Around 7 in the evening on September 4, 2020, the Muskogee, Oklahoma (KMKO), pilot-owner of a Cirrus SR22 telephoned his flight instructor to report he was going to fly to Pickens, South Carolina (KLQK), that night. His instructor advised him to wait until morning. Instead, the pilot fueled the airplane, loaded his father, wife, and child aboard, and took off at 8:27 p.m. for the four-hour flight.

As you will have guessed, since you are reading about this in Aftermath and not in I Learned About Flying From That, the flight did not end well. About 25 minutes after takeoff and shortly after crossing the Arkansas border, the 31-year-old pilot, whose in-command time amounted to 75 hours, lost control of the airplane and went down in a remote woodland. All aboard perished.

A few minutes before the impact, as he was climbing to 9,500 feet msl, the pilot contacted ATC and requested flight following. The weather along his route—which, notably, he had last checked with ForeFlight 17 hours earlier—was generally VFR, with a chance of scattered convective activity. There was, however, one patch of rainy weather just to the left of his course, and the controller advised him to turn right to avoid it.

This Article First Appeared in FLYING Magazine

If you’re not already a subscriber, what are you waiting for? Subscribe today to get the issue as soon as it is released in either Print or Digital formats.

Subscribe Now

Featured

On the controller’s display, the target of the Cirrus crept eastward just below the edge of the weather. Radar paints rain, however, not cloud. The flight was over a remote area with few ground lights and the harvest moon had not yet risen, but its hidden glow may have faintly defined an eastern horizon. In the inspissated blackness of the night, the pilot, whose instrument experience was limited to what little was required for the private certificate, probably could not tell clear air from cloud.

As the Cirrus reached 9,500 feet, it began to turn to the left toward the area of weather. Perhaps the tasks of trimming and setting the mixture for cruise distracted the pilot from his heading. The controller noticed the change and pointed it out to the pilot, who replied he intended to return to Muskogee. He now began a turn to the right. Rather than reverse course, however, he continued the turn until he was heading northward back into the weather. The controller, who by now sensed trouble, said to the pilot that he showed him on a heading of 340 degrees and asked whether he concurred. The pilot, whose voice until this point had betrayed no sense of unease, replied somewhat incoherently that “the wind caught me, [but now] I’m out of it.”

With a tone of increasing urgency, the controller instructed the pilot to turn left to a heading of 270. The pilot acknowledged the instruction, but he did not comply. Instead, he continued turning to the right. At the same time, he was descending at an increasing rate and was now at 6,000 feet. “I show you losing serious altitude,” the controller said. “Level your wings if able and fly directly southbound…Add power if you can.”

It was already too late. In a turning dive, its speed increasing past 220 knots, the Cirrus continued downward. Moments later, its radar target disappeared.

In its discussion of the accident, the National Transportation Safety Board (NTSB) focused upon the pilot’s preparedness—in the broadest sense—for the flight. A former Marine, he should have been semper paratus—always ready—but his history suggested a headstrong personality with a certain tendency to ignore loose ends as he plunged ahead.

He had failed his first private pilot test on questions related to airplane systems; he passed on a retest the following week. But this little glitch tells us nothing about his airmanship. His instructor reported he responded calmly and reasonably to turbulence, and was “good” at simulated instrument flight. He had enrolled in Cirrus Embark transition training shortly before acquiring the airplane. He completed all of the flight training lessons, but—again, a hint of impatience with tiresome minutiae—may not have completed the online self-study lessons. The flight training was strictly VFR and did not include night or instrument components.

The airplane was extremely well equipped for instrument flying, but it was a 2001 model, and its avionics were, according to the Cirrus Embark instructors, “old technology” and “not easy to use.” In other words, it did not have a glass panel, and its classical instruments, which included a flight director, were sophisticated and possibly confusing to a novice. The airplane was equipped with an autopilot, and the pilot had been trained in at least the elements of its use.

The airplane was also equipped with an airframe parachute, but it was not deployed during the loss of control. In any case, its use is limited to indicated speeds below 133 kias, and it might not have functioned properly in a spiral dive.

• READ MORE: Dissecting a Tragedy in the Third Dimension

An instructor familiar with the pilot and his airplane—whether this was the same instructor as the one whom he called on the night of the fatal flight is not clear—wrote to the NTSB that the pilot had made the night flight to South Carolina at least once before, and he had called her at midnight before departing to come help him fix a flat tire. She declined and urged him to get some sleep and make the trip in the morning.

“I told him he was starting down the ‘accident chain,’” she wrote. “New pilot, new plane, late start, nighttime, bad terrain, etc….To me, he seemed a little overly self-confident in his piloting skills, but he didn’t know enough to know what he didn’t know.”

He fixed the tire himself and made the trip safely that night. Undoubtedly, that success encouraged him to go again.

We have seen over and over how capable pilots, including ones with much more experience than this pilot, fail to perform at their usual level when they encounter weather emergencies. A sudden, unexpected plunge into IMC—which, on a dark night, can happen very easily—opens the door to a Pandora’s box of fear, confusion, and disorientation for which training cannot prepare you.

There are two clear avenues of escape. One is the autopilot. Switch it on, take your hands off the controls, breathe, and count to 20. The fact the pilot did not take this step suggests how paralyzed his mental faculties may have become.

The other is the attitude indicator. It’s a simple mechanical game. Put the toy airplane on the horizon line and align the wings with it. That’s all. It’s so simple. Yet in a crisis, apparently, it’s terribly hard to do. The fact that so many pilots have lost control of their airplanes in IMC should be a warning to every noninstrument-rated pilot to treat clouds—and, above all, clouds in darkness—with extreme respect.

This column first appeared in the November 2023/Issue 943 of FLYING’s print edition.

The post A Night Flight Leads a Pilot to a Tragic End appeared first on FLYING Magazine.

One of the first questions people ask before they begin flight training is “how safe is it?” If a study recently compiled by the Aircraft Owners and Pilots Association Air Safety Institute and Liberty University School of Aeronautics is any indication, it is getting safer.

The study looked at flight training risks and innovations from 2000 to 2019 and took note of the number of accidents and their causes.

According to the report, loss of aircraft control comprises 54 percent of the fatal accidents that occur during instructional flight. Most of those are attributed to stall/spin events and happen in the pattern, often during a go-around, when the aircraft is at low altitude, high power, and high angle of attack. Overshooting the base-to-final turn has also been identified as a situation that puts a pilot at risk.

In both instances, a stall/spin event is not recoverable because of low altitude.

“The aviation industry has done an excellent job of stall/spin awareness when overshooting base to final,” said Robert Geske, AOPA Air Safety Institute manager of aviation safety analysis. “Similarly, we should stress stall/spin risk during takeoff, climbout, and go-around, and emphasize energy awareness and management during those flight phases.”

In the past several years there has been increased awareness of risk factors in aviation, and flight training is getting safer, according to Andrew Walton, Liberty University School of Aerospace director of safety.

“Sustained efforts by the FAA, NTSB [National Transportation Safety Board], manufacturers, and the flight training community have resulted in a fatal accident rate that is now roughly half of what it was at the start of the century,” said Walton, “From 2000 to 2004, the fatal accident rate averaged 0.49 per hundred thousand hours and decreased to 0.26 in the last five years of the study. However, there remains plenty of work to do, particularly in mitigating the risk of loss of control in flight.”

Other Accident Causal Factors

Accidents attributed to a loss of control during in-flight maneuvering continue to be a factor.

“The FAA’s decision to improve stall horn awareness by changing the slow flight maneuver in the airman certification standards (ACS) may have something to do with this,” the study suggested. “Instead of teaching the learner to perform slow flight with the stall warning activated the entire time and terminating the maneuver with a full stall, the FAA update has learners recovering at the first indication of stall, with more emphasis on recognizing the factors that lead to a stall and maintaining control during slow flight.”

Midair collisions were found to be the second-leading cause of fatal instructional accidents from 2000 to 2019. According to the study, 70 percent of those occurred outside the airport environment, with the majority happening at an altitude between 1,000 and 2,000 feet.

However, the number of midair collisions decreased, which researchers noted coincides with the introduction of ADS-B into the training fleet.

Controlled flight into terrain (CFIT) was listed as the third-leading cause of fatal instructional accidents, although it was noted there was a slight decrease in the overall number.

“Reduced visibility continues to play a role in most of the CFIT accidents, with 13 of the 19 accidents occurring at night and/or in IMC conditions,” the study said. “CFIT accidents largely occurred during maneuvering, followed by enroute and approach.”

• READ MORE: Aviation Safety Report Offers Blueprint During Flight Instruction

Other revelations from the research were that the majority of CFIT accidents happened at night in visual meteorological conditions, and when they happened in daylight, it was often due to inadvertent flight into instrument meteorological conditions or when the pilot was practicing emergency procedures or a missed approach and lost situational awareness, specifically their proximity to terrain.

Fuel mismanagement remains a causal factor in aviation accidents, although the study seemed to indicate that low-fuel alerting systems in more technically advanced aircraft have helped reduce the instances of fuel exhaustion. However, engine failure due to fuel starvation still occurred and was the result of the pilot’s failure to switch fuel tanks or not having the fuel selector in the detent, which stopped fuel from reaching the engine.

Accidents due to component failure of the engine ranked fifth on the list. According to the study, there were 14 events attributed to this, with seven being blamed on improper maintenance, including a fuel filter installed backward another attributed to a carburetor’s missing cotter pin, and one due to poor magneto installation. Additionally, two engines failed suddenly—one due to an exhaust valve failure and one because of a corroded mixture cable that sheared during flight.

Changes in Training

The study also looked at the changes in flight training that may have affected the reduction in accidents. For example, the FAA updated the airman certification standards that required applicants to demonstrate risk management and aeronautical decision-making skills.

Ultimately, the results of the study will be used as a means to develop strategies to mitigate risk and prevent accidents in the future.

The complete report can be viewed here.

The post Is Flight Training Getting Safer? appeared first on FLYING Magazine.

On a December evening, a turboprop Piper Meridian climbed out of Cody, Wyoming, for a 300-mile flight to Steamboat Springs, Colorado. The flight must have been a pleasant one for the private pilot, 42, an orthopedic surgeon who lived in Steamboat Springs. He had a 40-knot tailwind at 25,000 feet and made a groundspeed of more than 300 knots. When he left Cody, Steamboat was reporting 4,500 broken and 7 miles. Every reporting station along the route was VFR. The forecast for his arrival called for VFR conditions with some light snow in the vicinity and some mountain obscuration to the east.

It was dark when he approached Steamboat Springs. Cleared for the RNAV (GPS)-E approach for Runway 32 at Bob Adams Field (KSBS), he began his descent 20 minutes out, turned eastward at the initial approach fix, HABRO, and then northward at MABKY intersection.

This Article First Appeared in FLYING Magazine

If you’re not already a subscriber, what are you waiting for? Subscribe today to get the issue as soon as it is released in either Print or Digital formats.

Subscribe Now

Featured

The design of the approach brings you up a valley between high terrain to the east—where a number of peaks rise above 10,000 feet—and 8,250-foot Quarry, aka Emerald Mountain, to the west. The final approach fix (FAF), PEXSA, is aligned with the runway; the 5.4 nm leg from MABKY to PEXSA, however, is oriented at 353 degrees and requires a left turn of 30 degrees onto the 4.6 nm final approach course.

The field elevation at KSBS is 6,882 feet. Category A minimums are nominally 1,300 and 1¼ with a minimum descent altitude of 8,140 feet. The missed approach, begun at the runway threshold, calls for a climbing left turn back to HABRO at 11,300 feet.

The descent profile specifies crossing altitudes of 9,700 feet at the FAF and 8,740 feet at an intermediate fix, WAKOR, 2.4 nm from the FAF. From WAKOR to the threshold is 2.2 nm. Once passing WAKOR, the pilot could step down to the minimum altitude and start looking for the runway.

The Meridian tracked the ground path of the approach with electronic precision. The profile was not so perfect. The airplane crossed the FAF at 9,100 feet, 600 feet below the required altitude. At WAKOR it was 540 feet low and for all practical purposes already at the minimum allowable altitude for the approach.

At WAKOR, rather than continue straight ahead toward the runway, the Meridian began a left turn, similar to the turn required for the missed approach but 2 miles short of the prescribed missed approach point. The ground track of the turn, executed at standard rate, had the same machine-like precision as previous phases of the approach—but not the profile. Rather than immediately climb to 11,300 feet, as the missed approach required, the Meridian continued to descend, reaching 7,850 feet, less than 1,000 feet above the field elevation. It then resumed climbing but not very rapidly. One minute after beginning the left turn at 8,200 feet and on a heading of 164 degrees, it collided with Quarry Mountain. At the time of impact, the landing gear was in the process of being retracted.

When the Meridian arrived in the vicinity of Steamboat, the weather had deteriorated to 1,200 feet overcast and 1 mile visibility—below minimums for the approach. The National Transportation Safety Board limited its finding of probable cause to the statement that the pilot had failed to adhere to the published approach procedure and speculated that he had become aware of the below-minimums conditions only during the approach. Indeed, he would have become aware of the low ceiling by the time he reached WAKOR because he was already practically at the minimum descent altitude there.

He was apparently unprepared for this unexpected development.

The Meridian was equipped with a lot of fancy avionics that recorded every detail of the approach, and the accident docket includes extensive graphic depictions of those records. (These are not included in the published report.) What is striking about them is the contrast between the undeviating steadiness of headings and the large random fluctuations in airspeed, vertical speed, and altitude, which are evidently being controlled by the pilot. During the last two and a half minutes of the flight, the Meridian’s airspeed fluctuated between 89 and 110 knots and its pitch attitude between minus-5 and plus-10 degrees. Approaching WAKOR, its vertical speed was zero. Crossing WAKOR and beginning the left turn, the vertical speed first dipped to 1,500 fpm down, then, 10 seconds later, corrected to 1,300 fpm up. Ten seconds after that, it slumped again to zero before shooting back up to 1,500 fpm, holding that rate momentarily and then dropping again. The impact occurred a few seconds later.

The pilot’s logbook, which recorded 580 hours total time with 43 hours of simulated instruments and 45 hours of actual, contained four instances of this same GPS approach in the month preceding the accident. In some of those log entries, no actual instrument time was recorded, and at least two of them ended with a low approach but no landing. In some, if not all, of those approaches, the pilot was evidently practicing in VMC. Plots of two of those approaches, one a month earlier and the other a week earlier, display the same precision in ground track as the one that led to the accident, so it appears that he was relying on his autopilot for horizontal navigation.

• READ MORE: When VFR Turns into IFR

Being based at KSBS and having repeatedly flown the approach in good weather, the pilot would have been aware that the terrain below him never rose above 7,000 feet. He might therefore have believed, consciously or unconsciously, that as long as he didn’t get much below 8,000 feet, he wasn’t going to collide with anything. That idea could have factored into his starting the missed approach 2 miles short of the runway. Or perhaps he simply forgot about Quarry Mountain. Or, possibly, he made the decision to miss at WAKOR and began the turn without even reflecting that an important element of any missed approach is the location at which it starts.

His unsteady control of airspeed and pitch attitude, and his failure to retract the landing gear until a full minute after beginning the miss, suggest a pilot unaccustomed to balked approaches and now struggling with a novel situation. Anticipating VFR conditions, he had not filed an alternate and would now have to make a new plan and execute it in the air.

The difference between simulated instrument flying and the real thing—compounded, in this case, by darkness—is difficult for novice instrument pilots to imagine. It is not just a matter of the complexity of the required actions. It is the effect that anxiety, uncertainty, or surprise may have on your own capabilities. What looks like a dry script on a piece of paper can become a gripping drama—comedy or tragedy—when the human protagonist steps onto the stage.

This column first appeared in the September 2023/Issue 941 of FLYING’s print edition.

The post Dissecting a Tragedy in the Third Dimension appeared first on FLYING Magazine.

Most people think that Icarus, human son of the Greek god Daedalus, crashed because wax that coated and formed his feathered wings melted when he soared too close to the sun. But, actually, his retracted legs got glued in the sticky mess, and he couldn’t get his gear down. Thus, the first of many gear-up arrivals.

I was a kid hanging out in the old Lunken Airport control tower the first time I saw one…and it was pretty spectacular. It was the mid-’60s, and a derelict B-25 was heading for the airport with a cabin full of reptiles. Really! Some “wild kingdom” exhibition opening downtown was evidently in financial distress and badly needed to attract a good, paying audience.

This Article First Appeared in FLYING Magazine

If you’re not already a subscriber, what are you waiting for? Subscribe today to get the issue as soon as it is released in either Print or Digital formats.

Subscribe Now

Featured

The pilot called far enough out and told the tower about his cargo. Problem was he’d had to shut one engine down and needed priority to land. By now the press got wind. As he neared the airport, he radioed that he couldn’t get the gear down and elected to land in the grass. The copilot (I’m not making this up) bailed out just north of the airport, and the B-25 skidded to a halt in the grass. It was wintertime and firemen had to unload and incapacitate a bunch of snakes and alligators. The papers had a heyday. I don’t remember if the show made any money.

That was my first but certainly not last experience with gear-up landings and what put it on my front burner is the latest. A friend with a beautiful A36 loans it to a couple guys—one is a pilot for a large corporation who’s probably among the best airplane drivers I know and a pretty good mechanic to boot. I don’t know the other guy, but he recently put the beautiful Beech in on its belly at Lunken. There were claims that “the electrical system was behaving strangely” and, fearing a fire, he landed with no gear, damaging the prop, engine, flaps, and belly skin.

• READ MORE: How Well Do You Know Aircraft Landing Gear?

You can almost bet that any pilot involved in a gear-up landing does two things: They put the gear switch or handle in the “down” position before any rescue arrives and usually have an explanation about why it failed to be down and locked. Almost never did they just plain forget.

If there’s any doubt, you do a tower or airport flyby. Even if it appears to be down, you leave the area and use the emergency gear extension procedure(s) in the pilot’s operating handbook. That’s what happened in a Bonanza with no gear lights I was flying a few years ago. I flew by, went out and cranked it down, and then asked for the equipment on the runway (Why not?). I landed without using any brakes and let it roll out.

The other time was at night with an alternator failure in a retractable gear Cessna Cardinal, totally out of “juice.” I pumped the gear down and could see it, but there were no lights, so I circled the field, hoping for a green light from the tower, but there was nothing. Finally, after watching a corporate guy clear the runway, I landed and, again, stayed off the brakes, letting it roll onto a large, adjacent ramp. When I called the tower on the phone they said, “You did what?” And I responded, “If you guys can’t see any better than that, I’m going to fly my Cub at night.”

These days, there are several aids to total electrical system failures. A handheld transceiver works or, lacking that, keep the telephone numbers of the FBOs, control towers, and approach control you commonly use. I did that a few years ago coming back from Oshkosh, when the generator failed. The landing gear in my Cessna 180 is welded down, so that wasn’t an issue, but at least I could call the tower on my cellphone.

As you might imagine, I’m not always that heroic. As an FAA inspector who did lots of Twin Beech check rides, I rented one of our Part 135 operators’ Beech 18s for proficiency flying with quite possibly the world’s coolest and best Twin Beech driver, Kevin Uppstrom, in the right seat. As we lifted off Runway 18 at Connersville, Indiana (KCEV), Uppstrom simulated a left engine failure by retarding a throttle. I chanted and did the “max power, flaps approach, positive rate, gear up, identify, verify and (simulate) feather.” It was beautiful and, smugly, as we rounded the pattern onto final for a landing, I said, “C’mon, Kev. Admit it. Nobody could handle it better.” He said, “Yeah, so far a great job. Do you plan to put the gear down before we land?”

I guess my funniest gear story involves a rather important CEO of a Cincinnati machine tool company who had a penchant for unique airplanes. He’d owned a single-place Mooney Mite with manually retractable landing gear. But he’d forgotten to use the awkward Johnson bar to extend it before landing. That was before I knew him. By now he was on the cusp of a divorce and rather taken with me (I was nearly seduced by his recently acquired Grumman Widgeon). I was at the hangar after the Mite had been extracted (gear up) from the runway and deposited in his large multi-airplane hangar.

Way before my FAA days, I still knew inspector John O’Rourke, who was walking around the broken bird, pipe in his mouth and clipboard in hand. Mr. CEO was explaining he had no idea why the gear hadn’t extended—he’d certainly put it down before landing. Then the back door of the hangar opened, and the soon-to-be-ex Mrs. CEO came in, surveyed the scene and, in her distinctive upper class, Down East Maine accent said, “Well, I see you’ve done it again.”

I’m not making light of landing an airplane with the gear not securely down and locked. It’s a dreadful experience, but pilots and passengers are rarely hurt. Hopefully, you have hull insurance and knowledgeable people extracting the airplane from the runway without further damage. There’s usually a long wait for overhauled or new engines, props, and repair to other airplane damage. The main problem is ego…and that’s a biggie.

I’ve always loved the memory of a big guy named Ed Creelman, an excellent pilot who flew a Beech 18 for a local paper company. I was nearby as he sat in the Sky Galley restaurant when somebody asked, “Hey, Ed. What happened to your airplane?” Without hesitation, in his signature gruff voice, he answered: “I forgot to put the f—ing gear down.”

He was (and is) my hero.

This column first appeared in the September 2023/Issue 941 of FLYING’s print edition.

The post Gear-Up Landings: There Are Pilots Who Have and Those Who May Have To appeared first on FLYING Magazine.

On June 30, 2019, a Beechcraft King Air 350 twin turboprop, leaving Addison Airport (KADS) near Dallas on a flight to Florida, crashed into a hangar beside the runway. Either the impact or the ensuing explosion and fire killed all 10 people aboard.

The catastrophe was recorded by a number of surveillance cameras, some located not far from the point of impact. Video showed the airplane airborne, initially drifting left, then yawing left to an extreme sideslip angle before rapidly rolling into an inverted dive. The sequence took just a few seconds. Once the left wing had dropped, the low altitude made recovery impossible.

This Article First Appeared in FLYING Magazine

If you’re not already a subscriber, what are you waiting for? Subscribe today to get the issue as soon as it is released in either Print or Digital formats.

Subscribe Now

Featured

The crew had not reported any trouble to the tower. National Transportation Safety Board (NTSB) investigators reconstructed the event by analyzing surveillance videos and the sound spectrum of the engines captured as background noise by the cockpit voice recorder, as well as extracting data from the airplane’s ADS-B and terrain awareness warning systems. They concluded the critical left engine had spooled down for some reason, and the pilot had reacted by pressing on the left rudder pedal rather than the right. Only the combination of asymmetric thrust with added rudder, the NTSB found, could bring the airplane to the extreme yaw angle observed in the videos, as asymmetric thrust alone would not have been sufficient.

The only communications between the two pilots recorded during the accident sequence were an exclamation of “What in the world?” by the pilot flying and the copilot’s statement, three and a half seconds later, that “You just lost your left engine.” (The King Air is a single-pilot airplane. The copilot frequently flew with the pilot to gain experience, but was not permitted to touch the controls when passengers were aboard.)

The NTSB suspected the spooldown of the left engine might have been caused by a faulty friction setting on the left power lever, which could have allowed it to creep backward during the takeoff roll. This is a known susceptibility of King Airs; the power levers are spring-loaded toward idle, each has its own friction knob, and they rely on positive friction to keep them from drifting. The power quadrant was too badly damaged in the post-crash fire to allow investigators to tell anything about the position of the left power lever or the friction settings. Uncommanded power rollbacks on the PT6-series engines can have other causes, however, which would not necessarily be detectable in a severely burned wreckage, and so the attribution to the friction setting remained speculative.

The quadrant frictions are a checklist item, but the CVR recording disclosed no pre-takeoff briefing and none of the expected checklist or V-speed callouts. According to other pilots who had flown with him, the pilot, 71, a 16,450-hour ATP, was “not strong on using checklists” and “just jumped in the airplane and went.” He was, on the other hand, “super strong” on knowledge of the airplane, in which he had logged 1,100 hours. According to the pilot who administered his most recent proficiency check, he had performed well on the simulated engine failure on takeoff. The check ride took place in the airplane, however, not in a simulator, and so as a safety precaution the engine cut, which had been briefed in advance, did not occur until the airplane was safely airborne and climbing. A successful performance under such controlled circumstances did not guarantee success in exigent ones.

The NTSB’s reconstruction of the takeoff showed the pilot had rotated at 102 kias, slightly below the V1 (go/abort) speed of 106 kias and 8 knots below the calculated rotation speed of 110 knots. The airplane was fully airborne at 106 kias and was at around 110 kias when the power began to roll back. The airplane drifted left, reaching a maximum altitude of 100 feet. Three seconds later, it was at 70 feet and the airspeed was 85 knots. One second later, it plunged through the hangar roof.

The standard procedure for loss of an engine in the King Air 350 is to establish a positive rate of climb with a pitch angle of 10 degrees, retract the landing gear, and feather the propeller on the inoperative engine while maintaining V2 (minimum safe climb speed with an engine out) to 400 feet agl. Above 400 feet, the airplane is allowed to accelerate, the flaps are retracted, and the climb continues at 125 kias.

None of this happened, however, because the pilot, in spite of his lifetime of flying experience and countless successful proficiency checks, stepped on the wrong rudder pedal.

• READ MORE: Objection Overruled

There was a time when the NTSB often cited fatigue as a contributing factor in accidents, but at some point it must have become obvious that plenty of well-rested pilots crashed too, so unless a pilot literally fell asleep at the wheel, fatigue could never be proved to have been a link in a causal chain. In this case, the pilot had a history of severe sleep apnea. To the extent that the FAA was aware of it, the agency had taken no action, although in principle the condition could have been disqualifying. The NTSB turned its back on this opportunity to invoke fatigue. “No evidence,” the agency wrote, “indicates that the pilot’s medical conditions or their treatment were factors in the accident.”

I would have expected the NTSB’s finding of “probable cause” to be something like “…the pilot’s inappropriate reaction to a loss of power in the left engine, which resulted in loss of control.” Instead, it blamed “the pilot’s failure to maintain airplane control,” which seems rather vague and generic. Among the contributing factors, “failure to conduct the airplane manufacturer’s emergency procedure” is a little misleading, since he did begin to execute the procedure but bungled it. The agency added his “failure…to follow the manufacturer’s checklists during all phases of operation,” even though the only link between checklists and the crash was the hypothetical faulty friction setting for which there was no material evidence. Two King Air pilots with whom I discussed the accident were skeptical of the friction theory because they said matching torques on two PT6s during takeoff involves enough fiddling with the power levers that it would be impossible for the pilot to be unaware of a sloppy-feeling lever.

I suspect the NTSB wanted to blame the accident on the pilot not being a by-the-book kind of person. None of his associates the NTSB interviewed suggested he was reckless or incompetent—quite the opposite. The problem with pinning the accident on a personality trait of the pilot is that the mistake of stepping on the wrong rudder pedal is not connected in any obvious way to that. It seems more like one of those random human mistakes we all sometimes make—but hope we will never make at a critical moment.

Note: This article is based on the National Transportation Safety Board’s report of the accident and is intended to bring the issues raised to our readers’ attention. It is not intended to judge or reach any definitive conclusions about the ability or capacity of any person, living or dead, or any aircraft or accessory.

This column first appeared in the August 2023/Issue 940 print edition of FLYING.

The post King Air 350 Accident Proved to Be Fatal Misstep appeared first on FLYING Magazine.

Other than Amelia Earhart’s fate, civil aviation has no greater mystery than the disappearance of Malaysia Airlines Flight 370 on March 8, 2014. The Boeing 777-200 departed Kuala Lumpur International Airport (WMKK) in the very early hours of the morning, destined for Beijing. It never arrived.

Having flown a 777 for nine years and having responsibly contributed to the media frenzy as an aviation analyst, the story resonates on a personal level. Perhaps that’s why I take issue with the Netflix three-part docuseries MH 370: The Plane That Disappeared. But more than my own angst, it is a disservice to the families and friends that lost loved ones to focus on theories that defy the facts for the purpose of generating a profit. Spoiler alert: Among other topics, this column summarizes the three conspiracy theories presented.

This Article First Appeared in FLYING Magazine

If you’re not already a subscriber, what are you waiting for? Subscribe today to get the issue as soon as it is released in either Print or Digital formats.

Subscribe Now

Featured

Much of the series’ production revolves around aviation journalist Jeff Wise. While contributing with Wise, on and off air during the media coverage of MH 370, I found him to be affable, articulate, and well-read.

That said, it boggles my mind, considering the irony of his last name, why he would jeopardize his integrity by touting conspiracy theories despite data from credible sources. Initially, the Malaysian government and other aviation experts involved in the search were overwhelmed. Poor communication and a lack of definitive information served to create an atmosphere of skepticism and anger among MH 370 family members. Without concrete answers, the grieving process remained in limbo.

Searches were initially conducted in the South China Sea near the area of the waypoint intersection, where communication with MH 370 was last reported by the crew and civilian radar appeared to have momentarily tracked the airplane after it abruptly turned back toward Malaysia. The first game-changer came with the knowledge that the Malaysian military may have tracked MH 370 on a bizarre northwest heading over the Malaysian peninsula. As the search transitioned from hours to days, a British satellite company, Inmarsat, revealed the significant communication characteristics of the equipment on board the 777.

Apparently, despite the absence of radio communication and an active transponder code, the airplane had been acknowledging reception of a discrete satellite signal, colloquially called a “handshake.” In a startling revelation, this information indicated the airplane had continued to remain airborne long after its last known position. Inmarsat applied additional analysis, backchanneling the great circle satellite arcs of the handshakes utilizing mathematics and geometry. On that basis, it was determined MH 370 continued toward the vast south Indian Ocean. The analysis included various estimated flight times, distances, and altitudes to determine possible points of fuel exhaustion. The calculated search area was almost the size of Australia but refined after more data was baked in, inclusive of ocean currents.

• READ MORE: Malaysian Government Releases Report on Malaysia Airlines Flight 370

Despite an international effort and two extensive search expeditions, the final resting place of MH 370 has never been found. Approximately 20 fragments of what is suspected to be the airplane has been discovered off the coast of Africa, with the most notable piece being a flaperon that washed onto the beach of Réunion Island.

So, irrespective of data-based information and the input of respected subject matter experts, conspiracy theories abound. Widebody jumbo jets don’t just disappear. With the assistance of Wise, the Netflix docuseries presents three of those theories. Note their scant plausibility.

The most popular is that the well-respected and liked Captain Zaharie Ahmad Shah is responsible for a mass-murder suicide. Rumors of discontent with the Malaysian government found their way into the media. Shah’s sophisticated and geeky desktop flight simulator was suspect, especially when it was alleged the FBI discovered a track similar to the calculated route of MH 370. That said, a portion of this track may actually have just been the movement of the simulator’s computer cursor.

Wise proposed a scenario whereupon just as the flight approached the last reporting point, entering Vietnamese airspace, Shah requested his copilot “go into the cabin and get me something,” under the guise that he is plotting a nefarious act. I can’t speak for Malaysian culture, but the majority of pilots make such a request to a flight attendant via the intercom rather than the other pilot.

Anyhow, the copilot finds himself locked out while Shah manually opens the pressurization outflow valve with the overhead switch. Oxygen masks drop for the passengers, while Shah dons his crew mask. The passengers and remaining crew eventually become asphyxiated because of the limited time their masks generated oxygen. The “evil” captain continues flying for at least another six hours and then dives the airplane into the ocean. Crew oxygen supply lasts longer than for the passengers, but it’s very limited, certainly not six hours’ worth. So, the airplane would have to be repressurized. I’ve never deliberately depressurized an airplane, but I can’t imagine it’s a fast process unless you’re ready for major eardrum pain.

The second theory involves two passengers with Russian backgrounds. Wise speculated these operatives gained access to the electronics equipment bay. One disabled communication and obtained navigational and operational control of the airplane through a laptop, while the other distracted crew and passengers. Motive? To distract the world from Russia’s invasion of Crimea in Ukraine. Access to the electronics equipment bay is through the floor of the first-class galley, nearest the forward entry door. The cabin crew would have to be deaf, dumb, and blind to miss the activity. And how does one land a 777 from beneath the cabin floor?

The final and third theory was authored by French journalist Florence de Changy, who speculated that because the cargo manifest included 2.5 tons of electronics bound for China, the U.S. made the decision to shoot down MH 370. The basis for the theory? Two Airborne Warning and Control System (AWACS) aircraft were operating in the vicinity. And an amateur sleuth analyzed satellite photos of what was claimed to be a debris field in the waters of the South China Sea that corroborated this.

Aside from the conspiracy required for such a diabolical plot, the theory ignores the fact that pieces of MH 370 were found on the beaches of African islands far from the South China Sea. Additionally, AWACS aircraft direct fighter jets toward an aggressor and do not engage themselves. So, where did the fighters depart from?

This docuseries would have received higher marks had the conspiracy theories been analytically disputed on air. But if you enjoy good quality cinematography, well-edited B-roll, and melodrama, then by all means tune in for about two hours. If you want credible answers to this inconceivable 21st century mystery, you’ll probably have to wait until the actual wreckage is found.

My apologies to 239 families.

This column first appeared in the July 2023/Issue 939 print edition of FLYING.

The post MH 370: The One That Disappeared appeared first on FLYING Magazine.

Alaskan flying entails decisions and improvisations that pilots in the contiguous U.S. seldom contemplate. Remote locations, rugged terrain, and harsh weather on one hand, and, on the other, the urgent human needs that airplanes fulfill, create a press-on-regardless mentality. It takes a hardy pilot to survive.

In June 2000, near the Yukon River in the state’s southwestern corner, a Cessna 337 crashed shortly after takeoff, killing one such pilot.

The airstrip near the remote town of Marshall then consisted of 1,940 feet of hard gravel surface, 30 feet wide, 90 feet above sea level. The wind was calm, the sky clear, the landscape illuminated by the late-evening twilight of the Alaskan midsummer.

This Article First Appeared in FLYING Magazine

If you’re not already a subscriber, what are you waiting for? Subscribe today to get the issue as soon as it is released in either Print or Digital formats.

Subscribe Now

Featured

There was one witness, not of the crash itself, but of the events that preceded it. The starter motor on the rear engine had failed. The pilot’s companion offered to fly him somewhere to get a replacement, but the pilot, who had logged 600 hours in the 337 and said that he had done single-engine takeoffs in it before, was determined to take off using just the front engine. The pilot and his companion paced out a distance on the runway, and the pilot said that if he was not airborne by that point, he would abort the takeoff.

His companion then watched from beside the runway as the Cessna accelerated. Its nosewheel was lifting off as it passed the abort point. The airplane climbed to about 50 feet, the wings rocked slightly, and it then disappeared behind a low hill. Satisfied that the pilot was safely on his way, the other man left the airport. An hour later, he learned that the pilot had not arrived.

The airplane and the pilot’s body were later recovered from a small lake not far from the runway. The landing gear was retracted, the flaps set at the 1/3 position.

The 337 was equipped with a Robertson STOL kit. The handbook for the conversion recommends a special maximum-performance takeoff procedure. It is to set 2/3 flaps, lift the nose at 44 kias, climb at 56 kias to clear obstacles, then accelerate to 87 kias before reducing the flaps to 1/3 and retracting the gear. Blue-line—that is, single engine best rate of climb—speed is 87 kias at gross weight, and is the same for the Robertson conversion and the stock 337.

The airplane was relatively light. The National Transportation Safety Board calculated that it weighed 3,462 pounds, but that included an implausible allowance of 108 pounds for oil, evidently the result of confusing quarts with gallons. The likely actual takeoff weight would have been below 3,400 pounds.

The Cessna manual gives single-engine rates of climb, at a weight of 4,000 pounds, of 425 fpm with the front engine out and 340 fpm with the rear engine out. (When the rear propeller is not operating, there is excess drag due to separated flow on the relatively blunt rear cowling. The Robertson kit includes some aerodynamic mods to reduce that drag.) Cessna’s rate of climb figures apply at the blue line speed and assume a feathered prop on the dead engine. The propeller of the accident airplane was not feathered, however, because in order for a propeller to feather, it must be windmilling, and it’s pretty certain that the airplane never got to windmilling speed.

The single-engine rate of climb diminishes rapidly at lower than blue-line airspeeds. If the airplane climbs 340 fpm at 87 kias, it will climb only 200 fpm at 60. That is why one is well advised to accelerate promptly to the blue-line speed when taking off in any multiengine airplane.

Neither Robertson nor Cessna published any data or recommendations concerning single-engine takeoffs; in fact, the FAA eventually forbade them. POH guidance for engine-out emergencies assumes that the engine failure occurs after the airplane becomes airborne. The Cessna manual, however, does provide this admonitory note:

“The landing gear should not be retracted until all immediate obstacles are cleared, regardless of which engine is out… Airplane drag with the landing gear doors opened and the gear partially extended is greater than the drag with the gear fully extended.”

The manual cites a 240-fpm reduction in blue-line climb rate with the gear in transit and a dead rear engine. It does not specify what the penalty for a stopped, unfeathered propeller would be. But it is very probable that with the gear in transit, a stationary unfeathered prop, and a low airspeed, the vertical speed would be reduced to zero or less.

We don’t know at what indicated speed the pilot rotated, only that he lifted the nosewheel at the agreed abort point. Presumably he then became airborne. By establishing an abort point on the runway, however, the pilot had, in effect, set up the conditions for a short-field takeoff. Such a takeoff implied a low rotation speed and possibly quite a lot of flaps.

With only half the expected power available, however, the short-field strategy was not ideal. A higher rotation speed and a cleaner configuration would have been preferable. An airplane airborne out of ground effect at low speed accelerates with difficulty. Obviously, the problem is far worse when half the installed power is missing. The way to avoid that situation is to delay rotation until you have plenty of speed and to use little or no flaps, because flaps add drag. At sea level, a 3,400-pound airplane with a 210-hp engine and a constant-speed prop can comfortably get airborne without flaps in 1,900 feet; there was no need to use the special capabilities conferred by the Robertson conversion. In fact, it would have been better to delay rotating until almost the end of the runway.

The NTSB concluded that the accident had been the result of an inadvertent stall, citing as well the “improper retraction of the landing gear” and the pilot’s “overconfidence in the airplane’s ability.” It seems likely that a stall occurred, since, if the airplane had merely failed to climb, the pilot might have ditched it under control in the lake and very possibly survived. (The pilot seemingly did survive the impact, although with serious injuries; the official cause of death was drowning.)

In my opinion, the pilot’s confidence in the airplane was not misplaced. Very probably, it could have made the takeoff successfully if only the pilot had used the full length of the runway and then delayed retracting the landing gear until he reached the blue-line speed. The terrain ahead was low and flat; any rate of climb at all would have been sufficient. By setting an abort point, as if the main concern were the possibility that the front engine would fail, the pilot had inadvertently stacked the deck against himself.

This article is based on the National Transportation Safety Board’s report of the accident and is intended to bring the issues raised to our readers’ attention. It is not intended to judge or to reach any definitive conclusions about the ability or capacity of any person, living or dead, or any aircraft or accessory.

This column first appeared in the June 2023/Issue 938 edition of FLYING magazine.

The post A Skymaster Taking Off on One Engine? appeared first on FLYING Magazine.

Richard McSpadden Jr., senior vice president of the Aircraft Owners and Pilots Association Air Safety Institute, was known for his dedication to analyzing aviation accidents to identify causal factors with the hopes of preventing future mishaps. This information was gathered by AOPA and released in the annual study known as the Joseph T. Nall Report. Sadly, McSpadden was killed in an airplane accident on October 1 in Lake Placid, New York. AOPA has decided to honor him by renaming the report the Richard G. McSpadden Report.

About the Report

The data in the digital report is updated on a rolling, 30-day cycle, providing the most current snapshot of general aviation safety performance. The report is always about a year or two behind as it relies on the completion of investigations by the National Transportation Safety Board (NTSB) and their probable cause. It can take a year or more for the NTSB to conclude investigations.

According to the report, now in its 33rd year of release, there has been an increase in total accidents. In 2020 there were 1,050, compared to 1,124 in 2021. Breaking down the information  further showed there was a decrease in the total  accidents that took place during landings. However, the number of these events that resulted in fatalities increased slightly.

This was not the only disappointing statistic, noted Robert Geske, AOPA Air Safety Institute manager of aviation safety analysis. Geske cited the increase in the noncommercial helicopter accident rate, which rose following two years of decline.

“We are also disappointed to see the lethality rate for weather accidents remain steady at an average of eight per year despite continual efforts to address this area,” Geske said.

Mechanical accidents saw an increase overall but a decrease in fatalities.

Using the Report to Improve Safety

To get the most out of the report, pilots, especially instructors, can review the data to determine what areas of flight are prone to accidents and focus on improving performance. For example, the knowledge that most accidents happen during landing might inspire the pilot to spend more time on their landing proficiency.

• READ MORE: Aviation Safety Report Offers Blueprint During Flight Instruction

Access the report here.

The post AOPA Safety Report Released appeared first on FLYING Magazine.

A Los Angeles-area startup angling to simplify the cockpit for pilots—and which has already taken nonpilots such as Emmy award-winning actor Jon Hamm and U.S. Representative Julia Brownley (D-Calif.) to the skies—just broke serious ground.

Aviation software and safety technology firm Skyryse this week announced it completed the world’s first fully automated autorotation procedure for an emergency landing—a feat certified by Guinness World Records. The flight took place on July 22 with a Skyryse-equipped Robinson R66 single-engine helicopter.

“Every year, more than 400 people lose their lives in general aviation accidents just in the United States alone,” said Mark Groden, founder and CEO of Skyryse. “Fully automated autorotation is just one example of how our technology will bring a commercial grade of safety and beyond to general aviation.”

Skyryse said it has completed “dozens” of automated autorotations. But until a few months ago, none were completely human-free. That changed in July, when the Skyrise-equipped R66 descended gently from altitude to the ground at the company’s Los Angeles-area flight test and performance facility. The helicopter’s two pilots simply sat back and watched.

Skyryse says its goal is to save lives when the engine cuts by bringing commercial-level safety to GA. The company’s autorotation technology is one of many safety features included in its universal cockpit (formerly called FlightOS) that will come standard on all Skyryse technology-equipped aircraft.

According to the Aircraft Owners and Pilots Association (AOPA), noncommercial helicopter accidents have held relatively steady over the past decade at around 80 to 100 per year. While more common than other aviation accidents, that figure is still relatively low. Perhaps the most high-profile case is the tragic death of basketball legend Kobe Bryant, his daughter, and seven other passengers aboard a Sikorsky S-76B that went down near Los Angeles in 2020.

But per the AOPA, 76 of the 87 noncommercial helicopter accidents in the U.S. in 2021—about 87 percent—were pilot-related. Maneuvering and rotorcraft aerodynamics were cited as the cause for nearly half of them.

Though July’s autorotation used a helicopter, Skyryse said its system could be equipped on any aircraft. The startup claims it has the first and only solution that works with the pilot to manage complex emergency procedures, such as engine failure, using a “reimagined” human-machine interface. The two leading causes of GA accidents between 2012 and 2021 according to the National Transportation Safety Board? Powerplant failure and loss of control in flight.

How Automated Autorotation Works

In the rare case of an emergency engine failure, Skyryse wants to take the pressure off the pilot’s plate.

In a manual autorotation, there are typically four steps. The first and most pivotal is the entry, which includes three maneuvers that must be performed in quick succession: down collective, aft cyclic, and pedal input. If the engine fails, a pilot has only about two seconds to get the collective down—otherwise, drag can cause the blade to stall, removing lift entirely.

“If you did nothing, the rotor would stop, and the aircraft would fall out of the sky like a rock,” said Skyryse test pilot Jason Trask.

Next is the glide phase, during which the pilot needs to maintain air speed, trim, and rpm, making constant, tiny adjustments. Then comes the flare, where the pilot pulls the aft cyclic to slow the aircraft down, leveling it as it approaches the ground. 

And finally, there’s the landing: a pullup on the collective and the application of pedal inputs to keep the aircraft in trim, both at the same time. It’s an oft-practiced procedure in rotorcraft training because of the necessity to get it right.

With its built-in-house, redundant flight controls and suite of sensors, the Skyryse system can recognize power failures as they happen. This kicks off a series of automated procedures: lowering pitch, aligning the nose, maintaining level flight, completing the flare maneuver, and landing at the pilot’s desired location. Throughout all of this, the pilot will press a single button.

As of June, Skyryrse has been running a daily flight test campaign with its retrofitted R66, which follows testing with a piston-powered Robinson R44 since 2018. The turbine-powered R66 is the design the company plans to use to achieve an FAA supplemental type certification for its universal cockpit.

In February, Skyryse’s system reached 100 percent means of compliance with the FAA, which the company said marked a significant advance in its certification. Ground and flight testing represent the next major hurdles.

In March, Skyryse said it plans to sell a retrofitted R66 as the first single-pilot, fly-by-wire, vertical takeoff and landing (VTOL) aircraft with IFR certification and capabilities. In its view—and that of many competitors in the space—IFR will be essential for keeping urban air mobility (UAM) aircraft in the air. The firm said Thursday that it expects to unveil the first production helicopter equipped with its tech early next year.

And last month, Skyryse announced the delivery of the first Airbus H130 helicopter from partner Air Methods. It will be integrated with Skyryse tech as part of a 2022 partnership to retrofit 400 rotorcraft and fixed-wing aircraft. Air Methods’ fleet also includes single-engine helicopters such as the Airbus H125 and Eurocopter EC130 and AS350, as well as fixed-wing designs such as the Pilatus PC-12.

Like this story? We think you’ll also like the Future of FLYING newsletter sent every Thursday afternoon. Sign up now.

The post Skyryse’s Automated Autorotation Tech Lands Guinness World Record appeared first on FLYING Magazine.

The National Transportation Safety Board (NTSB) has released its preliminary findings on the fatal crash of a Piper PA-28-161 near Whitesville, Kentucky, in September involving a flight instructor and private pilot candidate on a night flight.

According to the report, the pair flew into a thunderstorm. The event has received national attention because the CFI, Timothy McKellar Jr., 22, made several social media posts during the flight that included demeaning comments about the learner, Connor Quisenberry, 18. McKellar also posted an image of approaching thunderstorms along the route of flight. McKellar acknowledged the storms and the flight continued.

The Timeline

On September 27, McKellar and Quisenberry were attempting a night cross-country flight fromOwensboro/Daviess County Regional Airport (KOWB) to Bowling Green-Warren County Regional Airport (KBWG) in Kentucky on a VFR flight plan. The aircraft, a Piper Warrior, belonged to Eagle Flight Academy in Owensboro. According to social media accounts, McKellar completed his solo at the school in 2020, then finished his training at ATP. McKellar’s Facebook profile lists him as a flight instructor employed at ATP. McKellar had a significant social media presence, and often the posts were about flying.

The NTSB notes that, according to the operator of the aircraft and Quisenberry’s regular instructor, this was the first time he had flown with McKellar. In his Snapchat, McKellar remarks “me and this student should not get along if he was my full-time student. I’ve seen faster at the Special Olympics,” then the camera angle is reversed to show Quisenberry, flashlight in hand, performing what appears to be the preflight inspection of the Warrior. The time stamp of the Snapchat shows 8:39 p.m. as McKellar is heard saying, “C’mon.” He posts that the pair have a three-hour flight ahead. McKellar is eager to get the three-hour flight completed because he has to be up at 4:30 a.m. the next day.

According to the NTSB, automatic dependent surveillance-broadcast (ADS-B) data shows the airplane took off from KBWG around 21:55 local time, climbed to an altitude of 4,500 feet msl, and proceeded on a northwesterly course toward KOWB, on a VFR flight plan. According to SkyVector, the distance between the two airports is 58.6 nm. McKellar posted video of the night takeoff and a portion of the in-flight cruise.

McKellar refers to Quisenberry as “Forrest Gump” and posts that he is “just giving it to him straight up,” to which Quisenberry allegedly replies to the criticism by saying, “I don’t mind you being hard on me. I know I need it.” 

The Weather

METARs from the area at the time of the flight show severe weather with lightning in all quadrants. Additionally, the TAFs from earlier in the day indicate the possibility of convective weather.

At 22:15, approximately one hour after takeoff, McKellar posted an annotated weather image from a mobile-device-based aviation navigation tool. The image shows the airplane’s  position northwest of Bowling Green, Kentucky, along with the planned route of flight to KOWB. Weather radar imagery was also displayed in the image, which had been annotated with a circle around the flight track and nearby weather radar returns and a comment from McKellar about the storms approaching like “angry hornets.”

A screen grab of the post is included in the NTSB report, with attention called to the location of the approaching storms, airplane’s position (blue airplane icon), the planned route of flight (magenta line), and the depicted weather radar imagery with the storms circled in red.

• READ MORE: COMMENTARY – Death by Time Builder

The report notes the pilot contacted ATC at 22:44, and the controller advised the flight of heavy to extreme precipitation at the airplane’s 9 o’clock position, roughly northwest of the planned route. ADS-B data showed that the airplane continued its course, and about two minutes later, McKellar requested an “instrument flight rules clearance.”

The controller issued the clearance and assigned a turn to the east to get out of the weather.

McKellar advised ATC that the airplane was “getting blown around like crazy.” The airplane’s flight track showed a turn to the northwest, followed by a right circling turn. The controller reiterated the heading of 090 degrees. McKellar replied that they were in “pretty extreme turbulence.”

The flight track showed a continuing descending turn to the right. There were no further communications. The last ADS-B position was recorded at 22:49 at an altitude of 2,200 feet. The wreckage, described by the NTSB as a “debris field,” was found spread over 25 acres in a hilly, densely wooded area.

The Wreckage

The NTSB noted that all major components of the airplane, with the exception of the left portion of the stabilator, were located in the debris field.

The aircraft had been torn in half with the forward fuselage, including the cockpit, engine, and right wing located together in the most westerly portion of the debris field. The left wing was located 800 feet away.

The empennage with vertical stabilizer intact was located over a ridge about 200 feet north of the forward fuselage. The rudder was torn diagonally from top to bottom, with the lower portion remaining attached to the vertical stabilizer and the upper portion separated and located near the empennage in the debris field.

The stabilator was torn chordwise just outboard of the hinges, with the right side located 1,500 feet away from the fuselage. The wreckage was recovered and sent to a salvage facility for further examination. The engine displayed impact damage, but the NTSB did not uncover any preaccident anomalies or malfunctions that would have precluded normal operation.

The final report will be issued in a few months after the investigation is completed.

The post NTSB Preliminary Report on Kentucky Fatal Crash Released appeared first on FLYING Magazine.

The Collings Foundation has settled legal claims involving eight of the 10 passengers who were aboard its B-17 Nine-0-Nine when it crashed at Hartford’s Bradley International Airport (KBDL) in Connecticut on Oct. 2, 2019.

Two other passengers reached a deal in 2021. Terms of the settlement, which was mediated by a retired judge, will not be made public, but lawyers for both sides released a joint statement to NBC. 

“While it is our sincere hope that this resolution brings peace and closure to those affected, the Collings Foundation deeply regrets the injuries and losses suffered by the passengers and their families that day,” the statement read.

• READ MORE: B-17 ‘Nine-O-Nine’ Crashes in Connecticut

The NTSB said in its final report the aircraft lost partial power in two engines on takeoff for a fundraising flight and the pilot headed back to the field. The board faulted the pilot for lowering the landing gear prematurely, causing drag that resulted in the plane losing altitude and clipping approach lights before hitting the ground before the runway and colliding with some unoccupied vehicles. It caught fire after coming to rest in a tank farm.

The NTSB also rapped the foundation for lax maintenance practices and dysfunctional safety management system.

Editor’s Note: This article first appeared on AVweb.com.

The post Collings Foundation Reaches Settlement with ‘Nine-0-Nine’ Crash Victims appeared first on FLYING Magazine.

The Government Accountability Office has published a report detailing what it says the U.S. Army and Air National Guard need to do to improve the safety of their helicopter operations.

Responding in part to 10 years of data that revealed 298 non-combat helicopter accidents between the Army and U.S. Air Force components of the National Guard, the GAO studied safety practices within the organizations. The agency analyzed accident data from fiscal years 2012 through 2021. The study also included document reviews and interviews with officials from a number of units

The GAO found that about 45 of the reported accidents in the study were considered serious, meaning that they included fatalities, permanent disability, extensive hospitalization, helicopter destruction or more than $500,000 of property damage. The accidents resulted in the deaths of 28 personnel.

According to GAO data analysis, the accidents were attributable mainly to human error reflecting problems like poor communication, overconfidence and failure to follow training standards.

In its report, the GAO made several recommendations to the secretaries of the Army and Air Force, including the establishment of systems for tracking the implementation status of recommendations.

The GAO also recommended that the Army and Air Force evaluate and update risk management for National Guard helicopter units, develop plans for recurrent evaluations of  helicopter aircrews, and examine the assignment and workloads of unit safety personnel.

Finally, the GAO recommended that the secretaries of both services oversee the development of “a comprehensive strategy that includes goals, priorities, and performance measures to address the challenges” that hinder Army National Guard and Air National Guard helicopter pilot training.

The post Army, Air National Guard Helicopter Accidents a Result of Human Error, GAO Finds appeared first on FLYING Magazine.

The U.S. Coast Guard has released the names of the victims of Sunday’s floatplane accident off Whidbey Island near Seattle. The nine adults and one child are presumed dead. The pilot was Jason Winter. The nine passengers have been identified as Patricia Hicks, Sandra Williams, Lauren Hilty, Ross Mickel, Luke Ludwig, Rebecca Ludwig, Joanne Mera, Gabriella Hanna, and a child, Remy Mickel. They were aboard the 1967 de Havilland DHC-3 Turbine Otter that crashed in Mutiny Bay halfway between Friday Harbor and Renton. 

The search for survivors was called off at noon Monday. The bulk of the wreckage has not been located; however, some personal items believed to have come from the aircraft cabin and a 6-foot-by-18-inch piece of the fuselage with the aircraft tail number, N725TH, were recovered. The aircraft is registered to Northwest Seaplanes, a Part 135 charter and sightseeing company. 

Northwest Seaplanes is a family-owned business that was founded by Clyde Carlson in 1988. The aircraft was en route to Renton. Floatplanes fly between Renton and the San Juan Islands on a regular basis. 

Witnesses to the accident told officials that the aircraft dove straight into the water. Shortly after the crash, the body of a woman was recovered from the water by good samaritans. The body is in the possession of the coroner pending positive identification. 

The Coast Guard searched the area for more than 20 hours, from both the air and water hoping for survivors, but none were found. The average temperature of the water in the Puget Sound is roughly 54 to 60 degrees Fahrenheit. The Coast Guard estimates a person can survive in such temperatures for no more than a few hours.

Witnesses described the weather at the time of the accident as “very windy.” One witness told a local television station that a floatplane trying to land on the water probably would have had damage to the floats.

There are no reports of the pilot issuing a distress call.

During a press conference Monday afternoon, a Coast Guard spokesperson said the decision to call off the search was a painful one, and was made only after the next of kin were notified.

As part of the search efforts, submersible search units were lowered into the water and the cellphones of the passengers were pinged, yet the wreckage was not found. 

According to a tweet from the U.S. Coast Guard, “Coast Guard assets completed 26 search sorties covering 1,283 linear nautical miles and saturating an area of more than 2100 sq. nautical miles.”

What Happened

According to a tweet from Flightradar24, the last ADS-B signal from the aircraft was received at 22:08 UTC and the aircraft was showing a descent of 7,744 fpm. The altitude normally flown by Turbine Otters along this route is approximately 600 feet above the surface.

Whidbey Island has many homes along the beach. The Coast Guard is asking the public to notify them if they see an oil slick in the water or find wreckage. 

The accident came at the end of a busy weekend for the aircraft. Flightaware.com shows the aircraft made several trips from Renton Municipal Airport (KRNT), south of Seattle, to the San Juan Islands to the north. Because the aircraft was equipped with amphibious floats, it could operate from either water or land runways.

On Sunday, September 4 at 9:33 a.m., the aircraft took off from KRNT bound for Roche Harbor (WA09), according to the Coast Guard, though the seaplane base there is W39. The aircraft returned to KRNT, then departed for Windsock (4WA4) on Lopez Island, then to Friday Harbor, back to Roche Harbor, returned to Friday Harbor, and then launched on the accident flight back to Renton.

The aircraft’s last takeoff was from Friday Harbor at 2:50 p.m. local time Sunday. Its last ADS-B report was 18 minutes later near Oak Harbor. The Coast Guard reports the aircraft went down off Whidbey Island, approximately 34 nm northwest of Seattle. 

Northwest Seaplanes posted on its Facebook page: “The team at Northwest Seaplanes is heartbroken, we don’t know any details yet regarding the cause of the accident. We are working with the FAA, NTSB, and [Coast Guard]. We have been in communication with the families. We are praying for the families involved, including our pilot and his family.”

FLYING’s attempts to reach the company for comment were unsuccessful. A team from the National Transportation Safety Board arrived in Seattle Monday night. The investigation is expected to take one year to 18 months.

The post Coast Guard Releases Names of Floatplane Accident Victims appeared first on FLYING Magazine.

Officials have identified the victims of last week’s deadly mid-air collision between a twin-engine Cessna 340A and a Cessna 152 in Watsonville, California. 

Carl Kruppa, 75, and Nannette Plett-Kruppa, 67, from Winton, California, and their dog were aboard the 340. Stuart Camenson, 32, from Santa Cruz was piloting the 152, according to the Santa Cruz County Sheriff-Coroner. The aircraft collided while on approach to Runway 20 at Watsonville Municipal Airport (KWVI) just before 3 p.m. on August 18. All occupants of the two aircraft were pronounced dead at the scene. 

• READ MORE: California Mid-Air Collision Leaves Three Dead

According to the National Transportation Safety Board, the 152—which was believed to be piloted by Camenson—was flying in the pattern when the 340—believed to be flown by Kruppa—performed a straight-in entry to the pattern with intent to land. The pilots were in radio communication with each other. In his last transmission, Camenson noted that the 340 was coming up behind him quickly, and announced he was going to go around. Both aircraft were on final approach when they collided.

Authorities Looking at Speed

Among the factors authorities are looking at is the speed of the 340. An ADS-B record shows the 340 approaching the airport at approximately 180 knots. The normal flap extension speed for the aircraft is 160 knots, and the landing gear extension is 140 knots, so it is unclear if the aircraft was actually configured for landing.

There were several witnesses to the accident. According to the San Jose Mercury News, 26-year-old Franky Herrera of Watsonville said the aircraft were at an altitude of approximately 200 feet when the twin-engine aircraft banked hard to the right, but clipped the wing of the 152. 

A security camera across the street from the airport caught images of wreckage falling from the sky as the 152 spiraled to the ground and came to rest in a field near the airport. Herrera said the other airplane continued for a few more seconds "but was struggling," the Mercury News reported. The twin crashed into a hangar at the other end of the airport and exploded in flames.

There were no injuries on the ground.

A single-engine Cessna 152 with one person on board and a twin-engine Cessna 340 with two people on board collided as they were attempting to land at Watsonville Municipal Airport. https://t.co/4Ktpi6x1FD

— CBS News (@CBSNews) August 19, 2022

The Cessna 340A was registered to ALM Holding LLC and the 152 was registered to Monterey Bay Aviation and was part of the rental fleet at the Watsonville-based United Flight Service.

Multiple agencies responded to Watsonville Municipal Airport after 2 planes attempting to land collided. We have reports of multiple fatalities.

Report came in at 2:56pm.

Investigation is underway, updates to follow. pic.twitter.com/pltHIAyw5p

— City of Watsonville (@WatsonvilleCity) August 18, 2022

According to the FAA registry, Kruppa held a private pilot certificate for both single and multiengine aircraft.

Camenson could not be located in the registry, but family members told local media that he earned his private pilot certificate in 2020 and was an "avid flyer."

Both the NTSB and the FAA are investigating the crash. The preliminary report is expected to be released within a week. The final report could take up to two years to complete and be made public.

The post Watsonville Mid-Air Collision Victims Identified appeared first on FLYING Magazine.

“My airplane!”

I was four days away from my private pilot check ride. My CFI, an Air Force Academy graduate, was with me as I practiced specialty takeoffs and landings at the towered airport. I had just completed the pre-landing GUMPS check on downwind, when he cried out the magic phrase—”I have the controls”—and I replied, “Your airplane!” and let go.

He put us into a steep turn to the left. A nanosecond later I saw why—a Beech Baron was approaching from 45 degrees, on our right and slightly above and behind us.

The pilot of the twin made a radio call announcing entry to the downwind. The tower controller admonished the twin driver that they had “almost run over a Cessna 152 in the pattern.” The twin pilot replied, “I didn’t see him.”

Welcome to the world of the “almost” mid-air. On a good day, the “near miss” becomes a story you tell. On a bad day, you end up on national television.

The Swiss Cheese Model

One of the first things you learn in aviation is that you can do everything right, respecting the weather, your skills, and the aircraft, and you can follow the procedures outlined in the AIM, make the right radio calls, etc., but if someone else does something wrong, you can still pay the price. It’s the classic Swiss cheese model—when the random acts line up like the holes in the cheese, accidents happen.

This statement is particularly poignant in light of recent mid-air collisions—the first in Las Vegas on July 17 involving a Piper PA-46-350P JetProp and a Cessna 172, and the second on August 18 in Watsonville, California, involving a twin Cessna 340A and a Cessna 152. Both accidents happened when the pilots were attempting to land.

According to the FAA’s Airplane Flying Handbook, most mid-air collisions happen in the airport traffic pattern—usually when both aircraft are heading in the same direction. It is often the result of a faster airplane overtaking a slower one, and the combination of a high wing vs. a low wing design resulting in blind spots that prove fatal.

In the Las Vegas event, the pilot of the Piper, which was the faster aircraft, lined up to land on Runway 30R at North Las Vegas Airport (KVGT), despite acknowledging the clearance to land on Runway 30L several times. Overshooting Runway 30L put the Piper into the path of the Cessna 172. The Piper is a low wing and the Cessna is a high wing, so it is possible that their respective wings blocked their view of each other until it was too late.

• READ MORE: NTSB Releases Preliminary Report on Las Vegas Mid-Air

In the Watsonville accident, the pilot of the Cessna 152, who was based at Watsonville Municipal Airport (KWVI), was practicing touch and gos. According to records from FlightAware.com, the pilot of the 340 frequently made flights to KWVI. Based on this information, it would be safe to bet that both pilots were aware of the traffic pattern procedures at the non-towered facility. Judging from the amount of radio traffic LiveATC.com captured that afternoon, Watsonville was busy at the time of the accident, with a few airplanes in the pattern, yet the pilot of the 340 chose to do a straight-in approach.

Speed as a Factor

One of the first lessons learned as a multiengine pilot is to use the word "twin" in your callsign to let people know you are likely faster than any single-engine aircraft in the pattern. Flying a pattern in a twin-engine aircraft requires you to be very much on your game as the speed makes it very easy for you to overtake the average single in the pattern. For this reason, many twin pilots choose to do straight-in approaches at non-towered airports. These are not prohibited by the FARs, but they are often litigated in the court of public opinion on the ramp and in social media as to whether they present a safety hazard. Many pilots prefer not to do them as they feel they can create unnecessary risk.

The ADS-B information from the Watsonville event indicates the airspeed of the 340 was around 180 knots on final approach. The pilot had announced a "full stop landing," however, the flap extension speed for the 340 is 160 knots and landing gear extension speed is 140 knots. At the time this article was published, it had not been determined if the 340 was actually configured for landing, despite the pilot's verbalized intentions.

The pilots of the 152 and the 340 were in radio contact just prior to the collision. The 340 pilot reported a 3-mile final and a 1-mile final, and reported looking for the Cessna 152, which had reported turning base. The pilot of the 152 turned on final in front of the 340. The last transmission from the pilot of the 152 indicated that he could see the 340—either out the window or on the ADS-B, we don't know—and as he noted the 340 was coming up fast behind him, the 152 pilot announced he was going around.

According to eyewitnesses, it appeared the pilot of the low-wing 340 saw the high-wing 152 at the last second, as the larger aircraft banked hard to the right but still flew through the 152 "like a missile." Security cameras across the street caught the wreckage falling from the sky and what was left of the smaller airplane as it spiraled into a field short off the runway. The 340 continued forward, then crashed into the end row of hangars, sending up a fireball.

The NTSB preliminary report on the accident should be available in approximately two weeks.

• READ MORE: Three Killed in California Mid-Air Collision

The Myth: The Tower or ATC Prevents Mid-Air Collisions

There is a commonly held myth—especially among the aviation-challenged—that the presence of a control tower prevents mid-air collisions. While the extra set of eyes and situational awareness provided by the tower is helpful and appreciated, it is not an iron-clad preventative, as proven in the Las Vegas accident where both aircraft had the benefit of a tower.

Most airports in the U.S. are non-towered, also known as pilot-controlled. The lack of a tower doesn't make these airports any more dangerous than a lack of stop lights at every intersection makes them more dangerous than those that have traffic lights.

As long as drivers—and pilots—see and avoid traffic and follow the rules of the pattern, instructions, and procedures, accidents can be avoided.

No matter where we are flying, be it a towered or non-towered airport, pilots are responsible to see and avoid other air traffic —and to act accordingly. Straight-in approaches have their place and must be learned and practiced just like those that require a pattern. Straight-in landings are more common at towered airports, especially as part of an instrument approach, and the first time a learner does one, it's often rushed, despite the use of a checklist. The straight-in approach can deprive you of the cues that help you configure and stabilize the aircraft for landing, such as "reduce engine power abeam the intended point of touch down" and "apply the notch of flaps before turning base." Without these cues, it is easy to get behind the airplane.

When and Where Mid-Airs Happen

One of the common questions after a mid-air is why they can happen on sunny VFR days. More aircraft are flying on these days, so the probability increases—this is particularly true if the VFR day happens at a time of year when VFR days are rare, like in the middle of winter—pilots come out in droves.

According to the FAA’s Airplane Flying Handbook (AFM), mid-airs are more likely in places where aircraft congregate—such as over VORs, popular sightseeing spots, IFR fixes, VFR practice areas and the big Kahuna: in the vicinity of airports, especially during the approach to landing. The AFM adds the sobering information: mid-air collisions are most likely to happen when the aircraft are below 1,000 feet and traveling in the same direction—such as on final approach.

Tools for Prevention of Mid-Airs

• Sterile cockpit for takeoff and landing—if you have a passenger/copilot, let them know the only acceptable conversation at this time is a warning about traffic or other safety of flight issues.
• Pattern entry should be done using published procedures that are airport specific or in the absence of these, refer to Chapter 4 of the AIM.
• When entering on the 45, be at pattern altitude, to avoid descending on to someone or accidentally climbing into someone who is overflying the airport at 500 feet above the published pattern altitude.
• Departure from the pattern should comply with locally published procedures or Chapter 4 of the AIM.
• Listen to and make radio calls per the AIM. 
• Make precise position reports including altitude—example: "Red and white Cessna, 5 miles east of the airport, 2,000 feet, for landing Runway 35."
• Know how to use ADS-B to keep track of traffic around you.
• Get flight following, if able and appropriate when practicing maneuvers.
• Know where the IFR fixes are and keep an eye and an ear out for aircraft practicing approaches—especially on VFR days.
• If the use of a practice area frequency is more appropriate, use it for better situational awareness.
• Keep your eyes outside at least 90 percent of the time and remember, of all the rights worth dying for, "right of way" is not one of them. Follow the right-of-way rules in the FAR/AIM—if in doubt, give way to aircraft with greater speed and tonnage, departing the pattern, and maneuvering to reenter the pattern on the 45.

The post Strategies To Avoid Mid-Air Collisions appeared first on FLYING Magazine.

Three people have been killed in a mid-air collision of two Cessna aircraft in Santa Cruz County, California, according to authorities. 

The accident happened Thursday just before 3 p.m. at Watsonville Municipal Airport (KWVI). The first notification came from a Twitter post from the City of Watsonville.

Multiple agencies responded to Watsonville Municipal Airport after 2 planes attempting to land collided. We have reports of multiple fatalities.

Report came in at 2:56pm.

Investigation is underway, updates to follow. pic.twitter.com/pltHIAyw5p

— City of Watsonville (@WatsonvilleCity) August 18, 2022

The airport is a non-towered facility with intersecting runways, 9/27 and 2/20. According to city officials, the aircraft involved were a Cessna 152 and a twin-engine Cessna 340A. Both were attempting to land on Runway 20 at the time.

There was one person onboard the 152, and two people onboard the 340. All three died in the accident.

Wreckage from the smaller aircraft landed in a field outside the airport. Video of the scene shows the front end of the aircraft smashed. The 340 crashed into a hangar next to the runway.

“We are absolutely saddened to hear about the tragic incident that took the lives of several people,” said a post on Watsonville’s Twitter account. “The City of Watsonville sends its deepest condolences to the friends and family of those who passed.”

No one on the ground was injured.

We are absolutely saddened to hear about the tragic incident that took the lives of several people.

The City of Watsonville sends its deepest condolences to the friends and family of those who passed. pic.twitter.com/DWxBDrjxpi

— City of Watsonville (@WatsonvilleCity) August 19, 2022

ATC Recordings

The 340, tail number N740WJ, was registered to ALM Holding LLC, according to the FAA. The ADS-B data app Flightaware shows the aircraft departed from Turlock Municipal Airport (O15) approximately 74 nm away at 2:32 p.m. and headed straight for KWVI. The aircraft was in the air for approximately 23 minutes.

The 152, N49931, was registered to Monterey Bay Aviation, according to Flightaware, the 152 was in the pattern for Runway 20.

LiveATC captured the transmissions of the aircraft in the pattern at the non-towered airport. 

There were several aircraft in the vicinity of the airport and in the pattern when at 22:07 on the recording, the pilot of the twin announced their intention to do a straight-in approach to Runway 20 at Watsonville. The pilot repeated this transmission at 22:17.

At 24:12 in the recording: The pilot of the 340 reported a 3-mile final for Runway 20. The next transmission is from the 152 pilot who reported turning left base.

The 340 pilot stated: "Looking for traffic on left base."

The 152 pilot responded: "Yeah, I see you, you're behind me."

The last transmission from the 152 pilot is: "I'm going to go around, you're coming at me pretty quick."

Two small planes collided in Watsonville, California, while trying to land at a local airport on Thursday and at least two of the three occupants were killed, officials said. https://t.co/IQ23KTQgM9 pic.twitter.com/M5UeVpnxmw

— The Associated Press (@AP) August 19, 2022

Approach Speed

The next transmission is someone warning the other pilots about the aircraft accident at Watsonville.

ADS-B data shows the 340 in the airport traffic pattern at a speed of 182 knots. The normal approach speed for a 340 in the landing configuration is approximately 117 knots.

In an interview with a local photojournalist, a passing motorist said he saw the 340 approaching the airport and was surprised by how fast it was traveling. He did not see the other airplane until impact, saying the 340 hit the 152 “like a missile,” and the 152 “went end-over-end losing its wing” and the sky filled with debris.

He then described an explosion, fire, and smoke rising from the hangar where the 340 crashed.

The wing of the 152 was recovered from a city street outside the airport and away from the main wreckage.

A witness on the ground told the Santa Cruz Sentinel that the aircraft were about 200 feet in the air when they collided.

The NTSB and FAA are investigating the crash.

UPDATE: The two planes that crashed at Watsonville Municipal Airport collided while attempting to land, the city says. https://t.co/KUM6ndF9s8 pic.twitter.com/VRcUnZSxQT

— NBC Bay Area (@nbcbayarea) August 18, 2022

About the Airport

KWVI has two runways, Runway 2/20 measuring 4,501 feet by 149 feet and Runway 9/27, measuring 3,998 feet by 98 feet. 

The airport was built in 1931 and expanded during World War II when it became an Auxiliary Navy base. It was used by airships for coastal patrol until 1945, and became a training base for fighters. 

After the war, the airport was turned into a civilian field and eventually became the home of a popular vintage aircraft airshow.

The post Three Killed in California Mid-Air Collision appeared first on FLYING Magazine.

According to the National Transportation Safety Board, the copilot of a skydiving aircraft that made an emergency landing July 29 at Raleigh, North Carolina, intentionally departed the aircraft in flight without a parachute. According to the surviving pilot, the copilot was upset about the hard landing that damaged the airplane.

The report, released Tuesday, comes nearly three weeks after the CASA 212-200 was substantially damaged by a hard landing near Raeford, North Carolina. 

• READ MORE: Copilot’s Departure of Aircraft in Mid-Flight Baffles Authorities

According to the surviving pilot—who was acting as pilot-in-command (PIC)—they had flown two skydiving runs, then descended to Raeford West Airport (NR20) to pick up a third group of skydivers. The CASA 212 is a fixed-gear design with a ramp that lowers in the rear to allow for the egress of skydivers.

At the time of the accident, only the PIC and copilot—also known as the second-in-command (SIC) in the report—were on board.

The SIC was flying an approach that, according to the PIC, was “on heading, altitude and airspeed” at Raeford until the airplane descended below the tree line and the aircraft encountered an abrupt and uncommanded loss of altitude.

Both pilots called for a go-around, which the SIC initiated, but he was unable to prevent the aircraft from landing hard on the runway. The impact damaged the right main landing gear. 

The PIC assumed the flight controls when the aircraft reached 400 feet agl and flew a low pass over the runway so airfield personnel could verify the damage, as the landing gear of the aircraft is not visible from the cockpit. 

The personnel subsequently called the PIC to let him know that they had recovered the fractured landing gear on the runway. 

The PIC directed the SIC to declare an emergency and request a diversion to Raleigh Durham International Airport (KRDU), some 78 nm away, for an emergency landing.

Crew Coordinated with ATC

According to the PIC, while en route to Raleigh, the crew coordinated with air traffic control operations and planned their approach and landing at KRDU. The SIC was responsible for communicating with air traffic control while the PIC flew the airplane.

In Live ATC recordings of conversations between the aircraft and air traffic controllers, a pilot aboard the CASA 212 (using the callsign “Shady 2”) is heard declaring an emergency, stating “We have lost our right wheel. We’d like to proceed to Raleigh and make the landing at Raleigh.”

ATC confirmed that Raleigh-Durham was the desired airport and advised Shady 2 to resume its own navigation to Raleigh-Durham. 

ATC asked for information about the home base of the aircraft, how many people were on board, and the amount of fuel. The pilot’s transmission indicated there were two people on board and they had enough fuel for approximately four hours of flying. 

Later in the transmission, ATC asked for verification that a wheel was missing from the aircraft as the result of a landing. The pilot replied, “affirmative.” Another voice replied, “the wheel assembly has been found.” A second voice from Shady 2 explained there was a hard landing and the aircraft went around “and at that point, we lost the wheel.”

A few minutes later, the controller supplied Shady 2 with the telephone number for Fayetteville Approach to call when they were on the ground. The next transmission was Shady 2 checking in as they passed through 3,500 feet.

Pilot: Copilot Became Visibly Upset

The PIC told investigators that there was moderate turbulence during the flight, and that about 20 minutes into the diversion, after conducting approach and emergency briefings, the SIC became visibly upset about the hard landing. 

The PIC stated that the SIC then opened his side cockpit window and "may have gotten sick," and the PIC took over radio communications. The SIC then lowered the ramp in the back of the airplane indicating that he felt like he was going to be sick and needed air.

According to the NTSB report, the SIC "got up from his seat, removed his headset, apologized, and departed the airplane via the aft ramp door."

The PIC stated there was a bar one could grab about 6 feet above the ramp, but he did not see the SIC grab the bar before exiting the airplane.

Next, the PIC turned the airplane to the right to search for the SIC and notified air traffic control that his co-pilot had departed the airplane without a parachute.

The body of the SIC was found a short time later in the backyard of a home some 20 miles from the airport.

The PIC proceeded on course to KRDU, where he performed a low-approach and then emergency landing. The airplane departed the right side of the runway and came to rest upright in the grass. The PIC sustained minor injuries.

The post-accident examination of the airplane revealed substantial damage to the right main landing gear, the landing gear fittings, and the airframe structure where the fittings attach.

The post NTSB Preliminary Report Sheds Light on Copilot Mid-Air Departure appeared first on FLYING Magazine.

The National Transportation Safety Board has released its final report regarding the crash of a Cessna 182 that was part of the Red Bull Airplane Swap stunt.

The stunt, which was streamed on Hulu on April 24, 2022, involved pilots and skydivers Luke Aikins, 48, and Andy Farrington, 39, flying a pair of modified C-182s.

The plan was to fly the aircraft to an altitude of more than 12,000 feet above the Arizona desert. The pilots would then put the aircraft into synchronous steep dives, bail out of their respective airplanes wearing parachutes, and maneuver in freefall in order to enter each other’s airplane. Once aboard, they would recover the aircraft from their descents and land normally.

The aircraft were modified with a range of equipment including aerodynamic brakes to keep them from gaining excessive speed in the near-vertical dive, and grab bars to help Aikins and Farrington get back into the airplanes during the plunge. The 182s each included a custom autopilot designed to maintain an unusually steep descent path.

What Happened

Video of the event shows the aircraft entering the nose down attitude and the pilots departing the cockpits. As Aikins departed the accident aircraft, the nose pitched up and it entered an inverted spin. Aikins was able to enter the other aircraft and fly it to the landing spot.

Farrington chose not to attempt to enter the spinning aircraft and instead descended to the ground via parachute.

According to the NTSB, the probable cause of the crash was a ballast shift aboard the unoccupied aircraft that resulted in it exceeding the critical angle of attack. The aircraft entered a stall and subsequent spin from which it did not recover.

Investigators noted the accident aircraft was equipped with a ballistic parachute that was designed to trigger at an altitude of 1,000 feet. The parachute did activate while the airplane was inverted, but it did not fully deploy. The aircraft hit the ground and was substantially damaged. It was noted in the final report that the NTSB did not travel to the site of the accident.

Because of the nature of the stunt, practice in advance of the streaming on Hulu was not an option, as Farrington stated on the Red Bull website: “There is no way to test it until you do it.”

• READ MORE: FAA Revokes Certificates of Red Bull Plane Swap Pilots

FAA Revokes Pilot Certificates

The FAA noted that Aikins and Farrignton did not have permission to perform the stunt. In a statement issued to FLYING shortly after the stunt failed, the agency noted it “denied the organizer’s request for an exemption from federal regulations that cover the safe operation of an aircraft.” Aikin later admitted in an Instagram post that he had received the FAA denial but he did not inform Red Bull or his team members.

Following the failed stunt in May, the FAA issued an emergency revocation of both Aikin’s and Farrington’s pilot certificates. Neither one will be able to apply for or be issued a new airman certificate for one year. The FAA also proposed a $4,932 fine for Aikins for violating three regulations: FAR 91.105(a) flight crew members remaining at their stations, 91.113(b) the duty of the pilot to see and avoid other aircraft and 91.13 the operation of an aircraft in a careless and reckless manner.

The post NTSB Releases Final Report on Red Bull Crash appeared first on FLYING Magazine.

The National Transportation Safety Board has released its preliminary report regarding the investigation into the midair collision of two aircraft at North Las Vegas Airport (KVGT). The accident happened on July 17. Four people were killed when a Piper Malibu Mirage and a Cessna 172 collided while on approach to Runway 30R around noon in clear, sunny skies.

The airport has parallel runways: 30L, measuring  5,000 feet by 75 feet, and 30R, which measures 4,199 feet by 75 feet. 

The approach end of Runway 30L is approximately 1,000 feet north of the approach end of Runway 30R. Runway 30L is a non-precision runway. Runway 30R  is a precision runway with aiming point and touchdown zone markings, which help distinguish it visually from 30L.

A husband and wife were aboard the Piper. According to a radio transmission made to another pilot in the pattern, the couple in the Piper were flying in from Idaho. The occupants of the Cessna were a flight instructor and learner in the pattern for Runway 30R, practicing takeoffs and landings.

According to the NTSB preliminary investigation, both airplanes were in contact with the tower at the time of the accident. 

The Piper had been cleared to land on Runway 30L and had acknowledged the clearance three times in three separate transmissions, but continued flying toward 30R.

The collision occurred approximately 0.25 miles from the approach end of Runway 30R.

Accident Timeline

1156:08

Piper N97CX is on an IFR flight plan and approaching from the north. Nellis Radar Approach Control clears N97CX for the visual approach at KVGT and instructs the pilot to overfly the airport at midfield for left traffic to Runway 30L. 

1158:26

Air traffic control responsibility for the flight is transferred from Nellis Radar Approach Control to the North Las Vegas tower, and Piper N97CX is instructed to fly left traffic for Runway 30L. 

Meanwhile, Cessna N160RA is instructed to fly right traffic for Runway 30R. The ADS-B records for the day show the Cessna had already made several laps in the pattern for 30R.

1158:43

The pilot of N97CX contacts KVGT tower and reports: “Descending out of 7,600 feet msl for landing on three zero left and ah Nellis said to cross midfield.” 

The tower controller replies, “Continue for three zero left.” 

The pilot acknowledges the transmission with, “Okay continue for runway three zero left nine seven charlie x-ray, we will cross over midfield.” 

1200:03

The pilot of N160RA requests a “short approach.” 

The tower controller replies, “zero romeo alpha short approach approved, runway three zero right, cleared for the option.” 

Cessna N160RA acknowledges the transmission. 

1201:36

The tower controller transmits, “November seven charlie x-ray runway three zero left cleared to land.”

The pilot of N97CX responds, “Three zero left cleared to land nine seven charlie x-ray.” 

The ADS-B track shows the Piper in a left turn, but it does not appear to be lining up with Runway 30 Left, rather the aircraft is swinging wide as if to land on the parallel Runway 30R.

1201:57

The tower controller transmits, “Seven charlie x-ray I think I said it right, runway three zero left, seven charlie x-ray runway three zero left.” 

The pilot of N97CX replies, “Yeah, affirmative runway three zero left, that’s what I heard nine seven charlie x-ray.” 

This is the final transmission from both aircraft, and they collide approximately a quarter of a mile from the approach end of Runway 30R.

The FAA illustration included in the NTSB report based on the ADS-B data shows both aircraft had lined up for Runway 30R.

Witnesses on the ground reported seeing the right wing of the Piper and the left wing of the Cessna collide before both aircraft plunged to the ground.

Photographs of the Piper wreckage show the Piper fuselage primarily intact. The NTSB report mentioned longitudinal scratches were visible along the right side of the fuselage.

The NTSB also noted damage to the Piper’s right wing, including “impact separation” and the right inboard wing section, which remained attached to the fuselage, was canted aft. The right wing flap was fractured about midspan. The crush impressions to the leading edge of the wing contained flakes of green primer, and there were cuts to the de-ice boot.

The Cessna, missing most of the left wing, hit the ground in a nose-low attitude, coming to rest inverted on a 304-degree magnetic heading. Also, the aircraft burned, the report said.

According to the NTSB, “About 4 [feet] of the left wing, which included the left aileron, was separated from the left wing, and was found on the edge of a culvert just south of the main wreckage. The left outboard wing section aft of the forward spar was found to be separated near the aileron-flap junction. The left wing flap was found to be separated from the wing.” 

Blue paint transfer was found on the lower surface of the separated left wing and the lower surface of the left wing flap. Black de-ice boot material transfer was observed on the lower surface of the separated outboard left wing, and the lower surface of the attached portion of the left wing, stretching about 5 feet outboard of the strut attach point, along the lower leading edge.

Most of the Cessna was consumed by fire, excluding the cabin roof.

The final report will be released at the conclusion of the investigation. NTSB investigations can take a year to 18 months to complete.

The post NTSB Releases Preliminary Report on Las Vegas Midair appeared first on FLYING Magazine.

Headset, kneeboard—seat belt cutter? How many of you carry these items with you every time you fly? John La Porta, 66, a flight instructor from Seattle, Washington, has added the latter to his must-haves when he flies, after he experienced an uncommanded loss of engine power last week and ended up putting the airplane into the water just off Alki Beach in West Seattle.

“If a total loss of oil pressure is accompanied by a rise in oil temperature, there is good reason to suspect an engine failure is imminent” so sayeth the pilots operating handbook of the Cessna 150. La Porta lived this on Tuesday, July 26. 

He was flying a 150 from Tacoma Narrows Airport (KTIW) back to its base at King County International/Boeing Field (KBFI) when he noticed a drop in oil pressure. The route he was flying was one of the approved VFR approaches into KBFI and requires the aircraft to cross the Puget Sound at an altitude below 2,000 feet to avoid encroaching on the Class B airspace that protects Seattle-Tacoma International Airport (KSEA). When aircraft approach KBFI they must be below 1,100 feet to avoid the descending shelf of Class B airspace.

La Porta is a retired Boeing technician and a current CFI teaching out of KBFI. He was flying  an aircraft that belongs to Alternate Air, a flying club based at KBFI. He was very familiar with the airplane, as he flew it often with learners, but on this particular flight he was alone.

A small airplane was removed from Puget Sound Wednesday morning, a day after the plane’s pilot crashed it 50 feet off Alki Point in West Seattle, officials said. Watch video of the crash here. https://t.co/DH1SJePfSY

— The Seattle Times (@seattletimes) July 28, 2022

He’d flown to KTIW that day so a mechanic could address the seat rail airworthiness directive (AD) required every 100 hours for specific Cessna aircraft. According to the Federal Registry, the AD takes approximately an hour per seat as the rails, seat rail holes, seat pin engagement, seat rollers, washers, and axle bolts or bushings, wall thickness of the roller housing and the tang, and lock pin springs are inspected to ensure the seat will not slide out of position. Once the physical inspection for the AD is complied with, the mechanic signs off the work in the aircraft logbook.

“I had all the logbooks with me,” La Porta noted. “And they went into the Sound with the airplane,”

Inspection

Just before 4 p.m., the work was completed and La Porta, a pilot with 6,500 hours of experience, performed a preflight inspection. He had to return to KBFI because he had an appointment with a learner at 4:15 p.m. The flight back to KBFI takes approximately 10 to 15 minutes. During the inspection at KBFI, he had noted that the aircraft needed oil, so he added some, then carefully tightened the cap on the filler neck.

The winds were favoring takeoffs and landings to the north, so La Porta took off from Runway 35.  Pilots are careful to hug the shoreline of Vashon Island and to stay below the Class B airspace, which begins at 2,000 feet.

“I was just past the north tip of Vashon when I noticed the oil pressure was low and dropping,” La Porta recalled, “and the oil temperature was rising.” 

‘I Was a Glider’

La Porta, who has been a pilot since 1974 and knows the airspace around Seattle very well, knew he was in trouble—especially if he tried to execute the VFR Vashon Arrival to KBFI, which would bring the aircraft down to 1,100 feet over houses, streets and the hilly terrain of West Seattle.

He asked the KBFI controller to allow him to deviate further north so that he could head for Alki Beach. Although it does have homes and businesses along the water, it is less populated than the route required by the Vashon Arrival. He estimated he was at an altitude of approximately 1,700 to 1,800 feet as he crossed the Sound.

“Essentially, I was a glider,” he said.

There is a grass runway on Vashon Island that was behind him, but it is surrounded by tall trees and measures 2,001 feet by 60 feet, which can be challenging on a good day. As he was not having a good day, he dismissed the idea, and focused on going ahead.

“I knew that I did not want to go through Vashon Arrival because that would put me under the 1,1,00 foot shelf,” La Porta explained. He noted that although he did not declare an emergency—he was too busy trying to find a place to put the aircraft down—and when he told ATC he had low oil pressure, they worked with him, understanding that he was having an issue.

As he crossed the water, La Porta managed the aircraft at best glide speed and continued troubleshooting. As he saw the oil temperature rise, the throttle lever became useless. Adjusting its position had no effect on engine power output, he said.

The controller cleared La Porta for a right turn to put him on a base leg for the runway, but La Porta replied, “I would love to but I can’t. I don’t have power anymore.”

The right turn would have put him into a West Seattle neighborhood or possibly on State Highway 509 if he was lucky, but La Porta decided the safer thing to do for both him and people on the ground was to ditch the aircraft off Alki Beach.

“I had twenty gallons of fuel on board and I did not want to take a chance of fire or landing in a ravine with uneven terrain or landing on a road and dodging powerlines, and there were lots of house and people there, so I said instinctively, no, not going that way,” he explained.

La Porta tightened the lap belt and cinched the shoulder harness as tightly as he could. “I could see the water getting closer and closer,” he recalled. He did not lower the flaps to 40 degrees per the ditching instructions in the POH, but that may have been a blessing as the flaps would have possibly blocked his egress from the aircraft when the aircraft flipped over.

Ditching

Ditching is something civilian pilots are required to learn about, but do not have the opportunity to practice. According to those who have experienced it in small aircraft, impact with the water is hard, like hitting cement, and very often the windscreen pops out and the pilot and front seat passenger get a face full of water like being hit by a firehose. The sudden deceleration throws them forward—if they are lucky, the shoulder harness keeps them from slamming into the panel.

“I closed my eyes at impact, and I felt the landing gear hit and the airplane went up on its nose, then went over on its back,” he says. “I was upside down but couldn’t tell inside the aircraft.”

The next sensation La Porta had was the seatbelts pinning him in and water rushing into the airplane.

“The seatbelts saved my life. Without the shoulder harness I probably would have gone into the panel, but as I was hanging with my full body weight on the seatbelt, I could not get the belts to release until the airplane’s tail settled into the water. I had one hand on the window and I was able to sort of stretch up and take a breath of air, and then I found the lap belt and was able to get it undone. I held on to the window as I released the shoulder harness and then I swam out of the window.”

“There were three people in the water with me,” he says. “There was a guy saying ‘Give me your hand! Give me your hand!’ and he pulled me along until my feet could touch the bottom, and then there was a woman who was a retired EMT who helped me. They asked if there was anyone else in the airplane and I said, ‘No.’”

La Porta warned his rescuers that he had been exposed to COVID a few days earlier, but they said that didn’t make a difference as they helped him ashore.

The water temperature of the Puget Sound averages around 52 degrees Fahrenheit, and people who take unexpected dips in the water often experience rapid onset of hypothermia. The day La Porta went in, the Pacific Northwest was experiencing a heatwave. Outside temperatures were in the 90s. He was uninjured except for some scrapes from going out through the window.

Several people on the shore witnessed the ditching, he said. “One of them was a man who was an airline pilot for 15 years. He told me I did a good job and that there was white smoke training from the airplane.”

A bystander on the beach captured video of La Porta’s ditching—it made the television news both locally and nationally. Friends of La Porta recognized the aircraft and there were some frantic moments as calls to his cellphones went unanswered—until people realized the phones were likely onboard the aircraft with him.

“They’re in the Sound, along with my kneeboard, which came flying off when I hit the water,” he says. “I managed to get out with my headset, I have no idea how it became unplugged.”

Within minutes, the local fire department and law enforcement were on scene. After being checked out by medical personnel, La Porta found himself on a conference call with the FAA and the National Transportation Safety Board—already starting the accident investigation.

What We Learn from La Porta

Ditching is one of those exercises pilot’s review but do not practice because it is normally not practical—you don’t put a perfectly good airplane into the drink. La Porta noted that although ditching procedures for a 1970s-era Cessna 150 are printed in the POH, there is no mention that the seat belts can become jammed.

“I have been flying out of Boeing Field since 1975, I have done hundreds of crossings over the water and it didn’t even occur to me that the seat belt would not release if there is pressure on it. I am carrying a seat belt cutter from now on and making sure my learners—and maybe everyone who is a passenger on the aircraft has one on all flights.”

La Porta says he was lucky in many ways—he was able to ditch so close to shore, the shoulder harness kept him from going into the panel, and there were bystanders who took action to rescue him—and perhaps the most important thing, he says, was that he did not have a learner with him at the time, because if he had trouble getting his seat belt off, his learner probably would have as well, and one them might have drowned.

The aircraft was pulled from the water on Wednesday, July 27. Both the FAA and the NTSB will be examining the wreckage.

La Porta noted the windscreen was broken, but there did not appear to be extensive structural damage to the wings and empennage. The cause of the loss of oil pressure has not been determined, he said, noting that there are any number of reasons as mechanical things break. Ironically, the aircraft was coming up on its annual inspection, and there were plans to redo the radios and install a new engine on the airplane.

La Porta returned to the skies a few days later. He routinely flies several times a day. When asked if the accident has changed him, he replied he’s now an advocate of shoulder harnesses, which are required in aircraft certified after December 2, 1986, but not before.

“If you don’t have them in your airplane, get them retrofitted in,” he said. “And add a seat belt cutter to your cockpit equipment.”

The post Ditching a Cessna 150 appeared first on FLYING Magazine.