Well, it’s not real glamorous.
You do have to know that where I finished my private license is on the south end of Lake Michigan, where we can and do get “lake effect” weather. I took off to practice my S-turns and other maneuvers in preparation for my upcoming checkride. I had checked the weather and my plans had been OK’d by the flight instructor on duty (my regular instructor wasn’t there at the time, but my early morning excursion had been planned in advance and the CFI on duty was stepping in to keep an eye on me). When I took off visibility was seven miles with a broken cloud layer at 12,000 feet, clearly Visual Flight Rules weather.
So… off I go. I’m merrily doing S-turns and steep turns and stuff like that when I suddenly realize things are getting hazy. Visibility is dropping. So I start off back home. I’m only about 25 miles away, in airplane that cruises at 100 mph so it should only be about 15 minutes to get back home, right? No problem.
Well, it kept getting hazier and hazier and the cloud layer wasn’t broken anymore it was solid and starting to get lower. I knew I shouldn’t be in the clouds so I flew under them. At a certain point I realize I’m only about 600 feet off the ground, no longer sure where I am, and the ground is starting to disappear into whiteness. THAT’s when I realized I was in deep doo-doo.
I had been heading towards a radio tower as a landmark (get above tower. Turn left 90 degrees to a heading of north. That puts you right over the end of runway 09 at my home airport in about 5-6 minutes.) when I noted that I could no longer see it. I made a 180, as I had been instructed to do as a way of getting out of sudden low visibility. The problem was, it was no better behind than before and the clouds were forcing me still lower. I’m four hundred feet above the ground and just about ready for a brown alert in the underwear because I can barely make out the grass - or whatever - below me. I am setting up for a climb and dialing in the Gary ATC when realize I’m going over some sort of farm field. I thought “Hey, I could LAND there!” as I pass over it, basically dragging the field. At the end of it, I do another 180 and bring the airplane down.
Keep in mind, by that time it was so foggy that when the wheels touched down I couldn’t see the other end of my “runway”. I was scared to death some animal or human was going to be out in that field and I wouldn’t see them in time to avoid a dreadful Bad Thing. I honestly don’t know how fast I was going when I touched down, as I was straining to see what was ahead and hoping to god there wouldn’t be any sudden obstacles. The stall horn burped as I touched down, and later I would note I had 40 degrees of flaps down though for the life of me I don’t remember putting them down. Anyhow - it was like driving a pickup truck across a rutted farm field at 70 miles an hour, but far less stable. A rise the middle of the field threw me back up into the air briefly, and by applying full engine power briefly I managed to bring the nose up enough so I landed on the wheels and not the prop. I then yanked it back to idle because I knew there was very little room here.
When forward motion ceased everything that had been in the back of the airplane was now either on top of the panel or under it, mixed up with the right-side rudder pedals. The landing had actually blown the seat cushions off the empty passenger seat. I tried to turn off the engine but it didn’t work the first time, so I managed to find the checklists (that was under the rightside rudder pedals) and figure out what I had neglected to do and got the prop to stop going around (Yeah, just a little shook up!).
I staggered out of the airplane, somewhat surprised my legs would hold me up and gratified I had not actually pissed in my pants. I swore and kicked at the landing gear, checked to make sure the airplane was secure, then headed over to the nearby house.
The gentleman who owned the house had been having his morning cup of coffee out on his back porch when I landed. I don’t know what he had been expecting to get out of that Cessna 150, but it probably wasn’t lil’ ol’ me, pigtails and all. Once we were over our mutual shock I asked to use his phone, which he had no problem with.
I then called the airport and got the receptionist, who was a little surprised that I was calling from somewhere else as I had not mentioned a cross country. I said I had a problem, I was alright, could I please speak with someone in authority? OK, no problem - the flight school director got on the line and I mentioned the sudden change in weather and that I had landed. The director said that was OK, just let him know what airport I had landed at and they’d send someone to pick me up.
I said I wasn’t at an airport.
Absolute silence for about half a minute. Then he said “Oh.”
Then I started babbling that I was OK and the airplane was probably OK and –
He cut me off and asked me where I was.
That’s when I realized I didn’t even know if I was in Illinois or Indiana. Oops. I asked the person who owned the phone, house, and field and then I relayed the address. The director asked if I could, possibly, fly the airplane out of the field when the weather cleared. I said not a chance, explained the lack of distance available, and said it would take a better pilot than me to get the airplane out. Personally, I was concerned they wouldn’t be able to fly it out and would have to take it apart and drive it back on a truck trailer, then reassemble it, but did not mention that at the time. The director said they’d send someone out for me, just stay put.
Like I was going anywhere.
So, anyhow, the Lake County sheriff sends a chopper. By that time, the fog is lifting somewhat although visibility still sucks. Well, yeah, it’s not like any other airplane was going to get in to that field. So out of the chopper steps the airport owner, who also owns the flight school and the airplane which is sitting in the middle of a small field in Illinois. He’s the old guy who’s all dour and intimidating looking and I haven’t really met him before. It occurs to me that this may not be the best first impression. The owner goes over to the airplane, looks it over, still looking all dour and stern and old and grumpy. Then he comes over to me, towering over me, and says in his gruff voice “You OK?”
“Y-y-yeah”
He gives me one of those pats on the shoulder guys give each other, which almost knocks me off my feet and says “Good job on the landing - airplane looks fine. You can fly anything I own anytime. Now get in the chopper and go home.”
So I climbed into the chopper. As we’re about to take off I tell the deputy “No - wait! I want to see how he gets the airplane out of there!”
The deputy looks at me. “Are you nuts? You almost crashed an airplane, and now you want to hang out here 10 feet above the ground and watch that guy do some crazy barnstorming shit to get off the ground?”
“Uh… yeah. I do.”
The chopper pilot laughs, says I’ve the flying bug bad, and says I’ll do alright. So we sit there, 10 feet above the ground, and watch the Old Dude get the airplane out of the field. He took a couple ground runs, probably judging acceleration and ground conditions, then set up for a textbook shortfield landing, goes for it, and when he approaches the fence on the far side, still not quite going fast enough to fly, he pulled back to “jump” over the fence, land on the other side, then finished the take off roll on the far side of the fence.
The airplane followed the chopper back to the airport. Both those guys were instrument rated and knew where they were going, so I didn’t worry about it although I would not have wanted to fly even with the “improved” visibility. A mechanic was waiting, and declared the airplane fit to fly. I then had to go home, TOTALLY freak out my husband, get a shower, get dressed, and go to work.
The next day I was also scheduled to fly, but told to show up an hour and a half early as there were some people who wanted to talk to me. Now, in an emergency a pilot had very broad authority but after the emergency is resolved can be called upon to justify any and all of her actions. Which is exactly what the talking was all about. As I said, not the most comfortable morning I’ve ever had, but not as bad as the day prior. I was cleared of all wrong doing, the FAA and FSDO guys thanked me for not making them fill out the paperwork on a dead pilot (yes, they really did phrase it like that) and praised my handling of the emergency, although they weren’t exactly happy with me getting into the mess in the first place.
Then I went out, preflighted the airplane, and took my scheduled lesson.
As to what the hell happened – when the water of Lake Michigan and the land adjacent to it are of different temperatures, a shift in the wind can cause an air mass above the lake to slide up over the land and generate a hefty fog bank. This is NOT fog rolling in - it’s air rolling in and turning into fog. I didn’t fly into a fog bank, it formed up around me. The wind had shifted from west to north, off Lake Michigan, and set up conditions for instant fog.
Now, in retrospect, if the same thing happened to me again today (which I fervently try to avoid!) I might opt to either climb to around 4000 feet when the visibility started to drop - since lake effect weather usually doesn’t extend much about 3000 and in any case would get me above ground obstacles - and go south, out of the range of the weather effect. But I won’t say for sure, because any bad situation has to be dealt with as it is, which doesn’t always conform to theory. If I can’t get away from the fog bank fast enough I might wind up landing in a field again if that seems the best choice. I also pay a LOT more attention to wind direction (if it’s coming off the big lake I’m very cautious) and keep a much better eye on the distant horizon in all directions.
Definitely one of the more educational flights I’ve made, and the lessons have sunk it, but it was pretty rough at the time.
And, oh yes, two days later my husband bought me my first cell phone and insisted I carry it - cause next time I wind up in a field there may not be a phone I can borrow nearby. My protest that I intended to stay out of fields in the future made no impact, as he pointed out that I hadn’t intended to land in that one, either.
Several months later my CFI took me on a planned flight into actual IMC, where I was able to both keep the airplane upright and navigate at the same time. Having a qualified IFR pilot and CFII sitting next to me did a lot for my stress levels, of course, as I trusted him to keep me from getting us killed. Not that I had any illusions that I was qualified to fly into clouds on my own - I’m not, and I did need help from him to complete the flight, but it was another interesting exercise and MUCH more pleasant than my prior encounter with clouds. I will state, though, that even in the very smooth conditions (the CFI took some pains to make the flight as easy as possible - no rough weather, for example, or low ceilings, or turbulence) and my familiarity with our planned route it was very difficult for me to do this and yes, at times disorienting. Even under “ideal” IFR conditions it was problematic - in any sort of rough weather at all, or after dark, or a combination of the two, I can see how a pilot could easily get into a serious problem if they didn’t stay on top of the situation.