As you will have guessed, since you are reading about this in Aftermath and not in I Learned About Flying From That, the flight did not end well. About 25 minutes after takeoff and shortly after crossing the Arkansas border, the 31-year-old pilot, whose in-command time amounted to 75 hours, lost control of the airplane and went down in a remote woodland. All aboard perished.

A few minutes before the impact, as he was climbing to 9,500 feet msl, the pilot contacted ATC and requested flight following. The weather along his route—which, notably, he had last checked with ForeFlight 17 hours earlier—was generally VFR, with a chance of scattered convective activity. There was, however, one patch of rainy weather just to the left of his course, and the controller advised him to turn right to avoid it.

On the controller’s display, the target of the Cirrus crept eastward just below the edge of the weather. Radar paints rain, however, not cloud. The flight was over a remote area with few ground lights and the harvest moon had not yet risen, but its hidden glow may have faintly defined an eastern horizon. In the inspissated blackness of the night, the pilot, whose instrument experience was limited to what little was required for the private certificate, probably could not tell clear air from cloud.

As the Cirrus reached 9,500 feet, it began to turn to the left toward the area of weather. Perhaps the tasks of trimming and setting the mixture for cruise distracted the pilot from his heading. The controller noticed the change and pointed it out to the pilot, who replied he intended to return to Muskogee. He now began a turn to the right. Rather than reverse course, however, he continued the turn until he was heading northward back into the weather. The controller, who by now sensed trouble, said to the pilot that he showed him on a heading of 340 degrees and asked whether he concurred. The pilot, whose voice until this point had betrayed no sense of unease, replied somewhat incoherently that “the wind caught me, [but now] I’m out of it.”

With a tone of increasing urgency, the controller instructed the pilot to turn left to a heading of 270. The pilot acknowledged the instruction, but he did not comply. Instead, he continued turning to the right. At the same time, he was descending at an increasing rate and was now at 6,000 feet. “I show you losing serious altitude,” the controller said. “Level your wings if able and fly directly southbound…Add power if you can.”

It was already too late. In a turning dive, its speed increasing past 220 knots, the Cirrus continued downward. Moments later, its radar target disappeared.

In its discussion of the accident, the National Transportation Safety Board (NTSB) focused upon the pilot’s preparedness—in the broadest sense—for the flight. A former Marine, he should have been semper paratus—always ready—but his history suggested a headstrong personality with a certain tendency to ignore loose ends as he plunged ahead.

He had failed his first private pilot test on questions related to airplane systems; he passed on a retest the following week. But this little glitch tells us nothing about his airmanship. His instructor reported he responded calmly and reasonably to turbulence, and was “good” at simulated instrument flight. He had enrolled in Cirrus Embark transition training shortly before acquiring the airplane. He completed all of the flight training lessons, but—again, a hint of impatience with tiresome minutiae—may not have completed the online self-study lessons. The flight training was strictly VFR and did not include night or instrument components.

The airplane was extremely well equipped for instrument flying, but it was a 2001 model, and its avionics were, according to the Cirrus Embark instructors, “old technology” and “not easy to use.” In other words, it did not have a glass panel, and its classical instruments, which included a flight director, were sophisticated and possibly confusing to a novice. The airplane was equipped with an autopilot, and the pilot had been trained in at least the elements of its use.

The airplane was also equipped with an airframe parachute, but it was not deployed during the loss of control. In any case, its use is limited to indicated speeds below 133 kias, and it might not have functioned properly in a spiral dive.

• READ MORE: Dissecting a Tragedy in the Third Dimension

An instructor familiar with the pilot and his airplane—whether this was the same instructor as the one whom he called on the night of the fatal flight is not clear—wrote to the NTSB that the pilot had made the night flight to South Carolina at least once before, and he had called her at midnight before departing to come help him fix a flat tire. She declined and urged him to get some sleep and make the trip in the morning.

“I told him he was starting down the ‘accident chain,’” she wrote. “New pilot, new plane, late start, nighttime, bad terrain, etc….To me, he seemed a little overly self-confident in his piloting skills, but he didn’t know enough to know what he didn’t know.”

He fixed the tire himself and made the trip safely that night. Undoubtedly, that success encouraged him to go again.

We have seen over and over how capable pilots, including ones with much more experience than this pilot, fail to perform at their usual level when they encounter weather emergencies. A sudden, unexpected plunge into IMC—which, on a dark night, can happen very easily—opens the door to a Pandora’s box of fear, confusion, and disorientation for which training cannot prepare you.

There are two clear avenues of escape. One is the autopilot. Switch it on, take your hands off the controls, breathe, and count to 20. The fact the pilot did not take this step suggests how paralyzed his mental faculties may have become.

The other is the attitude indicator. It’s a simple mechanical game. Put the toy airplane on the horizon line and align the wings with it. That’s all. It’s so simple. Yet in a crisis, apparently, it’s terribly hard to do. The fact that so many pilots have lost control of their airplanes in IMC should be a warning to every noninstrument-rated pilot to treat clouds—and, above all, clouds in darkness—with extreme respect.

This column first appeared in the November 2023/Issue 943 of FLYING’s print edition.

The post A Night Flight Leads a Pilot to a Tragic End appeared first on FLYING Magazine.

According to Garmin, the GI 275 is a direct replacement for a variety of legacy primary flight instruments in the cockpit, including the primary attitude indicator, course deviation indicator (CDI), horizontal situation indicator (HSI), or the multi-function display (MFD).

The GI 275 is designed to fit the popular 3.125-inch flight instrument size, which will reduce installation time while simultaneously preserving panel real estate.

The GI 275 features a bright, high-resolution touchscreen display and wide viewing angle. A dual concentric knob allows pilots to access a variety of key functions including primary attitude indicator, Course Deviation Indicator and multifunction display.

The GI 275 secured one of FLYING’s Editors Choice Awards for 2022.

GI 275 as AI

When installed as a primary attitude indicator, the GI 275 offers improved reliability over vacuum-driven instruments along with potential weight saving and reduced maintenance.

Garmin notes “Optional Helicopter Synthetic Vision Technology (HSVT) overlays a rich, 3D topographic view of terrain, traffic, obstacles, power lines, airport signposts and more, all within the GI 275 attitude display.”

• READ MORE: FAA OKs Electronic Flight Instrument for Two Robinsons

The attitude indicator also displays outside air temperature, groundspeed, as well as true airspeed and wind information, and wireless functionality like sharing of GPS position and backup attitude information to the Garmin Pilot mobile application.

GI 275 as CDI/HSI

When installed as a Course Deviation Indicator or Horizontal Situation Indicator (CDI or HSI), the GI 275 is designed to accept a variety of GPS and navigation inputs that allows up to two GPS sources and two VHF navigation sources.

The GI 275 features an Omni Bearing Resolver that allows the flight instrument to interface to a variety of legacy navigators on the market to avoid the need for an expensive adapter. The GI 275 has an optional magnetometer, which enables it to provide magnetic-based HSI guidance. The HSI can also provide enhanced features such as map inset and traffic, terrain or weather overlay.

Selecting the source is accomplished through the touchscreen interface, while course and heading selection is completed using either the touchscreen or dual concentric knob.

Multi-function display (MFD)

The GI 275 adds MFD-like capabilities. Aircraft owners can take advantage of a moving map, weather, traffic, WireAware for powerline avoidance, SafeTaxi airport diagrams and five-color terrain shading. A built-in VFR GPS provides convenient direct-to navigational guidance on a moving map.

• READ MORE: Garmin Adds Functionality to GI 275, Additional STCs for GFC 600

In addition, Helicopter Terrain Awareness and Warning System (HTWAS) is available on the GI 2753 and offers forward-looking terrain and obstacle avoidance (FLTA) capability, giving the pilot information in advance to avoid potential hazards.

Garmin notes the GI 275 can also be paired with Garmin’s GRA 55 or GRA 5500 radar altimeters, or other select third-party products, to display altitude above ground level while also providing visual and aural annunciations to the pilot.

The Details

The GI 275 comes with a two-year warranty and is available as a retrofit for the AS350 BA, B2, B3 and B3E variants.

The post Garmin Receives GI 275 STC for Airbus Helicopters appeared first on FLYING Magazine.

With the latest software release (v2.12), those aircraft owners who have the GFC 600 installed in their airplanes can couple the digital autopilot to their primary flight display (PFD) and enjoy a more streamlined operation. The update is intended to lower pilot workload and enhance the safety of single-pilot IFR.

The software update gives the pilot the following:

• the ability to select altitude, vertical speed and airspeed on either the PFD or the GFC 600 panel;
• flight director capability for coupled autopilot operation;
• a fully digital interface that eliminates the need for adapter boxes;
• extended runway centerlines on the multifunction display’s moving map;
• selected altitude/airspeed output for Trio autopilots;
• improved auto brightness levels based upon customer feedback.

The GFC 600 software update pricing is $1,995.

No Backup Required

Aspen also promoted the fact that owners upgrading with the Evolution series may also gain the ability to remove traditional instrument systems previously required as a backup to the glass-panel displays. For most Evolution Pro Max PFD or E5 systems, the FAA now allows for the removal of the attitude indicator—and potentially its associated vacuum system—while retaining the turn and bank, altimeter, and airspeed indicators as the needed backups to the PFD.

For owners installing the Evolution 2000 Max or 2500 Max systems, the vacuum-driven instrument(s) can be removed, as well as the turn and bank, altimeter, and airspeed indicator, completely streamlining the panel.

John Uczekaj, Aspen Avionics president and COO, related his assessment of the move, going back to the early days of installing glass panel displays in general aviation airplanes, when the FAA “was not as comfortable” with the idea of relying upon the then-new electronic instruments. “That created a lot of questions by our customers, why that’s necessary,” when the pilot was relying before on a single mechanical instrument—the vacuum driven attitude indicator—that was itself notoriously unreliable. 

• READ MORE: FLYING‘s Complete Coverage of EAA AirVenture 2022

“Over time, the reliability of these displays and the FAA’s march towards safety-enhancing equipment” eased the situation to bring the industry to this point where an electronic EFIS is recognized as the more reliable—and data-rich—choice, he said.

“For our consumer base, it eliminates one of the most unreliable things in their airplanes,” Uczekaj said.

AirVenture Base

At Oshkosh, Aspen Avionics sponsors a base in the North 40 campground, offering an air-conditioned lounge and refreshments for the wide range of its 14,000-plus customers who fly into the show each year. “We’re the most consumer-based company in certified avionics,” said Uczekaj, and the effort at AirVenture keeps the company close to that base.

The post Aspen Avionics Announces Autopilot Compatibility With Evolution Series appeared first on FLYING Magazine.

In December 2019, a Canadian-registry Piper Aerostar 602P with three aboard left Cabo San Lucas in Baja California, Mexico, to return home to Nanaimo on Vancouver Island in British Columbia. The group stopped overnight at Chino, California, east of Los Angeles—perhaps to visit the aviation museum there—and continued the next day to Nanaimo with a stop at Bishop, California. They left Bishop at 2:25 in the afternoon (1425 PST) on an IFR flight plan.

The trip took a little more than three hours. By the time they were nearing Nanaimo, it was dark, and the airport was reporting a 400-foot ceiling and 2.5 miles visibility in light drizzle and mist. The pilot told the controller that he would be making the Runway 16 ILS approach.

A few minutes later, the pilot asked the controller for weather at Vancouver International Airport, opposite Nanaimo on the mainland side of the Georgia Strait. Vancouver was better: 5 miles in mist, 600 broken, 1,200 overcast. The controller also passed on a pilot report from an airplane that had landed at Nanaimo 15 minutes earlier; the pilot had seen the approach lights at minimums, 373 feet above the runway elevation.

At 1803 PST, the controller vectoring the Aerostar observed that it had flown through the localizer and was continuing past it on a southwesterly heading. It was then at 2,100 feet and 140 knots. Aware of high terrain to the southwest, the controller asked the pilot whether he still intended to intercept the localizer; the pilot replied that he did and momentarily lined up before again drifting off to the right.

At 1804:03, the pilot told the controller that he “just had a fail” and requested vectors. The controller initially instructed the pilot to make a “tight” left turn to 090 and then, when the pilot asked the controller to repeat the instruction, changed it to a right turn to 360. The pilot acknowledged the heading but continued past it. The airplane climbed to 2,500 feet and slowed to a groundspeed of 80 knots before descending to 1,800 feet and accelerating to 160 knots.

• READ MORE: Previous editions of “Aftermath”

At 1804:40, the pilot reported that he had lost his attitude indicator. The Aerostar was now climbing again and turning to the right. The pilot requested a heading from the controller, who again gave 360.

The Aerostar reached 2,700 feet and slowed to a groundspeed of 60 knots; even taking prevailing winds into account, the airplane was very close to stalling speed. It continued in a right turn and again began to lose altitude. The controller told the pilot to climb if he could, but the pilot did not respond. The last Mode C return came at 1805:26; the airplane was near the point at which it had originally crossed the localizer, traveling northeastward at 120 knots and 300 feet above the surface. Moments later, as the accident report puts it, “Control was lost.” The airplane crashed on Gabriola Island, just offshore from Nanaimo. All three occupants died. A witness cited in press accounts reported the airplane spiraling down, but that information, suggestive of a stall and spin, did not find its way into the Transportation Safety Board of Canada’s final accident report.

The Aerostar was equipped with a pressure-driven BendixKing KI 256 attitude indicator and dual pneumatic pumps. All were badly damaged in the crash, and the reason for the reported failure could not be determined.

The airplane also had a BendixKing KI 825 horizontal situation indicator. It had briefly failed twice in the past three weeks and was scheduled for repair. The HSI was electrically driven, however, and the chance that it and the pneumatic attitude indicator would fail simultaneously is remote.

The occupants of the front seats were both pilots. The airplane’s owner—a 13,000-hour ATP and instructor with extensive experience in airplanes, helicopters and sailplanes—was in the right seat. In the left was a 320-hour private pilot without an instrument rating who had logged 11 hours of night flying and 29 hours of instrument training under the hood. The accident report says that “the investigation could not determine who was flying the aircraft.” It’s hard to imagine that the right-seat pilot would not have taken at least partial control after the failure of the attitude indicator, although the erratic excursions of speed, heading and altitude suggest otherwise.

Unlike our NTSB, Canada’s TSB does not attempt to determine a “probable cause.” The accident report is very sketchy, omitting (among other useful information) witness accounts, a description of the accident site and toxicological results. It does offer up some boilerplate about “high cognitive workload conditions” and “perceptual bias”—fancy ways of saying “overwhelmed and confused”—before concluding that after losing the gyro horizon, pilots are reduced to depending on “the remaining cockpit displays, communication with other flight crew members, and their own perceptions of motion and orientation.”

One’s own perceptions of motion and orientation inevitably lead to disorientation and loss of control, so you don’t want to depend on them. You have to rely solely on the remaining instruments. Altimeter, vertical speed indicator and airspeed indicator become primary for pitch attitude; look to the turn coordinator and the directional gyro, if it’s still working, for turn rate. If the air is not excessively turbulent, as was most likely the case on the night of the accident, the airplane will maintain its trimmed pitch attitude of its own accord; but the pilot may complicate matters by unconsciously adding a push or pull to roll inputs.

Loss of the AI presents a difficult challenge. In the training and check-ride environment, the challenge is of brief duration and usually focuses on recovery from an unusual attitude. In fact, the right-seat pilot had successfully completed such a check ride a few months earlier. Experience has shown, however, that IFR flying for an extended time by reference to the backup instruments sounds easy but isn’t. One thing that may eventually confuse pilots is that the turn coordinator looks like an AI, but what the behavior of the little airplane actually reflects is a combination of roll and yaw rates. (The now-outmoded turn-and-slip indicator registered only yaw rate—that is, heading change—and had more in common with a DG than with an AI.)

The accident report says nothing about the arrangement of the Aerostar’s instrument panel, but it is often the case that the turn coordinator is placed at the lower left corner, where it would have been hard for the pilot in the right seat to see. Even so, it’s difficult to understand what happened in the final moments. The persistent—and eventually fatal—loss of altitude is particularly baffling in an airplane whose engines, as far as anyone knows, were working fine.

I assume that the airplane owner had put his novice passenger in the left seat to give him some experience with real-world night instrument flying. He probably felt that he could intervene at any time and, if need be, could fly the familiar ILS approach himself from the right seat. The possibility that an attitude indicator failure could occur then, of all times, probably never crossed his mind.

Nor does it occur of most of us, I suspect, to cover the AI (and the DG, if both use the same power source) from time to time and fly a complete ILS approach, including a miss, on partial panel. I’ve never done it—have you?

Gyro Failures

The most common cause of gyro trouble is vacuum-pump failure. Presumably, most vacuum-pump failures occur in VMC—because more flying is done in VMC than in IMC—but even under the best of circumstances, an equipment failure may occasionally have dire consequences. The NTSB attributed the 2018 crash of a Mooney during a landing approach in VFR conditions to a vacuum-pump failure that distracted the pilot. Equally surprising was the 1999 crash near Albuquerque, New Mexico, of a P210N with three aboard. The airplane was cruising in IMC at FL 220 when both vacuum pumps failed. Despite the airplane having an electrically driven standby attitude indicator, the 42-year-old 1,300-hour pilot lost control while descending—cloud bases were at 13,000 feet—and the airplane broke up in flight. Never underestimate the power of the unexpected.

This story appeared in the December 2020 issue of Flying Magazine

The post Classic Aftermath: An Attitude Indicator Fails at the Worst Time appeared first on FLYING Magazine.