Flying a plane requires a good deal of training and coordination, and while riding in a plane is statistically safer than a car, the fall-out of a flight gone wrong is far more terrifying and fatal.
Most of the time, when something goes wrong on a flight, the pilot and co-pilot are able to catch the issue before it turns into full danger or pandemonium. For the sake of the passengers' mental health (and trust), it's best to not alert them about flight issues until absolutely necessary. So, there are frequent fliers walking around who escaped a close call without even realizing it, because their pilot was on top of it.
In a popular Reddit thread, airplane pilots shared the scary flights they recovered just in the nick of time.
Luckily, none of these scenarios became an episode of LOST.
I used to fly photographers to Southern Utah and Colorado to survey land. One day I had a fuel indicator malfunction and I realized we were 10 minutes away from our engine shutting off. Landed at a small airport we passed a bit ago while running on fumes. The photographer had no idea that if we didn’t land, we would’ve had to ditch the plane in the hot desert with no cell reception or hope of getting recused for a while.
I spent 10 years fighting forest fires with the British Columbia Ministry of Forests. (On the ground, I'm not a pilot.)
We're on a fire up in Northern BC, late in the season, just trying to get it done so we can put a pin in the year. The helicopter we've been flying in has a sticky tail boom door light in the cockpit. Tail booms can be hollow in larger machines, you put equipment back there, chainsaws, water pumps, hose, back backs, fuel cans.
All week we've been loading the thing up to the gills, it holds 9 fire fighters and all their associated gear, so needless to say, the tail boom is packed everyday with things that you DO NOT want falling out while in flight and sailing right into the tail rotor.
And ALL WEEK everytime we're ready to take off, this stupid light in the cockpit goes off, and someone at the door seat has to get out and go back there and make sure that YES the door is actually closed.
Well, it's been a long couple weeks, we get in, go to take off, and the light goes off again. I'm sitting in the second front seat next to the pilot and he looks at me and says something to the effect of "Holy christ, the boom door again, well, what do you figure? should we check?
I sigh, I just want to go for a rip over the trees and get this day done so we can go home, BUT it's not me that has to get out, it's the rookie who is sat in the rear door seat. So I say: "Fuck, we should just go, but let's check it anyways. Hey back there, whoever was last at the door, get out and double check it ok?"
Everyone sighs. Rookie gets unbuckled, gets out to check. We wait. Helicopter is idling. He gets back in, get's his seatbelt on, get's his headset on. He's somehow both red and white in the face at the same time. "Yeah, the rear door was open. I closed it. We're good to go"
Rookie was the last one at the door. Had we taken off, everything in that tailboom would have rattled it's way out, careened through the tail rotor, and sent us into the ground in a spin. There were 9 of us on board, including the pilot.
We all just kept that one to ourselves. From then on we had a rule: "Two people at the door, one guy holds, one guy loads, guy who holds the door closes it. That's his only job."
Okay, this is sort of relevant here.
I flew a tanker plane in the Air Force. From time to time when at home station we'd give incentive rides to folks from around the base, people who'd won Airman of the Quarter for different groups or squadrons, that kind of thing. So while not a passenger plane normally, we had about 30 pax on board for a routine mission where we'd refuel some fighter jets in training and all the pax could watch them and get down in the boom pod and stuff.
I'm a young-ish copilot. The pilot is this guy, not even in our flight squadron anymore, attached to us but I think he ran the control tower. Nobody really liked flying with him and he really didn't like flying with anybody, hated all of the copilots except, for some reason, me (probably he hated me but realized I was the only one left and kept his mouth shut).
We taxi out from the tarmac to the end of the runway, and we're sitting there waiting for traffic to clear (our base was located near a major commercial airport and depending on wind and time of day we might have to wait a couple of minutes for takeoff). Nothing whatsoever has been out of the ordinary.
As we're waiting, I notice a red-tailed hawk (I think, anyway) flying by. I point it out to the rest of the people in the cockpit, since we're not doing anything else. Hey, look at the that hawk! Like a stupid overeager copilot, you know.
Everybody looks, everybody goes back to their conversation. I watch the hawk. I watch it fly from left to right across the nose of the airplane, slip a bit right, turn, and take a gainer right into engine #3. I mean, clear as day, that bird was suicidal. It turned and dove into the engine.
We're not flying. But technically this qualifies as a birdstrike. Nonetheless, you know how you could become SUPER unpopular with, like, everybody? Say, "Hey, that hawk just dove into number three!"
Seriously. I think the pilot was ready to choke me out. Are you f*cking kidding me? You saw it? You saw it fly into the engine? Are you f*cking kidding me?
He gets on the radio. We gotta go back, we took a bird. Well, the copilot SAYS we took a bird.
Cleared onto the runway, taxi down to the first exit, taxi back to the ramp. Pilot keeps bitching me out the whole time. There better be a sh*tload of f*cking bird guts in that engine or I'll f*cking murder you, that kind of uplifting stuff, reasons why he was so popular to fly with. Interspersed with b*tching about how stupid I am, he keeps telling me to keep my damn feet off the pedals because the thing isn't steering right and he thinks I'm hitting the brakes. Which I'm not, but, you know. I'm not in a position to say much.
Of course all the pax are totally bummed. It's not like we're just going to toss them on another airplane and do the mission anyway (I seriously don't know why we wouldn't, there were spare jets, but what the f*ck ever, I was an LT, this was above my pay grade. Probably so were bird strikes, honestly), so they'd missed out on the flight. I felt really sh*tty, to be honest.
They unload the jet, we're getting ready to ride back to maintenance for debrief when one of the maintainers opens up #3: feathers and blood! Holy sh*t was I glad to see that.
Back at maintenance debrief, we're wrapping up when another guy comes in, hey, the nosewheel bearings that thing are worn down flat on one side. You said it was hard to steer coming back? Yeah, that's why. Sh*t, if you'd tried to land on that thing it could have seized up.
I don't remember enough any more about the details of it (this was like 2004), but basically if we'd taken off the nosewheel MIGHT have seized up on landing, which MIGHT have put everyone at risk if the plane had to skid down the runway to stop or the nose gear actually snapped. Probably wouldn't have happened, but maybe! Maybe I saved everybody's life, or, well, afternoon. Or that hawk did.
I was in the Navy, pretty early on in jet training, flying the T-45C Goshawk. We were doing day FCLPs, which is basically solo carrier landing practice, but on a runway. I had 6-8 solo flights in the jet up to this point, so I was still very new. I took off from our base, flew over to the NALF (another small airport where we do our carrier landing practice), did my 7-8 or so landings, then flew back. Uneventful.
After taxiing clear of the runway, I safed up the ejection seat, and started unstrapping myself from the seat. I reached up to release my upper Koch fittings, and they weren’t connected. My stomach dropped so hard. I felt like I was going to puke.
Your uppers connect your torso harness to your parachute. Had I had to pull the ejection handle, I would’ve fallen to my death, still strapped to the seat at the waist.
I never told anyone, but learned one hell of a lesson. For the rest of my career, I made it a habit to verify my uppers by both touching them and leaning forward aggressively during takeoff checks.
I wouldn't say this is a "f*ck-up" moment but it has stuck with me. I'm 17 and one time after I had finished I flight training I stopped off at Double Eagle Airport to drop off my instructor. So I drop off my instructor (this was about 7 months after my solo) and as I'm stepping out to the plane (a friend lets me fly his 182 as long as I help with the fuel and hangar costs) these 2 people come up and ask if I can take them up to Santa Fe.
I say yes, but I feel kinda weird, so before I let them get in I go through and change the weight and balance (so that the airplane's CG is properly centered after accounting for the weight of the payload) and after we do that, I crank up and head off for the runway. About 5 minutes after taking off, I notice that the engine is sounding...... slightly cranky. I think "Oh sh*t", but after about 30 seconds it calms down. 10 minutes out of Double Eagle, the engine sounds moderately cranky and doesn't smooth out for 6 minutes. This is concerning.
Since I don't have very many hours time I decided not to risk it, so I advised ABQ Center of the issue and asked for vectors back to Double Eagle. They acknowledged and asked if I was declaring an emergency. I've read about pilots who have refrained from declaring an emergency until it was too late, and I considered it, but decided after looking at the instruments that I would wait, since I was within gliding distance of a relatively flat area with almost no ground obstructions.
I advised the passengers of my decision, and then started the turn back. I landed uneventfully, and as it turned out, some water had gotten into the fuel tanks. Even though I had checked them, I apparently didn't do it well enough. Oh well, sometimes we're lucky enough to be around to learn about our mistakes. So after draining the tanks and refilling them, I flew the 2 to Santa Fe and came back, and the engine sounded fine. Moral of the story? Always check the small things twice.
I work in ops in a small airport that has six domestic turns a day. One evening I fielded a normal air to ground radio call, not a PAN or Mayday, from a Bandeirante, a small passenger aircraft that seated 18 pax (if memory serves) of an airline I didn't work for.
He was 10 miles out and had run out of fuel on one engine and were coasting into port on fumes on the other.
They arrived safely, thank goodness. After shutdown I approached the aircraft to see what was going on. All the passengers, miners on FIFO (Fly In Fly Out... remote areas of Australia) were disembarking, and were confused as to why they were at our small regional airport instead of the metropolitan port they were supposed to have arrived at.
Apparently they had all finished work and came straight out to the airport to fly home, were exhausted and most had fallen asleep during the flight.
None of them had any idea the aircraft they were on ran out of fuel.
Again, if memory serves the aircraft had a faulty fuel gauge that the pilots knew of but had forgotten about.
Had the same pilot icing issue that caused Air France to crash over the South Atlantic. Departing O' hare in late fall-early winter in the upper 20,000 foot range, we were on the departure procedure heading south along a line of embedded cumulous front (or so we thought). In actuality we were tracing a line of cold front spawned thunder-snow showers (hidden in solid overcast) which don't show up on radar.
These things can overwhelm the pilot-static system with impact icing causing erroneous airspeed and altitude information. The aircraft's comparator (redundant system backup checking) failed to notify us that the air data computers were putting out wildly different information.
My instruments showed on the slow side of normal (270 knots) but I was bugged by our climb rate which was way too high for normal. Then the other pilot increased our climb rate further. I began cross checking all the instruments which was when I noticed his instruments were very wrong. By this point we had slowed to 240 knots with an extreme decreasing trend vector while his gage was showing 310 knots and increasing (normal climb is 290, which is why he pitched up further).
I told him to level off immediately and that his instruments did not agree with the other 2. Had I not been paying attention as closely we could have easily entered a high altitude stall not long after (which is a bad thing and most certainly would have caught the attention of every passenger). After we left icing conditions his instruments returned to normal. I will never forget that.
I was the one that almost caused the problem. I was flying my small 4 seat light twin into MSP. The clouds were really low (Low IFR to minimums). I had not been flying much as my business had changed a bit. ATC brought me in high and fast. I got behind the airplane and ended up popping out of the clouds at 200ft aligned with the taxi way nose to nose with an airbus. Luckily I recovered but it could have been a bad day. I decided it was time to hang the wings up for a while after that.
Not a pilot, but this was the scariest plane landing I experienced.
I was flying into MSP on a standard commercial airliner. In the seconds before the tires touched the runway, the plane rolled hard to the left. The plane made an equally hard recovery just before the planes back wheels hit the runway. The sequence of events was boom, boom, boom. The plane landed safely.
As the passengers were disembarking, one of the pilots stood outside the cockpit door pale and sweating. He shook every passengers hand on the way out.
I don't know much about aviation, but I always thought that plane just barely avoided a crash landing that day.
Not a pilot, but I’ve got a story. I should preface that my background is in electrical engineering and I’ve done UAV work and some airworthiness so I know enough about planes to be dangerous.
Last year I was flying out of PNS on an MD-80 headed for ATL. I’m a frequent flyer and I’ve got my nose in a book with my headphones on just as happy as a clam. We start to takeoff and literally the second our back wheels leave the runway I feel the left engine tugging with repeated loud bangs. This is one of the most vulnerable times in a flight and by brain clicked into gear. Most people don’t know this, but commercial planes can fly with just one engine. Sucks to be the pilot, but there’s enough in one engine to support flight.
At this point I’m staring out the window making sure we’re continuing to climb. The plane is freaking silent. I look over at the flight attendants and they’re staring at the ceiling.
The plane leveled off and pulled a hard turn. Captain came on and said we had a compression stall and we were heading back to the airport. A compressor stall occurs in a jet engine when the air cross the jet blades becomes turbulent and can actually produce negative thrust. Sometimes it’s no big deal, sometimes in damages the engine. It was the latter case that worried me. The pilot also has to land with one engine and that sucks.
So after the longest 5 minutes ever we approach to land. The pilot is doing his best to keep us straight but PNS is on the beach and there’s some wind. We land and we’re met by all of the emergency vehicles included the fire trucks. A bunch of people come on the plane and I hear them saying the copilot saw fire in the engine. As they’re letting the passengers off the plane I see the copilot surrounded by a bunch of important people and he is SWEATING as he tells what happened. I peak in the cockpit and the captain is just sitting there eating a sandwich. That was the last flight to ATL that day so I drove home and told my wife my flying days may be over.
TL;DR: engine broke on takeoff and the copilot almost had a heart attack. The captain ate a sandwich.
A friend was doing an internship at a service airport, this is a place that mainly deals with private airplanes, he came back early because he suffered a debilitating nervous breakdown. This is what he told me: His boss invites him to go fly in this small airplane, boss is a pilot so seems legit. Dude takes of without any pre flight checks and there isn't much of a control tower to check with. Shortly after takeoff he starts panicking because the yoke isn't working properly and he never flew this type of plane before.
Turns out that famous 'remove before flight' thing was still in there because he hadn't checked anything. After flying haphazardly for a minute or two they managed to remove the pin and regain control, they nearly died while joyriding a customers airplane because his boss was such a reckless a*shole. My friend quit right after landing and hasn't been right ever since, cant ride in a car without freaking out.
Flying back from Vietnam to the UK, (Technically we changed planes at Singapore) we received an emergency announcement that we were going to make an emergency landing at Berlin airport.
This turned out to be due to one of our passengers experiencing a severe medical emergency, not anything wrong with the plane.
But by the gods - did we fall from the sky fast.
I have flown a great many times in a great many different passenger and private craft for work and holidays but I have never experienced a 747 dropping from cruising altitude over Europe to touchdown on the runway at Berlin in under 5 minutes before.
This felt like an express elevator. I looked out the window and was surprised not to see flames on the wings from reentry.
I don't know if it was autopilot or hands on but we were dropped like the proverbial rock and then the ground rushed up and touch down.
No gentle deceleration - full reverse engine and then the brakes kicked in, an emergency vehicle rushed up and the door was cracked and the poor man was out and away.
We waited on the runway for a bit and then taxied around and finally lifted off back to blighty again. Not a day passes that I wonder what happened and if the guy was OK.
But a huge shout out to the speed and skill of all those involved, it was an incredible thing to experience.
Not a pilot - but one time I was flying to Atlanta from a small regional airport and the first leg of the flight was a small turboprop puddle jumper to Newark. It was pouring rain as we boarded and when I sat in my seat it was soaked with water. I looked around to see if anyone else was experiencing it but it was just me.
Called a flight attendant over and she said "oh it's just the condensation from the AC." I actually accepted that answer and then realized how completely not normal it was.
Called another flight attendant over and she said "oh that's weird I'll grab the pilot."
Pilot comes, sees the puddle and was like F*CK that's not good. External inspection of the plane showed a panel and some bolts had sheared off on the previous flight. So we deplaned and they took the plane out of service.
Worst part - passengers swore at me and told me to f*ck myself as we all exited. Everyone was mad we didn't get to fly on a shitty broken plane.
Not as interesting as an airliner story, but a couple of years ago I was a fairly new private pilot taking my new girlfriend on a date in a 4 seater.
At this point I wasn't allowed to fly in clouds, lacking both the training and equipment to do so safely without getting visually disoriented. When people without that training enter thick cloud, on average they are dead within 3 minutes.
The date was on a late summer day to a coastal town, having to fly over a moderate mountain range. Over these hills, big puffy summer clouds were building rapidly. I was keeping a sharp eye on it and trying to find a safe path through, but eventually decided to turn around and go home. However, at the end of the 180, to my horror I could see nothing but a massive row of clouds - the path we had flown through just minutes earlier, that I was counting on as my escape route, was no longer viable.
I'm now sitting there almost beginning to panic, but my girlfriend just keeps saying "wow!" and taking photos - it was a very impressive sight I admit, being so close to magnificent crisp white clouds. Anyway, I knew it was slightly clearer to the south, so I make a turn and do as gentle a nose dive as I can to get underneath a bank while keeping visual. After a minute I see a gap between the mountain tops and the cloud base of about 800ft and I go for it. Thankfully we got out the other side in one piece and made it home without more drama.
To this day I don't think my girlfriend understands just how close we were to being stuck. I certainly learned a lot that day and am a better pilot for it.
TL;DR - was about 5 seconds from death on a USAF C-17.
Not a pilot, but was an Operations Intelligence Specialist in the USAF in the early 2000’s in a KC-135 unit. That’s the career field that would give the aircrew their intel briefs before sorties. One of the things we would brief is to remind them of the various countermeasures to use against different threats. I was in a cargo unit, so one of my training schools was the intel portion of the Low Level Tactics course, where aircrew learn to use terrain as a countermeasure.
Since we’re talking cargo units/airplanes here, there was opportunity for us intel students to be on the airplane during the flying portion of the training for the aircrew. So basically on-board was the normal aircrew of a particular airplane, a pilot instructor from the Low Level school, and me. I don’t remember all he planes in this particular class available, but there were C-17 and an Italian AF C-130 for sure.
I should also at this time point out I get motion-sick pretty easily. Boats on the lake for more than 10 minutes - yep I get motion sickness. Riding in the back seat of a car for a half-hour of more - yep. Flying in turbulence - yep. This is something I always knew, so kept myself out of those situations. I started this two week course and didn’t volunteer for any of the flights. All my classmates did, and of course all came back and said how awesome it was. So on the last day, they had the C-17 crew going up, and I said Sure why not, How often can a person say they’ve been flying through the AZ mountains low-level on a C-17? So I went for it.
So there we were. A C-17 In the AZ mountains, yanking and banking, while you look out the window and look up at the mountain tops. So we’re not just flying a little above the mountains, we’re in the mountains. And they let me be in the crew compartment. So we have Aircraft Commander in left seat; Pilot in right seat; Instructor pilot in jump seat; and if I remember correctly - Flight Engineer or Loadmaster seat several feet behind the AC. And for me to be in there, I had to stand behind the Instructor Pilot with feet spread wide, and arms grasping for headrest and wall, whatever I could to stabilize myself. I have a headset on and am listening to all crew communications. And us Intel guys were explicitly told not to interfere with crew comms; we’re just there to observe and look pretty.
This is a C-17 remember, not a fighter. So we’re not exactly executing snap rolls and precision crispness you might envision like a fighter. So it’s one of those where the control wheel is turned, and 3 seconds later you’re executing. So anyway, amazingly, we’re doing all this yanking and banking and I’m doing pretty good - no motion sickness. I’m just enjoying the show. The school shoots up what they call Smoky SAMS, showing a smoke trail, so the pilots can get a sense of realness and all that. They crew is calling out visuals, and executing countermeasures, cool stuff I’m thinking. And then. AND THEN.
We’re in a left bank. And the Smoky Sam smoke trail is on the right. So aircraft banking left, both pilots craning their necks looking out the right window looking for the smoke. And we’re turning. And I hear a call out of “Terrain”. In my head I was like What? A few seconds go by, and the Instructor Pilot calls out “Terrain” again in a normal voice. I think, OK That’s What I Thought I Heard. I look at both pilots and they’re still looking out the right window. I look out the left window, and being we’re in a left turn, see ground, and more of it quickly rising up in the distance. Now, like I said this is a C-17, not a nimble beast. I look back and the pilots are still looking out the right window. Instructor Pilot a third time “Terrain” with a lot more urgency to his voice. And the pilots are STILL looking out the right window.
At this point I’m thinking Welp, this is how it ends. It’s been a nice 30-some years, and I’ve had a lot of fun. But I die on an airplane ride with these two chuckleheads. And I was against it in the first place, but said What the hell. Serves me right.
Instructor Pilot: “TERRAIN, TERRAIN, KNOCK IT OFF”, with as much urgency as one can muster without yelling and losing professional/military bearing. The pilots look back to the controls and I see the Pilot look to the left, and see his eyes get the Oh Sh*t look. They pull out of it with I would guesstimate 5 seconds to spare, which I guess in C-17 time is eons. So all is good. Instructor Pilot says “And that’s why we practice gentlemen”. They do a circle and come back to where they left off. This is why pilots are always reminded their job is to FLY THE AIRPLANE. No matter what is going on, and whatever else requires your attention - Fly The Airplane.
I said F*ck That, dropped comms, and went to sit in the cargo area. I figure if I’m going to die, I don’t want to see it coming. And I guess all the action kept my mind focused, cuz about 5 seconds after my ass hit that side seat, I’m white as a ghost and throwing up the rest of the flight. Load master is laughing his ass off and gives me the garbage can. Severely dehydrated all the next day, worse than any hangover I’ve ever had.
Both the best and most horrible airplane flight to date.
Not an airline pilot. First flight with passengers after I got my license. My mistake: Density Altitude. Every pilot here just face-palmed.
For non pilots: density altitude is basically what altitude the plane feels like it is at. So on a super hot and humid day, the plane will be sluggish as sh*t.
Three passengers (a girl I was trying to impress, who I ended up dating), myself and a very hot day. I didn’t think anything of it as it was never beaten into me how important density altitude was.
We have something called a Go/No Go. At different stages of take off, we have mental markers of “if this doesn’t happen, abort”. I came close but fell short of every marker. I could barely get altitude on the plane. It was bad. My friends were all like “this is the best thing ever” and I was like “please god, or devil, keep this thing in the air somehow”
I cut the flight as short as I could, and came back for a landing.