Attention: Editor 7-31-93
The following is my submission for the "Never Again" column of AOPA Pilot.

By: John B. Palmerlee, AOPA 1081754-7
Date of the flight: 12-26-87
Publishing Date: October Issue 1995

NEVER AGAIN: "Fool of Thumb"


My wife Robin and I had logged our minimum required time at the family Christmas gathering and were hot to get back to some New Year's R & R at home... alone.

The flight from our dirt strip north of Marysville, CA to the old Santa Rosa Air Center would take just under an hour, thanks to our 1951 Cessna 170-A. In an hour and a half, we hoped to be sitting in front of the fire at home. Away from the stresses that surface when we try to mix my extended family with Christmas vacation. The plan seemed flawless.

Then I phoned Red Bluff for a check on the weather. In my eager mental state, it sounded like one of those conservative reports following which the flight service attendant makes recommendations like "it might be best to wait a few hours for an improvement" or simply "VFR flight is not recommended." Well, I knew better. I had flown the route scores of times, and the weather had a consistent habit of turning out better than forecast.

But a twinge of doubt grabbed me when we climbed aboard the 170 and I looked over to see Robin's beautiful, trusting smile. I had let my IFR currency lapse - so instrument flight wouldnąt be an option this trip. As I prepared the engine for start-up, I reviewed a mental rule that had helped me in the past "I can turn around if it looks bad ahead." Soon I felt my earlier certitude return - expressing it with a confident "CLEAR." The engine came eagerly to life.

The flight began with a takeoff punctuated by cow pies and gopher mounds followed by our traditional departure fly-by. Heading southwest, visibility was good under the clouds. I decided to maintain 2,000 feet for starters - but necessity soon required 1,000, then 500 feet. Time to make a decision, I thought. Looking over at Robin, I decided to play it safe - we landed at Yolo County Airport, and waited.

A few hours went by. We ate lunch, I called flight service again, a passer-by offered to buy our airplane - the usual while waiting for the weather. My mood was upbeat, and when sunlight broke through, I decided to try for Napa under the clouds.

I love flying through sunbeams under a broken overcast. Robin was enjoying the sights too, and my doubts about the flight had nearly waned. If we could get past Napa, I knew it would be a routine flight to Santa Rosa.

Over Fairfield we could see the low mountains just east of the Napa Airport. The ceiling dipped there with one opening between hills into the airport, another a couple of miles north. Those were my two options, I thought.

Napa was busy. When I called the tower, I was asked to circle clear to the northeast for 5 minutes, then call back. O. K., I thought - I can wait.

But as we waited the other opening kept looking better. I began to rationalize its benefits: I could avoid the tower and this hassle... I think I know a way through the hills into Napa Valley... They're still busy and I don't want to wait again. By the time the five minutes were up I had decided to try the "shortcut." What a mistake.

I didn't see this one coming. I expected the warnings to wave in time for a safe retreat, but my little mental rule kept me going, with tunnel vision - "I can turn around if it looks bad ahead." We passed through one cute little valley, then another. But something inside prodded me to wonder if it wasnąt three little valleys we'd passed - and what turns did I make since waiting at Napa? Something was amiss. As my attention returned to flying, it was as though my eyes were open for the first time in several minutes. Ahead lay a semicircle of completely obscured hills. Taking this as my cue to reverse directions, I started a 180 to the right, telling Robin we'd have to go back to Napa.

The next time I looked at Robin was after a full 720 degrees. My face must have painted quite a picture - she asked what was wrong, wanting the whole truth. Every possible exit from the valley was obscured by clouds. I didn't even know where we had entered - it all looked foreign to me. I told Robin what had happened, and that we would have to land if an opening didnąt show.

I couldn't decide whether to make an emergency landing or risk an instrument clearance into Napa. The 170 had new instruments and one excellent radio - but only a venturi for vacuum and a hole where the transponder was going next week. In addition to my instrument currency lapse, I had no publications aboard. A landing in the pasture below looked much less than promising, but how would I fare making an approach in IMC?

After untold circles spent considering an emergency landing, I leaned back in my seat to get a breather. The sweat flowing down my back and arms told me how scared I was. Robin's clear voice over the intercom clashed with my emotional state, but it also calmed my nerves. Without hesitation, I found myself agreeing with her suggestion that we should call for help. Using my sectional chart and knowledge of local terrain as a guide, I verified that departure was possible with safe obstruction clearance. I was glad to have a plan, and dialing in 127.8 Mhz answered an inner call to action.

But our radio couldn't get out of that valley either - even though we heard Oakland Center fine. On the third call (with an increased sense of urgency), we got a response from an Air Force helicopter pilot who kindly offered his services as a relay station. Now the task of getting a clearance was simple - except for one small point. For our own safety, it was essential that I be honest with our controller. I spoke through a thick lump in my throat when I transmitted "please advise Center I'm rated but not current and have no publications."

After several relayed transmissions the controller had digested our predicament. I received a clearance to enter the overcast with vectors to a VOR Approach into Napa. A simple "thank you for your help" sent via radio to our helicopter friend paid poor service to the appreciation I felt as we left that lonely valley behind.

So where were we? I threw an estimate at Oakland, "approximately 10 north of Napa." But I must have been imprecise, 'cause it took the controller over 5 minutes to find us on his scope. That rectangular hole in the instrument panel wasn't helping us a bit. Meanwhile we headed for the Scaggs Island VOR at 4,000 feet.

The cards were stacked against this being a textbook approach. My instrument rust conspired with the recently upgraded panel to destroy my cockpit efficiency and exaggerate my tendency to over-control. I was so busy with flying that I had Robin writing down clearances. The intercom more than paid for itself that day.

It took two attempts to complete the approach, neither of which were worth writing home about. I hope it will never again feel that good to break out of actual with the destination dead ahead.

After taxiing off the active, a voice in the radio said the Center area manager wanted me to give him a call once I'd tied down. The new kind of fear this triggered was one I could deal with - still grateful that we'd made it back in one piece.

But no reprimand was in store. The manager just wanted to know my address so they could send me a copy of an "atta boy" report about what they termed a successful "assist."

Robin and I took a walk, waiting for the rental car. The brisk evening drew us close, but the strenuous flight united us - our cooperation had kept us alive.

Looking back, I see how offering lip service to safety rules is not enough. Never again will I bet my life on a rule of thumb without having a concrete plan to back it up. And if I make any presuppositions about the weather, it had better be on the conservative side. I found flying an approach without publications to be more disconcerting than I had ever imagined. They are now standard equipment in my cockpit on any flight.

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