FUEL SIPHONING!!!

OR HOW TO BE TOTALLY EMBARRASSED

AND GET GROUNDED AT THE SAME TIME.

Contributed by John Puckropp, Col.USAF (Ret.)

It was a typical day at the flight line.  Instructor changed the dual schedule and I had to sit out the first period rather than fly solo.  The instructor returned with Tom Doubek and told me as soon as the bird was refueled, to go solo for the last period. Now I'm really uptight because I could have flown solo the first half of the period.
  

I tried to short-cut the preflight by working around the refueling crew, figuring they would tighten the fuel caps.  I should have known they were specifically instructed NOT to close them down, as it was the PILOT’S responsibility during preflight.

All was normal to the start of takeoff role (even remembered to latch the canopy) Checked the left and right wing at 60 kts (not fast enough yet to siphon so I could abort and save face), lift off, gear up, flaps up and then the wonderful "Check left, Check right" procedure at 500 feet.  Much to my astonishment and doubletake, I was producing contrails with an OAT of 60 degrees F.  Panic set in. .I'm going to have to eject because I'll run out of fuel before I can land!! Worse yet, some yo-yo is trying contact me by MY call sign and at the same time telling the WHOLE WORLD that I forgot to seal up my fuel tanks.  It was a very quiet departure from the pattern, but I couldn't escape without being noticed for my four distinct contrails heading off to the Red River.  Every one was looking for me and of course I was easy to spot.  More inquiries by my many friends about my predicament, but I remained anonymous by my silence. A dual ride showed up on my right wing for a short while. . .they were laughing; Damn! Now they know my tail number.  I figured I would stay a safe distance from (yet close to) home plate so when the siphoning stopped I could sneak in with the others doing pattern work, land, park and slither off to the shack.  OOPS, yellow fuselage tank light is on and I'm still 20 miles from touchdown.  I head straight for the base, bust in on the pattern folks without warning, and do my first ever straight-in approach to a full stop landing (You didn't think I would be so dumb as to do an overhead with contrails did you?). 

My instructor, Lenny Haskovic (dcsd), just stared at me as I walked in the shack and toward the table. And he continued to do that for hours (well, it seemed like hours).  When he finally spoke, in a deep and authoritative manner (they had a way of doing that and were good at it . . .much practice I figure), he said, "Of all the students I have survived through and graduated without either of us getting killed, you were the last person I would expect to pull a dumb stunt like that.  I don't want to see you here or on this flight line for at least a week and if you don't have your head screwed on tight when you return, your SIE (self-initiated elimination from training) will be accepted".  Needless to say, I had to buy a few rounds at the Cadet Club that week.  I must say throughout the rest of my flying career, that lesson was the best one I carried with me and it, without question, saved many yet-to-come dumb stunts from coming to fruition.

God, do I feel good now for confessing my earlier flying transgression to you.  I trust you will hold this deep dark secret close to your vest.  Hmmmm, on second thought trust is a "phycal phor letter word".