Where There’s Smoke…

This morning was a bit different. I had scheduled a Piper (PA-18) Super Cub for a three-hour flight for my first solo cross-country. I logged the information of my flight from Lawson Army Airfield (KLSF) at Fort Benning, Georgia, where I was stationed, to Newnan-Coweta County Airport (KCCO), then to Alexander City, Alabama (KALX), and back to Lawson. Filing a flight plan was not necessary, but I logged it on the clubhouse flight board.

I checked the airplane’s logbook and saw it had not flown for several days. A little more investigation revealed that the club’s mechanic had just completed a 100-hour inspection. I was to be the first to fly it since the checkup. 

I checked the weather by phone and was assured it would be great CAVU (ceiling and visibility unlimited) with 2-3-knot winds from 090 degrees. I sat down with my E6-B and chart, calculating heading for each leg. Folding up the chart to show the first leg, I took a look around to make sure I had not forgotten anything

I walked up to the airplane and placed my chart, E6-B, and plotter on the instrument panel. The plane had a battery and generator (no starter), so the lights and the radio worked only as long as the battery had a charge or the engine was running. The only navigation instrument was a magnetic compass mounted above the panel. There was a radio. 

A thorough preflight showed all was OK. Now the fun begins. First, start the engine. With the plane untied, I stepped in front of the wing strut and behind the prop. From here, I could reach the mag switch, throttle, and prop. Reaching into the plane, I checked to make sure the mags are off then reached with my right hand to position the prop, so I could give it a good swing.

I then moved the mixture to full rich, checked to make sure the carb heat was off, and cracked the throttle a hair. I took a quick look at the prop and flipped the mag switch. Carefully grabbing the back of the prop with both hands, I gave a hearty swing. The engine sprang to life. I reached into the cockpit instantly and pulled the throttle to idle. As the plane started to roll forward, I swung into the seat and placed my feet on the pedals and my heels on the brakes, stopping the roll.

I sat for a minute, relaxing and thinking about my flight as I fastened my seat belt, closed the bottom and top halves of the door, and turned on the radio. With the engine warmed up, I did my run-up and all was good. I contacted the tower. All went well on the takeoff and the climbout on downwind. I leveled off at about 2,500 feet. I picked up the heading I had written on my chart, now spread out on my lap supported by my arm and stick.

With everything set, I settled in, looking at the chart and out the window for landmarks and concentrating on the compass to keep my course. I had been flying about 15 minutes, when I looked up to find the next checkpoint. Much to my surprise, I could see nothing except smoke. 

I was scared to death, but I knew I had to fly the plane. I thought I was on fire. I had to dive to put out the flames, so I pulled back the throttle and pushed the stick forward. I threw the chart into the back seat. As I did so, I noticed oil all over my feet. 

Immediately I knew I had a large oil leak. I pulled back the stick, putting the plane in level flight. Knowing I had to land soon, I slowed to best glide speed. As the plane slowed, the smoke slowly disappeared. To save the engine, I thought about shutting it off and stopping the prop. That would cut my option of using the engine to get to a place to land. Looking forward and to each side, I saw nothing but trees—no clearings, nothing.

With nothing to lose, at a little over 1,000 feet agl, I started a turn to the left, looking for a place to land. I had completed about 90 degrees when I spotted a large field. I must have been directly over it when all hell broke loose. 

I made the decision that this is my place to land. Continuing my turn put me on downwind. Now that I had a field and I knew I could make the landing with no problem, I thought I needed to stop the engine. So I pulled the mixture, but it kept turning. I turned off the mag switch, but the engine kept turning. 

It was time to turn base. I did what I could to save the engine. It was time to concentrate on putting this ruptured duck on the ground. Turning final, I set up myself with what is now my runway. I was a little high, but high is better than low. I added flaps and was still high. More flaps. At full flaps I still was not going to land on the spot I wanted. So, I started a slip that helped me see where I was landing. 

The windshield was soaked in oil, so it was hard to see. I stayed in a slip until I knew I could make my spot. The prop was still turning. I straightened the plane for touchdown. The wheels touched and I pulled up the flaps. I noticed a barn next to the field, so I let the plane roll to a stop in front of it. At that time, the prop stopped. I got out of the plane and saw oil all over it. 

I looked behind the back seat for a rag to wipe off my shoes. Luck was with me as there were several rags. I could do nothing about the oil on my pants, so I opened the cowl to see what had happened. On top of the engine were two oil lines that cross, and I believe they go to the oil cooler. The lines were rubbing, and a hole developed in the upper one.

Now that I knew the problem, I pulled the dipstick. There was still a bit of oil on the bottom, so the engine did not run out, but I needed some oil and two oil lines to get out of this field. My plan was to walk down the road that I passed over while landing, go to the first house, and call the club. But before that I decided I would explore the barn. Lo and behold, inside the barn was a phone that worked. 

I knew I had only one place to call—the flying club. With desperation I dialed, hoping someone was there who would be willing to give a message to the mechanic. Then I heard “hello,” and it was the mechanic himself. I told him my problem, and he said he would see me in about an hour with the oil and oil lines. He ended the call by telling me not to tell anyone else what happened.

About an hour and a half later, he arrived, quickly inspected the plane, changed out the lines, and filled the engine with oil. We both jumped in our planes. The mechanic propped my engine. He left first, and a few minutes later, I took off. 

About 5 miles out, I contacted Lawson Tower, which cleared me for a straight-in to Runway 15. What can be hard about a straight-in, even if I had never done one? 

I lined up and continued to descend. As I approached the river, the plane started to settle faster than it had. It looked like I was still on a descent to touch down at the threshold on Runway 15. As I approached the center of the river and cliff, suddenly I was below the runway, looking up at the cliff. In a panic, I jammed on full power and pulled back on the stick. The engine sprang to life and gave me just enough altitude and speed to do a controlled crash on the end of the overrun before the engine came to an abrupt halt.

The prop stopped, and I thought, now you want to stop. 

After regaining my composure, I coasted off the side of the overrun and halted in the grass. Luckily, I had not hit any lights. I jumped out, positioning myself behind the prop, and reached in quickly to check that the mag switch was off and then positioned the prop. Switch on, throttle cracked, I gave the prop a hard swing and the engine came to life. 

The plane started to move, and the strut hit me behind the knees, dumping me in the pilot’s seat. I had the throttle cracked a little too much. I was soon sitting in the seat, feet on pedals, hand on throttle, and back on the overrun taxiing to the threshold. At that point the tower cleared me to taxi to the club tie-down area.

I saw the mechanic there tying down the Super Cruiser. I told him what had just happened and proceeded to tie down the Super Cub. He again asked me not to mention the day’s events. 

It dawned on me what probably happened on my final approach. The wind blowing down the runway created a downdraft. I flew into it, unaware. It turned out well and I learned a lot. I went on and got my private certificate in that same Cub. My FAA examiner was a crop duster. So, when I went for my check ride, I had to land on a dirt road where he was working. I felt right at home in this plane and landing on dirt.

I passed, no problem.

Image: Adobe Stock.