Anyone familiar with the Great Lakes region knows that the weather can change in a heartbeat thanks to the jet stream, weather moving in from Canada, and plenty of moisture. On this morning, the weather was solid overcast and dark, but what I saw wasn't enough to stop me from heading to the airport. After all, I was on a mission. Besides, there wasn't any high terrain between Fond du Lac and Cleveland.
The friend who drove me to the airport - a highly experienced aerobatic pilot - reminded me that the best maneuver ever invented isn't a snap roll or hammerhead; it's a 180-degree turn. I smiled, shook my friend's hand, tucked his advice into the back recesses of my mind, and cranked up the airplane.
My Steen Skybolt had enough horsepower to do a vertical roll, but nowhere near enough to outmatch a thunderstorm. Although the visibility was fine below the 3,000-foot ceiling, the heavy rain showers from embedded thunderstorms were enough to turn me around. That's right; fewer than 15 miles from the departure airport, I made that famous 180-degree turn.
After my friend picked me up from the airport, we went back to the hotel, and I ordered a big serving of crow. But I didn't mind a bit. I would live to fly another day. Besides, I got to spend another day with my friend. The competition was on hold; no one in his right mind was going to fly aerobatics in that weather.
To fully appreciate the stupidity of attempting to fly cross-country that day, consider the following: My airplane was strictly VFR; it had no deicing capability; its compass was plus or minus 30 degrees because of magnetic interference from the canopy; and the VOR receiver was no better than a nondirectional beacon because I had no heading gyro or compass to navigate by. Of course, fabric wings don't hold up well in hail, either. And although I was flying for a living at the time, I seemed to go brain dead as soon as I strapped on my trusty parachute and climbed into my airplane.
By the following morning, the air was clear, and nothing could hold me back. I took the long way around Lake Michigan and made my first fuel stop - just as I had planned to do the day before. To my astonishment, several airplanes lay upside down, shredded as through they'd been through a meat grinder. When I learned that the damage was caused by a tornado that had hit the airport the day before, it got my attention.
When I landed at my next fuel stop, more airplanes were turned upside down and inside out. You guessed it. The destruction was the result of more thunderstorms and tornadoes that had blown through the day before.
Now I was really paying attention. Had I continued my flight and tried to stay on the route I had planned, I would have been lucky - very lucky - to make it out with my life.
So what's worse, eating crow and delaying my flight by a day or pushing ahead despite the weather? Since I'm still here to talk about it, I'd have to say that the crow tasted pretty good.
The nice thing about growing older is that it's a wonderful alternative to dying young. While I'm not proud that I was foolish enough to attempt the flight in the first place, I'm admitting to my mistake because we're all tempted to do the same thing. In many flying jobs, particularly overnight cargo flying, the predominant attitude is, "Why check the weather? We're going anyway."
While some commercial aircraft and their pilots are capable of handling certain types of weather, very few light airplanes can deal with more than a few clouds and a little rain. Regardless of what kind of equipment you fly or the nature of the mission you're on, you can always just say no.
Of course, it's not always easy to say no. And it's not just general aviation pilots who succumb to the lure of get-there-itis. I was in line at Dallas/Fort Worth International waiting to take off when thunderstorms surrounded the entire area. The airline's passengers didn't understand the risks and were as anxious to reach their destinations as I had been to get to Cleveland to see my grandmother.
The airlines were just as anxious to get them there. Feeling pressured, pilots continued to take off into the worst conditions imaginable, until someone finally cried "uncle."
No problem. The tower directed the pilot to pull aside and wait so the other brave warriors could launch into the blackness. But suddenly, no one wanted to fly. In fact, no one took off again until an hour later when the weather had cleared.
I've seen the same thing happen with light airplanes, the pilots rushing to take off in hopes of outrunning an approaching gust front. Trust me; you can't outrun a gust front any more than you can a cop. Just don't go.
The only way to become an experienced pilot is to avoid becoming a statistic. When making weather decisions, use your head. Don't do what I did and put yourself in a position where you have to use that 180-degree turn. Instead, change your plans while you're still on the ground and make another hotel reservation if necessary. Remember that the purity of your intentions will matter little to your surviving relatives.
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