[RobW]

February 2002, I'm out solo in my 1948 C-170 tooling around for fun and collecting data on rates of climb at various power settings. It is getting late so I head back to Fredericksburg, VA. About four miles out I give a position report. As I let up on the transmit key I hear an experimental provide almost the same position report. Assuming that the experimental was faster than me, I pulled the power back a little, put on carb heat, and kept my eyes open.

It was very near dusk. The sun was going down over my left shoulder... about to disappear below the horizon. I can't see the experimental, but I'm not too worried about him. I hear him call downwind while I was still a mile or two out so I'm just keeping my eyes open. The FBO asks if I want fuel (they were ready to close) and I say yes.

I turn downwind at midfield, still unable to see the experimental. I'm at pattern altitude, going about 90mph. I hear the experimental call base, and catch a shadowy glimpse of a small white aircraft crossing my path ahead and below. I continue on downwind to give him time to get around and land.

I hear the experimental call final, so I begin my turn to base. Out of habit, I know exactly how far to pull the throttle back to put me in the neighborhood of the right base leg power setting. I do that and the engine does a huge power decrease... way more than expected... I tell myself that I'm tired and must've overcontrolled while looking for that experimental. I put the power where it should be, put in 20 degrees of flaps and look for traffic.

I turn final and can see that the plane ahead of me is clear of the runway. I run through my before landing checklist one last time... and continue on. I'm on a longer than normal final because of my slight downwind extension... no biggie. The sun is gone now and it is getting dark. I turn on the cabin lights.

At the appropriate point I pull the throtle back to idle to begin my glide down to final.

The engine quits cold... prop turns maybe two times then stops. It feels like I am standing on the brakes the plane is decelerating so fast. I pitch down, run through the check list... mix rich, carb heat, fuel on both, ignition... and reach up to grab the starter pull handle. As I'm grabbing the pull handle I note that my airspeed which was at about 80mph is now dropping through 60 despite my nose down pressure. My altitude is less than 500'.

Less than 500' means stop dorking with the engine and fly the plane. I continue to push forward on the yoke to regain my lost airspeed and am astounded at how much forward pressure is required. I spin the trim wheel all the way forward and still feel like I am about to hit the forward stop of the elevator control.

I can instantly tell that I pulled the power back slightly too soon and may not make the runway. Crap.

Between me and the runway is a farmers field... just freshly plowed, perpendicular to my direction of travel. I remember seeing farm equipment in the area to my left, but now it is dark, so not safe to go there, to the right is a row of trees... again in the dark.

Just before the runway is a double set of railroad tracks on a 15' berm. I look at my glide path... and that is where I'm going to hit. rats...

I continue to apply nose down pressure to keep my speed up... and here is where my mind started to screw with me. It was incredibly hard to keep pushing forward as the ground came up... one part of my mind was telling me to pull back... the other was telling me to keep the speed up. I knew what to do... and I did it... but, wow, it sure was hard to keep that forward pressure in. I debated for a moment about leaving the flaps in or pulling them out... I left them alone... the flaps on a 48' C-170 aren't much to speak of anyway... and I didn't want to introduce any new variables into the equation.

I decided that my impact point was going to be about midway up the berm. I decided that my best course of action was to continue straight ahead, give it a good hard flare just before impact, and perhaps I'd balloon up and over the tracks to the other side and at least be on the airport property. Bob Hoover's comments about trying to not dent the spinner in a crash, and flying the plane till every part stops moving came to mind...

I'm shutting things off now... and am ready to turn off the master. I click it off and the panel goes black... oooo... don't like that... very lonely feeling... so I flick it back on for a few more moments...

I can see shadows going by on the ground below me... my impact spot hasn't moved. I forget all about the master and focus on the landing. As the trees along the track go by I haul back on the yoke...

The plane does not respond... the same lack of control authority I had for keeping the nose down is now manifesting itself in pitch up... I just don't have the energy to pitch up and the plane mushes into the side of the berm... striking the landing gear and the nose bowl at about the same time.

The right gear is torn off, the plane climbs about 3 feet up the berm and stops moving. I can hear fuel pouring out of the plane. I flick off the master, open my door, and hop out... straight into a bunch of blackberry thorns... I climb up to the top of the berm, cross the tracks, go down the other side... then realized I'd crossed the tracks without looking to see if a train was coming... they come through there at about 60mph. That made me laugh at the stupidity I'd just demonstrated... survived the plane crash only to get hit by a train...

I stopped for a second to assess myself. I had a knot on my head about the size of a grapfruit, my knees had gone into the panel and bent it about 6" back... my right hand was grasping the throttle on landing (out of habit) and had gone into the instrument panel, bending the carb heat knob and leaving this nifty looking Nike swoosh shaped cut on my ring finger and breaking a bone in my hand. It is amazing how much your body can stretch... I decided I didn't know how much longer I'd be awake, so I jogged up to the FBO.

Then all the real fun happened. Oh joy... paperwork, FAA, insurance... fun.

The culprit was carb ice. Sometime in the past, someone modified the carb heat box... and while it appeared to work... and would give you a drop in RPM when applied... the FAA guy decided that it just didn't have enough ummph that day to counter the amount of ice I was getting.

My plane was talking to me and I didn't hear it... when I did that small power reduction on base... and got a huge unexpected power reduction... I should have realized then that I'd picked up ice in the carb. If I'd thought Ice was the problem... then opening the throttle up full and hitting the starter probably would have restarted the engine, but that is hindsight now.

Ok, the point of this long story was that even when you know what it is you are supposed to do... parts of your brain will argue with you that what you are doing is wrong... you must have the self discipline to do what you know is right and quiet all those second guessing thoughts. I feel for that guy in the tiger moth... I have no idea what he was thinking or trying to do and hesitate to be critical... what looks obvious from our perspective may not have been so obvious from the cockpit of that little plane.

I miss my C-170.