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Approaching on fumes

Breaking out with no room to spare

By U.S. Air Force Gen. Ken Wilsbach

Many years ago, I was a young operational test and evaluation fighter pilot flying the F–15 at Eglin Air Force Base (VPS), Florida.

Illustration by Alex Williamson
Zoomed image
Illustration by Alex Williamson

When I wasn’t flying, my ground duties were at Tyndall Air Force Base (PAM), Florida, at the radar test facility about 55-nautical miles away. I frequently used our aero club to fly between the bases to save time since the drive was often more than two hours each way.

On this particular day, as was common for me, I had flown over to Eglin in our club’s Piper PA–24-260 Comanche. I flew a test mission in the F–15, completed the debrief, and was planning to fly back to Tyndall after dark. I stopped by base operations to check the weather before going out to the ramp to preflight. As the weather had been beautiful all day, the forecaster confirmed good flying weather for my planned 20-minute VFR flight back to Tyndall. I preflighted N8740P, departed on Runway 19, and turned toward the east to overfly Choctaw Bay, then flew parallel to the coast at 1,500 feet.

Shortly after taking off and mid-way across the bay, I noticed a solid undercast below me. This was my first sign that things weren’t going as planned. A few minutes later, I heard a Delta Air Lines flight execute a missed approach. I inquired with Tyndall Approach Control for the weather at Tyndall AFB, and they reported 200-foot ceilings and one-half mile visibility. The classic case of sea fog rolling in off the Gulf had occurred. I immediately requested a divert back to Eglin, but they told me Eglin had reported no ceiling and zero visibility. I was now in a significant pinch.

After checking the surrounding weather reports, I determined I did not have the fuel to continue to a suitable alternate. So, I decided to attempt an ILS approach into Tyndall, which resulted in going missed. I declared minimum fuel and requested a second ILS, which I accomplished, but I went missed from this approach too.

Finally, I declared emergency fuel and asked for a precision approach radar (PAR), which allowed for the lowest decision height. In my military flying, we frequently use the PAR approach, but it is not common in general aviation flying. The ATC controller must be commended, as he gave short vectors to allow me to execute the PAR in minimum time. I broke out of the clouds at 125 feet and landed safely on Runway 13L at Tyndall. I taxied to the fuel pump and filled up the Comanche with 55.6 gallons of fuel—0.4 gallons shy of the total amount the tanks would hold minus the unusable fuel.

That evening had already been stressful enough, but I only then realized how little fuel actually remained. If I had gone missed approach on the PAR, I would have exhausted my fuel and likely had to perform an engine-out off-field night-IMC landing either in the swamps near Tyndall or the Gulf. A scenario that is likely not survivable.

When a pilot experiences such an event, the appropriate reaction is to debrief the incident, determine the lessons, and change the behavior. The root cause of my incident was not having sufficient options due to my fuel state. I had flown the Comanche on three round trips between Tyndall and Eglin that week without putting fuel in the aircraft. I took off with the legal fuel requirements, but when the weather changed, I had very few options. Before this incident, I was content to fly with the FAA fuel minimums.

Now, I almost always top off before departing and at least carry enough fuel to execute any mission twice. My current aircraft carries more than four hours of fuel plus reserves, but I rarely plan flights longer than two hours. I have come to appreciate the additional fuel stops to check out all those friendly FBOs who offer a smile, good fuel prices, and maybe even a good hangar story.

U.S. Air Force Chief of Staff Gen. Ken Wilsbach is an F–22 pilot in the United States Air Force and possesses an ATP, CFI, CFII, MEI, and commercial SEL/SES with 6,200 hours. He owns a Lancair Legacy and has been an AOPA member since 1985.

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