Facing down the clouds
What's the biggest impediment to a general aviation pilot's getting the most utility out of an airplane? What's the biggest stumbling block in the process of gaining valuable flying experience? What's the most difficult subject for pilots to learn? What's a factor in so many accidents? You guessed it — the weather.
To many pilots (some will admit it, most won't) weather is a scary thing. Its language and codes are unfathomable for some. Predictions sometimes don't come to pass, and this leads us to a cynical distrust of the very agencies we've been taught to rely upon for flight planning. All through pilot training meteorology is presented as some kind of willful, evil menace — something that, given half a chance, will slather your airplane in ice, snap off your wings, or otherwise make you spear the Earth in a variety of nightmare scenarios. Finally, there's the primal recognition that weather is an unknown variable, always changing in mysterious ways. No wonder most general aviation pilots stay on the ground when conditions stray from ideal.
Then there's the airplane issue. Let's face it, most of the single-engine, piston-powered airplanes we fly are not adequately equipped to take on adverse weather. They often don't have the power to top cloud layers, are too small to permit installation of really effective, large-diameter radar antennas, and don't have ice protection systems. Budget limitations prevent many pilots from buying the snazziest new avionics suites, the ones that send datalink weather graphics and other information to large cockpit displays. So equipment issues are another part of the reasons why many pilots don't fly in anything other than benign weather.
But wait. Things aren't all gloom and doom. It's important to understand that more often than not, savvy pilots can work their way over, under, or around most adverse weather. This assumes, of course, that by a "savvy" pilot we mean a well-briefed one who has an instrument rating, and who's current and proficient in flying solely by reference to instruments. VFR-only pilots are severely limited in their weather-flying strategic options. That's something pilots discover shortly after earning the private certificate, when planning those first cross-country flights as pilot in command.
There are really just a few weather situations that make continued safe flying impossible for instrument-rated pilots of typical light general aviation airplanes. Here are some examples:
- Icing conditions in clouds/precipitation where cloud bases are low, cloud tops are untoppable, and above-freezing temperatures don't exist at the minimum en route altitude (MEA). This can trap you in icing conditions with no way out. Over high terrain or areas with few suitable airports, risk is further elevated.
- Severe or extreme turbulence.
- Long lines or multiple clusters of thunderstorms. Visual avoidance and lightning detection equipment can be a help in circumnavigation, but only if you have adequate groundspeed and fuel for an end run. Otherwise, a 180-degree turn is the only option.
- Embedded thunderstorms, if you are flying on instruments without any thunderstorm detection equipment.
- Widespread areas of low IFR weather, if encountered at the end of a long cross-country. The combination of below-minimums ceilings and visibilities plus insufficient fuel reserves may make a diversion to better weather a shaky proposition.
Now ratchet down the magnitude of these horrors. What if, in the first example, the bases were high and the tops low? In the second example, if thunderstorms were of the air-mass type or in short lines? What if you had lightning detection equipment, or low IFR conditions were confined to a small area? Now a lot of the pressure — and risk — is scaled down to manageable levels. And most of the weather we'll ever encounter is manageable.
Most pilots — even if instrument-rated and -proficient — probably wouldn't attempt a flight, even under the reduced-risk profiles. And that's OK. The go/no-go decision is a personal one, motivated by each individual's risk assessment and comfort level. Good pilot decision making should kick in every time a pilot feels uncomfortable about launching in unfamiliar weather. If that means canceling the flight, so be it.
But what if you want or need to make cross-country flights when the weather doesn't match your comfort level? How do you safely branch out into the world of weather flying? Unfortunately, most flight instructors don't address this issue. Most, if not all, training flights happen in ideal weather.
The primary goal is to overcome any weather anxiety. Often, this has roots in too much book learning and too little experience flying in and among the clouds. Pilots can become such adept students of horrible weather that they scare the daylights out of themselves. Couple that with a habituation to severe clear, and you've got the makings of a phobia.
Here's a three-part plan for shaking hands with weather flying. First, CFIs and CFIIs should intentionally expose students to marginal VFR and instrument meteorological conditions. That goes for students working on their private certificates, as well as instrument-rating candidates. This way pilots get the chance to see what lousy weather looks like, and learn how to carry out the procedures needed to bring a flight through to a safe conclusion.
Second, all pilots should ideally earn instrument ratings, or at least take enough training to be able to understand some basic instrument flying concepts and follow ATC procedures such as radar vectoring and airport surveillance radar (ASR) approaches.
Third, pilots new to weather flying should seek out those with experience flying in actual instrument conditions. Tagging along on flights with an old hand can provide valuable lessons, too. So can preflight conferrals about the day's weather. You can learn a lot just by osmosis.
When you're ready to take on the weather solo, follow the advice given by Robert N. Buck in his classic book Weather Flying. Start off by flying on top of cloud layers, from good weather to good weather. Next, fly trips from crummy conditions to better. Then take on flights with a bit of adverse weather in the en route phase. When you're ready, fly from good conditions to destinations experiencing instrument weather. Last step: flying around thunderstorms — preferably of the air-mass type — being sure to maintain visual separation from clouds and know that there's an escape path to better weather.
Sure, horrible weather will always be out there. And there will always be accidents involving inadvertent flight into adverse conditions. But that's more of a pilot problem than a weather problem. Everyone has to learn their limits, and know when to throw in the towel. Gradual immersion into the clag gives you an added edge in determining if the weather is merely annoying, or if things are truly falling apart.
E-mail the author at [email protected].
Putting It Into Practice
Managing the weather dragon
Weather dragons waited all over the sky as I planned a 900-nm flight from Frederick, Maryland, to Duluth, Minnesota: snow, ice, turbulence, adverse winds, mountain obscuration, and temperatures conducive to icing awaited me.
What have I got to frighten the dragon? A heated pitot tube? I'm going to hold up a heated pitot tube as my sword and scare the weather dragon, right? Give me a break. I agree with Tom Horne's assertion that piston-engine aircraft are hardly all-weather hamburger-getter machines.
What I do have is information, something the pea-brained dragon can't defeat. (Ah, but the dragon has trickery.)
I agree with the idea of flying in easy IFR weather to gain experience, then proceeding to more difficult conditions, but the weather rarely cooperates for such careful schooling. In this case, we were flying toward worsening weather, the toughest test, without any practice flights.
Information from The Weather Channel suggested I ought not to go. A 26-page briefing via computer was more specific: If I could make it by flying above icing conditions from Frederick to Ohio, I'd probably be OK until I got into Wisconsin, where a winter blizzard would make me tear up my pilot certificate.
Then I played my favorite trick: I called the flight service station briefer and told him I wanted to go VFR all the way. That had him looking for the best route possible. After checking, he asked, "Are you IFR-capable?" OK, you got me. I am. And I just had a recent instrument proficiency check, too. The briefer thought that if I could get on top without icing up, I would have a clear shot at least to northern Illinois, where things would get interesting. There were lots of holes in the sky over Frederick, and I knew I could reach on-top conditions without becoming a bobsled.
Then I discussed my plan with Horne, who agreed it was doable. My strategy at this point didn't include getting to Duluth: It consisted of getting to Rockford, and thinking about Duluth from the comfort of a heated FBO flight-planning room. In my favor for the northern portion of my trip were temperatures so cold that icing worries were nil.
The first part of the plan worked: Pilot Associate Editor Nate Ferguson and I started at 7,000 feet and, meeting cloud tops there, eventually went to 10,000 where headwinds blew at 40 knots. Our Bonanza was flying at Archer speeds. But not even the wind dragon could get us: We had tip tanks.
Rockford was another matter. As predicted, light snow was falling, creating marginal VFR conditions. Ferguson and I landed, thought about it, and I consulted with Horne by phone once again. It was cold enough to prevent icing, but airports to the north were at or below visibility minimums in snow. Again I called the flight service station briefer and told him to get me to Duluth in VMC (even though I'm IFR, I want the controller to search for the route with the best weather — telling him VMC accomplishes that). He found a way: Top the weather at 6,000 feet or more, and follow the eastern shore of Wisconsin to get around the weather in the central part of the state. So we did.
We taxied to the Rockford runway, took off in half-mile visibility knowing things would be better in 60 miles, and reassured controllers who questioned why we wanted the most indirect route possible. We had ground contact at 4,000 feet, but just barely, in a thick haze that was generating snow at the surface. As predicted, we topped the weather at 6,000, but not until Milwaukee controllers had delayed our climb for dozens of miles because of traffic. Temperatures stayed well below freezing, eliminating the icing worry. We reconsidered the decision to proceed, factoring in approaching darkness, at checkpoints such as Appleton and Green Bay, Wisconsin, but were encouraged by updates from flight watch.
Encouraged, that is, until we got within 30 miles of Duluth, where the weather would require an ILS approach. So we briefed an approach, but the snow showers parted and we landed at Duluth in VFR weather — just barely. Ha, ha, dragon! Gotcha! I win. — Alton K. Marsh
