The Lesson I didn’t learn in Flight School

During flight school, everything seemed relatively predictable. Study hard, complete required reading, watch a few Youtube videos, and put what you’ve learned into practice. I really felt like I had a good grasp on things. Boy, was I in for a wake-up call…

You see, I had thought that thorough planning, practicing good judgement, and staying proficient was everything I would need to do to continue to be a safe and competent pilot. I knew that earning my private was “a license to learn”, but little did I know I had yet to experience the most important lesson which I didn’t learned in flight school.

For me, that lesson came January 14, 2018. It was a cold day in Washington, and like many others, I had the familiar itch to head to the airport for a leisure day of flying. The sky was clear, offering an unobstructed view of the beautiful cascades. It was sure to be a great day in the Pacific Northwest.

Getting the day started, I searched up the METARs for Boeing Field Airport. “Ten statue miles of visibility and clear skies” was all the confirmation I needed to optimistically grab my flight bag and head to Starbucks, beginning my usual morning routine. 

My roommate, Brittany, was joining me for the flight. The car ride over to the airport was filled with fun conversation of our exciting days plans. It was a welcomed break from our usual lazy weekend routine, lounging around the house. Attempting to make the trip worthy of the 100 dollar hamburger, we decided that Portland would be the perfect destination for our Sunday adventure.

Light conversation helped pass the time en-route as we passed alongside Mount Saint Helens. Then a strange noise stopped me mid-sentence.

“Hold on a second…” My words tore through the cabin.  

“Do you hear that?“ I asked Brittany. The next twenty minutes became one of the most harrowing moments of my life…

It started off as a subtle skipping of the engine. My ears intently listened, hoping to once again hear even a small change comparable to what I had just heard. I leaned over to enrich the mixture hoping for a simple fix. Maybe detonation or pre-ignition could be the culprit? 

What began as a small insignificant faint drop in RPM and strange engine noise, in minutes became an engine sputtering for life. I panicked.. 

My initial reaction was to look to Brittany and remind her to stay calm. “Everything was going to be fine” I doubtfully reassured. I really didn’t know what to do. With every second the steady engine roughness edged closer to, what felt to be, a certain powerplant failure. We were terrified. 

I started running through my memory items. There wasn’t a second to spare. I anxiously adjusted the mixture setting, checked the primer knob, and made sure the fuel cutoff valve was in the “ON” position. “What could this possibly be?” My mind raced.

I frantically called Seattle Approach. “We’re experiencing engine trouble” my voice quivered.

At this point, I began circling fields just 3,000 feet above ground level. Six minutes, I thought. Six minutes from the time this engine quits until impact of a forced landing below. Time slowed to milliseconds.

We started losing altitude as the 100 horsepower, Continental O-200 engine struggled to push out even one more cycle of the pistons.

“Strom airport is located five miles to your nine o’ clock position” Air Traffic Control advised.

The airport was tucked deep in a valley just north of Mt. St. Helens. I knew mountain waves would, likely, generate windshear through the rugged terrain. It wasn’t exactly a great option, especially with a dying engine, but it was an airport. It was the only option… 

Descending dangerously close to the terrain below, my gut sank, witnessing the distinct shapes of pine trees creeping closer to our crippled airplane. Thrown around in the unforgiving turbulence, I looked to Brittany to make sure she had her seatbelt on. We were preparing for the worst.

Then, as all hope of a miracle began to fade, a random voice broke radio silence.

“TRY THE CARB HEAT!” exclaimed a Southwest Airlines flight overhead.

They had heard my radio call and quick-wittedly offered a helpful tip. I had thought to try it, but hesitated, knowing that a reduction in RPM would, surely, kill the engine. Out of options, I reached over and pulled the carburetor heat. Instantly, the engine groaned, sending melted ice through the cyclinders. 

Then, as quickly as everything began, the engine returned to normal. Relieved, I thanked the Southwest pilots and ATC, quickly climbing to a safe altitude, diverting to a nearby field. Brittany and I were finally safe.

A Critical Flight Safety Lesson

Looking back, it seems almost laughable that I missed, what should have been, the intrinsic action of cycling the carburetor heat. I was, in fact, familiar with the effects of induction icing. The countless FAA practice exam questions I had studied before my private pilot exam made it almost impossible not to! Strangely; however, this wasn’t the key lesson I took away from all of this.

The biggest lesson I took away from this incident was the importance of emergency management and preparedness. It all comes back to how we train during flight school. 

Dr. Doug Farrow said it best: “To err is human. To recover indicates good training.”

When I was 6,500 feet over Washington, the engine had began running rough. Instead of pulling out my checklist and declaring an emergency with ATC, like I was taught, I decided to attempt to handle it independently, exacerbating the severity of the situation and wasting critical time. I failed to utilize what training I did have. 

As a student pilot, I can’t say that I ever received “bad training”, but this situation did highlight an important shortfall. Situational Based Training (SBT) could have better prepared me to act more decisivly.

SBT is a critical instruction tool that is often underutilized in flight training. I, clearly, didn’t have enough practice. Despite all that I had learned in flight school, I was ill prepared for the challenges I faced that day.

To a greater extent, the failure to manage an emergency situation, unfortunately, claims the lives of many aviators… Often, even cited as a factor to many accidents on the final NTSB report. Motivated to learn from my mistake, I now make a conscious effort to think critically about “what if” scenarios while flying, hoping to better prepare myself for the next inevitable emergency. Another technique I’ve found helpful is to participate in FAAsafety Wings courses, reflect on accident case studies, or even use flight simulators–having a fellow instructor generate various ADM scenarios. The key is to always be prepared. 

My instructor may have taught me the value and importance of carburetor heat, but in practice, the rapidly evolving situation I faced that day, left me clueless and far behind the curve. In real life emergencies, that’s what happens!  You need to be able to act instinctively and make effective use of quick judgement.

The Dangers of Induction Icing

To the point of the scenario which taught me this lesson, carburetor icing can be unsuspecting and deadly. This makes it a very real and dangerous flight hazard. From 2000 to 2011, carburetor icing was cited as the cause or contributing factor to approximately 250 accidents; on average, claiming two fatal accidents every year. Its a statistic I am fortunate to have averted participation. I survived; thankfully, with little more than an embarrassing story to tell. But that isn’t always the case…

Carburetor icing can occur in temperatures as high as 70 degrees Fahrenheit. This can happen as long as there is sufficient humidity in the air to produce condensation in the induction of the carburetor system. As the air passes through the narrowed cylindrical opening, this condensation can freeze– resulting in oxygen starvation of the engine. 

Even on a clear day, just like mine, carburetor icing can form. So make it a habit to regularly cycle the carb heat, if equipped. You may initially disrupt the engines function, but this is normal! Letting the ice melt will soon restore performance. This procedure is especially important when operating at low power settings. This is because insufficient residual heat generated by the engine allows for a higher likelihood of icing formation.

For me, I learned a valuable lesson I will carry with me for the longevity of my career. Remember to always be prepared, study hard, but most of all, train harder. You never know when an emergency will strike, but rest assured, it will happen. Good training is the key. A safe pilot should always be learning.