I only had about thirteen hours of flight time but somehow I’d lulled my CFI into a false sense of security. Our home field was narrow, short, and with kind of tricky approach and departure corridors due to a ridge with trees at one end and a substation with high voltage wires at the other end so first solos were done at a local uncontrolled muni airport that was longer and only had a major power line at the north end.
My CFI wasn’t much older than me - I think I was his third student - and when he told me to take him there I was sort of anticipating this might be it. He had me do three touch and goes and they went well, landing to the south into a modest wind right down the runway after coming in over the wires to the north of the field and he told me to make the last one a full stop and let him off at the gas pump at midfield. At that point I knew, today was the day.
He told me to go back up and give him three more landings just like the last three, all full stops and taxi backs.
He warned me the 172 would be a little stronger in the climb minus his 150# and he was right. On the first takeoff the aircraft lifted briskly - immediately followed by the passenger/CFI door popping open. But except for the noise level abruptly increasing, it wasn’t a problem. The airflow only let it open an inch or so. After one abortive attempt to close it with my right arm, I said the heck with it. It was on the right side of the aircraft and it was a left hand pattern and the fuel island was on the east side. My instructor wouldn’t see it and I could close and LOCK it (as he had cautioned me to do but I’d forgotten) after I made the first landing down at the departure end of the field.
The 1st landing was uneventful and I rolled out to the end, stopping to clean up the flaps (and close and lock the door) before taxiing back. I got an approving nod and a thumbs up from my CFI as I taxied past going back for my second solo takeoff. At this point I ought to mention the weather.
This all occurred in the Pacific Northwest in wintertime. The weather was about 2000 overcast - not unlike a Pacific Northwest summer actually. And visibility was pretty good, at least until you got 10-12 miles north of us, but we weren’t going there.
In the Puget Sound region you fly VFR when you can get it and 2000 overcast actually wasn’t all that bad. There was weather to the north of us, light rain and lower ceilings, and not even that far to the north of us, but weather at our airport was what the locals would consider “good” and non-locals would consider marginal VFR.
In any event, I taxied to the approach end, checked everything was trimmed and configured right, and took off. Couldn’t have gone much better. Turned downwind, watching all the usual landmarks, power back to 1800 rpm at midfield, carb heat on and power to idle andflaps down abeam the numbers, turn base at the usual landmark just inside the wires, and descend on the VASI or PAPI... it was a squeaker. All I could do to keep from patting myself on the back all the way down the runway. I’m sure I had a big grin on my face as I taxied past my CFI at the gas island. Unfortunately before I got back for my next takeoff, a V-tailed Beech pulled out in front of me.
OK, the airport had a runway AND a taxiway, but it wasn’t a big runway or taxiway and since the guy in the Beech didn’t pull over into the run up area there was no way I was getting past him. I could, I suppose, have done an intersection takeoff from 500 feet behind him as he was doing his run up but that would have been a fairly ballsy move for a student pilot with - by that time - just short of 14 hours TT with 13.6 dual. So I waited behind him...and waited...and waited.
In retrospect I think he was probably waiting for IFR release, we were under some very busy airspace and I would find out later there could be a lengthy wait, but at the time I thought he was just really slow at running a checklist. I waited...and waited...and waited.
Finally he pulled up and got lined up to takeoff. I breathed a sigh of relief and said “Finally...” as he added power. That’s when the FIRST large drop of rain hit my windshield. A few more hit before he broke ground, but I really didn’t hesitate. It was the Pacific Northwest. Even in my still somewhat less than 14 hours of flying, I’d flown in light rain. And visibility was great, at least up to the base of the overcast which was now down to about 1700 feet MSL, still A GOOD 700 feet over pattern altitude. I decided a little bit of rain wasn’t going to stop me from completing my solo. I didn’t really hesitate, pushing in on the throttle. It wasn’t until I broke ground - and had inadequate runway in front of me to stop - that the rain REALLY came down.
Perhaps you’ve heard the expression - rain splashing down like a cow pi$$ing on a flat rock? THAT’S what it was like as I climbed up away from the runway. For those of you who have never flown a Cessna 172, no, it DOESN’T have windshield wipers.
So with actually fairly decent visibility out to the sides, but essentially no forward visibility, I made the turn onto downwind. At that point I remembered, there was a V-tail Beech out in front of me - or at least I thought there was.
Now the reality was that the V-tail was departing north, probably altpready above pattern altitude and pulling away from me in any event, but all I could think was that he was out in front of me in the pattern. The prudent thing seemed to be to slow up (I was reasonably sure a 172 could out slow a V-tail) and watch out my side window until I saw him below me on final. So I slowed up and waited, continuing on downwind, ...and waited...and waited.
And as I waited the rain got heavier and the ceiling got lower. Eventually I was far enough north that I knew he must of left the pattern. I turned a VERY extended base to go back for a straight in. Of course that put the runway in the forward windscreen where those huge drops were taking away all forward visibility which meant I couldn’t see the runway. That wasn’t my biggest concern though. I knew the altitude of the runway. My biggest concern was I couldn’t See the high tension lines BETWEEN me and the runway and I didn’t remember exactly how high they were.
They were definitely below pattern altitude though, so I decided not to descend below that altitude until I saw the power lines beneath me out of the side window. It wasn’t the worst idea, but I really wasn’t looking at the big picture, perhaps unsurprising considering I only had about 14.1 TT.
The big picture, however, was this: The wind out of the south which had been holding this little rain squall to the north had ceased, worse yet it had changed direction. It was now driving this low level cloudburst south, which meant I was now landing downwind.
Which also meant that I was late seeing the wires below me, and traveling faster than my airspeed was showing. Although I couldn’t see straight ahead, I did recognize the usual pattern landmarks out the side window. I pulled power and increased rate of descent at a rate I guessed would bring me to the ground right at the numbers, and it actually did work. I could have touched down right abeam the VASI, pretty much on the centerline, and only doing about 140 knots indicated - a whole 20 knots under Vne - on a runway with maybe a half inch of standing water, with no forward visibility. I prudently went around, giving the situation time to deteriorate further.
On downwind for my SECOND attempt at a third solo landing, the rain came down harder and the ceiling came down too. I was NOT in the clouds personally, but couldn’t really vouch for the tail beacon being below them and didn’t have the time or courage to try to look. I was again late seeing the wires, but brought it back to idle and added full flaps as soon as airspeed permitted. I was probably only doing 80 knots airspeed when I was ten foot over the numbers but I floated...and floated...and floated, before finally touching down on the runway (which had an inch of standing water on it) with about 500 feet remaining and no forward visibility. I added power and went around, allowing the weather to further deteriorate.
OK, the third pattern for my third solo landing was flown at 600 feet AGL, partly because I was FAIRLY CERTAIN I’d still be above the wires, but mainly because any higher and I would have been in the clouds. Besides that, the visibility was deteriorating in rain and mist. Even out the side window it was down to two miles or less. In fact, the only really prominent landmark as I did that third downwind was the pasty white face of my CFI standing in the drenching rain watching me at the fuel island, looking up at me.
I used partial flaps and crossed the wires at about 80 knots, then went idle and again sort of dived at where I figured the runway would be, judging by the view out the side window. To my surprise, I again got myself aligned in the middle of the runway, pretty much ten feet over the numbers.
Because of the tailwind I still didn’t suspect, I was actually doing about 100 knots groundspeed despite the 85 knots IAS. And there was a good inch or so of standing water on the runway. But I had made the decision it was better for me to go off the side or end at 20 or 30 knots then go back into the sky, get disoriented, and fall out of it at 100 knots. I planted it on.
I actually expected to hydroplane, but the wheels spun up and shot water up onto the underside of the wings (it was a trainer, no wheelpants) and we actually decelerated pretty quickly. I turned off one intersection short of the end, taxied back to the fuel pump and shut down.
My CFI, very much resembling a drowned rat, got in, sat down, and picked up my logbook and started writing, not saying a word. By the time he’d done his write up, signing off on my solo, his only written comment being “interesting,” and then debriefed, explaining about the wind change and the fact I’d been trying to land with a 15-20 knit tailwind, the squall had passed through and the skies were back to 2000 overcast. He nodded toward the home drone and said, “Let’s call it a day. See you Saturday as scheduled.”
Three days later I was back for my next lesson. I was actually kind of surprised the CFI showed up. He admitted that he’d had doubts about me showing up too.