Some harrowing tales in here!
My scariest was in 2002, flying a Piper Arrow at Reid-Hillview in San Jose CA at night. Took off just before sunset with my girlfriend and her best friend on board. The friend had never been in a light aircraft before.
Takeoff was uneventful and we had a nice smooth flight out over Santa Cruz and down to Monterrey as the sun was setting. As soon as it got dark I turned back towards home. About 5 mins out from the airport I was just finished listening to the ATIS, had switched to tower, and was about to push the mic button when suddenlyā¦ āpoofāā¦, all the lights went out, along with the radios, transponder, and everything else.
I was a pretty low time pilot at the time, maybe 75 hours or so, and this was my first real in air issue. Thankfully my instructors had taught me to always keep a flashlight around my neck at night, and that ended up being a huge help. I had my girlfriend illuminate the instruments with it while I flew.
Tried all the usual stuff, cycling master, alternator switches, nothing worked. Whatever the issue was it was beyond repair in flight.
There werenāt any calm non-towered airports I could land at which had permanent lighting on, so my only real option was to return home to Reid, where I knew the lights would be on until 10pm. I had about an hour to get on the ground.
I flew around in the 120 deg triangular pattern prescribed for a ānordoā situation, a few miles east of the airport, while observing the traffic using the runway. There were two planes in the circuit doing touch and goes, so I decided to slot myself in behind the second one as close as I dared. My thought process was that the closer I could get to it the less likely I was to be rear-ended by the other, who would have no hope of seeing me at night.
I made my approach, quite close behind, and thankfully saw that plane continue into another takeoff. One problem solved.
Second problem: retractable gear, and no gear indicator lights.
I selected gear down, but was so pumped on adrenaline at this point I wasnāt able to feel any of the subtle cues from it. I really had no idea if it was down or not.
I think I made the smoothest flare Iāve ever done in my life that night, gingerly awaiting the scraping sound of aluminum on asphalt, followed by likely seeing my prop disintegrate. But nopeā¦ I heard that lovely āchirp chirp!ā of the mains touch, and then gently lowered the nose. The second the nosewheel hit everything came back onā¦ radios, lights, all of it.
I couldnāt believe it. Murphy was clearly having a laugh. I tuned the radio to the tower frequency again, to be immediately met by a wall of anger from the controllerā¦
āAircraft on runway 13, just WHAT do you think youāre doing, landing without calls or permission and no lights?!ā
As I taxied off the runway, with the best radio courage I could muster, I quickly explained the situation, and that this was the only solution I could think of.
There was an incredibly long pause, and finally the tower came back with āWellā¦ under the circumstancesā¦ good job I suppose. Taxi to parking.ā.
Parked the plane, left a massive āDO NOT FLYā in the squawks log, promptly told my girlfriend that we were now on a mission to the pub, and that she should probably drive. I was pretty exhausted. She handled the whole thing really well though, as did her friend. They both remained very quiet during the entire event. At the pub her friend said āI never want to fly in a small plane againā¦ unless youāre flying it.ā haha.
I found out two days later that the culprit was the battery grounding strap on the plane. It was fatigued from vibration and snapped in flight. When the nose wheel touched down the jolt was just enough for the two frayed edges to touch again, restoring power.
I bought a handheld comm radio the next day. Still have it and never fly without it. Lesson learned, and a night I wonāt ever forget.
