Ooo, stupid pilot tricks always make a fun thread!
Let's see, in no particular order:
1. Night Flight in Winter
As a new pilot, I flew to a job interview in the dead of winter, in Illinois (from WI). The interview went long, and it was well after dark when I got back to the plane. The airport was so poorly lit, I could not find my rental Cherokee 140.
When I finally found it, I unlocked the door by feel, started up, taxied out and took off into an absolute black hole. No lights, nothing - I was in complete IMC until I climbed high enough to have a horizon of farmstead's lights, which were few and far between.
Then, in that pre-GPS era, I was following roads back to my itty-bitty airport (C89, Sylvania Field) -- and couldn't find it. Luckily, it was right next to I-94, so I was eventually able to spot it, but the jelly-jar runway lights were about half burnt out, and those that were lit were buried in 18" of poorly plowed snow.
Like an idiot, and with the confidence only a newly minted pilot can have, I thought I'd give the landing a shot. I flared and literally landed in the lightest visible white spot to the LEFT of three widely-spaced jelly-jar (really!) runway lights, my wing tips skimming over the piles of plowed snow on either side of the runway.
Today, all these years later, I shudder at the thought. I would NEVER attempt that landing today. But I lived.
2. Soft/Short Field Departure in an Ercoupe
A few years ago we were scouting breakfast places for an upcoming fly-out, and decided to land at Keosauqua, Iowa. I had been told that this little town had a grass strip and some really good restaurants within walking distance.
The airport was right along the river, which made it very picturesque. Mary and I flew our little 85 HP Ercoupe, as it was a gorgeous Iowa summer day. Flying that plane with the top down was more fun than anyone rightfully deserved, but I digress.
From the air, the airport looked fine. On landing, however, I noticed we stopped very quickly, the grass was very long, and the ground soft and rutted with gopher trails. A little voice in the back of my head registered an "Uh oh", but we went off, found a great place for lunch, and had a generally wonderful day.
Upon our return, I fired Sweetie up, and we taxied out. The soil alongside the river was very loamy, and the gophers had done a great job of digging it up into little 8" piles that were irregularly spaced down the length of the runway. Now, anyone who has flown an Ercoupe knows that it is unstallable. You simply cannot stall the aircraft, because the designer made the elevator travel insufficient to stall the wing.
The DOWNSIDE of this arrangement is that you have insufficient elevator to lift the nose during a soft-field take-off. As I trundled down the long-grass runway, powered by that tired old 85 HP Continental, we kept hitting those 8" piles of loam with the nosegear. When this happened, we would instantly lose the precious airspeed we had pain-stakingly acquired, and those wires at the end of the runway were getting pretty big...
For the first (and, so far, only) time in my life, I aborted a take-off "for real". The plane was just not able to accelerate in those conditions.
Taxiing back, I weighed my options. They were all bad. We were many miles from home, our daughter was expecting to be picked up in an hour, and the airplane was unable to fly. What to do?
I decided to taxi back and forth, to "tamp down" the gopher piles, essentially grooving the runway so that the little plane could take off. I then decided to utilize the "Sylvania Swing" we had used at C89 on hot days -- face AWAY from your direction of intended flight, go to full power, and kick the plane into a 180 degree turn as it was going as fast as possible without catching a wingtip. This is always a semi-risky maneuver, but was made all the more stupid by the tall grass.
But, off we went, with the little Continental screaming, in the wrong direction. I turned the yoke hard over (remember: no rudder pedals in an Ercoupe!), spun around, seemed to lose all momentum, and then trundled down my tamped-down runway. This technique probably saved our lives.
That plane took FOREVER to break ground -- and here came the wires! Mary and I lifted Sweetie those last few feet by clenching our butt muscles, and we made it out alive. Needless to say, we never brought the group back for a fly out.
3. Cessna 172 Departure Error
As a 70-hour pilot, I had transitioned to the 172 the day before (all of my previous flying had been in Cherokees), and was eager to take Mary and the kids up in this new (to me) bird. The view straight down was new and cool, and it was just ridiculously easy to fly and land. Heck, I could actually SEE the tires as I flared, instead of trying to feel for the ground, as we did in low-wing planes. How cool was that?
It was hot, and we were fairly heavy, for a 150 HP, clapped out rental bird. Once again, we were at tiny little C89, with it's 2300' long, 30' wide runway.
With my young family aboard, I decided to do a touch & go before departing the pattern. After a satisfying "chirp-chirp" landing, I poured on the coals, configured for a nice climb out over I-94, toward Lake Michigan, and retracted the flaps.
Unfortunately, I was used to the Johnson Bar flaps on the Cherokee. For whatever reason -- sheer stupidity, I think -- I flipped the little lever all the way up, instead of one notch at a time.
It's hot, we're heavy, and slow, and climbing, and my flaps are slowly retracting, robbing me of whatever lift they may have provided. Suddenly my climb is leveling off at about semi-truck level, and that sinking feeling isn't just in the pit of my stomach. Crap, here comes the freeway!
Once again, whether it was by sheer force of will, or a sudden helpful gust of wind, or just enough time to gather airspeed, they Skyhawk recovered and climbed *just* enough to clear traffic on the interstate.
Once again, I lived, and learned.
There are others. Crossing Lake Michigan in a crappy old Mooney (with a CFI, who was PIC) at 3000', with my little boy strapped in a car seat in the back seat, comes to mind as a particularly bad idea that worked out okay strictly by luck. And there's that time flying back from Michigan directly into the setting sun in so-called VFR conditions that were actual IFR... And I don't even want to talk about my landing in Rockford one time...
Gosh, my recent flying has been downright boring -- which is just the way we like it, thenkyewbeddymuch -- thanks to my making so many of the dumb decisions and mistakes early on in my flying days! They say that what doesn't kill us makes us stronger, and it's especially true in aviation -- IF you learn your lessons from your mistakes.