As usual, I called Flight Service to get the rundown on the weather and file my flight plan. The briefing started out well, telling me what I had already seen on the TV. However, the briefer mentioned the 15- to 20-knot northerly winds along the route of flight. They were picking up moisture off the Great Lakes, and there was a solid layer of stratus clouds over western Pennsylvania and eastern Ohio with bases about 3,000 feet, tops at 6,000 feet, and some mountain obscuration, with occasional snowshowers in the area.
Further west, Youngstown, Ohio, was reporting instrument meteorological conditions (IMC) with a ceiling at 1,000 feet and less than one mile visibility. That was daunting, because Youngstown was on my route of flight. It was a classic case of lake-effect clouds and precipitation - not to the west of the lakes, but extending south as far as southern Pennsylvania. The briefer was clear: "VFR not recommended."
Somewhat disappointed, but figuring that the weather would clear as the high moved east, I planned a late-morning departure. After all, how could weather be so bad just 100 miles east when I knew that it was clear in Medina?
My next briefing was not much better, although the report of mountain obscuration had been removed, reinforcing my belief that conditions were improving. The route was still "VFR not recommended," and more circuitous routes to the south and around the clouds proved just as disheartening. Not to worry; I knew it would improve by early afternoon. A 1 p.m. update sounded only marginally better, with that wall of clouds still preventing VFR flights from getting to their destinations in Ohio. Well, I didn't need much room; I had flown under cloud layers and had taken a few IFR flights with my instructor. I filed a flight plan over the objection of the briefer that it was not VFR over parts of my route. I assured him that I would turn back if things did not clear up, but I wanted to give it a try.
At 2:30 p.m. I departed, still hoping that the courteous briefer had been overly cautious. It was a beautifully sunny, brisk day at the airport, and I only had about 250 nautical miles to go. Activating my flight plan, I was surprised that I was advised again that this flight was not recommended. However, I was more than 3,000 feet up, and there was nothing out to the west but blue sky. What worrywarts; I was sure I could see all the way to Indiana from my perch!
Next I called New York Center and requested VFR traffic advisories to Medina. What a beautiful day! Certainly the broken layer of thin stratus off in the distance was no concern.
Soon the thin layer of clouds took on a little more body and depth. Though still broken, with plenty of sunlight getting through, the clouds were starting to come together and the bright sunlight became shafts of sunlight penetrating the more distant gathering gloom. Still, visibility was excellent. Remembering that one briefing included a report of tops at 6,000 feet, I decided that being on top would not be a bad idea. There were no higher layers, and it was clear blue up there.
It was clear and peaceful at 7,500 feet, and the cloud tops in the distance did not appear to be getting any higher. Another 10 minutes and I was becoming more aware of the clouds closing in below me. Headwinds were strong, and if I reached Medina above the overcast and had to turn back, there would not be enough fuel left to fly clear of the overcast to the east. I thought about turning back. Then I spotted a nice opening in the clouds below and descended through it. The visibility was still good, probably at least six miles to the west. I could see a few snow showers, and they seemed to pose no problem.
Another 10 or 15 minutes later, I could not tell whether the gray veil ahead was a snow shower or haze. Visibility was down to five miles. An Altoona Flight Service Station briefer was not encouraging, reporting that Youngstown was still marginal at best. I was still telling myself that only the weakest-nerved of pilots would not go on. I was almost there. I guess it was the light snow surrounding my airplane that really brought home the situation.
It was a tough fight with that macho side of my nature, but a few miles short of the Ohio state line I decided to turn around. I knew I could make it to my destination, but to do so I would probably have to pass some portion of the flight in IMC, and that was against the rules. I told ATC that I was turning around and cancelled my flight plan.
As I started back to the southeast, I noticed that the visibility picture improved considerably. Maybe my original expectations of improving conditions was correct after all. One more time, I turned around - but it was just as bad to the west as it had been when I turned around the first time.
Back around I came, dialed in Penn Valley Airport on my GPS, and headed home for the final time. The tailwind shortened the trip, and as I approached the airport, someone hailed me by my aircraft's N number. How could this be? I was told to call ATC when on the ground. Though the caller said it was not an emergency, I was shocked. I was sure that I had done something grossly wrong and was going to be called on the carpet - for what, I did not know.
I made a bumpy landing and hurried to the phone. To my relief, the person I spoke with said they just wanted to know that I had made it back to Selinsgrove OK. They knew I had turned around and did not file a return flight plan or request flight following, so they just wanted to make sure I returned safely. Wow - what a relief.
What a system. I guess I was never really alone up there. Flying back to Selinsgrove dispirited and disappointed, I would have been cheered to know that on this darkening Christmas night, there were some pretty dedicated people checking up on a lonely Cessna pilot somewhere in the night sky over central Pennsylvania.
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