Update

So its been a few months since I've written. I can truthfully say that both a whole lot has happened since and not a whole lot has happened, and both are the reasons for not really writing.

Up until last week its been a rough couple months as far as my flying career was concerned. A big reason being that I was in an airplane accident. Ya, you don't have to re-read that, you read it right the first time. Rather then give you all the details upfront I'll make you read the story.

My instructor and I were doing an IFR practice flight in the Twin Comanche to polish off some things for my upcoming flight test. We had done a number of approaches already, and were just flying over the city finishing up some DME holding patterns. During the course of our flight the sun had set and it was now dark. We were on our inbound leg heading towards the airport, and I was just getting ready to make my turn for the last hold outbound before calling it a day. Suddenly the right engine started surging, like it does when I run the auxiliary fuel tanks dry before switching to a full tank. I checked the fuel selector - it was on the main tank just like it had been the whole flight. For training I kept the rest of the tanks empty cause you can only use them for level flight, but I filled the mains which were good for over 3 hrs of flying. I checked my watch and did the easy math in my head, we had been up for an hour and a half, should have lots of fuel. The fuel gauge also showed just under a half a tank, not that airplane fuel gauges are accurate in the least, but it confirmed what our flight time and fuel load indicated. "It looks like we have a real live engine failure." I said as I double checked the gauges, the fuel selectors. I finished up my checks by pushing all the levers forward, and turning on the fuel pumps.

"Do you want me to declare an emergency?"

"Yep, you have the radios."

My instructor called the tower and told them he was declaring an emergency and would like to return to land immediately. ATC acknowledged.

At that point there was very little doubt in us that this would turn into anything but a single engine landing. We were lightly loaded, had the airport 5 miles away directly in front of us and were at 4500 ft. It'd be no problem to fly it in on one engine. Then all of a sudden the left engine sputtered out. In the business of the cockpit I almost didn't notice, there wasn't much change in engine sound since the props were still spinning like mad. Also the Manifold pressure gauges on both engines still indicated in the high 20's, just like they would indicate if we had the engines at full throttle. RPM was indicating around 2000, which was low for what the prop levers were set at. It was only the fuel flow gauges and the fact that we were descending that indicated both the engines had quit. Not what I had expected a real engine failure to be like.

As we glided the airplane in on our long final, you could hear ATC redirecting traffic to clear the way for us. It was a warm and fuzzy feeling in contrast to the frusteration of losing TWO engines. I tried to rack my brain to figure out the problem. I double checked and triple checked the fuel selectors and pumps, played with the magneto switches, and cycled all the levers again. Nothing changed anything. I couldn't imagine what would cause both engines to give up on me.

I mentioned we were 5 miles from the airport at 4500 ft, which is just about 3500 ft above airport elevation. For those that haven't already done the math that requires a glide ratio of just under 9:1 - that is for every 9 ft forward we get a 1 ft drop in altitude. Glide ratios aren't listed for light twins, but 9:1 is pretty close to what a slippery airplane like a Twin Comanche should be able to handle. It was gonna be close. Unfortunately we had almost a 20 knot headwind against us.

I tried to settle on what airspeed to fly it in on. Being a light twin, best glide speeds aren't published. I decided that since the best rate of climb speed typically is in the range of speeds that gives the best lift for the least drag, I'd glide the airplane in at that, which was 112 mph. As we got closer to the airport and lower in altitude, it became apparent that we were in more trouble than we first thought. It was completely dark out, but I could see the lights of cars driving along a country road that rounded the airport perimeter. Beyond that was the dark field before the runway with only the approach light strobes flashing their way into the runway. Roads mean power lines. We have to clear that road at all costs. I fought the almost irresistable instinct to pull up, which would have bled off our airspeed even further, and at best increased our drag and reduced our glide range - or at worst ended in a stall into the ground.

I also thought about how and when to lower the landing gear. The landing gear is electrically driven, and a typical extension takes about 4-6 seconds of transition time from retracted to down and locked. With neither of our engines that would mean we'd be counting on the battery alone to crank down the gear. I didn't want to burn up more altitude by extending the gear too early, but leaving it last minute would mean we'd have no time to troubleshoot problems resulting from the battery not being strong enough to lower the gear on its own. And as you recall we had recently been having some landing gear issues, which had been sorted out, but I was still paranoid and didn't want to take any chances. I decided to do a manual gear extension, which means disengaging the landing gear from the motor and allowing it to free-fall into place. It happens almost instantaneously, so there'd be less valuable time chewed up by waiting for the landing gear to crank itself down, and a manual gear extension is problem free. I briefed my instructor on my intentions with the landing gear, and we agreed he'd handle that task, so I could continue flying the airplane. He stand ready to drop it on my command. As per our cross country flight he'd already seen it done before which was good that he already knew what to do. He pulled up the floor panel and chucked it in the back seat to get ready.

Eventually it became clear we were going to come up short of the runway. It was an unfamiliar feeling to be so close to the ground at night. The runway was just a thin mash of lights on the horizon now we were so low. I steered left to avoid the approach lights and breathed a sigh of relief as the lights of the road beneath me disappeared from my peripheral vision.

"Gear down."

Instantly my instructor popped the lever to allow the gear to free fall into place, and I could hear and feel the clunk.

"Gear's confirmed down and locked." We were a well oiled machine, and I was so thankful to have another set of competant hands in the cockpit.

It was gonna be close, we just barely crossed the airport fence into the open snow covered field short of the runway. I started my flare and watched the airspeed bleed off from 112 to 110... 105...100...

BAMM!! I wasn't expecting such an impact. I felt it in my back and my butt. I thought we were still a few feet from touching down still. The next moment was a flash of flying again, and then sliding along in the snow on the airplanes belly. We came to rest. The lights in the cockpit were still on. Off to our right an approach light strobe flashed. A siren wailed through our headsets, the ELT (emergency locator transmitter, which activates on impact). I was oblivious to all of it though, I could believe or understand what just happened. I looked at my instructor. He looked at me,

"Are you all right?"

"Ya. Are you alright?"

That snapped me out of it. I called the tower. "We're on the ground short of the runway. No injuries... as of... yet." I trailed off and added the "as of yet" as an afterthought. I thought it sounded stupid when it came out, but I was aware that we were still sitting in the airplane, hadn't tried to move yet, and could be in shock. I shut the master switch off and undid my seat belt.

"We should probably let the tower know we're shutting down."

"Ok." I flipped the master back on and made the last transmition that I ever will in that airplane. "Tower we're shutting down."

I don't remember what their response was exactly, something like "Roger, trucks are on the way."

We got out of the airplane, and only then did the whole experience sink in. I looked at my airplane. It was sitting on its belly in the snow. The right wing outboard of the engine had a gash all the way back to the spar. It looked like it was a hair from being seperated from the aircraft completely. The left wing sat limply on the ground, its spar broken as well. Hoooooly crap. It was at that point that the adrenaline kicked in and my hands started shaking. The emergency vehicles pulled up and a fireman asked us if we were alright. The rest is history.

It turns out that the impact was from hitting the side of a small berm at the edge of airport property. We just grazed it actually. We walked back to look at where we hit, and there were 3 deep groves in the snow for where the landing gear struck. We marvelled at how close we came to missing the hill - or plowing straight into it. If we were a mere 5 ft higher we would have missed the hill completely and made a soft touchdown in the snowy field short of the runway. Five feet lower - and well, rather than just the landing gear being sheered off by the hill we would have plowed straight into the side of it, and probably not been around to continue blogging.

The airplane is gone, but we walked away, and insurance covered the loss of the airplane. So ultimately it is a happy ending. As for the cause of a dual engine failure... Transport Canada never did a full investigation since there were no fatalities. Our insurance company conducted only a very small one. A failure in the fuel selector caused the left fuel selector to become stuck in the crossfeed selection. Therefore even though we thought we had the engines selected to feed each from their respective main tanks (as the position of the selector handles indicated), what was actually happening was that the entire flight both engines were feeding from the right main tank, which was eventually exhausted with fuel, while the left main tank was left completely full. Thankfully neither myself nor my AME who maintained the aircraft was singled out as the cause of the accident, the insurance company covered the loss of the airplane, and all ended well.

It is nonetheless a sad way to part with my beloved airplane, but that is the inherent nature of aviation I guess. Stuff just happens sometimes. Overall it has been a valuable experience, and believe it or not, in some ways a confidence builder. How many people can say they've made an off-runway dead-stick landing, at night, and walked away from it?

So thats my first big piece of news, my next big piece of news is on a happier note which I'll cover in another post. This post has become long enough.