Several thousand feet above Western Maryland, a terrifying thought crept into my mind: What if the pilot falls ill and loses her ability to fly, like the incident in Florida that recently made headlines? In that May 10 case, the passenger commandeered the yoke and safely landed the aircraft, guided by air traffic control. As I glided through the air in a single-engine Cessna 172, I wondered whether I would — or, more importantly, could — perform a similar lifesaving feat.
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Midway into my introductory flying lesson, I wasn’t sure. But I would ask myself again once we were back on solid ground.
I am probably not alone in admitting that I don’t know how I would act in such a perilous situation. Would I faint, freak out or summon my inner Captain Sully? During the aforementioned emergency, passenger Darren Harrison did not have any flying experience, but he possessed the wherewithal to hop onto the radio and request assistance from air traffic control. Because of his quick and courageous reflexes, he averted disaster, saving himself, another passenger and the pilot, who had suffered a tear in his aorta.
After hearing Harrison’s story, I realized that I could not trust my adrenaline to play the hero. As a frequent flier, I needed to be prepared for whatever the mercurial winds blew my way, including an unconscious pilot. Flight schools around the country offer discovery, or introductory, flight training, a roughly hour-long class that covers the fundamentals of flying, aircraft functions and the protocols for handling emergencies. The course is typically divided between land and air, with an opportunity to fly — and even land — the plane yourself. I booked a session with Bravo Flight Training in Frederick, Md., paying $109 for an insurance policy that I hoped I would never have to use.
“It’s a really good way to get a feel of what it takes to fly an aircraft,” said Jiri Marousek, senior vice president of innovation with the Aircraft Owners and Pilots Association (AOPA), who started his aviation career with a discovery flight in Wisconsin. “You won’t need it on Southwest, but it’s nice to be familiar, just in case.” (Commercial flights always carry a pilot and co-pilot; private and charter planes may have only a captain onboard.)
Discovery flight classes appeal to people with varied motivations and vested interests. Newbies use the course to determine whether flying is a passing fancy or a serious pursuit. The experience is also a popular birthday and anniversary gift, a joyride with bragging rights. Bravo owner Brenda Tibbs said she also sees many spouses who wish to acquire basic flying skills in the event that their partner becomes incapacitated. This reason most closely aligned with my intentions, although my significant other was a stranger with wings.
While researching flying lessons, I also became aware of another course called the Pinch Hitter, which Aviation Consumer magazine describes as “training a non-pilot to fly an airplane well enough to make a landing that is survivable.” The Pinch Hitter is not as comprehensive or interactive as the discovery flight: There is no flying, or sometimes even walking, involved. You can complete the exercises from the comfort of your couch. Marousek recommends the online instruction as a warm-up to the discovery flight, a way to familiarize yourself with common terms and standard operations.
“This is the ‘just in case’ education,” he said. “It’s more technical and background knowledge: What are those dials, how does the aircraft work?”
On a steamy weekend afternoon with encroaching thunderstorms, I pulled up AOPA’s free Pinch Hittercourse and worked my way through the categories, starting with “The Basics of Flight.” The “In the Unlikely Event of an Emergency” section featured a 2009 video of a Louisiana-bound passenger who was returning home from his brother’s funeral in Florida when the pilot of their King Air flight died. I listened intently to the communications between Doug White, who flew single-engine Cessnas, and the experts on the ground. “I’ve got to declare an emergency,” he informed the air traffic control tower in Fort Myers, Fla. “I need help up here.”
“The likelihood of something happening to the pilot is minuscule,” Marousek assured me. Pinch Hitter echoed that refrain: “Although pilot incapacitation incidents are very rare, they are still a concern for many flying companions. If pilot incapacitation is something you’re worried about, the best thing you can do is prepare.” Even so, I still wanted to be ready.
On the day of my discovery flight lesson, thick gray clouds filled the sky like clusters of dust bunnies. At the Frederick Municipal Airport, I was searching for Bravo’s office when I ran into my certified flight instructor on the staircase. Clearly, I needed to sharpen my navigation skills.
Eryka Silva, who hails from Brazil, led me to a middle-aged Cessna 172 with four seats and a propeller. I gazed longingly at the other larger, shinier and more moneyed models. “The lighter the plane, the easier it is to fly it,” she said, dispelling my envy. “It’s like lifting weights. You start with the five-pounders.”
Silva jumped right into the preflight inspection, calculating the fuel levels with a dipstick. “Thanks, Jarred, all set,” she said, waving off the fuel truck. She wove her piloting experiences into the explanations, breathing life into the textbook material. While sumping the tanks to determine the condition of the fuel, she shared her personal flight history: She had taken a discovery flight in Frederick in 2018, earned her commercial license in Florida and had accepted a job as a cargo pilot in Alaska when the pandemic upended her plans. She started teaching flying in 2020, logging about 100 hours a month.
In addition to instructing, she flies search-and-rescue missions with Civil Air Patrol, an Air Force auxiliary nonprofit, and volunteers with Angel Flight Mid-Atlantic, which transports passengers with medical or other urgent needs. On a recent operation from Vermont, the engine failed over the mountains at night. “We landed on a road and hit the power lines. The nose broke,” she calmly recalled. “Things do happen.”
I joined her under the left wing, where she gingerly patted the Pitot tube, a bent finger-shaped object that determines airspeed by measuring air pressure through a pinprick hole. “This is a very, very, very important instrument,” she said. To illustrate its critical role, she noted that frozen Pitot tubes had contributed to the Air France crash in the Atlantic Ocean that killed 228 people in 2009. “I watch all of the air disasters so I can learn,” she said.
Inside the plane, she handed me a printed copy of the checklist. The procedures covered an entire sheet of paper, single-spaced. “You don’t need to memorize this,” she said. She flipped the page over to instructions that addressed emergencies, such as engine failure during takeoff, an electrical fire and a forced landing. “But you should memorize all that,” she added.
We taxied down the runway, using the rudder pedals to steer. Once we were in position for takeoff, I held the yoke with my left hand and gripped the throttle with my right hand. We lifted off the ground like a bird after a heavy lunch. The plane gained velocity — 55, 74, 85 knots — before reaching a cruising altitude of about 3,000 feet.
“Fly toward the water,” Silva said, as I followed her gaze to a shimmery blue ribbon to my left.
The plane suddenly fell silent. We had stalled — intentionally. Silva explained what we would do if the engine had actually failed. I became sharply aware of the ground below, how the verdant green earth would probably feel more like concrete than a cushion if we crashed.
“The engine didn’t die, so we are good to go,” she said cheerfully. We resumed flying, but I was not the same blithe co-pilot from a few seconds ago.
We circled back to the airport and prepared to land, one of the more challenging maneuvers in flying, especially when the winds are gusty or haphazard. Silva informed the control tower of our impending arrival. A rattle and a bounce later, the plane was firmly planted on terra firma.
For several minutes, I sat in the cockpit and processed what I had learned. I could now locate the altitude and speed gauges, speed up and slow down, turn left and right, and lower and raise the nose. I also knew what to do if the engine went kaput or the plane erupted in flames. However, I had one lingering question, the original uncertainty that had set me down this path of discovery.
“If something happens to the pilot, how do I call for help,” I asked Silva, “and what do I tell air traffic control?”
She told me to set the radio to 121.5, the emergency frequency; press the red button; and utter some version of this proclamation: “My pilot’s dead, and I don’t know what to do. Please help.” She added, “Once they hear this, they will help.”
I jotted down these instructions, even though I had memorized them as soon as she had spoken them.
PLEASE NOTE
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Source: WP
