Spring break to remember

I started flying lessons at the age of 16 and had my ticket soon after my eighteenth birthday. My primary instructor was a retired ag pilot who taught me stick and rudder skills and wasn’t as worried about the bookwork. He had seen a few moments in his career where airplanes stopped working correctly and taught me to “fly the airplane,” although I never thought I would need that advice.

After getting my certificate I flew our family’s airplane and joined the K-State Flying Club at Kansas State University. I flew whenever I could, with the goal of becoming an ag pilot. Now a 21-year-old college student at K-State, I was an instrument-rated multiengine commercial pilot with about 890 total hours of flight time. I lived in Hastings, Nebraska, and had just finished flying my first season in an Air Tractor 502.

Little did I anticipate that this early in my flying career I would experience a catastrophic engine failure in my 1962 Cessna 182, equipped with a low-time Continental O-470. I do not know what the statistical chance of a total engine failure in flight is, but it has to be pretty low for a pilot with my relatively low hours.

Our adventure began with a spring break trip to Panama City Beach, Florida (ECP). My three friends and I decided to avoid the high costs of commercial flights. Instead, we chose to embark on this journey in my trusty Cessna 182. This 751-mile flight was set to be my longest cross-country trip to date, and I had tediously planned every leg. The weather forecast promised VFR conditions and a favorable 20-knot tailwind.

Before our departure, my dad had an A&P mechanic change the oil and inspect the airplane to ensure it was in airworthy condition. No issues were noted. We arrived at Manhattan Regional Airport (MHK) around 9 a.m., loaded up our gear, and prepared for takeoff. However, the airplane refused to start. It had been outside in freezing temperatures overnight, and the carbureted engine was too cold. After an hour in a heated hangar, the engine finally roared to life, and we taxied to Runway 21. The flight was smooth and uneventful. The weather was excellent, and the scenery was amazing as we flew over miles of open countryside. Our fuel stops were hassle-free, and the engine showed no signs of trouble. It wasn’t until mile 748 of our 751-mile trip that disaster struck.

I was on with Center on an IFR flight plan. As I approached the Class Delta airspace at Panama City, I was directed to switch to the tower frequency. About 30 seconds after the frequency transfer, I reduced power, and without any warning, the engine just let go. I hadn’t yet contacted the tower as it was a busy day, and I was waiting my turn. My first radio call was urgent: “Mayday, Mayday, Mayday, Three-Six-Zero-Seven-Uniform, engine failure.” Their response was, “OK… Three-Six-Zero-Seven-Uniform cleared to land any runway. What is your fuel, how many souls on board, what’s your position, and do you have the Citation on short final for three-four in sight?” This sudden emergency must have startled the tower as much as it did me.

The engine emitted a dreadful noise and shuddered violently. A witness on the ground later described it as if a vacuum had sucked up a bunch of bolts, followed by an eerie silence. Every readout on the engine monitor flashed with red Xs, signaling disaster. Smoke began flooding the cabin, and my training instinctively kicked in: Power to idle, mixture cutoff, fuel tank valves closed, and find a landing spot.

Luckily, I was only three miles away from my intended landing spot and already in the downwind for Runway 34 at Panama City. Drawing on my commercial training, I executed a tight 180-degree turn to line up with the runway right behind a landing corporate jet. I opted for a no-flap landing, as I had little time to adjust the configuration. The landing was surprisingly smooth, and one of my best landings to this day. As we rolled to a stop, another pilot on the radio complimented me, saying, “Good job, buddy!”

I learned several crucial lessons. First, always be prepared for in-flight problems and always have an out or emergency landing spot in mind. Second, don’t fear the ground. I am convinced that my aerial application training helped me stay calm, keep the airplane coordinated in the turn and the airspeed up, and avoid a fatal stall mistake that we too often read about. As my instructor had said, “Just fly the airplane.”

We knew the engine had real problems given the amount of oil on the wheel pants and ground after landing. When the mechanic uncowled the airplane and started the inspection, it was obvious something had failed catastrophically. The engine had four dollar-sized holes in various places along the crankcase, and quarter-sized bits of different components were found in the muffler. It was a total engine failure. Because the engine was sent back to Continental, we were not able to open it. We do not know exactly what happened, but looking at the damage, we surmise that it was either a broken crank or piston rod. Following a three-month stay in Florida, the airplane is now flying again, equipped with a new Western Skyways O-520 engine and a new three-blade prop.

My final piece of advice is to never become too comfortable or reliant on the airplane. Always expect the unexpected and be ready to respond.

Henry Schardt is a student who flies full-time in the summer as an ag pilot. He holds a commercial pilot certificate with ratings on the Air Tractor 802.