Trouble with #5

This post was originally started back in February of 2011. I encountered an engine problem that plagued me for most of that year, and resulted in almost two months without the plane once it was diagnosed properly. This is the story of how it all began.


A good chunk of pilot training is spent preparing for in-flight situations most pilots, even if they fly thousands of hours, will never encounter. I'm closing in on 1,000 hours of flying time and have never had an in-flight emergency. Well, there was the time nature called on my lovely wife at 4,500 feet, but that's an entirely different and far more amusing story than I relate here.

I haven't flown a lot this winter. Besides the unusually harsh weather, work has been particularly draining and we welcomed a newborn into the family in January. Finding the weather, time and energy to fly has been tough. Prior to the flight I'm writing about here, I hadn't flown for three weeks or more. On that flight, everything had been fine except for the bitter cold. Engine oil temps never quite broke 130 (normal is around 150). Cylinder head temps stayed below normal as well, but everything was in the green. I flew about an hour without incident.

On this flight, the weather was warmer and the start up, run up and take off were all uneventful. I didn't notice anything amiss until shortly after I called departure. The engine seemed just a tick off; as if it was vibrating a little more than normal. Even then I wasn't sure if what I sensed was more imagined than real. I glanced at the EGTs (Exhaust Gas Temps) and CHTs (Cylinder Head Temps). All appeared as it should. I chalked my vague sense of unease up to my three weeks away from the cockpit. That changed about 30 seconds later.

Out of the corner of my eye I noticed the #5 cylinder's temp starting to outpace its contemporaries. Not terribly unusual since cylinder temps frequently change during climbout. Only they usually do so while staying comfortably in the green. #5 was well above the others and headed into yellow territory . A pop up message appeared on my PFD (Primary Flight Display) and MFD (Multi Function Display) suggesting I "Check CHT Temps". A needless suggestion considering my attention was now riveted to them.

As #5's CHT climbed into the red, a chill went down my spine. I started a turn back toward the airport and mashed the transmit button, "Approach, Cirrus 218 delta fox is returning to the field. I've got a hot cylinder and some mild vibration." Now, a transmission such as this does not constitute the declaration of an emergency. There is fairly specific phraseology a pilot must use to declare an emergency. It gives him sequencing priority over every other flight in the area. It also grants the pilot discretion to deviate from FAA regulations and ATC instructions as he sees fit to escape danger. But with great freedom comes great responsibility.

Harsh administrative action awaits any pilot that disrupts the conduct of other flights by declaring an emergency that is later deemed by authorities to have been no emergency at all. While this was certainly the biggest in-flight problem I'd ever encountered, and the adrenaline was definitely flowing, I wasn't ready to utter the magic words. The engine was still running and I was in complete control of the plane. I just needed to get on the ground as soon as I could while those conditions prevailed.

During the turn back to the field I backed off the throttle a bit and started a descent. The combination of the lower power setting and extra airflow from the speed I picked up seemed to agree with the overheated cylinder. It started coming back down into the yellow. I reduced power further and the engine ran smoother with the #5 cylinder head temp eventually returning to green. Not much into the green, but green none the less.

The pattern was busy when I returned. Between the numerous radio calls, the adrenaline in my bloodstream and my obsession with the CHT indicator I found myself working harder than normal to keep up with events. My turns in the pattern were kind of sloppy and I wound up high on final. Looking back, the steeper approach would have come in handy if the engine actually had failed on final. But I can't, with a clean conscience, say that was part of my plan. It just worked out that way.

After landing, I scheduled an appointment with the local FBO and thought about all that had happened. As uncomfortable as the whole situation was, it was a valuable learning experience and I tried to glean all I could from it. The obvious lesson was, "Fly the plane". In all the aerial emergencies I'd read about, in particular those with happy endings, the protagonist always says the one thing that saved their life was remembering to fly the plane.

To the non-pilot, that seems obvious. But when the adrenaline starts flowing and your sense of well being seems tenuous, it's easy to fixate on the threat and forget the fundamentals. Every student pilot is taught on day one of their training that the order of business in any cockpit, be it a single-engine Cessna or a Boeing 747, is 1.) aviate, 2.) navigate, 3.) communicate. The order is inviolable and does not change whether everything's fine or going to hell in a hand basket. You always fly the plane first. In this instance it took me a lot longer to remember that than I would like to admit.

The other big lesson was don't come down till you absolute have too. The engine was running rough, but it was running. Oil pressure was fine. Strangely enough, so were exhaust gas temps. I am happy to say that I did make the conscious decision to hold altitude as long as I could before getting over the airport. Altitude equals options. Unfortunately, once I did get over the airport, I was still paying too much attention to the cylinder head temps and got sloppy in the pattern. I had the airport made. I should have focused entirely on the approach to landing. Even if the engine had conked, I would have had no trouble making a runway without it. I should've just . . . all together now . . . flown the plane.

Next time, and I pray there won't be one, I will remember this day. It was a relatively cheap lesson on the merits of focusing on the fundamentals when things go bad. A lesson I find helps outside the airplane too.