Tuesday, December 11, 2012
Pilots have a special relationship with the weather
Flying on top has its own challenges. If the ceiling becomes more broken than scattered and I have to get down through a hole, I throttle back and reduce speed, get close to the top of the cloud deck, and then push over through the hole to clear air underneath. Sometimes, if the hole isn't very big, I have to circle it to make sure I'm set up for it. This is actually very fun.
If flying VFR on top of a scattered or broken layer and the ceiling becomes overcast, a whole new process of calculation comes into play. How far does the overcast extend? What are weather reports ahead? How much fuel do I have, and how far can I go before I run out of options and have to turn around?
It's easy to get stuck on top when your airplane fuel supply is limited. I'm so paranoid about it that I tend to err on the conservative side. A few years ago, a good friend of mine had a scary occurrence. Dr. D., as I'll call him, was cruising home to an airport outside of St. Louis from a competition in his aerobatic monoplane. He was at 10,000 feet MSL on top of a broken layer knowing he could get down through a hole at anytime, until it became overcast. The radio reported better weather ahead, so he felt pretty confident he could get down closer to home and he kept flying north. Much to his dismay, he reached his destination and the weather didn't improve—he was stuck on top of an overcast with no way to get down and not enough fuel to turn around. Dr. D., who's braver than I think I would be, had only two options—to bail out and parachute to the ground or to spin down through the overcast. Recalling maneuvers used by old Air Mail pilots, he stalled the airplane and started spinning through the clouds. He told me later he was sure he would break out fairly quickly, but the altimeter kept unwinding as he got lower and lower. After what seemed like the most unsettling eternity, he finally broke through the overcast at 1,500 feet above the ground. Quickly recovering from the spin, he found his airport, landed, then headed home for a stiff drink. I don't want to have to do that, but at least I know it's possible.
Maybe the ultimate ride in the clouds was had by William Rankin. The Man Who Rode The Thunder is Rankin's book and an amazing story about his famous incident of flying his F-8 jet fighter over the top of a thunderstorm when his engine failed. His ejection seat worked perfectly, but he had to ride the storm up and down before it spit him out 40 minutes later.
Pilots deal with clouds in many different ways. Air show pilots fly under pretty gnarly conditions, but ultimately, cloud ceilings of 1,000 feet or less and FAA regulations dictate we have to stay on the ground. The FAA will waiver cloud clearances at air shows so we can fly closer than 500 feet above, 1,000 feet horizontal and 2,000 feet horizontal required by the FARs but, in the U.S. at least, we aren't allowed to actually penetrate the clouds. Sometimes it happens unintentionally, and we have to ask for forgiveness.
Maybe it's the yin-yang aspect to clouds that makes them so fascinating. Clouds are soft, puffy, elusive and ethereal. They fire our imagination and give us a sense of wonder and sunsets that calm a restless mind. At an air show, clouds give the sky texture and the airplanes relative motion. But the playground can be dangerous, too—for all of their astonishing beauty, clouds can be hard with ice and boiling with thunder, inhospitable to airplanes. How close to the edge do we dare fly before our wings will melt? We can play in the sky with the clouds, but sometimes, it's best to sit on the ground and appreciate them, in awe, like we did as kids.
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Labels: Careers, Columns, Features, Learning Center, Pilot Skills, Aviation Personalities, Pilot Safety