Aero Circus | Help! We’re going to die!

The scenario

Imagine that you are training for your Night VFR rating. You have completed the required circuits and night navigation exercises. It has been a particularly shitty day at work where some imbecile has tried (quite successfully) to sabotage everything you do. You line up and take off from your home airfield for the ‘recommendation flight’ which will decide whether you are ready to sit the flight test for your Night VFR rating in a couple of nights’ time.

Now imagine that you are heading for your destination at night, in class C airspace, and instruments start to fail, and you notice the smell of burning electrical components. What do you do?

Shout “Help! We’re going to die!”? Put your head between your legs and say goodbye? Or diagnose the problem and get back on the ground as soon as possible given the perceived threat level? Preferably without creating unnecessary side effects.

For three of our intrepid Aero Circus clowns, this was a real-life scenario, albeit some years ago now. PPL Ian was the ‘student’ pilot in the left-hand seat on this occasion. Instructor Fabrice is in the right-hand seat performing his mentoring duties. Having just successfully passed his NVFR Rating test the night before, PPL Gavin was in the back seat taking notes and enjoying the scenery that he did not have time to look at when flying this route himself the week before.

The Cessna 172N we were flying was about 40 years old. Despite having a major refurbishment including a nice new paint job a couple of years before, it was starting to show its age when you looked ‘below the surface’. As an example, the tacho on this aircraft had recently been ‘playing up’ to use the proper technical term. It had been replaced with a pre-loved unit a week or so previously and again about 20 minutes before we did the pre-flight checks today.

Interacting with Brisbane ATC

While Night VFR is flown under the visual flight rules, because you can’t see the ground (or anything else ‘visual’ other than the approaching aircraft about to hit you) you must fly at or above the lowest safe altitude (LSALT) for the area you are currently flying in. For Archerfield, this is 2,900ft. But Brisbane class C airspace starts at 1,500ft. Therefore, at night under any conditions, you must climb through Brisbane airspace before setting course for your destination. Until you are given clearance to enter class C airspace, you must circle above the airfield while remaining clear of the class C airspace above, and clear of the class G CTAF circuit area below.

Unfortunately for Archerfield, all final approaches for Brisbane runway 01 commence at a common point (an IFR waypoint known as ‘GLENN’) which is right over the Archerfield circuit area. Therefore, virtually every flight destined for Brisbane when runway 01R (which was the only runway at Brisbane International all those years ago) is active (which was almost always during the evening peak hour rush in winter) would need to pass over this waypoint, usually at 3,000ft.

We spent about 20 minutes circling over Archerfield at 1,500ft, remaining outside the Class C airspace above us. Brisbane Centre finally cleared us for a vectored, step climb, off-track departure to avoid the usual barrage of RPT traffic that wants to call Brisbane home at around 6pm local time every night of the week.

As mentioned above, the lowest safe altitude for Archerfield is 2,900ft. That leaves only 100ft of separation for Archerfield night VFR traffic and every aircraft wanting to land at Brisbane. Not enough for the ATC guys apparently – and not enough for a Cessna 172 pilot with no interest in being flipped over by wake turbulence.

Then to Amberley as things go wrong

After being passed off by Brisbane to the controllers at Amberley, we were finally clear of inbound RPT traffic. We were then given clearance to set course for our intended destination of Goondiwindi and climb to our planned cruise altitude of 6,500ft. Approaching the top of the climb, the ‘new’ second-hand tacho suddenly indicated an engine RPM of zero. No big deal. Our well-trained ears sensed that the engine was still running at its normal speed. Our airspeed and vertical speed (climb rate) were unchanged. Definitely an instrument failure rather than a major engine issue.

A few seconds later, the panel instruments started to dim. We adjusted them back up a couple of times.

Next, there was a strong smell of burning electrical components in the cabin.

Diagnosing the problem

The first decision was to switch the panel lights off. We then turned on the pilot’s backup red cap light to at least provide some illumination of the panel and readied our other backup light sources.

For Night VFR you must carry a portable light source for emergencies. As good friends of Mr Murphy, we carry several. As these were mostly white light, they would only be used if absolutely necessary, so that we could preserve our night vision. There was also a self-powered iPad to assist with navigation if the GPS in the panel also decided to cease functioning.

Next, we checked and found that no circuit breakers had popped of their own accord. We therefore assumed that whatever was causing the burning smell was not caused by a dead short. Maybe just a case of a small component somewhere having developed a high internal resistance. If there was any smoke in the cabin, we could not see it.

So, we had three issues to consider. Were none, some or all of them related? Was it just a coincidence? Why did I take up flying instead of playing chess?

Tell someone who cares

The second decision was to call our new best friends at the other end of the radio. At night ATC are there to guide you safely around the other traffic that you share the skies with, even when flying ‘visual’. But when things are not going well, they are also your lifeline and best source of help.

After establishing communications with Amberley, the conversation went something like this.

Us: “We seem to have something getting a little hot up here, can we return to Archerfield please”.

Amberley: “Roger. Your position is 5 miles to the west of Amberley. Make a right turn, track direct to Archerfield and 6 thousand 500.”

After a little more chit-chat, we turned for home, with approval to descend to 5 thousand. We needed to balance maximum gliding distance with the possible need to get on the ground urgently if things got worse.

Amberley: “If you have any issues navigating let me know”.

Us: “Wilco, thanks.”

I always have issues navigating, but that was not relevant to the problem at hand. I did not share. In the meantime, Amberley redirected some other traffic intending to land there, away from our position. After some research on the callsign, I believe this was an Air Force Airbus KC-30 aerial refueller. Perhaps they just wanted to keep their flying fuel bowser away from a potential source of ignition.

Amberley: “Are you expecting a normal approach and landing?”.

Us: “At this stage, yes. There’s an electrical burning smell that we’ve got. We think it’s the lighting but we turned that off and it’s persisting. At this stage, normal approach.”

Amberley: “Amberley is also available unless you prefer Archerfield. Advise?”

Us: “At this stage, we will head for Archerfield, thank you. It seems to be getting a little bit better.”

Amberley: “Are you seeing any smoke or anything within your cockpit?”.

Us: “Negative on the smoke, just the burning smell”.

In hindsight, and even though it turned out not to be necessary in this case, perhaps the initial call should have included the keyword ‘require’ rather than just being a request. This would have ensured that we got what we asked for in case the controller was busy at the time with other aircraft and did not see the need to let us return to our home airport with any sort of priority.

More diagnosis

The electrical smell persisted after the instrument lighting was turned off. But acrid electrical (and certain other unpleasant) smells can often get stuck ‘up your nose’ and seem to be present long after they have dissipated. We opened all the fresh air vents (which were closed due to the outside air temp being not much above zero. The smell seemed to dissipate but we were reasonably sure, but still not entirely confident, that the instrument lighting was the source of the smell. It may have been related to the tacho failure, or something else again.

As mentioned, the tacho had just been replaced by a LAME, for the second time in as many weeks. As the nest of aging electrical wiring behind the dash panel had been disturbed yet again, in our minds there was always the possibility that this procedure had caused some of the 40-year-old insulation on the wiring to fail and perhaps rub up against an oppositely charged part of the aircraft. The power feed to the tacho or other instrument lighting may have been disturbed just enough to cause a problem.

Had this been a daylight flight, we would probably have continued to our destination with a very close eye on our systems. However, at night, emergency landings are a little (a whole lot) more difficult than when you can see where the ground is. At night you cannot see if anything is spewing out of the back of your aircraft unless it is spectacularly on fire. At night, nobody can hear you scream. No, wait, that is in space.

Forming a strategy

After being cleared directly back to Archerfield, Amberley ATC kindly offered us the use of their runway. Amberley is a military base and your chances of landing a civil aircraft there under normal circumstances without six weeks’ prior notice, a full set of forms signed in triplicate as well as a note from your mum, are zero. So, we were, for a brief period, tempted to accept their offer just for the experience. But then we thought of all that paperwork, as well as having to find our way home from there on the ground.

I kept thinking about that old joke about night emergency landings. “If you turn on your landing light ready for an emergency night landing, and you don’t like what you see, turn it off again.” With that in mind, a strategy was formed. We would land at Amberley if things didn’t look OK in the next 5 minutes. If the burning smell did not return and no other systems were affected, we would return to Archerfield.

Back to Brisbane ATC

Operations seemed reasonably normal (aside from having difficulty seeing the panel instruments), so when Amberley ATC handed us off to Brisbane Approach, we committed to the return to Archerfield. In controlled airspace, you do nothing without prior approval, including changing radio frequencies. After being approved for the radio frequency change by Amberley, we contacted Brisbane Approach with the standard handover calls. Then a few moments later:

Brisbane Approach: “Do you need the Airport Emergency Plan enacted at Archerfield?”

Us: “Not at this stage. We seem to be OK. We’re just doing a precautionary return just in case.”

Brisbane Approach: “It has been enacted at Archerfield for you.”

Because I didn’t say ‘no’ very explicitly, apparently they enacted the plan anyway. Better safe than sorry, I guess.

Interestingly, the thick traffic that had delayed and diverted our departure half an hour earlier was nowhere to be seen. I don’t know where they sent them, but the skies around Archerfield were reserved for us.

We were then advised that the police helicopter was 5 miles away at our 2 o’clock and they were going to follow us in. Excellent! Maybe they thought we were aiming to nick the runway lights.

After final clearance from Brisbane Approach, we descended to 2,900ft (the LSALT) until we reached the Archerfield circling area.

And finally to Archerfield CTAF

Once overhead the field, we were cleared to leave controlled airspace descending into the Archerfield circuit. Back on the CTAF frequency for Archerfield, another voice chimed in.

Rescue 500: “We’re just on the ground here, how are you travelling there?”

Us: “Looks OK now. We just had a burning smell, we’ve ventilated the cockpit, and it seems OK. We don’t think we are going to have any problems but it’s nice to know you are there.”

Rescue 500 is the Queensland Government Air’s AW139 helicopter that is based at Archerfield. More chit-chat, and then Polair 42 piped up.

Polair42: “We’re just behind you making sure everything is OK as well.”

Us: “They’re all out tonight. Thanks, Polair.”

I was now being chased by the coppers. With a growing audience, after a bad day, a full-on NVFR flight and potential aircraft issues, I was relaxed and ready for the best landing of my life.

Not.

Right outside the airport fence, somebody was having a party. They had lots of flashing red and blue lights. Oh, wait. That is our welcoming party. And there was no beer at this party.

‘No pressure’ landing

I should point out that, while I had been landing at Archerfield for many years, tonight runway 28 was the runway in use. All our night circuits were conducted on the reciprocal runway 10. As night circuits are always left-hand, this means that circuits on what is known as 28 Right in tower hours are in the opposite direction to the previous several hundred I have conducted during the day. It just ain’t natural. I had no predetermined turning points on the ground to reference. It was almost like landing at a new airfield for the first time.

Focussed on everything but the landing, I managed to turn a close downwind into an early base turn at a speed somewhere near the sound barrier. Normally during the day with no other distractions, I would easily be able to turn that mess into a quite acceptable (and safe) landing. But tonight, I forgot the basics, like flaps, airspeed management and setting up for a stable approach. I was also struggling to see the panel instruments as my sole light source was now the red light attached to my cap.

Its beam was, like me at that point, quite narrowly focussed and not that bright.

To read a particular instrument I had to physically point my head in exactly the right direction, comprehend the data, then decide which instrument to check next and repeat the process. Each time I tried to look out the side window, the cap light bounced off the pillar beside the windscreen as my head moved around, which was incredibly annoying. So, I tried to turn the light off whenever I needed to do that. But that’s OK, I had nothing else to do that night.

Halfway down the runway, I decided that this landing was not going to happen. Since nothing else had gone right today, I was not in the mood to push my luck, given the amount of runway behind me was growing quickly. I initiated a go-around, which normally would not raise an eyebrow. At Aero Circus, we try to perform at least one go-around every time we do any circuits, even at night. But tonight, to the assembled audience, it must have looked like there was a problem with the aircraft.

Sorry, folks, the aircraft is fine. We are not hallucinating because of fumes in the cockpit. I just stuffed up.

I could have given up and handed the situation over to the wealth of experience sitting beside me at any time. But that is not why I pay extortionate amounts of money to learn to fly and continue to do so to become a better pilot. I treat every flight as a solo, never assuming anyone is going to save me from myself. I keep going as if everything depends on me and my actions. That way when I do have an ‘emergency’ all on my lonesome, it – hopefully – won’t phase me too much.

That flight was a very valuable experience, with many lessons learned.

That night was supposed to be my ‘recommendation flight’, which is the last Night VFR flight before the actual flight test. I never did sit the final flight test, initially because I did not want to do that in a substandard aircraft, then later because my night vision was starting to deteriorate to the point where I was not 100 per cent comfortable with flying at night, despite passing all the vision tests required during my all-to-regular CASA medical exams.

However, spending the time and effort to train for the Night VFR rating has given me extremely valuable experience. I will also have a much better chance of being able to get myself out of trouble if I get caught in an after-dark scenario.

Sometimes, it’s not all about the piece of paper, but about the experience and skills learned from that. Obviously, I have no intention of pushing my boundaries because of this experience, but if I ever get caught, even if not as PIC, those basic skills might just save some lives. I have recently flown in the right seat with a fellow pilot who was IFR-rated, but despite that, had very little experience with night landings. I was able to use my experience in this area to help him tweak his technique to do what I was taught when landing at night.

Help! We’re going to die!

Which brings me to an explanation of the title of this article. “Help, we’re going to die” was a sentence once uttered by a young student pilot on the first or second lesson in the circuit when a landing approach was not going to plan. While that is OK for a new pilot with very little experience or training, it is not OK for someone with an RPL or higher and plenty of hours under their belt. Once a pilot has been given the right to carry passengers and fly beyond the confines of the training area, I believe they also have a duty to continue their education and practice their flying skills to keep both them and their passengers as safe as possible.

I know when I converted my GFPT to an RPL many years ago, I would have failed miserably in a scenario such as this. That is one of the main reasons that Aero Circus was formed – to allow pilots to continue developing their skills and knowledge after basic training is complete. A freshly minted aviation licence at any level does not come with anything like all the skills and knowledge that may be needed when things go pear-shaped.

The debrief

After the flight concluded – as always – I was debriefed by my instructor. During this critical process, most of my decisions and communications during the flight were validated. These included the decision to discontinue the flight as problems started to mount up, as well as a less-than-ideal mental state after a bad day at work.

The only negative feedback was about my tardiness in broadcasting the go-around when emergency crews were watching with intense interest. My instructor advised that a simple call of “ABC, going around” might have allayed the fears of Polair and Rescue 500 who were, in all probability, wondering whether to break out the champagne or the body bags.

In my defence, I was busy aviating, navigating and thinking about those first ten beers after I got this pile of crap back to the parking area. Communicating could wait.

What you can do

• Know your aircraft systems. Because we had a good understanding of the electrical system on this aircraft, we were reasonably confident that our diagnosis was correct. We were also confident that, although there were several possible causes, we had eliminated the most likely cause of the problem. We also monitored all other systems to look for any further issues that may have occurred.
• For this scenario, most of the daytime emergency procedures were not going to help. There are a few simple things you can do at night like carrying extra portable light sources and navaids. We also had hand-held radios so that if we experienced a total electrical failure we could still function reasonably well.
• Never be afraid to use ATC when you need help. It’s what they do best. They may live in towers, but they certainly are not ivory ones.
• Never stop learning. When you think you know it all, stop flying immediately because you are now a danger to yourself and everyone else.

To sum up: always, but especially at night, be prepared for anything. There are rarely second chances to get it right the first time.

In case you are wondering, the next landing attempt was pretty good. Even Polair commented that it was “good under the circumstances”. The tacho was replaced. Again. It still ‘played up’ The exact source of the burning smell was never identified but there were no further reported problems in that area. The tacho was finally fixed properly. PPL Ian still does not have his NVFR rating.

Aero Circus is run by a small group of pilots who are independent of airlines, employers, flying schools or other industry associations. They attempt to write unbiased articles with the aim of helping pilots of any experience level get more out of aviation. Check them out at aerocircus.com.au.