N546RV
Well Known Member
Short story: I may have inadvertantly slipped into the Atlanta class B. I didn't get a phone number or anything upon returning to PDK, so I imagine I'm probably OK. Still, there are lessons to be learned about complacency here.
The long version sort of starts about a year ago. My partner's nieces were in town, and she'd asked me if could take them up for a little sightseeing flight locally. I ended up calling that flight at the last minute because the winds were pretty stiff that day. Since then, I've wanted to take them up another time they were in town, and this weekend was the perfect time.
My plan for the flight was pretty simple: Take off, head over to Stone Mountain, run up to Lake Lanier, and then back home. A short local flight, and not really going anywhere I haven't gone plenty of times before. Well, sort of...while I've flown around Lanier and used it as a practice area frequently, I've never really specifically flown around Stone Mountain for sightseeing. Let's call this mild unfamiliarity factor #1.
Since, in my mind, I was just doing yet another casual local flight, my preflight planning was pretty light. I checked the weather/NOTAMS/TFRs and that was about it. Critically, what I didn't do was even a cursory review of the local sectional, to refresh my memory on the class B floors. This is especially important since the Atlanta class B was recently restructured, with many of the floors being lowered. I've flown a number of times since the change, but never anywhere where the airspace would be a problem. Let's call my failure to properly brief myself factor #2.
So, duly "prepared" for the flight, I met the girls at the airport, preflighted, got gas, and took off without incident. I climbed to 3500 MSL, a fairly typical altitude for local flying, while heading for Stone Mountain. I initially passed by the mountain on the north side, then started a gradual right turn, with the intent of flying a circle around the mountain to let them get a good view. During this time, I was mostly focusing on looking outside the airplane, and I was not being very disciplined about maintaining altitude. I drifted up to 3600 or so a few times. We can call this failure to maintain altitude factor #3.
So anyway, I continued my gradual turn around the mountain until I was on the south side. I was merrily flying along like this when I glanced down at the GPS and observed that I was right on a border line between class B sectors. I knew that the rectangular east-west sections like the one I was either close to or actually within laterally had increasingly lower floors. Because I hadn't briefed myself, I didn't know the floor of the sector I was possibly flying into. I vaguely recalled it being a 500-foot increment, but was it 3500 or 4500? Hopefully not 3500, as a quick glance at the altimeter had me up around 3600 again.
Unsure of whether I had just busted the airspace or not, I immediately turned north towards the area where I knew the floor was higher. I realized in that moment that my failure to brief myself was a huge problem. I thought that maybe the sector I was leaving was a 3500' floor, but I wasn't sure if I'd crossed it or not. But what about the sector north of that? What if I was still violating now, in a different sector? I didn't have the information. All I could really do was head north, clear the area, and hope I hadn't fouled up.
The rest of the flight went without incident. We saw some nice sights, headed back to PDK, and I made a quite lovely landing, in spite of having relatives watching and on board. Once I got back home, I confirmed that the sector I possibly entered had a 3500' floor. So if I really did cross the lateral boundary, then I definitively violated the airspace.
I'm not sure if I did cross the boundary. In the moment, when I looked at the GPS, my brain told me that I was south of the line. I don't know if that was an accurate interpretation or not. I didn't get the dreaded "I have a phone number for you" message from PDK controllers, so I suspect that I'm OK, but it still seemed prudent to do the ASRS form regardless, both as a way to cover myself and, much like writing this post, to tell a story of small mistakes combining into a bigger one.
The long version sort of starts about a year ago. My partner's nieces were in town, and she'd asked me if could take them up for a little sightseeing flight locally. I ended up calling that flight at the last minute because the winds were pretty stiff that day. Since then, I've wanted to take them up another time they were in town, and this weekend was the perfect time.
My plan for the flight was pretty simple: Take off, head over to Stone Mountain, run up to Lake Lanier, and then back home. A short local flight, and not really going anywhere I haven't gone plenty of times before. Well, sort of...while I've flown around Lanier and used it as a practice area frequently, I've never really specifically flown around Stone Mountain for sightseeing. Let's call this mild unfamiliarity factor #1.
Since, in my mind, I was just doing yet another casual local flight, my preflight planning was pretty light. I checked the weather/NOTAMS/TFRs and that was about it. Critically, what I didn't do was even a cursory review of the local sectional, to refresh my memory on the class B floors. This is especially important since the Atlanta class B was recently restructured, with many of the floors being lowered. I've flown a number of times since the change, but never anywhere where the airspace would be a problem. Let's call my failure to properly brief myself factor #2.
So, duly "prepared" for the flight, I met the girls at the airport, preflighted, got gas, and took off without incident. I climbed to 3500 MSL, a fairly typical altitude for local flying, while heading for Stone Mountain. I initially passed by the mountain on the north side, then started a gradual right turn, with the intent of flying a circle around the mountain to let them get a good view. During this time, I was mostly focusing on looking outside the airplane, and I was not being very disciplined about maintaining altitude. I drifted up to 3600 or so a few times. We can call this failure to maintain altitude factor #3.
So anyway, I continued my gradual turn around the mountain until I was on the south side. I was merrily flying along like this when I glanced down at the GPS and observed that I was right on a border line between class B sectors. I knew that the rectangular east-west sections like the one I was either close to or actually within laterally had increasingly lower floors. Because I hadn't briefed myself, I didn't know the floor of the sector I was possibly flying into. I vaguely recalled it being a 500-foot increment, but was it 3500 or 4500? Hopefully not 3500, as a quick glance at the altimeter had me up around 3600 again.
Unsure of whether I had just busted the airspace or not, I immediately turned north towards the area where I knew the floor was higher. I realized in that moment that my failure to brief myself was a huge problem. I thought that maybe the sector I was leaving was a 3500' floor, but I wasn't sure if I'd crossed it or not. But what about the sector north of that? What if I was still violating now, in a different sector? I didn't have the information. All I could really do was head north, clear the area, and hope I hadn't fouled up.
The rest of the flight went without incident. We saw some nice sights, headed back to PDK, and I made a quite lovely landing, in spite of having relatives watching and on board. Once I got back home, I confirmed that the sector I possibly entered had a 3500' floor. So if I really did cross the lateral boundary, then I definitively violated the airspace.
I'm not sure if I did cross the boundary. In the moment, when I looked at the GPS, my brain told me that I was south of the line. I don't know if that was an accurate interpretation or not. I didn't get the dreaded "I have a phone number for you" message from PDK controllers, so I suspect that I'm OK, but it still seemed prudent to do the ASRS form regardless, both as a way to cover myself and, much like writing this post, to tell a story of small mistakes combining into a bigger one.
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