I Couldn't Land
Third attempt, fuel running low
The altimeter reads 600 feet. Airspeed: 75 knots.
I’m alone in a Cessna 172, on my second solo cross-country flight, approaching to land at Rosh Pina (northern Israel).
My hand is on the throttle. Through the engine noise, I can hear my instructor, Yossi, shouting:
“Whatever happens, don’t let the airspeed drop below 72 knots!!”
Except Yossi isn’t there.
I’m alone in the airplane.
400 feet. 74 knots.
I lower the flaps all the way. On my airplane - CDJ -that means 40 degrees instead of the usual 30, and you can feel the difference.
“Forty degrees is like hitting a wall! The airplane drops like an elevator!!”
I can hear Yossi yelling it in my head.
I push the throttle forward to offset the drag from the flaps.
In another moment I’ll pull the power and transition into the glide over the runway. That part is all feel. I’ve done it dozens of times.
Except this time, the airplane doesn’t feel right.
It’s the first time I’ve ever felt that.
Instead of gliding straight toward the centerline, the airplane starts pulling hard to the left.
I correct with rudder and aileron, but I know that if I touch down like this, there’s a good chance the airplane will flip.
Before I can even explain to myself what’s happening, I hear Yossi again.
“If there’s any doubt - go around!”
I shove the throttle all the way forward. Full power. Flaps back to 10 degrees. The airplane begins climbing, slowly.
“CDJ going around,” I report to the tower.
My stomach drops.
I wanted to call my mom and ask her to come pick me up from this flying lesson.
But I’m alone in the airplane.
I climb out and fly another circuit, explaining to myself it was a strong crosswind pushing me left.
You don’t get to order crosswinds for flight training, and I’d never practiced landing in one this strong.
I turn final for my second attempt.
A few feet above the runway - and it happens again.
The airplane swings hard left. My correction isn’t enough. We’re crossing the threshold at a bad angle, and I know that if I land now, I’ll wake up in a hospital if I’m lucky.
Full power again. Flaps to 10 degrees.
“CDJ going around. If I can’t make it this time, I’ll head back to Herzliya,” I tell the tower.
But I wasn’t really telling them. I was telling myself.
The fuel is running low.
I’ve decided the landing conditions at Rosh Pina are beyond my skill level. Instead of wasting more fuel trying to force it, I’d rather fly back to Herzliya, where I’d never seen winds like these and where I had dozens of successful landings behind me.
I line up for one last attempt.
This time I point the airplane further into the wind, letting the crosswind correct the drift instead of fighting it at the last second.
Honestly, I don’t remember much about that third landing.
What I do remember is the moment all three wheels were rolling on the runway.
My heart rate was probably 200.
And I felt more alive than I had in a very long time.
A few months later, I passed my checkride and earned my pilot’s license.
After we shut down, the examiner looked at me and said:
“Well... you don’t know how to fly an airplane.
But you fly safely enough to teach yourself.”