A Tense Flying Lesson

I was a student commercial pilot feeling my stuff.

I HAD DECIDED to take a cross-country trip from Santa Monica, California to Omaha, Nebraska. Although the jaunt started in fun-to visit my Mom and to build time for my commercial pilot's certificate, it was to become a valuable flying lesson.

To share expenses and flying chores, I talked to several other pilots. One was an instrument-rated friend, Vic. A persuasive guy, he regaled me with tales of French-Canadian women he could hook me up with. This finally convinced me to extend our planned flight all the way to Montreal, Canada, where, coincidentally, his folks lived.

We chose our rental plane carefully: it had to be a manageable IFR platform with a good complement of avionics. Since I had flown most of my 150 hours in Grumman Americans, I chose one of our FBO's Travel- ers with a full panel, including an encoding altimeter, DME, ADF and dual navcoms.

This was before all-glass cockpits and GPS, mind you.

In preparation for the trip, I asked the FBO's avionics technician to ensure all was well with the radios. I had flown the airplane recently and remembered a peculiar engine vibration, so I asked Vic to mention that when he checked with the aircraft mechanic.

The mechanic, a cheery sort, was aware of the vibration, and checked the aircraft carefully for trouble. With a broad smile, he assured Vic that the vibration was nothing serious.

The big day arrived, and since it was mar- ginally VFR, Vic flew the departure on an IFR-to-VFR-on-top clearance.

On the trip east, we encountered a whole range of weather, from calm and sunny to windy with heavy thunderstorms. We tackled cross- winds, turbulence and high-density-altitude takeoffs. We even flew in uncontrolled airspace, which was a strange feeling for a big-city guy like me.

As we flew on, only that peculiar vibration bothered us. We had plenty of time to theorize as to its source.

We decided it would be prudent to divide flying chores: right seat guy to navigate and manage radios, left seat to fly. We also decided on emergency procedures: left seat would continue to fly the airplane, while right would help with other tasks.

We agreed that even if an actual emergency did not arise, the appearance of three simultaneous "concerns" would dictate a precautionary landing.

During the trip to Omaha, and from there to Montreal, everything went smoothly. By the time we were due to leave Montreal for the West Coast, we both felt as if we could handle anything. We worked well as a team, and we were having fun.

Our departure was delayed twice by heavy rain and snowshowers - definitely non-Southern California weather. Furthermore, time was running out on our booking of the Traveler, so we were becoming anxious to depart.

The following day we loaded the airplane again. The forecasts and pilot reports said that as long as we didn't climb too high, we wouldn't have to worry about wing icing.

So off we went, with Vic in the left seat. We had filed IFR to Syracuse for the first leg, figuring it would be a good port of entry for clearing customs.

Not long out of Montreal, it looked as if Syracuse wouldn't be our first stop. First of all, the engine vibration seemed to worsen. It had bothered us a little all along; now, it seemed to intensify with the rain. Concern Number One; two to go.

In the right seat, I diverted my attention from the radios to the right wing, where ice was forming above the leading edge. Never having seen structural icing before, I was fascinated. How could icing be dangerous? It looked just like frost. Soon it thickened, and when I glanced at the temperature probe outside the windshield, I saw an even heavi er coating there. Vic saw it too, so he turned on the pitot and carb heat and got a clearance for descent to the MEA (minimum en-route altitude, the lowest one can fly and still safely clear obstacles). The ice became Concern Number Two.

At this point, we knew our predetermined margin of three Concerns before landing was getting slimmer, so Vic turned over to me the controls and looked in his Jepp charts for a nearby field with an instrument approach.

Then, Concern Number Three: smoke in the cockpit! At first, it seemed we were merely passing over a smoggy area, since the smell was not unlike that of Los Angeles in August. But after a minute or so, I was convinced that the odor was that of burning insulation. That was enough for us!

Vic talked to Air Traffic Control Center as I tried to isolate the source of the smoke. I checked the circuit-breakers and ammeter, looking for symptoms of electrical trouble. I opened the fresh-air vents and closed the heater and defroster vents.

It seemed that shutting off the heater lessened the smell of smoke, but at this point we were committed to land. When asked by Center if we were declaring an emergency, I said that we would wait and see if things got worse. For some reason, I became acutely aware of those FAA tapes recording our every word. I tried to sound professional and calm.

Watertown, New York was the closest landing point, but it was reporting weather just above minima in heavy rain and fog. We headed that way anyway.

On a textbook instrument approach, we broke out shortly after descending from the procedure turn, just above the MDA. Vic said he would fly a fast, flat approach, since he had no idea what our stall speed would be with all that ice.

As we lined up on final approach, I peered through the heavy rain to pick up the field. Two crash trucks waited alongside the runway, their yellow lights-flashing at us through the mist and reflecting from the dark, slick wet asphalt.

Vic braked the plane gently as we landed. Taxiing in, we led a small parade of trucks to the parking area. While Vic went inside to talk to the Flight Service Station people, I stayed in the airplane, my feet up in the rain and my head under the panel. I had to find the source of the smoke. Curiosity was overwhelming my distaste for the cold and wet.

I found nothing unusual under the panel, so I checked the engine compartment. There I found the culprit.

Our cheerful mechanic had sealed a tear in the heater hose with silvery duct tape, which had been turned crispy brown by the defroster heat. Despite the wind and rain, the smoldering smell was still very strong.

Angry at having been forced down for such a stupid reason, I was storming toward the terminal when something caught my eye. The right wing had more than an inch of ice just below the leading edge and all along the underside, hidden from our cockpit view. Even the prop was carrying ice!

My anger dissipated; my jaw dropped. No wonder the engine vibration had become worse. It was just as well we had landed, after all.

Our advance preparation kept a problem from becoming an life-threatening emergency.

We had better weather starting the next day. Our remaining flight was uneventful; we felt like expert pilots now.

That mysterious vibration, however, continued to plague us all the way to Los Angeles. On arrival, we clambered out of the Traveler, looking for that smiling mechanic.

"Smiley" had quit the FBO. His unsmiling replacement looked over the airplane, and after about 10 minutes, he strolled over to us, shaking his head dolefully.

The vibration had been due to a slightly bent propeller. Our landing at Watertown had resolved all but that first concern. That would soon be fixed.

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