Flight 96

05-14-00

C172

2.2 solo; 1 landing

"Gusty winds- couldn't make approach at 2N8- bounced 1st try back at N07- went around, arrived OK... PRACTICE!!"

N07, aborted landing at 2N8



sky clear, vis +10 , wind 330 at 8-15, variable


Another day with interesting airflow, but less forceful.
My plan today: fly to Marlboro, land there, then perhaps go on to Lakewood.

Once aloft, the first flaw in my plan becomes apparent. It's quite bumpy, and as I turn towards my first checkpoint-  I actually feel a little queasy. But it soon passes, and I settle down, riding it out, giving the Skyhawk its head with the occasional bumps. The sky is clear and sunny, and the world below is alive with  the green sprouting signs of spring. I always have one good grin and satisfied chuckle on every flight; this moment proves just right for that. I'm flying! It still amazes me.

This plane has a GPS, but I'm only using it to confirm groundspeed.  [at this writing, I can't recall if I'd entered a plan in its memory; this could explain what heppened later]

I intercept the VOR radial which will lead me to 2N8, and the GPS cheers me with a very nice GS reading as I proceed. It doesn't occur to me yet that this wind will totally unravel my little plan, bit by frustrating bit.

Another checkpoint, another turn, and- no airport. Where is it? At this altitude, the wind is slapping 06G around like a toy; it's not helping, as I look from chart to terrain to GPS to sky... I can hear Marlboro traffic mixed in with the jamming and calls from fields farther away. I call for a radio check three times- nobody answers. Radio problem, maybe? Well, first get the airport in sight, then worry about that...

But dammit, I can't find it. I know I'm close... I double back to my last checkpoint, searching. Should be... right there... no... I turn again, and as has happened more than once before, I see I'm right over it. This is a happy discovery, if embarassing.

Still no answer on the CTAF, but I decide to enter anyway, scanning carefully for traffic.

On downwind, I can see how short the runway is. And there are high-tension cables close by, even crossing the approach end of 27. The wind as I descend seems steadier, strong out of the NW, but as I turn base I feel like I'm losing ground, and the plane is one again tossed in all directions. I try to climb a bit, already sinking low too far out, and a curious thing hapens. 06G just will not climb. Carb heat's off, showing good RPMs, only one notch of flaps out, but... is this a downdraft? No high terrain nearby... I decide to go around and try again. After crawling back up to TPA, I see the GPS is indicating a groundspeed of only 86 as I flog 06G upwind, cleaned-up and at redline rpm, indicating above Va.  Wow.

I realize that the second leg to Lakewood is a no-go...I'm already at 1.5 hrs, and will have to beat against this wind all the way home. But time for one more stab at 2N8...

The second attempt goes much like the first. I don't know if it is descending air, or just a green and rusty pilot on a windy day at a strange airport.  I do know, however, when I'm beat, so I veer east towards Sandy Hook, pausing to circle over the hill in Atlantic Highlands where a friend of mine lives. Having refreshed my time somewhat, I decide to chance a return trip up the river. The engine is strong, the wind is steady, so I lift the nose and head out over the harbor for Coney Island, staying just below the Class B shelf. GPS shows 100 on this crosswind leg; not too bad.

Soon I'm cruising through the VFR exclusion area at 1000. A few choppers and light singles, no surprises, a nice bit of sightseeing. More grins.

My leg from the bridge to N07 is familiar to me, and soon I arrive in the neighborhood. I hear another pilot calling entry to  downwind for 01. Can't see him, but as he turns downwind, just as I'm about to do so, I see why- he's slightly above me and to my right, smack dab in the plane's worst blind spot. Gotta remember to lift a wing next time, instead of assuming he's behind me.. or even at the correct altitude. I am at the right height, or so I think... what's wrong with this guy?

He redeems himself as I descend on base, after he rolls out:
"Watch out for the wind hooking around from the west", he transmits, sounding a little shaken.

Hmmm... wind seems steady enough, from the left quarter as it should be, but I know this airport. It'll likely change up on me as soon as I get below the treetops.

On final, I'm high. Crap. But I have time to fix it... a moment later, I'm looking at a slightly long touchdown, but not unacceptable. My flare starts off well, but she floats, ballooning ever so slightly. No, old girl, mustn't... I pull out the tiny bit of power I was carrying to be ready for the wind, and try to just hold her, expecting trouble with the wind. I soon get it.  The middle taxiway approaches- better go around- no, one sec-

Thump! 06G flops down suddenly... then rises. It's a mighty bounce, quite impressive really, and now I see that it is, in fact, time for a go-around. I force myself to feed the power back in smoothly, even though she's fixing to touch down again, this time very close to the end of the runway. The sock is way behind me... it could very well be that we're now running downwind. Back in my firm grip, 06G obediently rises again, clearing the fence and the trees with room to spare, but not as much as I'd like.

I trim for 60 knots and call my go-around. The huge greenhouses north of the field slide past. I'm too numb, too busy, to feel any fear after that near-overrun, but as I turn crosswind, I have to face how really, really goddamn close that was. Had I hesitated just one moment longer, she would've rolled right off the end and into the rail fence adjacent the road, probably on her nosewheel the whole way. I'd be waiting for an ambulance shortly thereafter. I have a lot of questions in my mind, but decide to wait until later to consider the answers.

It's time to just do it again, properly this time.

The next approach is a bit long again, but I ride the throttle a little more agressively and subtly, focus on putting her down firmly, and make out much better. That's enough fun for today, I say to myself as I taxi to the ramp.

Checking in, I am chatted up by the kid behind the counter. Funny, but I don't recall meeting him before. He's very enthusiastic, and full of questions... not about my hair-raising go-around, thanks be, and I say not a word about that. I'm usually quick to tell tales of my screwups, but I just can't do it this time.... the bruise on my ego is still too fresh, too painful. By way of compromise, I tell him about how I had to abort my planned landing at 2N8. He seems very sympathetic; obviously wise beyond his years.

  I feel less humiliated, but I need to sit down by the ramp and mull this mess over in my head.

So, did the wind change up on me? Could be, but I should've handled it better. No, really, the important thing is that I should've just gone around on that first sign of ballooning... no... again, that's not the heart of it. The problem, as usual, was that my final leg was all wrong, from the very top. Yes, that's it.

I linger a while to watch some of the other locals landing and taking off, enough to assure myself that the wind certainly is misbehaving that day.

Today, as I write this, I'm planning my next flight.
It will consist of nothing but pattern work and landings.