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I've enjoyed the tales of ag work and appreciate your experiences. I'm a low-time pilot just getting started in the world of flying and love to hear about every aspect! That said, I have to ask if you see any failure in the decision making process through the events described above . . .
At 16000 without ox and recognizing that hypoxia is probably setting in, flying across mountains where you expect to hit mountain wave turbulence, hungover, night setting in with no safe 'out' in a single engine plane without an ELT over mountainous terrain, frigid temps with no heat, and failing to recognize that you're losing time (and daylight) as you fly East?
I'm more than happy to recognize that you're a better stick and have a lot more flight time than I do, but don't you think there were some serious, uncalled for risks undertaken there? (Not to mention that the FAA has something to say about flying above 14000 without pilot oxygen - and they know everything!
)
Not trying to be a pain, just curious . . .
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Well of course you're not a pain and I don't mind you asking. Hey, I've done some dumb things before. And any other relatively high-time pilot will tell you the same if they're honest. And you'll probably do a few yourself before it's all said and done.
But you get smarter. Or you die. It's just that simple.
I'm well aware of the position in which I not to brilliantly placed myself. And that's why I related the story. I've posted the fact several times, and I'm sure that I'll post it again, that it is best to learn from other's experience as opposed to learning it yourself, usually the hard way.
I ended up in that position because of a simple error, a minor omission, a broken link in the decision making process. It might make you think. I hope it does. But this was not an intentional disregard for the law as you'll soon see.
Now pardon me while I write a novella.
Which is something that I tried to avoid last time with the unintentional side-effect of making myself look rather unprofessional.
Here's the deal. I departed West Helena, AR and flew the Walter Fat Cat to the National Agricultural Aviation Association Convention (the Crop Duster's Convention) in Reno, NV. The aircraft was being used as a static display in the Convention Hall. It was an honor to be asked to fly it out there and I love doing stuff like that.
As I noted, it was in December so it was cold. Way cold. And getting dark early. I flew from Reno to Henderson on the first day out on my way home. I have family that lives in Vegas, so I spent the night there and partied with my cousin that night. I slept in the next day and then hung around with my cousin until I felt that I was ready to head on out.
Important note here. I would literally kick a pilot's ass if he (and maybe she) were flying impaired by alcohol or drugs in my presence. And I would never, never, EVER put myself in an aircraft in a knowingly impaired condition. As a matter of fact it was my deliberate delaying of my departure to make SURE that I was ready to go that caused me the problem. I realize now that the way I worded it made it appear that I was hungover in the aircraft and that's what caused the problem. I was simply less than concise in my written description of the event. It was my delaying until I had OVERCOME the hangover which caused me grief. When I spooled up I was 100%, I can assure you. But my concern for my physical condition had caused me to delay departure and THAT's what I meant by the hangover being the root cause of my dilemna, that of neglecting to take into account the fading daylight. NOT because I was hungover in the aircraft. I'm sorry that I mistakenly gave that impression and after rereading what I wrote I do realize that I made myself look like a freaking idiot. Rest assured that was NOT the case.
So off I went. Due to my lack of supplemental O2 and heat it was necessary for me to fly southeast, just skirting the southern Rockies, and actually flying in the lee of the peaks where the mountain range meets the high plains. And I'm gonna tell you right now that is a desolate area. Terribly desolate. Unforgivingly desolate. And every bit as beautiful as it was desolate. But this was my intended route of flight, that's how I had gotten out there in the first place.
Once I had been aloft for several hours I began to realize that I was not going to reach my intended destination (I think I was planning Gallup, NM, don't remember for sure) before dark. So here's the deal. My mistake, my neglecting to take into account the quickly fading daylight, which normally isn't a big deal, had reared its ugly head. Hell, I knew I lost light going east. I'm aware of the earth's rotational effects relative to the sun and its effect on the phenomena of night and day, but what can I say? I just forgot. I was having too much fun.
But this wasn't something that I didn't realize until the last second. I knew almost two hours before sundown that I was going to have to modify my plans. It's not like I went "oh s**t, it's gonna get dark" and right then it got dark. I was aware of my situation and acted as I saw best. I was not particularly happy about it, but it's certainly not like my situation didn't dawn on me until it was to late. I wasn't scared. I was more annoyed than anything. Hey, plans change.
Fuel was not a problem. The aircraft had been modded so that I was able to store fuel in the 500 gallon hopper which normally held chemical or fertilizer. I had over ten hours of fuel on board. No worries there. But the Cat had no lights other than position lights. So I could legally fly after dark. But other than that I had no instrument lights, no cabin light, no landing light. I was negative transponder, negative ELT, negative attitude instruments. My radio was an Icom A22 handheld. I had a Garmin 195 GPS and I had sectionals and WAC's which don't really help if you can't see them. Of course I had several flashlights just in case this situation arose. Equipped as I was I could legally fly in the dark but just because one can legally do something doesn't necessarily mean one should.
Now remember, this is an ag plane. I didn't take off in some heap of junk with a bunch of inoperative equipment. I was flying a special mission Restricted Category aircraft which was simply not equipped like even a Cessna 150 would be. Nevertheless this airframe had less than 30 hours on it since rebuild. The engine had less than two hundred hours on it since new. It was a beautiful fine-running piece of $500K machinery.
It was in this at this point that I had to make a decision. Due to the westerly winds I couldn't do a 180 and reach a populated airfield before dark. As a matter of fact there was no way that I was going to make ANY inhabited airfield before dark flying my present course along the border of the mountain range. So I had to make a call. It was obvious to me that I could abandon my present course, fly over the mountains and by doing so I would be able to reach Las Vegas, New Mexico just at dusk. Either that, or I could stick to my present course of action and fly on in the dark until I came to a suitable landing site. I wasn't worried about landing with no light, I've done that on my home strips more times than I can count. But to be flying across the desolate high plains of New Mexico at night with just two flashlights between me and a dark cockpit wasn't something I was thrilled about. I figured that worst case scenario I wouldn't reach Las Vegas, NM before nightfall in which case I would be in the same situation if I decided to not fly over the mountains. Seemed like a no-brainer. So I sucked it up, started climbing and turned towards the mountains.
A couple of notes here also. I was NOT at 16K the entire time. As a matter of fact I only found it necessary to climb that high one time to skirt a ridge, which is when I had the encounter with the violins and the turbine. But I'll admit, when I had that weird sound effect experience I got a bit scared. Certainly not panic, but it was that cold chill that starts at the top of your head and just washes over you from head to toe. Not a pleasant feeling. And yes, I could feel the altitude while that high. It wasn't the first time I've felt it. I've rapidly decompressed to 20K before. I was impaired but I handled it better than most of the others in the decompression chamber with me. I functioned to the safety instructor's satisfaction, albeit slower than normal, at 18K. I had a reasonable expectation of how my body would respond.
Most of the time I was between 12K and about 13.5K. But take my word for it, it was not a relaxing flight. Beautiful yes. Relaxing no. Remember, I'm an ag pilot. My home field elevation is 310' MSL. I live in the flatlands. So suffice it to say that I don't have a heck of a lot of mountain time in my logs. That being the case I was probably more tense than I really needed to be. As for mountain waves, well, there were no indications of them to dissuade me from the start. So don't think that I just went bimbling off across the Rockies in 40kt sustained gusts and freaking standing lenticulars all over the place. It was actually a decent day.
Las Vegas, NM lies just on the eastsoutheastern edge of the abrupt rise of the Rockies. It is nestled in right against their base and because of the late afternoon/early evening timeframe the town was wrapped in the shadow of its mountain host to the northwest. When I descended from that last ridge I entered the shadow. It was a wild effect. For a second it was almost as if I went blind when I dropped from the light of the sun to the shadow of the mountains. And it was one of the most awesome things I've ever seen. KLVS is about five miles east of the town, out on the rolling high plains. I continued my descent from the mountain ridge to the airport, just barely in the sun, and I could see the shadow chasing me to the airport out of the corner of my eye. Man, it's hard to describe how closely that shadow chased me. I flew a tight pattern, looking down at one of the most beautiful runways I've ever seen. I entered on a dw to the southeast and finished up landing back to the northwest, into the sun. And the shadow caught me just as my mains touched down and passed on behind me to the east. And it was dark then. And you have absolutely no freaking idea how good it was to be on the that damn runway.
To top it off, I got a ride into town from a rich New Mexico Cowboy Lawyer who had landed about 15 min. before me. I put my stuff in this dude's beautiful Jaguar and cruised into town looking for a room. Stayed in this circa 1880 hotel which had been totally refurnished, the Plaza Hotel. It was an awesome place and I went down to the bar and drank a beer where some of the most notorious gunslingers of the Old West had partied. One of Las Vegas, NM's claims to fame is that it was the stomping grounds of Henry McCarty, alias Kid Antrim, alias William H. Bonney, alias Billy The Kid. Sherrit Pat Garrett had probably sat there in the bar where I ate supper and unwound.
What a place, the town is just as it was in the late 1800's. I slept good that night and suffice it to say that I was up bright and early the next morning and got an early start on the day. The sun goes down earlier as you fly to the east, you know that? I guarantee you I'll damn never forget it.
If I'm not mistaken it's not too far from Taos, NM. If any of you ever ski there I would highly recommend that you check out Las Vegas if you can, and stay a night in the Plaza.
A couple of things come to mind about this. First, it might seem that I am hangar flying with you guys here. I'm not, believe me. I've got some pictures I'll post to show you. One of them I'm using as my avatar right now. I took this self-portrait while in the Fat Cat on that trip.
Second, I think it's important for me to make a few comments. Most of my hours are typical flight hours, or at least as typical as it gets for a helicopter pilot cum crop duster. But I've done some pretty amazing things.
And by relating these stories I'm walking a thin line. You guys have never met me in person. Since I'm telling these stories that are from some of the highlights of my experience, I run the risk of appearing to be a cowboy. Believe me, I'm not. I'm a straight shooter and I have little tolerance for stupidity, in others as well as in myself. When I'm sitting here at my computer I can relax and I enjoy writing. But when I strap my airplane on it's a different story. I have a beautiful wife and a beautiful three-almost-four year old daughter. I have no desire to take what I consider to be unnecessary risks.
However, I think it's safe to say that, due to my job, my comfort level (when I'm the one flying) is probably a lot different than some of yours. I mean, what I would judge to be an acceptable risk might be a bit more than some of you would prefer. But know right now that I would NEVER willfully disobey the FAR's. But in this particular case, I, as PIC, had to make a decision. I thought when I took out over the mountains that I'd avoid busting altitude by skirting the peaks. But after getting twenty miles into the bad rocky pointy steep slopey stuff I made a decision that I was not going to potentially jeopardize the safety of the flight by turning into a headwind and flying back to a point which would undoubtably leave me flying in the dark, somewhere I had absolutely NO desire to be. So the decision I made in the interests of the safe continuation of the flight demanded a temporary deviation from the FAR's, as is my, and every other PIC's, right. I was up there for less than five minutes or so and then I was back to a compliant altitude. Granted that was less than one thousand feet AGL, and while still in my comfort level I wasn't blind to the fact that there are safer places to be.
But I made the right decision.
Oh yeah, and you bet your arse I filed a NASA form first chance.
