AOPA Pilot Magazine - April 2020 - 106

P&E

NEVER AGAIN

Floatplane pain
Planning could have been better
B Y PAT H E S E LT I N E

106 | AOPA PILOT April 2020

sound, but a pathetic-looking derelict with
swampy orange and white paint. The cowl
flaps and controls were frozen. The sagging
headliner was full of mud. The instruments
were all half full of water. And it needed a
manifold gauge, fuel flow gauge, airspeed
indicator, tachometer, and altimeter.
Medical research says the brain is fully
developed by age 25, but emotional maturity
is different. A 2013 British study reported
women don't reach full emotional maturity until age 32. Men take an additional 11
years. Perhaps that-and our meager budget-helps explain some of our decisions.
To prepare the airplane to fly more
than 2,500 miles over four days, we visited
the local auto parts store and purchased a
Stuart Warner oil pressure gauge, connected
it to the engine, and hung it outside the airplane's glove compartment. We borrowed
and installed an old tachometer and manifold
pressure gauge from a Cessna 206. But we
didn't replace the broken compass, and the

SARAH JONES

AS WITH MOST BAD DECISIONS, this one
started with good intentions.
In 1981, I was a 24-year-old pilot and A&P
mechanic with more than 1,000 hours logged,
including 600 dusting crops. We owned a
Beech Musketeer but wanted something
more versatile. A friend told us about a Cessna
185 on straight floats that was up for auction
in New Iberia, Louisiana, the heart of Cajun
country and a world away from our home in
Washington. It was taxiing across the water
when a crosswind tipped the wing and left
it floating upside down. There was no structural damage so the airplane was flushed with
fresh water. A new starter, magnetos, and
spark plugs were installed and the engine
"pickled" with fresh oil, but the insurance
company wanted it sold. We bid $15,000 sight
unseen and won. Clearly, we paid too much.
Two young pilot friends and I took a
commercial jet to Louisiana in March and
drove to Pelican Aviation's ramp, where
the airplane was sitting. It was structurally

radio was intermittent. Topping off this aeronautical stack of Jenga blocks, we replaced
the alternator with one from a car. That component lasted about five minutes into our first
flight, meaning we had to remove the heavy
battery every afternoon, then find someone
with a charger for an overnight boost.
Only one of the three of us-Ben Olsen-
had any floatplane time, a mere seven hours
in a Piper J-3 Cub. That was seven hours
more than he had spent in a Cessna 185.
A storm was rolling in the day we were
ready to depart, so we were in a rush to take
off despite the 20-knot crosswind ripping
across our aquatic runway. One of the veteran
charter pilots who landed as we were heading
out passed us with a dazed look and said, "My
God! I hope I never have to do that again."
We looked at each other and seemed to
share the same thought: We're just taking off,
not landing.
Shortly after liftoff, Ben asked for a heading to Houston. I said it should be on the map.
The problem was, all our charts were back in
Pelican's office. We had a robust debate, but
decided to land. The guy in the office said, "I
can't believe you came back."
After our legs quit shaking, we took
off again and headed west with our maps,
which we soon discovered were expired
and featured some floatplane facilities that
were out of business. We might have been
more concerned except it felt like the tail
was coming off because the airplane was
vibrating intermittently. Looking out a
side window, I saw a shadow on one of the
floats that showed a brace violently moving up and down. Also, the stall warning
continually sounded like a distant whistle. When we reached Houston without a
functional radio, we circled at the far end
of David Wayne Hooks Memorial Airport,
anticipating a light signal from the tower to
land on the waterway. Since our 60-gallon
tanks only provided three and a half hours
of flying time and were running low, we
finally decided to land. Naturally, the tower
phoned down when we landed and asked
why we never contacted them. I explained
what happened and got off easy, but I suspect many people we met felt the sooner
we were out of their airspace, the better.
That first evening we landed on a lake
north of Dallas. Heading north the next

AOPA Pilot Magazine - April 2020

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