Lost on Cross or The Hiding Airport

I’d done careful flight planning. My attention-to-detail CFI, Bob, had reviewed my plan and given my Solo Cross Country flight his blessing.

But now I’d been flying the Cessna 150 for a very long time and had to admit that I didn’t know where I was, not exactly, anyway. Oregon. Somewhere south of Hillsboro. Looking for Salem. Where was that river? Advice given was “just spot the river and follow it right in.” Unfortunately, I couldn’t see anything that looked like a river, so I kept traveling south and adding some east, thinking I’d gotten too far west. Visibility was over 10 miles in haze, ceiling kept me just under 3,000. I constantly referred to my sectional, comparing roads, towns, power lines. Yes! That had to be where I was, just a little further I should see that airport…but then the sight picture didn’t match the sectional and I’d start again.

It was time to take stock and admit that I was totally lost. Two additional problems were vying for attention – decreasing fuel load, increasing bladder load. What to do? I could declare an emergency on 121.5. No, I’m not really in an emergency, plane is running fine, fuel low but not dangerously so, and I’m pretty sure calls of nature are not emergencies. I started looking for any airport at all, spotting one small one without markings that looked way too short to be safe.

I have to admit that fear of failure took control at this point and my decisions were not positively affected. Can’t let anyone know I got lost, they will make fun of me because I’m female. I’d neglected to take note of time, and now had no idea how long ago I’d left Hillsboro, my last positively known position. I dialed in 122.0 remembering using Flight Watch on a training flight. I called using my best professional pilot voice, positive I didn’t sound as lost and scared as I now was. No response. I double checked radio settings and frequency; tried again – nothing. Okay, I’m on my own here. Be calm, fly the plane, assess, plan, fly the plane, breathe!

Decision made. Go exactly 10 more minutes on this heading, don’t find an airport, turn around and go back north. But then I saw it – a big airport with a large lake to the southwest. What? Salem does not have a lake!

I spotted the control tower, so figured it must be class D, but there is no controlled airport anywhere on the Seattle sectional that is near a lake. I must communicate. But to whom? I’m sure to be outside their space at 3,000 so circle looking for a name on the runway or hangar roof. No luck. I’m seriously in need of landing, so circle, attempting to spot a windsock or rising smoke to determine wind direction. After circling several times I noted some commuter-sized planes using one runway so realize wind and that I want to choose the other shorter one. But I should not enter Class D space without communicating. From study materials I remember transponder codes 7500 7600 7700. One means ‘no radio’, but which one? Not good to accidentally announce a hijacking post-911.

Then I remember signal lights from the tower. I fly out to 2 miles from the airport and at pattern height fly slowly right toward the mid-field tower. No green light. No red light. I waggle my wings, nothing. I turn a 360 go back out and again approach, nada. At one-half mile out its decision time, so I turn for left downwind and land the plane. Taxiing off the runway I’m met by not one but two vehicles and the men inside don’t look friendly. They point me to a tie down area and the second I open the door are demanding to know why I’ve just landed without communicating. I calmly announce, while walking toward the FBO, I’d be happy to discuss it all but not until I’ve used the bathroom. Mouths dropping open they simply follow along politely pointing the way as we enter the building.

Relieved but still shaken, I ask the young woman at the counter where I am.
“Eugene, she replies. “And you better call the tower right now. They are waiting to talk you.”

Tower was not a nice man, displaying no sympathy for a student pilot lost on a cross country. He indicated he would be contacting my CFI and the FAA. I responded “yes” or “no” as required and took the tongue lashing trying not to cry.

Now for the real trauma. I called Bob and my husband. Neither was thrilled to hear where I was, but both were supportive and understanding. I calmed my nerves in the airport restaurant with a gooey chocolate dessert, fueled the plane and purchased a Kalamath Falls sectional - Oh, that’s why I couldn’t find a Class D Airport near a lake – I’d flown clean off the Seattle sectional!

I learned some valuable lessons that day, the most important being the need to keep a sharp awareness of time in the air. I also learned that the FAA does have sympathy for student pilots – Tower was later chastised for not paying attention, recognizing there was a problem, and giving me light signals.