August 2004
No doubt you have read a multitude of editorial on the subject of the Go/No Go decision. In reality, it should probably be called the Go On/Not Go On decision, since Go/No Go implies that the decision is made on the ground prior to departure. But in the real world, that is not always the case.
In fact, accident investigators talk about the decision chain, the series of events followed by a pilot’s decisions based on those events that eventually lead to an incident or accident. Many of these decisions are made after departure and before arrival, planned or unplanned.
Some Go/No Go decisions are just plain obvious. When you read a story of what can happen when the obvious is ignored you think, “I would never do that!” and perhaps you wouldn’t but somewhere, someone will make the wrong choice.
So it was on July 20, 2002. Five buddies, two of which were pilots, had rented a Cherokee Six from the local flight school, and on the evening of Friday the 19th, after a full day at work, they went off to Freeport, Grand Bahamas for some fun. They had departed from the Lantana Airport (LNA—West Palm Beach, Fla.), at the time my home base.
The VFR flight over to Freeport was uneventful, and they arrived before dark.
But at 5:35 a.m. on the 20th, the group departed Freeport in the dark for the 55 nm over-water trip to Palm Beach. The problem with that is there is no VFR in the Bahamas after sunset and before sunrise. It is that way in many countries outside of the United States.
Worse yet, neither the 85-hour private pilot nor his 265-hour private pilot-rated passenger held an instrument rating. To compound their lack of decision-making, there was no record of any weather briefing prior to the return flight. They did file an IFR flight plan.
At some point after departure, the pilot advised the local controller that he was in fact not instrument rated, whereby, the local controller advised the radar controller of that. Ten minutes later the local controller handed the flight off to the radar controller, who instructed the flight to squawk a specific transponder code, which the flight acknowledged. That was the last transmission from the flight.
The aircraft flew into a level-4 thunderstorm and went down in the ocean, just 15 miles west of the Grand Bahamas and 29 miles from the Freeport International Airport. Had the pilot checked the weather prior to departure he would have seen a line of thunderstorms running up and down the Florida Straits with level-3 and 4 echoes, and tops to 33,000 feet.
The textual weather for the departure airport (MYGF) read; wind at 160 at 2 kts, few clouds at 1,800, visibility unrestricted, with Cu’s extending southwest through northwest of the airport with rain of unknown intensity.
The destination airport (KPBI) reported wind at 100 at 10, visibility 10 miles. Sky conditions were reported as few clouds at 1,200; 5,000 broken and 11,000 overcast.
So, clearly both the text and the radar depiction showed a line of weather. Because the accident happened in the Bahamas, the families asked that no autopsies be performed, so there is no way to confirm the physical condition of the decision-making pilots, but there is no indication that they had slept that night.
So what would compel a pilot who does not have an instrument rating to fly over water in the dark of night without so much as a weather briefing? That is the $64,000 question. Clearly it was intentional since he filed an IFR flight plan.
Speculation on the airport was that the aircraft was rented to someone else the next day and they wanted to return it to avoid any possible additional rental charges. Perhaps the Go/No Go decision was made before they even left in the first place, I really couldn’t say, but this accident was particularly tough because these pilots were familiar faces around our airport and not some faceless victims on an NTSB report.
But in the wake of the JFK Jr. accident, one would think that every pilot flying would be aware of the danger of VFR over the water at night. So how does this relate to making the Go/No Go decision? Well, let’s go back to what I said about the decision chain. If the decision to return that night was made prior to the flight ever departing, to satisfy whatever reason, then the Go/No Go decision was the decision to go in the first place.
It is also not known if the pilot’s judgment was influenced by the passengers who may not have been as well educated on the dangers of night VFR over the water, and had applied pressure on the pilot to complete the trip for entirely self-serving reasons. But, along the way the pilot had other opportunities to make the Go On /Not Go On Decision.
If he indeed did not sleep but opted to fly home anyway, that was a decision in the chain. If he made the decision to fly home and decided not to check the weather, that was a decision in decision chain. He had to know that VFR operations in the Bahamas were prohibited at night—that is why he filed an IFR flight plan for his return. That, too, constitutes a decision in the chain.
If the pilot needed a regulatory reason not to go, that was it.
After departure and at an altitude of 4,700 feet (as recorded by radar), it would be hard to miss a level-4 thunderstorm, yet he did not attempt to return to Freeport. It is fair to say that is a decision in the chain, and in this instance, the last opportunity to exercise the Go/No Go authority of the pilot in command.
Part 91 operating regulations allow the pilot in command a tremendous amount of flexibility in how they conduct a flight. You can, for instance, legally begin an instrument approach and fly it down to the published minimums even though the reported weather is less than the published minimums.
Sometimes, particularly at fields that do not have weather reporting capability on the field, you will find that conditions are better than forecast. But it is also possible that they could be worse. You look at the forecast, and it is marginal, so you decide to go take a look anyway. You shoot the approach, see nothing but the inside of a cloud and go on to your alternate, which if you filed it properly had to have significantly better weather then your destination. Is that not a Go On/Not Go on decision?
If you are a strictly VFR guy and you don’t fly whenever there is a chance of thunderstorms, you won’t get to fly much in the summertime. In Florida, you won’t get to fly much at all. But a chance of thunderstorms doesn’t mean thunderstorms everywhere, or all day. So you launch anyway, only to be greeted by a small line of Cu’s across your flight path that weren’t on the radar 45 minutes earlier when you were standing in the FBO’s office. You can fly around them easily, maybe add 50 miles to your 200-mile trip, or you can turn around.
In my hypothetical situation, you could deviate east, which would take you out to sea, or you could deviate west which would bring you very close to, if not under an overlying Class B airspace. Either way is equidistant to your destination. One choice puts you at risk of being beyond power-off gliding distance of shore, the other puts you in the position of being very precise on your navigation or talking with the controllers who handle that Class B airspace. Which would you choose? Would you opt to return to base?
Weather is not the only factor to consider in the Go On/Don’t Go on decision. What about the mechanical condition of your aircraft? By regulation, every single thing on the airplane must be working to conduct a flight, unless of course you have an approved MEL (Minimum Equipment List).
So, on your preflight you discover that the landing light is burned out. But it is 8 a.m. and you plan to be back by noon, the weather is CAVU and forecast to stay that way, and there is no night flying in your plans. You launch anyway. That was a Go/No Go decision.
After breakfast, you and your buddies climb back into your trusty plane and take off for home. After startup, you discover the vacuum pump has gone south. Do you head home anyway? Again, another Go/No Go decision.
About 10 years ago I was flying a minimally equipped Maule from Florida to New Jersey in the summer. The aircraft was IFR certified, but it only had one navcom and no autopilot, so I opted to do the trip VFR.
From South Florida north through Georgia, the flight visibilities and ceiling steadily declined until, as we approached Walterboro, S.C., we had a 1,000-foot ceiling and visibility of about three miles. I opted to land, (a Go On/Don’t Go on decision), have lunch, check the weather and make yet another decision.
Looking at The Weather Channel in the pilot’s lounge I could see that a stationary front was lying right over me and less than 100 miles north of my location the weather improved dramatically. A late season backdoor cold front had come down from Canada and reached as far as Richmond, Va., leaving CAVU conditions from Norfolk northbound to our destination.
I knew from the forecast that our weather would improve in as little as an hour or two, so we ate lunch, refilled and launched into 1,500 and three.
In less than 50 miles the flight visibilities improved to more than five miles. Within 100 miles, ceilings had lifted to 3,000 feet and visibilities had gone up to 10 miles. Shortly after that was the CAVU the weatherman promised me.
So you see, your Go/No Go decisions are based conditions at the time, your personal comfort level and your experiences. It is not always in black and white. The published limitations such as minimums on an approach or flight visibility are just that, minimums. They apply to all pilots, whether you are a 100-hour private pilot or a 20,000-hour professional pilot.
So you see, there is a very good case to change the name to the Go On/Don’t Go On decision.
Michael Leighton is a 3,000-hour CFII/MEI/ATP and holds a type rating in CE-500 series business jets. He is a current and active flight instructor, a licensed A&P mechanic and a former FAA Accident Prevention Counselor. He operates a Part 135 on demand charter company in South Florida. You can reach him at av8tor0414@aol.com.
