first big one.   I seemed to have a little more energy as I skied towards the truck, it seemed like I could have turned around and done it all over again.

Was a good hunt, and a good ski.   I didn't bag a deer, but I made it back to the truck without stabbing myself with a arrow while crashing in the woods in the cold black night.