Transcontinental Flight in a
Piper Archer . . .
Kelly Brannen, one of my primary flight students with less than 20 hours total flight time, mentioned to me that he had purchased a 1999 Piper Archer. He asked if he and I could fly it back to Buffalo. "Sure, I said. Where is it now?" He replied, "It's in San Francisco!" That brief exchange between student and instructor began what was to become one very exciting adventure. We didn't waste much time gathering together the necessary planning charts and making commercial travel arrangements to get us to the West Coast. Our trip began at the Hayward Airport, located about 15 miles southeast of San Francisco. But before I begin telling about this exciting adventure, I want to set the stage a bit. Rather than recounting this trip in typical "let me show you my vacation pictures" fashion, I'd like to turn this into an actual flight lesson. My aim will be to share the importance of good, real world, risk-management decision-making and how the simple maneuvers-based training specified in the private or instrument pilot Practical Test Standards (PTS) is often insufficient to prepare pilots for the unexpected challenges that they may encounter in any flight. Here's our Resources and our Challenge . . . We had one pilot (me) with no real mountain flying experience, one student pilot (Kelly), and one unfamiliar, normally aspirated (non-turbocharged), single-engine Piper PA-28-181 Archer. Our planned route of flight would take us 2,400 miles over rugged terrain, above three mountain ranges, and through a lot of very cold clouds along the way. The national weather forecast revealed a deep low pressure trough and an associated slow moving cold front containing crummy weather running across our path from Canada to south Texas. It was this weather system that would challenge all the resources we could muster. Business pressures back home limited us to two days to accomplish this trip. This was not to be your typical cross-country training flight!
Our in-bound United flight from Buffalo landed in Oakland at about noon. The aircraft dealer met our flight and drove us to Hayward. We grabbed some lunch along the way, checked out the airplane, took a thorough FSS weather briefing, and began our planned two-day trek east at 3pm that same day. Our First Setback . . . Actually, we didn't get very far the first day. Troubling weather was pushing down from Oregon that effectively blocked Victor 6 that was to take us northeastward along U.S. Route 80 over Sacramento, through the High Sierra's Donner Pass, and to our first planned stop in Reno, Nevada. The ceilings were lowering and an Airmet Zulu was calling for light ice in clouds and precip down to 9,000 feet. Considering that the lowest terrain in the pass was 8,500 feet MSL, we didn't have enough available altitude to make this leg under visual flight rules (VFR). And even if we could, the 10,000 foot high canyon walls through the pass would effectively block any escape route to better weather. Our backdoor was closing. With still several hours of daylight remaining, we elected to take off and fly eastward into the San Joaquin Valley towards Stockton, CA. The photo (left) is of the Hayward Airport from our climb out position. This would give us an opportunity to check out the airplane and to allow Kelly to get comfortable with the controls. We were enjoying the warm California sunshine and smooth ride over the picturesque farm land below when Stockton Approach Control called and asked if we had enough fuel to search for an aircraft that had apparently crashed near our position only moments earlier. "Certainly," we replied.
This would give us opportunity to maneuver around and to do something useful at
the same time. ATC could not give us an exact position of the crash,
saying only that he went down about
Decision time . . . From our continuing conversation with the Stockton controller, it was apparent that Kelly and I were the only folks looking for the downed pilot. No other aircraft were in the area. And without a precise position report, police and rescue personnel had no place to begin looking. We were it. The bad news was that a quickly moving thunderstorm was coming in from the north that would soon cut off our route back to Stockton . . . as well as the search area we were in. How long do we continue searching before we, ourselves, became another casualty of flight? The good news was the downed aircraft had a parachute. So, unless something really went wrong, he was likely uninjured . . . but terribly inconvenienced! We continued our search. A plume of smoke on the ground quickly caught our attention, but it later proved to be a controlled brush fire. With rain now falling, several severe attention-getting bumps, and the appearance just a few miles away of dark, ominous clouds spewing out lightning, we had to make a decision about continuing the search or returning to the airport.. Here's the instructional issue. Pilots are taught from day one to avoid and/or run from thunderstorms. On the other hand, the compassionate forces within all of us strongly suggest that an early termination of the search could cost a life. We had to balance these two conflicting issues and make a decision. This kind of training is NOT found in the PTS.
Arriving at the Stockton Airport FBO (Fixed Base Operator), we asked the ground personnel to secure the airplane as we inquired about overnight accommodations and a good place to get supper. We then rented a car and made our way into town to a comfortable Best Western Inn. We enjoyed a fair supper at a place called the Black Angus . . . a local steakhouse. It was not one of the better meals of our trip. We awoke and returned to the airport at the break of dawn. The FSS briefing was a bit more encouraging about the weather along our planned route of flight over the mountains to Reno, NV. The upper level trough was still influencing the unseasonably cool, wet weather through the mountain passes. There was no way we could make this next leg VFR, so I reluctantly filed an IFR plan with the intent of climbing through the lower cloud levels into the forecast clear skies above the mountain ridges. Having been accustomed to the high flight performance of my own turbo-210, I had to continually remind myself of the effective service ceiling of the Piper Archer. The two of us totaled over 430 pounds and we had to carry full fuel to insure adequate reserves should it be necessary to divert while enroute. The weather system was rather large, so we had to plan at least a two hour fuel reserve. In short, we were heavy. Given this, what were the chances of reaching and cruising at 13,000 feet? Decision time, again . . . Unlike a simple cross-country training flight back home, there were many more factors to consider. First, we were over unfamiliar and very rugged terrain with towering peaks that exceeding the altitude capability of our little airplane. Second, I lacked experience in mountain flying. Third, there were backdoors or "bolt holes" along our route of flight, but they were few. Our options were: (1) remain on the ground for several more days to allow the weather system to pass; (2) fly south toward Mexico and travel around below the weather system; or (3) proceed on our planned route to the northeast.
All factors considered, we decided to launch along our originally planned route of flight. The climb out from Stockton was uneventful. The sun was just beginning to peak through the eastern skies as we passed the 8,000 foot mark up to our filed altitude of 13,000 feet. We passed through several cloud layers on the way up with no hint of ice despite the freezing temperatures outside. Large holes in the sky enabled intermittent visual contact with the ground. I requested a slow climb clearance from Oakland Center as we were making only about 200 feet per minute from 11,000 to 13,000 feet. Looking down at one point, we could see a pristine view of Lake Tahoe as we continued our northeasterly heading along Victor 6. I called Oakland Center and requested a destination change to Ogden, Utah. This would be a very long leg, but it would save having to descend into Reno below. We had ample fuel and we were in good flying weather. They instantly granted our request. Then Things Changed . . . The tops began to rise into our 13,000 foot cruising altitude. We requested several heading changes to remain in the clear. Numerous other aircraft on our frequency were doing likewise. After 30 minutes or so of this, it became apparent that the lady Oakland Center controller was growing weary of all the many requests for heading changes she was receiving. "Hey, didn't you guys check the weather before you left, " she barked at one airline pilot! I figured that she was tired and probably just ending her shift. We all instantly shut up and kept flying. It wasn't good and it was getting worse! The skies still contained several large holes and we could make ground contact with the ground. I punched in the nearest airport on the Garmin 430. It pointed to Fallon, Nevada, just ten miles to the west. I called and requested a destination change to Fallon and permission to make an immediate descent with authorization to maneuver as necessary to remain visual. The tired, but cooperative Oakland Center controlled approved my request.
Fallon, NV is a small, western town. We had to drive for several miles before we could find a place to eat. Kelly and I enjoyed a hearty breakfast, then we took out the charts to study our next leg. This would be one of the most rugged legs of the trip. Despite the clearing skies, I was still concerned about the questionable forecast given to us by the briefer in Stockton. There was still a good chance we would be encountering worsening weather 50 to 100 miles east of our position in Fallon. Again, we pondered our options. Given the numerous high peaks, we decided that if we could not do the next leg VFR, we would not continue. By the time we returned to the airport, the sun had climbed higher in the sky and warmed the air. The clouds quickly opened up, thus making us feel good about the next leg of our flight to Ogden, Utah.
Picture left is the Nugget Casino in Fallon with Kelly standing next to our "courtesy car," such as it was. We took another FSS briefing before launching eastward along Victor 6. While the skies over the airport were opening up, I knew that the weather east would be questionable. All we really needed to do was fly above the 10,000 cloud tops and we would remain in clear, smooth sky for the next three hours of planned flight. We were not going, however, if we could not be assure of a safe and reliable "back door" along the entire route of flight. This back door would be U.S. Highway 80 that meandered through and around the mountain ranges we had to cross. Airports were few and far between on this leg of the trip. At least if something went wrong, we could reach the highway. We tanked up with fuel and lifted off Fallon, NV and climbed into the eastern sky. It wasn't long before the clouds started to thicken up as predicted. We successfully climbed above each emerging broken cloud layer. As we did, the terrain below us was looking more rugged than ever. It was not long before we lost ground contact, but we could see Highway 80 right below us on the GPS moving map. Looking out ahead from our vantage point of 11,500 feet, I began to wonder if we could climb above the next higher layer of clouds ahead. "Kelly, we need 1,000 feet or so and we should be okay," I said. Kelly had a questionable look on his face. Just in case we couldn't make, I called to Salt Lake Center, who had been giving us VFR advisories, and requested an IFR clearance up to 13,000 feet. They approved my request and we struggled up the last 1,500 feet that the Archer was able to give us. It became apparent that we would not clear the cloud tops, so into the cold clouds we went. I requested any icing reports from Salt Lake Center. The reply came back negative.
The Unexpected Happened . . . Despite the negative icing report, we began to pick up trace to light icing as we penetrated the high, broken cloud layers. Decision time again. Knowing we had to exit the clouds because of the ice, our options were somewhat limited. We could maneuver around the clouds, try to climb above the clouds, or land . . . but land where? I again checked the nearest airport on the Garmin 430. Elko, Nevada came up as the nearest airport just 14 miles to our south. "What do you think, Kelly," I asked on Socratic fashion. My mind was already made up to begin making diversionary plans for Elko. "Hmmm, I don't know," he replied with obvious anxiety in his voice. He had only heard horror stories about ice and little airplanes, and he had just tasted a bit of it minutes earlier. We entered another unavoidable cloud build up. Suddenly, heard the sound of ice pellets hitting the windscreen. Almost at the same moment, the engine began running rough. I pulled carb heat, switched tanks, hit the fuel boost pump, and adjusted the mixture. We were at 13,000 feet, over the mountains, in and out of the clouds, and the engine was beginning to shake on its mounts. My mind raced. Carb ice? Induction system ice? Hung valve? That was it, we were going for our bolt hole without delay. I pressed the mike button and said as calmly as I could, "Salt Lake Center, 4120K is declaring an emergency - losing engine. We're descending, need vectors to Elko." I asked for vectors even though I could see the Elko Airport displayed on the moving map. With vectors, we would be assured of obstacle clearance all the way down. Here again, this is something that is not emphasized in typical instrument emergency training. Salt Lake replied in equally calming voice, "Ah, roger, 4120K, fly heading 190, descend and maintain 9,000." Kelly dutifully steered right as I continued to troubleshoot the engine problem. I scanned scanned the sky for clear areas ahead that we could maneuver through. Fortunately, we had good ground contact most of the way down, but it didn't look particularly inviting. Herein lies a lesson that runs contrary to traditional flight training. Most flight instructors teach that the first thing you do when experiencing an engine loss is to: (1) slow to best glide speed; (2) troubleshoot the engine, then (3) pick an emergency landing site. In our particular case, going to best glide speed would have wasted precious time . . . and it would have taken us further away from the only suitable landing spot available to us. At the first sign of engine problems, we declared our emergency, then turned immediately to our pre-arranged bolt hole. Then, we began troubleshooting. Herein lies my chronic, ongoing argument with the rote learning method that is contained in many flight training manuals and that many CFIs continue to implore among their students. We continued our vectored descent towards the Elko Airport. The engine was still running rough . . . but it was developing power. Mentally, I was trying to figure out what went wrong with our motor. When I came to the possibility of a hung valve, I knew that it could burn off and fall into the cylinder. With that, the engine could self-destruct at any moment. Salt Lake Center handed us of to the Elko tower. I reiterated our emergency and requested landing clearance to any runway we might need. "Roger, the airport is yours. Say intentions," came the tower controller's response. He then gave us the wind speed and direction.
Again, careful enroute planning, something which is under-emphasized in traditional flight training programs, kept us abreast of bolt holes along our entire route of flight. We had roads below us, we knew where the airports were along our flight path, and we carried enough altitude to glide for quite a few miles if the engine had actually failed. We left the airplane overnight with a couple of mechanics to identify and repair the engine problem as we made our way into town for another unscheduled overnight stay. This time it was at a casino hotel named Stockman's. A true relic out of the old west, Stockman's Hotel is a place to behold. It was clean and big, but that was about all. It would take Donald Trump decades to spruce up this place! One of the nicest treats of the entire trip, however, was experienced in Elko. We were advised to go to one of three local Basque restaurants in town. We selected the Star. This is family dining at its very, very best! The quality and abundance of food was without equal anywhere! Aside from a couple of dollars I left in the slot machines and Blackjack table, we left Stockman's unharmed the next morning. Returning to the airport, the mechanics remained baffled regarding our engine problem. The replaced a suspicious sparkplug that could have been arching and borescoped each cylinder from any internal damage. They concluded that it could have been induction icing of some kind, but could not be certain. We ground ran the engine and found it to be running smoothly. More Decisions . . . With the days passing by, our decision was not - to fly or not to fly, but rather . . . which way do we fly that will get us into the least trouble. This is another topic not often covered in the traditional private/instrument pilot curriculum. You see, typical flight training would have likely been canceled on this morning - due to the continuing weather just north of the airport. We, on the other hand, were not on a typical training mission. We both did have pressing reasons to depart. "Ah Hah," says the critic. Pressing business reasons should NOT be justification to launch into poor weather!" "Wake up and smell the coffee," I say to my critics. Every commercial pilot, whether flying checks or flying people, faces pressures, some self-imposed, others imposed by his employer, to fly in the face of weather risks. If we don't train private and instrument pilots to come to grips with this, they'll learn it on their own . . . and, perhaps, with deadly consequences.
The fact was, we did have options, but only two. We could: (1) remain on the ground another day, or (2) we could initiate a radical re-route south, toward Las Vegas, then down around Albuquerque, New Mexico. This would require departing from the published airways, below radar coverage, and flying between the mountain ranges under VFR conditions. We would be on our own as far as obstacle clearance is concerned. We'd also be covering some very remote and hostile country, far from highways and towns. The deep trough that caused our weather problems throughout this trip continued to cut the continent in half, with us still on the back side of it. We could not continue flying east above the mountains while remaining below the icing layer. We talked with a helicopter pilot in Elko who performs search and rescue (SAR) work in the mountains. He suggested we might fly low, through the valleys but suggested caution as we approached Salt Lake. Several of the valleys there turn into narrow-walled passes with unpredictable weather inside, leaving no escape if visibility is lost. He quipped, "I know this from numerous SAR missions into this region!" The weather directly south looked good, but we would have to travel at least 800 miles out of our way. That's what we decided to do. The next problem was a logistical one. We would have to secure charts and plates covering the U.S. southwest and south central states. Elko had several of these in the form of worldwide aviation charts (WACs). These cover twice the scale of standard sectional charts, but they also chart less detail. Since these were all that were available, that's what we used. We discovered, much to my delight, that most of the missing data on the WAC charts were available in the GNS 430 database. We fueled the airplane and loaded our gear and, with the WAC chart opened, we took off VFR on a westerly heading. We climbed on the runway heading, out of the Elko valley until reaching 9,500 feet. We turned to the south and followed the valleys on a meandering course toward Cedar City, Utah. The mountain photo (left) was taken shortly after our liftoff from Elko. The weather was excellent, visibility unlimited, and only a few puffy clouds along our route of flight. The airplane performed perfectly following the overnight maintenance attention it received. We passing scenery changed quickly from snow covered mountains, to large dry lake beds, to barren valleys, with little evidence of civilization. We learned that the vast majority of Nevada's landmass is owned by the federal government . . . and nearly all of it is undeveloped. I fiddled with the GPS moving map as we motored south. Las Vegas was straight ahead about 200 miles. We both gave a moment of serious thought about spending a day or two there, but we were already two days behind schedule. We continued working our way on a southeasterly heading, flying through the passes of one mountain range after another until reaching Cedar City, our planned first stop. We landed, took a crew car into town, had lunch, then stopped in at the Cedar City Flight Service Station for an updated weather briefing. We also picked up the additional charts we needed for the balance of the trip. Our plan was to continue flying in a southeasterly direction over northern Arizona, Gallup New Mexico, and into Albuquerque where we planned to spend the night. The weather forecast was excellent. Only high broken to scattered clouds, unlimited visibility, and only a couple more mountain ranges to negotiate.
This was the first time in our trip that Kelly and I began to really relax. The warm sun filling the cockpit was a pleasant change from the cold mountain air that we had experienced the previous two days . . . . did I mention that our airplane's heating system wasn't working? We each had a sense that the remainder of the trip would occur without incident. While we still had not rounded the bottom of the north/south cold front, the prospects of making this happen looked good. We had made a good decision to turn south! We continued to track along the
northern Arizona border to New Mexico, eventually passing just south of the
famous four corners where the states of Utah, Colorado, Arizona, and New Mexico
join. One thing that caught my attention was the proximity of the ground,
just 2,000 below, despite the fact that our altimeter was reading
11,500 feet! A quick look at the chart revealed that the ground elevation was over 8,000 feet above sea level! It was here that I
really began to appreciate turbo-charged technology. Our hard-working,
normally-aspirated Archer could give us about 13,500 feet above sea level and
that was all. This is okay in the low, flat lands of the east, but
was a real disadvantage in mountainous terrain.
Passing over this rough, dry, remote terrain suddenly reminded me of one very important oversight in our planning! If we were forced down in this desolate part of the country, how long would it take to find drinking water? The only liquid we had in the airplane was a half thermos of warm tea that I brought with me earlier that morning from Elko. Here's another omission in the private pilot curriculum. Little or no attention is paid to survival gear. Pondering this possibility a bit further, I was comforted in knowing that our GNS430 was able to display instantly updated latitude/longitude data that we could radio to LAX center who was providing flight following for us as we crossed the desert. Without this data, search and rescue might never find us in the moonscape below. We continued, now on a due east course direct to Albuquerque, NM. We passed over monument valley, with its towering protuberances popping off of the desert floor. I had been over this remarkable geography several times in airlines, but always at 35,000 feet or higher. Now, we were passing just a couple thousand feet above them. The view was spectacular!
The next noteworthy feature in our journey east was the Colorado River as it outflows from Lake Powell (photo left). From there, it travels southwestward, carving an ever-deepening gorge in the earth, eventually forming the Grand Canyon just north of Flagstaff, Arizona. Legend has it that the Colorado River originally followed a track in the sandy soil produced by a prehistoric Indian dragging a stick. Hey, who knows? I was tempted to suggest a slight diversion from our course to turn and follow the Colorado River back towards and over the Grand Canyon. What a spectacular view this would be. Feeding my fantasy, I took a look at the WAC chart and quickly noted the Special Use Airspace (SUA) that surrounded the Grand Canyon that prohibited flights below 14,5000 feet over this famous landmark.
Kelly and I motored on over the desert, then turned on a more southerly heading toward day's destination - Albuquerque. The appearance of central New Mexico city was a dramatic contrast to the desolate terrain we had been covering over the previous several hours. We could see the lush green valley created by man's ability to irrigate large tracts of land. This was, in fact, the first actual city we had seen since leaving the San Francisco Bay area two days earlier. Another Unexpected Event . . . Los Angeles Center had handed us off to Albuquerque Approach about 50 outside of the city. We picked up the ATIS and planned what we thought would be a normal approach to landing on runway 19. The winds were brisk, about 20 knots, but they were coming right down the runway. But this is not the way it was going to be. The Abuquerque controller called and asked, "N4120K, are you familiar with the runway 30 approach procedure? Hmm. . . I recalled not seeing any particular arrival procedures for Albuquerque International, so I calmly replied, "Negative." She then rattled off the following instruction, "N4120K, make straight in approach to runway 19. Over the numbers, turn left on the downwind to runway 30 no lower that 7,000 feet until crossing runway 27. Advise when south of runway 27." This VFR approach is not for the weak of heart! Albuquerque was running simultaneous runway operations. Aside from the complex landing clearance, it required us to make a slam dunk, 2,000 foot descent from the base to final turn. Their plan was to allow arrivals on runway 27 UNDER our base turn to runway 30. This tricky arrival maneuver was required because of the close proximity of a 9,500' high range of mountains immediately to the east of Albuquerque International. "Got it, Kelly," I asked? "Yeah, right," he replied in cryptic fashion. Here's another example of the absurdity of much of traditional hometown flight training conducted at the same local home dromes! If a CFI or flight school believes that when you've seen one airport, you've seen them all, they are living in a myopic dream world! Worse, they're doing a serious disservice to their flight students that could result in serious operational errors . . . or worse! Beware! Flight students . . . insist that your CFI get you into large, Class B airports as part of your primary and instrument training, particularly during peak traffic hours. If they don't instruct you in this regard, you can always figure it out on your own after you get your ticket!
Returning the airport bright and early the next morning, we faced another decision. The weather was super VFR. We could either fly north or south to circum-navigate the 9,500 foot high mountain range immediately east of the airport. Or, we could negotiate a narrow pass through the mountains. The latter option would require a maximum performance climb up to 8,000 feet to clear the base of the pass. Once in the tight mountain pass, there would be no way to reverse course if we encountered engine problems. Our only back door was a winding highway below that went through the pass. We opted for the pass. I had a brief discussion with the tower controller on the climb out, who suggested we follow up the highway. This is what we did. We climbed higher and higher. Ideally, a procedure like this is best accomplished by doing a circling climb, then proceeding through the pass at the required altitude. Our proximity to Albuquerque's busy airport prevented this maneuver. Kelly kept an eye on the granite walls spiraling high above us on the left while I did the same thing on the right. Our trusty little Archer huffed and puffed itself up over the base of the passed just like its performance tables said it would. This was an excellent example of aeronautical decision making. The weather was perfect. The pass through the mountains was do-able, and a safe emergency landing site throughout the course was present in the form of the highway below. The alternative would have been a one hour or more diversion, north or south, to go around the mountain range. We considered all of our options . . . and made the correct decision. Home Free . . . or So We Thought! Once out of the pass, we breathed a bit easer as we surveyed the mostly flat land extending from our position eastward toward Amarillo and Oklahoma City. It appeared that the remainder of the trip was "in the bag," as they say. We were even enjoying a gentle tailwind. Having maneuvered south of the continental divide and around the troubling north/south cold front that caused all of our diversions in the first place, we were now free to begin cutting left on a more northeasterly heading. I pulled out the charts and began looking for alternate destination sites further to the north. If the winds held up, the GNS 430s suggested we could make Wichita, Kansas with fuel to spare. This would add another hour to our leg but it would ultimately reduce our total trip time by about three hours. Good move, I thought. I called Albuquerque Center and requested a destination change to Wichita while Kelly reset the course in the autopilot. For the first time, we were now heading directly toward Buffalo! The above photo illustrates the flat lands that make up southwestern Kansas. Like the rest of the American southwest, there wasn't much between the relatively few cities along our route of flight. One thing we both began to notice was our declining ground speed displayed on the GPS. The winds had apparently shifted as the counter-clockwise turning winds of the low pressure system associated with the Florida hurricanes was moving northward. This wind shift would begin to cut in our planned fuel reserves necessary to reach Wichita. It was decision making time, again. Do we find a closer destination in the remote geography below, or we do we continue motoring on hoping that the winds might change again. We elected to motor on, at least for a while. One of the nice features of the GNS430 is its ability to calculate remaining time enroute given ground speed and distance to travel. With the present winds, we estimated reaching Wichita with 30 minutes of fuel reserves. As every private pilot knows, this is what the FARs require before commencing VFR flight. It would be close . . . but legal. As we continued on the last two hours of our leg to Wichita, I began to wonder if our previous fuel burn calculations were correct. I began to wonder if the line guys back in Albuquerque had filled the fuel tanks to the brim. I began to wonder if the winds would worsen. This all added up to sufficient lingering doubt that by the time we were within 45 minutes of Wichita, I alerted ATC of our minimal fuel situation. They acknowledged our call and indicated that there should be no ATC delays into Wichita's Mid-Continent Airport. Still in all, the fuel situation did cause a measure of anxiety that we both wished was not there.
The picture, left, is yours truly on the ramp in Wichita showing off his new Wal-Mart attire! The Final Stretch . . . We had flown 4.3 hours of flight, finished lunch, the planned our next leg to Peoria, Illinois. The weather was spectacular. The setting sun cast colorful shadows on the fall foliage below. We crossed the Mississippi River (photo left below) around 3pm and began our descent into Peoria. Not wishing to repeat the low fuel situation of our previous leg, we intentionally planned this leg to be no longer than 3.5 hours in length. We made a quick turn at Peoria, long enough to make a bathroom stop and pick up fuel. Our last planned leg of the day was to Midland, Michigan, where Kelly would remain for the next day to complete a planned business meeting. My own plan was to spend the night in Midland, then fly the airplane back to Buffalo in the morning. Kelly would return later in the day by car with several of his business associates.
"November 4120K, Chicago Approach. Standby for an amendment to your clearance. Advise ready to copy." "Ready to copy," I replied. "November 4120K, you are cleared present position direct to Peotone, Knox then as filed Midland." I read back the amended clearance and reprogrammed the box. This route would take us around the south end of Lake Michigan, over South Bend, Indiana, then direct up to Midland. By now, the sun gave way to a moonlit evening with the lights of Chicago penetrating a growing thick haze layer. One thing we did notice were the numerous arrivals and departures into O'Hare that we cutting across our path as we maneuvered eastward. With the growing lateness of the hour, I was beginning to wonder if anyone would be at the FBO at the Midland, Michigan airport. Our directory of airports indicated that this was a small, non-towered controlled airport. We were still too far away to reach them by radio, so I got a bit creative and called the South Bend, Indiana airport FBO and asked them to call ahead by phone to Midland. They did, and received no answer. My suspicions were confirmed. After over 10 hours of flying, I was not eager to land at night at a small, unfamiliar GA airport with a closed FBO. Another quick reference to the charts revealed a nearby the Midland, Bay City, Saginaw Airport. This is a larger facility, with a 24 hours FBO operation. We filed a destination change, then reprogrammed the GPS to take us to our new destination. We landed and called for a ride to the hotel. It had been the longest day of the trip. We had covered nearly 1,200 miles in our little Archer and we were both exhausted. It was from this point that Kelly and I went our separate ways - him to his business meeting the next day, and me back to Buffalo the next morning.
The map (left - click to enlarge) shows our round-about route from Oakland to Buffalo. The solid red line is our actual route. The dashed red line was our original planned route. The red shading depicts the position of the troubling low pressure trough and associated cold front that made our deviations to the south necessary. My hope is that this lengthy summary of our trip is more than a simple travel-log. Hopefully, you can appreciate the many risk-management decisions we had to make in order to complete the trip in a timely manner. There is no question that, at times, we nudged up against the limits of reasonable aeronautical standards . . . . but we did, indeed, remain within the limits of safety. From Kelly's perspective as a primary flight student, he encountered the very worst of what he might ever encounter - with a qualified CFII at his side. 'Tis much better to experience and learn this way than it is to have him venture out on his own, without such exposure, and find himself out of options, altitude, and airspeed all at the same time! Bob Miller, ATP, CFII |
