If the engine quits on take-off we are taught/conditioned to land straight ahead. If there is engine trouble and we are forced to land, we are taught to pick a suitable spot and always be prepared to put it down.

This conditioned thought pattern, while necessary for a beginning student can also be an invitation to disaster in a number of situations that can occur, precisely because it is so ingrained in our training.

On my commercial flight test, many years ago, my examiner, Dick Holladay, pulled the throttle about half back, for a partial power failure and announced that something had happened to the engine.

We were on a cross country from Charlottesville to Winchester, VA with the Blue Ridge Mountains underneath, and the nearest alternate at that point, was Shenandoah Valley Airport, about 20 miles away.

Since there are plenty of fields on either side of this ridge of mountains, my immediate reaction was to pick a field and set up for an emergency landing, report my position and prepare to land.

At that point, he asked what I was doing, and I explained that it was obvious we would have to land, since we were losing altitude and would shortly be out of altitude.

Not so fast there Mr. Quarles, think for a moment. What is more important here, altitude or airspeed. The engine is still putting out some power (about half).

Looking down at the mountains below, and the only small field available, it was problematical that I would make it, and even if I did manage to get to the field, the airplane would likely suffer damage because the field was so short, and then I would be miles from any help. The airplane would probably be a total loss, even if I did get it into the field in one piece, because it couldn't be flown out. We were nowhere near a road so it would be very difficult to even disassemble it and ever get it out. And even if we survived the landing, and got back to civilazation, there would be mounds of paperwork to fill out, explaining what had happened.

I slowed the plane up a bit and the altitude which I had been losing at an alarming rate dropped off and although it was a struggle, it did maintain altitude (barely). The alternate airport (Shenandoah Valley) was off in the distance but, if the plane would maintain altitude even a few more minutes I would be over the mountains and heading toward more level ground and away from an almost certain disruption of my day. (You can't imagine how I hated the thought of all that paperwork.)

I still had quite a bit of altitude, and the slowing of the plane had allowed me to still keep some sort of emergency field or canyon in sight, but also helped me maintain altitude, as the alternate airport got closer and closer.

Finally, as the alternate airport loomed closer, and got within range, he pulled the power and I went through the exercise of making an emergency landing on a well prepared runway, some distance from the real danger of an emergency landing, far from help, roads, or civilization.

In the post flight discussion, I said, that was nice, but what if the engine really did quit over the mountains.

Well, he said, if it really did quit, then you do the best you can under the circumstances. But, he pointed out, when you have an in-flight power loss, it is usually pre-ceded by a partial power loss. In those cases you can maintain altitude or slow the loss, by slowing down some, and this gives you more time to cope with your problem.

He further pointed out, that an emergency landing under even the best of conditions in those mountains was likely to be very dangerous (which it was). And of course, there would be a lot of explaining to do, answering questions to the FAA, filling out insurance forms, lots of time consumed trying to retrieve the airplane, and in general it would be a major nuisance even if no one were hurt.

As he contrasted this scenario with the alternative of landing on a well prepared runway, with fire trucks available, rescue squads, and the other facilities that are generally available on a prepared airport, I had to reflect on my initial reaction that I had to land.

Actually, I was responding to my training and my conditioning, not really thinking that I had an option of continuing my flight (albeit more precariously in slow flight.)

In the years that followed, I have had in flight problems that have brought home the wisdom of this approach and the dangers of fixated thinking regarding emergency landings.

Once, returning home from Oshkosh, in a Mooney Mite, I left the airport at Waukegan, Wisconsin, flew down the shore of Lake Michigan and headed out over the water toward the shore on the other side.

I had gotten well out over the water, when I started having an uneasy feeling that something was dripping down my back. I looked back over my shoulder at the visual sight gauge and saw to my horror, that it had broken in half, and there was a half inch stream of gasoline arching up over my shoulder and pouring into my lap.

My first reaction was to yell "MAYDAY", which I did (no answer), and prepare for a ditching. I instinctively turned back toward shore, expecting the engine to quit at any moment (the sight gauge having broken at the bottom and I thought the tank was near empty although I had just filled it before I left).

The engine continued to run, and I decided to climb, while I still had time. I could now see the shoreline. As it loomed closer and closer I continued to climb, all the time wondering why the engine was still running but deciding not to argue with good? fortune.

As I crossed the shoreline, everything below were the houses of Chicago, except for a railroad track. There was no place to land, except for the railroad track. Possibly a gear up landing on the tracks was possible, but now the airport I left was barely visible in the distance.

I thought about Dick Holladay's admonition about emergency off airport landings and the likelihood of a fire due to the gasoline now filling the cockpit. I also thought about filling out all those forms explaining what I was doing on the railroad track (and what would I do if I met a train coming the other way). Actually the paperwork worried me the most.

Given the wide range of choices for a desirable place to land, and since I was still climbing, it now seemed possible that I might make it to the airport. I had gained enough altitude that I could now ditch in the lake if I had to. The densely packed housing started thinning out and a field appeared now and then. Worst case, I could land there if not the lake, but I would probably blow up from all the gasoline. But the little engine continued to run even though the gauge read empty.

Another minute and the field was within gliding distance. As I passed over the threshold, I cut the throttle, shut off the magnetoes, got the gear down, and prepared to jump overboard as I coasted to a stop near the maintenance shop.

When it didn't blow up, I went looking for help, while the rest of the gasoline drained out of the bottom of the plane. After about 15 minutes, somebody from flight service headed over, smoking a cigarette amd asked me if I was the guy who had been yelling "MAYDAY".

THANKS, DICK HOLLADAY. That day, I remembered your lesson of the flight test some 10 years earlier. You sure saved me a piece of my anatomy I use regularly for sitting and which I am very attached to. (not to mention the paperwork).

I left Orlando in a 680F(P), with four souls and a cat on board. The preflight inspection had been uneventful, (except for a drop of oil I noticed on the right engine near the fuel controller).

We left, on an IFR flight plan and were cleared to 11,000. As we passed through 9000, I scanned the gauges and saw the right engine oil pressure was reading zero. No warning, seconds ago, everything had been normal.

I looked out the window at the right engine and saw oil all over the underneath of the cowling and knew that engine was not long for this world.

I told my wife, we were going to have to shut down an engine, went through the exercise, (identify-nothing to identify engine was still turning power, confirm (oil spewing out of engine- easy to tell which one) feather - prop stopped turning and feathered, shut off mixture ), got emergency checklist and secured engine.

Reported in to ATC advised had an engine shut down, 4 souls and a cat on board. They asked what were my intentions.

At that point, the plane was flying ok, I trimmed it up and thought about landing at the small airport below me. The thought also crossed my mind, I admit, that it was going to be an aggravation to put it down in some out of the way airport where I couldn't get the engine fixed easily.

Since we were still able to climb (love that supercharged engine on the Aero Commander which will clear the Rockies on one) I continued on to 11,000 assigned altitude and asked ATC to check around for the nearest airport with long runways and a good engine shop.

After a minute or two, they came back with two alternatives. Go back to Orlando, or go over to Sanford. There was an excellent engine shop at Sanford a 10,000 ft runway, radio shop and we had some friends there we hadn't seen for some time. And it wasn't too far from the beach if it took us a few days to get the engine fixed. Easy decision.

Called the FBO on the radio and had them reserve a car and a room and had ATC give us a clearance, to Sanford.

As we prepared for a single engine approach, I woke up my daughters and had them fasten their seatbelts. I asked my 3 year old if she would behave during the landing. She looked me straight in the eye, said "NO", then turned over and went back to sleep.

Tbe landing was uneventful. Inspection of the engine showed the fuel controller had come loose, allowing oil to spill overboard and causing a loss of oil pressure. There was still one gallon of oil left (normal capacity 8 gallons). Oil analysis was sent off and came back that the engine was normal. At $30,000 an engine that was pretty good news.

I asked the mechanic if the bolts holding the fuel controller on were supposed to be safetied. (They had backed out from the vibration)

He said no, even though it had drilled head bolts, they were not supposed to be safetied, because if they were torqued down properly they wouldn't back out. I told him to be real careful and torque it to specifications. And safety it anyway. On both sides.

Thanks for the lesson, Dick Holladay. You probably didn't think I'd remember.

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