Learning Experiences

"Ann Arbor is IFR"

It was mid-December, and with 51.5 flight hours under my belt I was ready and excited for my first solo cross-country trip. I live in Ann Arbor, Michigan, and I was planning to fly south to Defiance, Ohio. However, after checking my favorite Internet weather page, I found prohibitive METARs and TAFs for the region-low clouds and poor visibility.

No problem, I figured, I would just fly to Lansing (which is due northwest) and avoid all the mess to the south. Having flown there before on a dual flight lesson, I knew the route and had the flight plan, the radio frequencies, and the knowledge that Interstate 96 runs into Lansing-a mental comfort "just in case." The latter would come into play quite differently than what I had in mind.

I called Flight Service-no problem with the revised route, "weather would be deteriorating from the west much later"-filled the airplane's fuel tanks to the brim (I can see all the seasoned pilots smiling now), and off I went like Jimmy Stewart in that movie where he flies around the whole time and this great music plays in the background.

Lansing's Capital City Airport posed no problem. It was a bit intimidating to actually have to call Approach and dial my very own squawk code into the transponder, but after you say the words "student pilot" they actually slow down and are genuinely helpful. Then I took off immediately for my return to Ann Arbor, glad to leave the deteriorating weather behind me-or so I thought.

The news was that the fog, haze, and clouds in Ohio were suddenly, unexpectedly, and quickly moving north into-you guessed it-Michigan and the fair town of Ann Arbor with its Class D airport. Blazing along at 90 knots, I saw that it was a gradual deterioration, but an unmistakable one.

It is kind of a funny feeling-you can still see a long way, but you find yourself squinting to discern details below, and of course there was a layer of snow making it hard to see the once-familiar details. Still, no big deal, I tuned in the nearby Salem VOR for insurance and listened to the ATIS at Ann Arbor Municipal-which, as fate would have it, had not been updated yet. About 10 miles north of the airport and with a view of downtown around 4:30 p.m., I called the tower and said in my best flat tone, "Ann Arbor tower, Cherokee...inbound for landing with Romeo."

And this is where the fun started. The tower came right back with a somewhat-stiff and almost mind-numbing announcement: "Ann Arbor is IFR." I must admit that although I knew the meaning of all the words in that sentence, my first thought was, What do you mean, IFR? I am just north of town and have to bring my rental Piper back to the FBO! Or, as John McEnroe used to tell the umpire, "You cannot possibly be serious."

But you cannot really say these things to a tower controller, and with my brain racing I tried to buy some thinking time by asking if Willow Run Airport-just five miles east-was also IFR. Of course it was. Now, I do have an excellent instructor, and I passed my FAA knowledge test on the first try, but nowhere do they teach you how to respond to "Ann Arbor is IFR." I considered asking if they would let me land if I recited all the V-speeds of the Cherokee and the formula for the change in the center of gravity if you move a passenger to the back seat, but the tower guy did not sound his usual friendly self that evening.

Two things were certain: I could not land at Ann Arbor, and going farther south would not be good. (Later a pilot told me about special VFR clearances, but "that's not an option for student pilots.")

So I made a one-eighty heading north, and as I did I could hear my instructor say, "First, fly the plane." Actually my first thought was fuel, and I had plenty-at least four hours left-but only another 45 minutes of passable daylight and the fog at my heels. Everything became important. It was no longer "today's lesson is a diversion to a different airport" when you know how it's going to play out and the CFI is in the right seat. Today I actually had 45 minutes to find an airport and land!

I considered Brighton, about 25 miles north, having flown there with my CFI, but its runway was narrow (only 24 feet), hard to find, and with dense trees on all four sides.

Then looking at the sectional I found Livingston County, 15 miles beyond Brighton but 75 feet wide, without obstructions, and, best of all, nicely lined up parallel to I-96. I'd never been there, but it did feel "right." I found that once a decision was made it became very comforting and reinforcing. Training and mental checklists then took over once again. It became a matter of executing the drill, with the added element of finding a new airport, but that's where I-96 came in.

I now had some time to think while en route. I pulled out the Airport/Facilities Directory, double-checked the pattern configuration and altitude, was relieved that it offered full facilities, and tuned in the AWOS. Next I remembered to call Flight Service to change the flight plan. But thanks to poor reception, Flight Service thought I was saying that I had diverted and already landed at Livingston County. I could not raise them again.

Well, no use worrying about that. Better to concentrate on finding the airport and descending to pattern altitude well out from the field. The haze thankfully had stopped advancing, and the landmarks were well visible. I turned on the navigation and landing lights, tuned in the CTAF, and listened to a constant number of airplanes approach and land. I guessed that everyone was diverting to Livingston County. I joined the 45-degree entry to the downwind. I was actually relieved to see that a queue had formed, confirming altitude and pattern direction, and I self-announced the rest of the way to an uneventful landing and taxied to the FBO.

To my surprise, a young man came out and asked me if I was the student pilot from Ann Arbor. I said yes, and asked how he knew. He said that my instructor had called Flight Service and was told that I was at Livingston County Airport. At that moment it really brought home the importance of filing a flight plan. I also became aware that my throat was so parched I could hardly talk.

The rest of the story is routine; my instructor drove me back to Ann Arbor, and I brought the airplane back two days later when the airport went VFR again. As an aside, the big news was that the weather closed in so fast that even a MedEvac helicopter with a patient on board had to divert to the north.

Everything in training has a distinct purpose that sometimes appears to be a waste of Hobbs time. But, when things get serious-and you never know when they will-you realize the wisdom of it all.

By Savvas Giannakopoulos