It all started out so well.I had a nasty, nasty landing at Midway today. I did not take the picture at left, but I've posted it here because this picture pretty much sums up what the Runway 4L looked like as I touched down on it today.
From what I can recall, when I was on final, about 200 feet from the touchdown point, I suddenly had a panic attack. It wasn't caused by anything specific, and there was nothing wrong with the approach I was making. Somewhere, deep in the back of my mind, I was suddenly afraid that something was wrong with my approach. I can sum it up with the thought, "Something is wrong, and I don't know what it is."
Tom couldn't have known what was happening. For a brief moment, I slid my feet up onto the brakes, which in hindsight is just ridiculous because while the plane is airborne the brakes, of course, do nothing! It was almost as if I reverted to driving skills, and I was trying to slam on the brakes. Within a second, the rational side of my brain took over, and I slid my feet back down to the rudder pedals, where they should be. By this point, I was less than 100 feet above the runway, and over the numbers.
"Right rudder..." Tom warned, noting that I was approaching the runway with the nose pointing to the left of the centerline.
I pushed the right rudder pedal in, and the aircraft pointed down the centerline. Everything looked great.
But that sense of panic still echoed in the back of my mind. And at the worst possible moment, I took that right rudder out, and the nose of the aircraft pointed left of the centerline again.
And I froze.
I didn't turn the control wheel. I didn't move the pedals. I didn't even flare for landing. And the runway edged closer.
"Right rudder!" Tom yelled, but I couldn't move my feet. I watched as the airplane touched down on all three wheels at once, and bounced. A pretty significant sideload acted on us, and our bodies were jerked to the right.
"My plane! My plane!" Tom was adamant. And I was in shock.
I heard Tom's words, and I knew what they meant. But I retained a death grip on the control wheel and I don't think I moved my feet either. The plane settled, roughly, and began rolling toward the left edge of the runway. The runway lights, mounted on pipes that stick 8 inches out of the ground, approached quickly. If we went off the left side of the runway, we would certainly strike one of those lights.
"Let go of the control wheel! My plane!" Tom shouted. This time, I snapped out of my funk, and finally let the wheel go. My mind was spinning as Tom took control of the aircraft, applied right rudder, and turned the airplane back toward the centerline.
I was speechless, and my mind was racing. What the hell was that?
Tom wanted to know the same thing.
"What was that about, Eric? You didn't even flare!" Tom demanded to know.
"I have no idea. I froze." I answered, dejected.
"Do you want to taxi?" Tom asked.
I nodded, and placed my hand on the throttle to taxi back to the tower apron. But in my mind, this experience was far from over.
"I can't believe it. I stopped flying the plane. I panicked, and let the plane fly itself to the runway."
"You looked good until the very end," Tom said, trying to comfort me. "I could see that you were pointing to the left of the centerline, but you put in rudder pressure to correct for it. And then..."
"I took the rudder back out at the last second." I admitted.
I'm going to need some time to think about this. Tom pointed out that while the landing was rough, no harm was done. But all I can think about is that I've already soloed, and I am horrified at myself for letting the plane land so haphazardly. Why didn't I go around?
The lesson I carried away is simple; if a landing looks bad, go around. I have no explanation for where the panic attack came from. But I know that if I ever feel that way again, I won't hesitate to go around.
Moving forward from this bad landing with the goal of many good ones. Staying positive.
- Airman Eric
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