Foolish Mistakes

Few aviators complete their careers without escaping dangerous incidents, usually when they have little flying experience. Within months of receiving my pilot’s license, I escaped the Grim Reaper’s grasp twice: once when I attempted a foolish maneuver that almost sent me to Davy Jones’ locker, and again when I initiated a near miss with another aircraft.

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I learned to fly in a two-seat Cessna 150, which in pilot parlance is a “ground lover.” All metal, heavy, and underpowered, its performance, especially on hot summer days, is sluggish. On just such a day, I was flying a 150 over the Mississippi River when I spotted a party raft belonging to my brother. Ignoring potential danger, I swooped down to terrify the revelers. Throttling back and gliding soundlessly into their wake, I firewalled the engine when I was right beside them. Indeed, I frightened them so badly that several abandoned ship and jumped into the river … but I scared myself far more. Ignoring the sign below the plane’s left window —NEVER OPEN IN FLIGHT — I unlatched it to yell at my brother. Instantly, the plane’s controls and instruments went haywire, the stall warning horn blared, and with mere feet between wheels and water, I struggled to do four things at once: shut off the carburetor heat, firewall the engine, fly the plane, and close the window. My life hung in the balance for miles as I skittered along the surface. Finally, the aircraft ascended sluggishly. The near miss happened when I was piloting a four-seat Cessna 172. Having requested permission to land, the air traffic controller told me to remain on the downwind leg and await further instructions. Far beyond the active runway’s approach end, I assumed the controller had forgotten about me, and turned onto base leg without permission. For myself, a girlfriend, and the pilot of a twin-engine aircraft a few hundred feet higher, also on base leg, my error almost led to catastrophe. In the control tower, the other pilot, a veteran aviator who was ferrying the twin to its new owner, should have demanded that my license be revoked, but realizing I was a low-time pilot, agreed not to file a complaint unless the controllers insisted upon it. “Son,” the controller said, “we’ll let you off with a warning, but if you ever make another stupid mistake like that, you’ll never fly again.” Then, he did something that earned my eternal respect for air traffic controllers. He patted me on the shoulder, and said, “You aren’t the first pilot we’ve called to the tower for turning onto base without permission, and you won’t be the last. Now, hangar that aircraft and take your girlfriend, who is no doubt now your ex-girlfriend, home.” Life is dull if people don’t make mistakes. For twenty years after those reckless errors, while flying my J-3 Piper Cub, I never had another close call, and I never forgot that even the smartest people make mistakes, but only fools continue making foolish mistakes.