At the flight school, two of our flight students were getting ready to go on a Solo-Nav. Let's call one of them John. Solo navigation in those days meant at least a triangle, more than 150nm distance total, and one leg at least 50 nm from base. Instead of the touch-and-go procedures previously required, two mandatory full stop landings had just been introduced.
The CFI checked the flight planning before letting his student go. Except for a missed frequency change and an added water bottle, the student had done an excellent planning job. A short while later we heard the clapped out C172's engine roar to life and our student's voice on the handheld radio.
“Lanseria Ground, good morning, student pilot ZS-XXX.”
“XXX, Lanseria Ground, Go-ahead.”
“XXX, information bravo, on the Southern Side, VFR to Potchefstroom as per flight plan, request taxi.”
“XXX, taxi right on Charlie, hold short of 06 right.”
In those days Lanseria still had two runways, which was very practical for training purposes.
The best Air Traffic Controller was Louise; she could handle five trainers in the right circuit and 5 aircraft in the circuit for 06L plus the odd Boeing coming in on long final approach.
The weather that day was fantastic and the winds were not too strong. As we had told John: any wind is not favourable. The reason being, that even if you encounter a tailwind on the way out, you'll have headwinds on the way back. The problem is: one is subjected to the headwind for a longer time than the tailwind.
Having our nth coffee, waiting for our flight students to come back, we had a call from Johannesburg North Information. One of our flight students, let's call him Frikkie, had dropped off the radar. I decided to call him on his cell phone, my heart rate slightly elevated.
“Hello?” Instant relief, at least the guy was alive.
“Frikkie, waar de hel is jy? Hoekom antwoord jy jou foon?”
“Ek is in Potch. Ek antwoord omdat jy my bel.”
“Maar hoekom is jy nie besig om te vlieg nie?”
“Ek is jammer, maar my maagie het gewerk!”
I told Frikkie in no uncertain terms that he had to get back in the air pronto, finish his Solo-Nav and make himself a nappy with a towel if he had to. Goodness, what next?!?
Frikkie landed an hour later, looking quite green, but at least he had made it and the aircraft was clean. Our other student was late arriving at this stage. Apprehensively, I called Joburg North. It was embarrassing to be speaking to them again.
“Any idea where ZS-XXX is?”
“Yes, he is on the return leg from Potchefstroom, but is flying very slowly. In fact, the entire flight has been unusually slow. But the student replied “Ops normal” upon questioning.”
I could imagine the shrugged shoulders down the other end of the line. The little Cessna had 4.3 hours endurance to dry tanks. If leaned correctly, and with max endurance engine settings, maybe even 4.5 hours. We were coming up 4 hours and had passed the stage of feeling antsy. We were feeling downright panicky at this stage.
The handheld crackled to life: John gave his position and then said: “Student Pilot ZS-XXX request joining and landing.” Oh, thank goodness. He might just make it.
John landed nicely, using Trimmer Janette's trick and we heard the aircraft taxiing onto our apron. The engine sounded normal and after his checks the student did a dead cut and then switched off the engine. My CFI was bursting to interview the student. What had taken so long and why was it a 4.3-hour nav, instead of the time on the flight plan?
“Welcome back, after you have freshened up, please come into my office for a debrief.” The CFI was one of these British ancestry Saffers, that could keep a calm face and voice, even when I could see the pulse on his left temple dancing the Cha-Cha-Cha.
John did what he was told and emerged with red ears from the office a very short while later. He had the wooden fuel dip stick in hand. He climbed onto the ladder and dipped the stick into the fuel tanks. The left tank wet the stick right at the bottom. The stick emerged completely dry from the right tank. Slowly, slowly, John's facial expression changed into one of understanding and then of course, subsequent horror.
He had to “freshen up” again, before re-entering the CFI's office. Unable to contain our curiosity any longer, the rest of us quietly sidled up to the door to eavesdrop on the second part of the conversation.
“So, let me get this straight. You flew the entire navigation exercise with your flaps extended to stage one?”
“Ja.”
“Okay, why?”
“I only needed four more hours to complete my 200 hours for my CPL.”
“Right.”
“So, I thought, if I fly really slowly, I can complete the hour requirement and the last Solo Nav in one go, and save a bit of time and money.”
“Right.”
“I am sorry, sir.”
“Okay, why?”
“Because it is a miracle that I am here, sir. I could have run out of fuel due to the extra drag.”
“Right. The thing is, John, you did run out of fuel. You landed on fumes and you did not land with the required reserve fuel. What is the minimum reserve fuel?”
“45 minutes, sir.”
“Right.”
“Please don't tell my sponsor, sir.”
“At this stage, I don't know what I am going to do or say. You can finish your paperwork now.”
To all my readers: please note, this is a work of fiction. Any and all similarities are an unintended coincidence.
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