Narrative:

I'm a low-time commercial pilot building hours on my own to get to a full time job. My single-engine training (and much of my personal flying since) was almost exclusively in grumman cheetahs; but I've started renting 150/52s from a different school in the last few weeks to save some money while building time. To get checked out with them; I did a tailwheel endorsement in their converted 152; including a good number of takeoffs and landings on grass. Before the incident described below; though; I did already have about 10 hours in the nose wheel 150 involved.one of the jobs I've talked to in the past few months told me to get in touch again once I had 400 hours. Being about ten short of that; I set out this weekend to be able to finally email them back next week by taking a roundabout trip [to multiple locations] to get lunch. I was trying to get off pretty early to make it to [my destination] before dark; since ceilings were marginal there and none of the 150/52s are equipped with GPS; and I'm still reacquainting myself with navigation solely by VOR. But while I was pre-flighting; the owner and head instructor of the school showed up; so I got to talking over my plans with him briefly. He mentioned ZZZ usually had avgas for a steal; and that the 24 gallons I was starting out with should be enough to get me to ZZZ1 then halfway back to ZZZ; where I could pick up enough fuel to make it all the way down to [my destination]. (This particular plane has long-range tanks; just barely shy of 40 gallons.)the flight up was uneventful. In ZZZ1; I dipped the tanks and showed six gallons per side still. I assumed if I had made it the whole way there from [my departure airport] on just half of what I started out with; I could easily make it halfway back before refueling.the first thing that gave me pause was that both gas gauges were pegged at empty when I started up. (It certainly made me miss the shadin fuel computers I'm used to in my regular cheetahs.) but I had literally just seen the gas in the tanks with my own eyes; so I trusted my arithmetic and set off. Still; those two gigantic east's staring at me from the gas gauges convinced me to fly at economy cruise at least half the way to ZZZ. At that setting; though; I was seeing a groundspeed in the mid-40-knot range; and my estimated time en route ballooned from one hour and 20 minutes to close to three hours--which should have been my first gigantic red flag. About halfway there; the needle on the right gas gauge started to bounce off of empty; which inspired me to go back to full power; pushing my groundspeed into the 70s. I was feeling more confident in my mental fuel calculations; despite the wind. Before long (relatively speaking); I was approaching ZZZ2; about ten miles north of ZZZ. To see the airport practically within gliding distance melted my last bit of unease about fuel right about the time center sent me to the advisory frequency. I called ZZZ traffic on a four-mile final; but within 60 seconds the engine started to sputter. I pumped the mixture and throttle to see if it was just a hiccup; then once I was convinced low fuel was the actual problem; I wagged the nose up and down to see if I could re-port the last few drops. But at about 1500 feet and two miles from the runway; the engine stopped for good. I felt overwhelmed for about a second; but then accepted that it was actually happening and that I was going to have to decide what to do. I quickly went back to center so someone would know to come looking for me in case I was knocked unconscious; but I was already too low for them to receive me. For a few seconds; it looked like I might actually be able to make the runway; but the 20 knot headwind quickly made it apparent that wasn't possible. In fact; it became pretty clear that the field directly in front of me; was where I was going to land. It looked like very neatly planted curving rows of short grass; with apparent furrows between the rows; and ridges about five feet from top to bottom spaced maybe 100 feet apart. I was amazed at how steeply I had to nose over to maintain best glide speed; I guess because of either the strong headwind or the wind milling propeller; which sure seems to create a lot more drag than the engine pulled to idle as I was used to it from training. Still; I managed to flare and touch down pretty gently; all things considered; and came to a stop very shortly.not long after shutting down; calling the airport for help; and thanking god that everything had gone as well as it had; the farmer whose field I had just made a runway pulled up to the gate along [the highway] and drove out to greet me. He had heard me lose power and seen me coming down; although my actual landing was obscured from his vantage point at his house in the southwest corner of the field. He said he was afraid he was going to find a flipped plane when he got out to the see what had happened; but was quite calm and friendly when he saw me walking around and that nothing seemed damaged. He informed me that there were cows in the field that might come by to see the plane; and that I should call him if I needed help with anything. My hope was that I'd be able to get some gas and take off again from the field; and I thought I might need him to corral the cows; which I had yet to see anywhere around the part of the field I had landed in. I gave him my number and told him to let me know if there was any damage to the field; but he didn't seem at all concerned about that; although he did say he'd appreciate a call before I took off so he could come watch.he left; while I waited for the airport manager; who had sounded very concerned and ready to come help as quickly as possible when I had talked to her on the phone; although she wasn't sure what to do about gas. She called one more time to confirm exactly where I was; but just before she arrived; the farmer came back with his wife and granddaughter to see how things were going. When the airport manager did arrive; she had a man with her as well; who turned out to be a doctor and himself a pilot with lots of experience landing and taking off from fields; a rather happy combination for someone who finds himself in the situation I was in. They had brought two five-gallon cans of avgas; but before we even bothered with that; he looked the plane over and started scanning the field for the feasibility of getting back in the air. I had been thinking about the length of the field--the farmer had told me it was about half-a-mile--as well as the the upward slope from north to south; the direction into the wind; but he pointed out that the terracing presented a real danger of a prop-strike as I picked up speed; which would not have occurred to me. (He noted that there were no signs on the propeller of any contact from the landing; which I assume I would have noticed had it happened; but it was reassuring to hear it from a clearly more experienced pilot who knew what to look for.) we walked and drove all around the upper portion of the field; and scouted a route that seemed feasible. It started on one crest; moved diagonally down and up the next; then curved to the right to stay on top of that ridge as it bent due south directly toward a line of trees (and more into the wind); a small billboard; and [a highway].after talking over short-field technique and the particular importance of getting and keeping the nose wheel up as I accelerated down one crest and up the next; we (mostly) emptied one gas can into each wing; swung the plane around by hand to get it facing the starting point we had decided upon; and I got the engine going and taxied back while the airport manager and the pilot drove their car to a point along my path at which I would abort my takeoff if I didn't seem to be getting airborne. After a run up; I held my brakes; revved the engine all the way up; and embarked on my curved take-off path. I got down the first ridge and up the second without any problems or prop strikes; by which point the plane was starting to feel light on its wheels. As I passed the car; only my right wheel was on the ground as I lowered my right wing into the wind and finished my turn southward. Shortly thereafter; I was completely off the ground; and I lowered my nose to point directly at the billboard as I gathered speed. The poor 150 does not feel athletic; but it does feel light; and I was confident by this point that I was going to be able to climb over any of the obstacles in my path; however meagerly. And indeed; I gave the interstate quite a show; being surely no higher than 200 feet over the passing cars. Within a minute; I was touching down on runway xy at ZZZ; and another minute later was refueling at the much more conventional self-serve pumps.the whole experience left me with several strong impressions. First of all; all the clich?? You hear training for your private certificate and in case studies are true. When the engine first seized; so did I; refusing to believe what was actually happening. Once I overcame that; I had to convince myself as the headwind pushed the airport out of reach that I was not going to stretch my range enough to make a still embarrassing but ultimately much less consequential landing on the runway. I actually took the time to think to myself in that moment how inconvenient this off-airport landing was going to be. Realizing the ridiculousness of that concern in the face of a still very potential crash landing; I did what I had been taught to do; even though it felt very different than any of the simulations I had done with an instructor sitting next to me. As I've already mentioned; the downward attitude necessary to maintain glide speed was far more dramatic than I would have expected; but I'm exceedingly glad I committed to it.when I had a little more time to decompress back at the airport and on my return flight; the precarious balance of bad luck versus good luck really struck me. On the bad side; if the winds had been a little bit weaker; if I had stayed at my economy cruise setting a little longer; heck; if I had left with two more tablespoons of fuel in the tanks; I might have had a moment of fear when I fit a whole 40 gallons in my tanks while refueling at the airport; but the experience would have been much easier to forget in the long run. But of course; when I say bad luck; I really mean bad planning and dangerous assumptions on my part as PIC. (As my wife quoted me from months before when I told her all this after getting home from this long day's journey: 'there's no excuse for running out of fuel.') the good luck really is amazing; though: at 1500 feet AGL with a 20 knot headwind; my only real decision was to execute a forced landing on the beautiful field right below me; or crash trying to make it to the runway; if I had been at an airport surrounded by trees; there would have been no outcome as neat and tidy as what I experienced today. Of course; the mere fact that almost all of my flying is within the [local area] means I often have a nice field below me to land on. Or if I had been less cautious and tried to fly the whole way at high-speed cruise; I might have ended up in a field far less convenient than one mile from my intended fuel stop; right by two big highways; between two towns; and within cellphone reception. And how could I have possibly planned a forced landing a mere phone call away from an experienced pilot with an extensive history flying in and out of soft-fields; an airport manager all too happy to help out an embarrassed pilot; and a farmer undeservedly unconcerned about a little thing like an airplane scratching up his field.

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Original NASA ASRS Text

Title: A pilot of a Cessna 150 reported that he ran out of gas prior to reaching the airport.

Narrative: I'm a low-time commercial pilot building hours on my own to get to a full time job. My single-engine training (and much of my personal flying since) was almost exclusively in Grumman Cheetahs; but I've started renting 150/52s from a different school in the last few weeks to save some money while building time. To get checked out with them; I did a tailwheel endorsement in their converted 152; including a good number of takeoffs and landings on grass. Before the incident described below; though; I did already have about 10 hours in the nose wheel 150 involved.One of the jobs I've talked to in the past few months told me to get in touch again once I had 400 hours. Being about ten short of that; I set out this weekend to be able to finally email them back next week by taking a roundabout trip [to multiple locations] to get lunch. I was trying to get off pretty early to make it to [my destination] before dark; since ceilings were marginal there and none of the 150/52s are equipped with GPS; and I'm still reacquainting myself with navigation solely by VOR. But while I was pre-flighting; the owner and head instructor of the school showed up; so I got to talking over my plans with him briefly. He mentioned ZZZ usually had avgas for a steal; and that the 24 gallons I was starting out with should be enough to get me to ZZZ1 then halfway back to ZZZ; where I could pick up enough fuel to make it all the way down to [my destination]. (This particular plane has long-range tanks; just barely shy of 40 gallons.)The flight up was uneventful. In ZZZ1; I dipped the tanks and showed six gallons per side still. I assumed if I had made it the whole way there from [my departure airport] on just half of what I started out with; I could easily make it halfway back before refueling.The first thing that gave me pause was that both gas gauges were pegged at empty when I started up. (It certainly made me miss the Shadin fuel computers I'm used to in my regular Cheetahs.) But I had literally just seen the gas in the tanks with my own eyes; so I trusted my arithmetic and set off. Still; those two gigantic E's staring at me from the gas gauges convinced me to fly at economy cruise at least half the way to ZZZ. At that setting; though; I was seeing a groundspeed in the mid-40-knot range; and my estimated time en route ballooned from one hour and 20 minutes to close to three hours--which should have been my first gigantic red flag. About halfway there; the needle on the right gas gauge started to bounce off of empty; which inspired me to go back to full power; pushing my groundspeed into the 70s. I was feeling more confident in my mental fuel calculations; despite the wind. Before long (relatively speaking); I was approaching ZZZ2; about ten miles north of ZZZ. To see the airport practically within gliding distance melted my last bit of unease about fuel right about the time Center sent me to the advisory frequency. I called ZZZ traffic on a four-mile final; but within 60 seconds the engine started to sputter. I pumped the mixture and throttle to see if it was just a hiccup; then once I was convinced low fuel was the actual problem; I wagged the nose up and down to see if I could re-port the last few drops. But at about 1500 feet and two miles from the runway; the engine stopped for good. I felt overwhelmed for about a second; but then accepted that it was actually happening and that I was going to have to decide what to do. I quickly went back to Center so someone would know to come looking for me in case I was knocked unconscious; but I was already too low for them to receive me. For a few seconds; it looked like I might actually be able to make the runway; but the 20 knot headwind quickly made it apparent that wasn't possible. In fact; it became pretty clear that the field directly in front of me; was where I was going to land. It looked like very neatly planted curving rows of short grass; with apparent furrows between the rows; and ridges about five feet from top to bottom spaced maybe 100 feet apart. I was amazed at how steeply I had to nose over to maintain best glide speed; I guess because of either the strong headwind or the wind milling propeller; which sure seems to create a lot more drag than the engine pulled to idle as I was used to it from training. Still; I managed to flare and touch down pretty gently; all things considered; and came to a stop very shortly.Not long after shutting down; calling the airport for help; and thanking God that everything had gone as well as it had; the farmer whose field I had just made a runway pulled up to the gate along [the highway] and drove out to greet me. He had heard me lose power and seen me coming down; although my actual landing was obscured from his vantage point at his house in the southwest corner of the field. He said he was afraid he was going to find a flipped plane when he got out to the see what had happened; but was quite calm and friendly when he saw me walking around and that nothing seemed damaged. He informed me that there were cows in the field that might come by to see the plane; and that I should call him if I needed help with anything. My hope was that I'd be able to get some gas and take off again from the field; and I thought I might need him to corral the cows; which I had yet to see anywhere around the part of the field I had landed in. I gave him my number and told him to let me know if there was any damage to the field; but he didn't seem at all concerned about that; although he did say he'd appreciate a call before I took off so he could come watch.He left; while I waited for the airport manager; who had sounded very concerned and ready to come help as quickly as possible when I had talked to her on the phone; although she wasn't sure what to do about gas. She called one more time to confirm exactly where I was; but just before she arrived; the farmer came back with his wife and granddaughter to see how things were going. When the airport manager did arrive; she had a man with her as well; who turned out to be a doctor and himself a pilot with lots of experience landing and taking off from fields; a rather happy combination for someone who finds himself in the situation I was in. They had brought two five-gallon cans of avgas; but before we even bothered with that; he looked the plane over and started scanning the field for the feasibility of getting back in the air. I had been thinking about the length of the field--the farmer had told me it was about half-a-mile--as well as the the upward slope from north to south; the direction into the wind; but he pointed out that the terracing presented a real danger of a prop-strike as I picked up speed; which would not have occurred to me. (He noted that there were no signs on the propeller of any contact from the landing; which I assume I would have noticed had it happened; but it was reassuring to hear it from a clearly more experienced pilot who knew what to look for.) We walked and drove all around the upper portion of the field; and scouted a route that seemed feasible. It started on one crest; moved diagonally down and up the next; then curved to the right to stay on top of that ridge as it bent due south directly toward a line of trees (and more into the wind); a small billboard; and [a highway].After talking over short-field technique and the particular importance of getting and keeping the nose wheel up as I accelerated down one crest and up the next; we (mostly) emptied one gas can into each wing; swung the plane around by hand to get it facing the starting point we had decided upon; and I got the engine going and taxied back while the airport manager and the pilot drove their car to a point along my path at which I would abort my takeoff if I didn't seem to be getting airborne. After a run up; I held my brakes; revved the engine all the way up; and embarked on my curved take-off path. I got down the first ridge and up the second without any problems or prop strikes; by which point the plane was starting to feel light on its wheels. As I passed the car; only my right wheel was on the ground as I lowered my right wing into the wind and finished my turn southward. Shortly thereafter; I was completely off the ground; and I lowered my nose to point directly at the billboard as I gathered speed. The poor 150 does not feel athletic; but it does feel light; and I was confident by this point that I was going to be able to climb over any of the obstacles in my path; however meagerly. And indeed; I gave the interstate quite a show; being surely no higher than 200 feet over the passing cars. Within a minute; I was touching down on runway XY at ZZZ; and another minute later was refueling at the much more conventional self-serve pumps.The whole experience left me with several strong impressions. First of all; all the clich?? you hear training for your private certificate and in case studies are true. When the engine first seized; so did I; refusing to believe what was actually happening. Once I overcame that; I had to convince myself as the headwind pushed the airport out of reach that I was not going to stretch my range enough to make a still embarrassing but ultimately much less consequential landing on the runway. I actually took the time to think to myself in that moment how inconvenient this off-airport landing was going to be. Realizing the ridiculousness of that concern in the face of a still very potential crash landing; I did what I had been taught to do; even though it felt very different than any of the simulations I had done with an instructor sitting next to me. As I've already mentioned; the downward attitude necessary to maintain glide speed was far more dramatic than I would have expected; but I'm exceedingly glad I committed to it.When I had a little more time to decompress back at the airport and on my return flight; the precarious balance of bad luck versus good luck really struck me. On the bad side; if the winds had been a little bit weaker; if I had stayed at my economy cruise setting a little longer; heck; if I had left with two more tablespoons of fuel in the tanks; I might have had a moment of fear when I fit a whole 40 gallons in my tanks while refueling at the airport; but the experience would have been much easier to forget in the long run. But of course; when I say bad luck; I really mean bad planning and dangerous assumptions on my part as PIC. (As my wife quoted me from months before when I told her all this after getting home from this long day's journey: 'There's no excuse for running out of fuel.') The good luck really is amazing; though: at 1500 feet AGL with a 20 knot headwind; my only real decision was to execute a forced landing on the beautiful field right below me; or crash trying to make it to the runway; if I had been at an airport surrounded by trees; there would have been no outcome as neat and tidy as what I experienced today. Of course; the mere fact that almost all of my flying is within the [local area] means I often have a nice field below me to land on. Or if I had been less cautious and tried to fly the whole way at high-speed cruise; I might have ended up in a field far less convenient than one mile from my intended fuel stop; right by two big highways; between two towns; and within cellphone reception. And how could I have possibly planned a forced landing a mere phone call away from an experienced pilot with an extensive history flying in and out of soft-fields; an airport manager all too happy to help out an embarrassed pilot; and a farmer undeservedly unconcerned about a little thing like an airplane scratching up his field.

Data retrieved from NASA's ASRS site and automatically converted to unabbreviated mixed upper/lowercase text. This report is for informational purposes with no guarantee of accuracy. See NASA's ASRS site for official report.