Two Emergencies in One Flying Trip

Whaaat? Why? What’s wrong with the Aspen? 

Another annunciation caught my eye on the other side of the panel where my JPI 830 lived. In large, red letters, the bottom of the display flashed, “VOLTS 12.7.” It took me a moment to connect the dots. The alternator had failed. A reluctant glance at the ammeter gauge confirmed my diagnosis. The needle was clearly at the zero position. We were operating on battery power only, with probably 30 minutes remaining. VFR on top of a cloud layer…above the Great Smoky Mountains.

It was my wife’s suggestion that we travel with the airplane for a month to visit friends and family, which meant the bulk of our trip would sample portions of the Midwest. I’m always enthusiastic about an airplane sojourn, but I know that using our Piper Arrow as a station wagon with wings can be an organizational packing challenge for my wife, so I was surprised with her initiative.

And now, I was subjecting my wife to the perils of GA flying. No copilot. No seat-back tray table. No flight attendant. Thankfully, my wife is not a nail-biter. As a matter of fact, she deserves high marks as a first officer. She is a competent ForeFlight user, enjoying the opportunity to remain situationally aware through use of the moving map and all the other features.

Now my airline pilot brain is asking, “Do I declare an emergency?” A few quick moments of hesitation and my response is, “Of course, you idiot. Wouldn’t you have done it in the big jet?” That said, it would be bad form and a rookie mistake to not have a diversion airport in mind before declaring. Fortunately, I usually make it a regular practice to display the VFR sectional layer of the ForeFlight map even if we are operating on an IFR flight plan.

As a matter of fact, I had just reviewed the info for Toccoa Regional Airport (KTOC). It’s located in northern Georgia, situated at the foothills of the Smoky Mountains. The METAR indicated VFR with a broken ceiling. When the Atlanta Center frequency was free of chatter, I recited three “Maydays” with our call sign. That got the controller’s attention, which prompted him to confirm I was actually declaring an emergency. Well…yeah.

The controller immediately suggested an airport in close proximity, but it was nestled in the mountains and may have required an approach procedure in order to descend through the cloud layer. In addition, it didn’t appear to have much in the way of facilities, i.e. maintenance. Instead, I requested direct to Toccoa and a descent. Meanwhile, I tasked my wife with obtaining runway info and field elevation from ForeFlight.

Earlier, the number two nav/comm had been shut down to conserve power, so I contemplated what else we could spare. Other than the rotating beacon and the wing strobe lights, it seemed everything else was a necessity for the time being, especially the GPS and the transponder.

Within five minutes, Toccoa Airport was in sight, which not only reduced our stress, but the controller seemed to breathe a sigh of relief as well. We switched to the advisory frequency and landed without incident. 

Later, I reflected on the possibility that if the battery was completely exhausted, the landing gear would have required utilization of the free-fall emergency extension system. Without electrical power, down-and-locked verification with three green lights would have been impossible. 

We couldn’t have found a better airport to have broken down. After Larry, aka the ops manager, aka the local A&P, finished with the fueling needs of a chartered King Air, he immediately came to our rescue. In short order, he discovered that the field circuit breaker of the alternator had tripped and that the terminal connector had broken. High heat was evident on the connector. Hmm… 

The subsequent engine run-up proved the repair was successful. Larry and I scrutinized the ammeter needle as it inched its way in the correct direction. It was hard to argue the troubleshooting logic, but my skeptical side of the brain remained unsettled. 

Regardless, I was glad that I had delayed that morning’s departure from South Carolina because of the low ceilings at the airport and the airports along our route. The prospect of having to divert into IFR weather near approach minimums was never high on my fun list at the airline let alone in a single-engine airplane. I was also grateful that the battery had been replaced just days prior to beginning our sojourn.

Because of our delayed departure, the feeder bands of Hurricane Beryl got close enough to thwart our plans of visiting Paducah, Kentucky. Instead, we chose Nashville, Tennessee, since it more or less continued the trek north toward our eventual destination of Minneapolis. As were often the circumstances for the entire journey, we zigged, zagged, climbed, and descended around convective weather. I yearned for the flight levels of my prior occupation.

Fast-forward to the departure from our westernmost destination of Bismark, North Dakota (KBIS), where the Aspen once again began a percentage of battery life countdown. Both the JPI 830 and the ammeter indicated a normal alternator status. When I canceled the takeoff clearance and taxied to a run-up area, the Aspen battery percentage annunciation immediately disappeared with an increase in rpm.

Where would a mechanic begin the troubleshooting process if I couldn’t reproduce the problem? Although my neck hairs remained standing, I announced ready for takeoff again.

The following morning I delayed departure from Lisbon, North Dakota (6L3), because of low ceilings. Once the trend of cloud levels began to increase above my comfort height of 800 feet, we departed into a hazy, white sky that was being infiltrated by smoke from the Canadian wildfires.

Alas, after 17 hours of normal operation, in solid IMC weather, the Aspen again began to display battery percentage. A now familiar voltage annunciation flashed on the JPI screen. The ammeter needle had no sign of life. My wife admonished me for uttering, “Crap!” without an immediate explanation.

In a moment of iPad flurry, I selected an airport with a reasonable chance of having maintenance and an RNAV approach. Emergency No. 2 for the trip was declared, accompanied by a request for direct to the initial approach fix. With an eye on the Aspen battery percentage, I modified the request for direct to the final approach fix. Shortly thereafter, the threshold for Fergus Falls, Minnesota (KFFM), Runway 31 appeared in the windscreen. An uneventful landing followed.

A quick troubleshooting process later, conducted by local A&P’s Bob and Nathan, declared the bearings for the alternator as the culprit—perhaps the original source of the heat. With Aircraft Spruce, FedEx, and Bob to the rescue, a new alternator was on the Arrow the following morning.

Two emergencies on one trip? Nope. Never again. 

This column first appeared in the October Issue 951 of the FLYING print edition.