The Killing Zone by Paul A. Craig

Author:Paul A. Craig
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: McGraw-Hill Education
Published: 2013-07-13T16:00:00+00:00

KILLING ZONE SURVIVOR STORY

My time in the “zone” was a rather uneventful one, except for one instance. I had accumulated about 124 hours total time and thought I was a pretty good VFR pilot. This particular flight was one where I would not only build total time; I would also satisfy the long cross-country requirement for my commercial certificate.

I was flying a Cessna 152, and I remember it was equipped with long-range tanks. Having flown from Kinston, North Carolina to Roxboro where I would pick up my wife for a day trip to Hilton Head, South Carolina, I felt confident about the trip. Despite the ever-present forecast of thunderstorms in the middle of the summer, the weather was beautiful. My wife had not flown with me much so I wanted to make a good impression. I pointed out the visual checkpoints along the way. She was duly impressed when the island came into view.

I could tell that the wind was a noticeably steady, onshore breeze. The runway at Hilton Head runs relatively parallel to the shoreline so this presented a cross wind from my right as we were advised to land on runway 3. The runway is lined on both sides by tall pine trees. Even though I had set up the landing well, tracking the centerline the whole time using the side-slip method, I did not count on the trees as being such a good windbreak. Right about 20 feet above the ground, I suddenly lost all my wind. I also lost my concentration. This led to my having much too much crosswind correction for the actual winds at runway level and I was not quick enough, nor experienced enough, to compensate.

We touched down more sideways than I ever had before that day, or ever since. It was ugly. I never had heard such a squalling of the tires, nor been thrown sideways in the seat. As I looked up I could see that we were heading for the runway lights off to the right, so I kicked hard left rudder and simultaneously mashed the brakes. The tires chattered with protest, but we stopped without hitting anything. Both of us shaken from the experience, we taxied to the ramp where someone asked us if the crosswind was bad. I just smiled sheepishly and said, “yeah.”

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