It had been a rather smooth flight so far, even though the cloud ceiling and the visibility were lower than expected. So, after flying a non-precision approach to Calgary’s runway 25 and reaching the minimum descend altitude I hadn’t seen the airport at first. And when I finally caught sight of it, I had been right over the runway without a chance to land the twin engine Piper Seneca. Adding full power I had flown the missed approach procedure and was instructed by Air Traffic Control to turn south for an ILS approach to runway 34. This would take me down lower, hopefully out of the clouds and to a successful landing at my destination.
Skimming the top of the cloud layer that hid Calgary from my view I had a quick glance at the Rockies to my right. Majestically its white peaks continued South and North as far as the eye could see.
Back to the task at hand I engaged the autopilot and started to brief the approach procedure that lay before me. It all happened, when I punched in the frequency of the navigation aid used for landing.
In a split second everything vanished. The world outside: cloud layer, mountains, the town of Calgary. The world inside: my instruments, gauges, radios, and navigation aids. And with the airplane basically nonexistent all movement stopped, and it got quiet. Gone was that constant shoving motion characteristic to small airplanes. Gone was the engine noise, the voices of Air Traffic Control, the occasional crackling of the intercom when my passenger moved or breathed a little too heavily.
All that remained was a black nothingness impossible to fathom or to penetrate combined with a stillness that gave me a feeling of being suspended somewhere in mid-space with God having forgotten to turn on the stars.
“I’m dead!” was the first thought that went through my mind, if indeed being dead still allows for thoughts. But why would I be dead? There was nothing that had indicated a looming catastrophe, and everything happened so quickly, it was almost impossible to think of a natural event having taken place. So, was this the rapture? But where was I “raptured” to? Into nothingness? There should at least be a tunnel with a bright light at the end or some indescribable colours and sounds. I was supposed to go to heaven, after all.
But then again, something was odd. I was still sitting in my pilot’s seat, buckled in and holding the controls. And looking to the right, there was my passenger sitting in his seat, with the same expression of astonishment and unbelief that must have shown on my face.
Suspended in space in a cockpit-like cabin? Temporarily put on hold since the gate to Heaven is congested? Or maybe not dead in the end?
“I think the socket went dead.” After the intense concentration during the flight I relaxed only slowly. This was my instructor talking from the outside. After an awkward moment of silence the Flight Test Examiner next to me suggested we do some oral emergency testing until the simulator would run again.
It only took a few minutes until we were back over Calgary, heading south with everything set up as before. And after another few minutes I broke through clouds, landed the plane with only one engine working – and passed the flight test for my IFR renewal.
