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United States Pilots Association |
During my private pilot training my instructor told me he never liked to fly single engine aircraft at night. My friend Paul says, “the airplane doesn’t know if it is flying at night.” Either way I was cautious when I was returning home from some flight training in preparation for my commercial license.
I live in Branson, MO, and belong to a flying club based at M. Graham Clark/Taney County Airport (PLK). Commercial training requires a complex airplane, so I rent an Arrow at Springfield, MO (SGF). I enjoy using the club’s Cessna 172 to commute the 40+ NM to and from Springfield.
The commercial requirements specify ten night takeoffs and landings at a towered airport, so I did not mind my training going into the darkness. Working on short, soft, and precision 180 landings was quickly getting me plenty tired. I finished up with the Arrow, secured it, and prepared the 172 for the return trip to Branson.
I planned my trip back at 5,500’, thinking this would give me additional altitude should something go wrong. I received the ATIS and then called clearance delivery with my intentions for my VFR flight. Taxi, run-up, take off—everything was as smooth as the calm, clear night air. Tower handed me off to departure. Visibilities were so good I think I could make out my destination 40 miles away as I arrived at cruise altitude. Arriving at 5,500’ I leaned and trimmed. It was like the 172 had an autopilot—I didn’t have to touch anything to keep the airplane straight and level. It was almost boring, if that is even possible while flying.
Bam! I just heard the loudest noise I have ever heard in an aircraft. What’s happened? My first thought was to keep the airplane flying, so I checked the instruments and confirmed I was still straight and level. Something must have happened with the engine. But the tachometer, oil pressure and temperature were all normal and steady. The only difference was additional air circulation in the cockpit. And then I saw it! The windscreen had a big smear across it and a crack running most of its height. I realized I had a bird strike.
I assessed the condition of the aircraft. There was no other damage. The windscreen appeared stable, aside from the crack. I was about half way between SGF and PLK. Since I’m more familiar with PLK, I decided to continue to my destination. I debated on whether to inform departure of the situation, eventually deciding against it. Everything was stable, and I had my destination in sight.
The rest of the flight was uneventful, with a normal approach and landing.
Thinking back, I should have had a huge adrenalin rush or saw my life flash before me, but that never happened. I’d like to attribute that to my training: to always fly the airplane first. I was more anxious about the incident as I thought back on it. What would have happened if the bird had come completely through the windscreen? What would have happened had I been injured or blinded by the impact? I’m glad those thoughts came to me while I was safely on the ground.
The next morning I photographed the carnage. I also received forms from the club’s insurance adjuster. The paperwork had begun.
I did some Internet research on bird strikes, and found recommendations to fill out FAA’s form 5200-7 Bird/other wildlife strike report, as well as NASA’s ASRS report.
I don’t believe there was anything I could do to avoid the bird strike. I had no warning. In retrospect I should have informed ATC so others would be aware of the hazard in the area.
Useful resources: http://wildlife-mitigation.tc.faa.gov/public_html/index.html#info
http://www.aopa.org/members/files/topics/wildlife.html.
JC Zalog, Webmaster
United States Pilots Association