It’s one minute after I’ve contacted another airplane over the radio.
It had turned around back to its home base of Lelystad. I had held up my hand gesturing the other two in the plane to be quiet. At first they didn’t seem to understand why. ATC had not addressed our plane, had they?
My reasons had been different though. We were about to pass slightly south of Lelystad and this guy was from there. He knew the weather and the cloud base. He must have left from there no more than 20 minutes earlier.
“In pea soup at 900ft AGL and getting worse where he was now. Oh, and Lelystad had been only marginally better”, had been his reply.
“Look that way, it seems even worse there”. Flora is pointing in one direction, while I bank the plane south to stay clear of a glider that appears to be at more or less our altitude.
I agree. We are now down to 1300’ MSL or AGL, there’s not much of difference between the two in Holland. And she’s right; it is getting worse. I see tatters of clouds drifting towards us.
Hamburg in Germany was where we were heading by means of Hoogeveen airfield, for a pilot change.
Positively motivated as we head off
I turn right and to the backseat: “We’re turning round. Everyone agree?” Two heads nod in unison. I need not have asked. We had agreed to this before setting off. If one of us does not want to continue, we don’t.
Flora whips out her pencil, draws a line on her aeronautical chart of The Netherlands, slaps down her protractor, and notifies me I am to steer 260. ATC offer to inform Hoogeveen and Rotterdam of our diversion and 55 minutes after starting up our engine, we’re pushing the Piper Archer back into its parking bay.
Another 10 minutes and we’re making sure we’re unfit to fly for the rest of the day, beer in hand.
Back home, I grab the German “Flieger Magazin” left for me by Flora, when she picked me up. She must single handed supply half the club with reading materials, I think.
Page 64 features an article about human factors. The focus is on a phenomenon known as the get-there-itis, wherein pilots downplay or ignore flight risks because they are too focused on reaching their destination. The magazine’s take on it is the influence of group-dynamics on the decision making process on board, particularly when the group consists of fellow-pilots.
It triggers me to think back on our flight. Have I learnt anything? Have we, have I, done the right thing?
Slightly disappointed we return to Rotterdam
Flora and I have flown together quite a bit, but then again we have not. I had not realized it until she told me. It was the first time we were to really fly together without a safety pilot or instructor on board.
She simply put the question to me: “How do you want to this?”
Indeed, how do I?
I realize I want to make the radio calls myself. Flora offers to dial in all the frequencies, and take care of the line-up checks. She asks me to explain my navplan, so she knows which headings and times to read to me. Mine is one printed from Skydemon, hers is diehard paper and flight computer. They’re similar but we never seem to agree on whether the indicated heading will take us to or from the nav-point indicated at the beginning of the line.
We fuel to a bit above the “lips”. Our weight and balance has shown we can’t fuel up completely. I ask permission to start up for Hoogeveen and continue the checklist.
“You forgot the fuel pump” says Flora simply.
I’m annoyed. Who am I annoyed at? Not Flora, no. I’m annoyed at myself, for having missed it. I realize I’m grateful for her having caught it and pointing it out in such a simple, to the point, manner. It’s no more than a statement. “You forgot the fuel pump.” I decide I like this second pair of eyes and I decide I like how she handles it. I should mention that to her.
One thing that has already become implicit when we fly together: whoever does not fly, notes times and Hobbs. No worries there.
We roll up to the holding point for our run-up. On our checklist is “crew briefing”. Crew? Do we have a crew? I guess we do. We’re the Chicks, the Chicks crew. What do we brief? Do we brief at all?
During our flight training this point of the checklist had been handled differently by each of our instructors. Some ignored it. Some wanted us to mention the departure we were flying. Some were more detailed, wanting us, their students, to mention runway, rotation speed, climb-out speed and the departure as well.
I realize I am the pilot in command and that I do have a crew, another licensed pilot, sitting next to me.
Sure, we have divvied up the legs and I am flying the first, but we are after all flying to Hamburg together.
I decide to mention what to do if one us does not want to continue: we divert or go back. This goes for my fellow pilot and the passenger. I think I mention the departure.
“Final is clear”. “Feet off the brakes”. This is for me more than anyone else. Flora confirms she is not touching anything, just to be sure. “Airspeed is alive”. Flora calls out the speeds with me. Nice.
Then we’re off. The view is disappointing. I guess the METAR wasn’t lying. The visibility probably really is 10 kilometers, but it’s a hazy 10 kilometers at that. There’s no horizon.
“Hmmm, I’m not sure, this does not really look great, does it?” is the remark from the righthand seat.
Back home, this is the remark I think back to. Should I have interpreted it differently? Should I have acted on that remark in itself already? I had said we would turn back or divert if there were doubt from any of us? Should I have contacted Tower then and there and turned back? It didn’t look too bad to me. Not great, and certainly not perfect, but doable, and it was to be better in Hamburg. The low clouds were supposed to lie somewhere in the middle.
Did anything influence my perception of her remark? Several things, I realize now.
Neither of us has a lot of hours on the Archer. Robin Diesels with FADEC (computer-controlled constant speed props) and Cessna 172s are more our thing. But we both wanted to get more familiar with the Piper.
The first time I flew her after getting checked out, I got into full IMC unexpectedly. She got me out ok though. One of the reasons I insisted on this white and grey lady for our trip was that she is fully IFR equipped with dual-axis auto-pilot. Though my first experience with her had left me more than a bit shaken, at the same time, she had proven to me: “when you get into “sh*#”, I’ll get you out”.
Flora’s first experiences had been of a different kind, yet similarly noteworthy. Her words: “I’m sure I am fine with the Papa, just not sure the Papa is fine with me”.
The things you read about under section III of the Pilot’s Operating Handbook (emergencies), it’s likely Flora has experienced them. The club prescribed familiarization flights had left her familiar with electrical fire and braking problems. Any apprehension on her side was completely understandable.
We joked about the combination of my neck to attract bad weather and hers for making planes break down or other emergencies to take place (she once was number 2 after behind a plane that went off the runway and had to divert during a lesson). Would it prove fatal or would the two negatives cancel each other out?
Thinking back, inevitably, our backstories influenced how the remark had landed with me.
In general, what do people do when confronted with doubt or fear? Giving in to your fears completely isn’t always wise. Neither is ignoring them. Fear serves a purpose. It can hold you back too though. It is up to you to head it and make sure to let it propel you forward.
I was not sure at the time, whether Flora was telling me right then and there: “turn around” or whether it was up to me to get her to love the Piper that little bit more.
This, I realize, is the main lesson I took away from our failed attempt to reach both Hoogeveen and Hamburg. Though, I had briefed the diversion-in-case-of-any-doubt-by-anyone, I had not taken into account our natural inclination to not voice our doubts, to cover them with a veil and to not lift that veil until left no choice.
When we, as pilots, fly together, we need to make sure we tell each other when the doubt becomes too much. It is all about creating an atmosphere in the cockpit in which it is okay to express doubt and in which it is okay to put your foot down when you have reached your personal limit, even if different from that of the other occupant, an atmosphere in which you know and can trust that your voice will be heard.
And so I realize, I have my answer. No, I need not have turned around right after take off. Flora and I have somehow naturally created that open atmosphere when we fly. She voiced doubt. I acknowledged it. I thought about what to do with it and categorized it as meaning “It shouldn’t continue like this all the way to Hamburg, but for now it is ok”.
When the cloud base lowered, there was no more doubt. In our view, 1000’ AGL or lower, in haze, was not how we envisaged a safe VFR cross-country flight. There was regret about not reaching Hamburg or the fun party waiting for us at the Uetersen Heist Airport restaurant, but no regret about diverting.
Would it have been possible to reach Hamburg? Maybe. Would everyone have diverted? Maybe not.
We pushed our limits to the edges of our comfort zone and our skill level. For us, for me, as pilot-in-command, it was the right decision.
Our first stab at Chicks Resource Management did not disappoint.
I think back to a remark of a good friend of mine, flying professionally for KLM:
“In hindsight I have not once regretted a decision to divert or put my plane down somewhere else than at my planned destination”.
It truly is better to be down here, wishing you were up there, than up there, wishing you were down here.
Chime in in the comments to let us know your thoughts and experiences!