Surprises, bad and good
Thorough preparation reduces the potential for surprises, but it can never eliminate them entirely. Surprises are inherent in the dynamic act of flying. Mixing people, airplanes, the four forces of flight, and weather is bound to produce something unexpected.
We have to be flexible. Expect to encounter a surprise or two on every flight, and be prepared to deal with them. If, instead, your notion is that proper planning precludes the potential for problems, well then, you're probably in for a surprise.
My last trip produced a few unexpected turns of events -- OK, surprises -- most having to do with the weather. A brief description of my expectations of how things were supposed to go versus how they really played out would be front, no front; no bumps, bumps; and low approach, no approach.
As a full-time resident of Southwest Florida, I usually don't pay much attention to what's going on weather-wise in the rest of the country. Other than enduring multiple hurricanes over a month's time last summer, the climate here is consistently, delightfully boring -- it's almost always excellent. After a few years of living here it becomes difficult to relate to the kind of weather that affects most of the rest of the country. It's like following the stock market when you have nothing invested -- who cares?
So, I don't spend a lot of time worrying about what the weather is doing or going to do elsewhere. That is, unless I'm planning a flight out of South Florida into some other part of the country. Then I start to care.
I was planning such a flight recently, a 450-nm trip to the Atlanta area, returning two days later. The route was familiar: directly north to the Lakeland VOR, then a slight turn northwestward to Ocala, direct Macon, then direct to the destination airport, Gwinnett County-Brisco Field.
As is my custom, a few days before the planned departure I began to time an occasional visit to The Weather Channel to catch its hourly five-day forecast report. It's a good, quick, big-picture prediction of what the weather might do. Watching the five-day forecasts unfold over several days provides a reliable indication of just how predictable the weather might be on the days I planned to fly.
When I first tuned in, The Weather Channel talent was reporting a strong low pressure system over the Midwest with a trailing cold front tagging along to the southwest. The forecast called for the low to move up into the northeast, and the cold front to sweep across the southeast prior to my departure date. At that point it was too early to bank on the prediction, but the outlook was favorable.
As time went on, the low's march across the country slowed, the trailing front grew in intensity, and the predictions changed. Instead of a comfortable margin between cold front passage and my flight, it began to look like a near miss. Still, there was no reason to alter my preparations. No surprises, right?
In fact, the weather was more of a concern on this flight because I would have a reluctant flyer aboard. Flying is difficult enough for her, but add a weather challenge and panic can take over. The day before the flight I assured her that everything looked good for the trip. Secretly, I hoped I was right.
The next day I checked weather and although not ideal -- Atlanta looked to be clearing later in day, but just barely -- I still hoped to time it so that I would be behind the weather. We packed the car, ran a couple of errands, and drove to the airport.
I stopped by the FBO to get a last look at the radar, and I did not like what I saw. The line of weather associated with the front was now solid and extended across Florida northeast to southwest out into the Gulf of Mexico. An end run to the west or east did not appear to be an option.
Surprise number one. My concern over my passenger's well-being had caused me to be overly optimistic about the weather. I wasn't prepared for it to behave badly.
The weather was not the real problem, however, because I was flying IFR with a new Stormscope in the panel and Nexrad radar images popping up on the Garmin display every 10 minutes. That, plus some cooperative controllers, made me confident that I could get a discerning real-time look at the weather as I approached it and find a safe way through. The real problem was that my passenger was not in any mood to deal with weather, to the point that she grew distraught and refused to go. I was totally unprepared for that. Surprise number two.
We discussed our options, including driving 10 hours to Atlanta, waiting until the next morning to fly, and canceling the trip. She finally agreed to stick to the original plan, with one proviso: If she wanted to land en route to collect herself, I must land. Agreed.
The discussion delayed our departure long enough that by the time we reached the front it was little more than scattered cumulus. That was a nice surprise. We motored on as the sun set off the left wing.
South of Atlanta I could see a few scattered clouds ahead at our altitude. Nothing tall, and no nastiness depicted on the Nexrad image, so I blasted into the first one and was rewarded with a thumping jolt. Papers went flying and my head hit the ceiling even though I always wear my seatbelt cinched tight. I glanced at my passenger in the rear seat and, fortunately, she seemed to be OK in every respect.
The remaining few minutes of the flight were unexpectedly washboard rough in the post-frontal air. That made it a bit more difficult to prep for what I expected to be a low approach to Gwinnett County. ATIS was reporting two miles' visibility in mist with a ceiling of 400 feet. Ah, well, this is what we train for.
A few miles out I listened as the approach controller cleared another airplane for a VOR-DME approach to Runway 7 because, he said, he had just had a report that the field was clearing rapidly to the west. Given the ATIS report and the pesky turbulence, I asked for the no-surprises ILS approach to Runway 25.
Imagine my surprise when I broke out in the clear a good 1,000 feet above the ground. I landed, taxied to the ramp, and shut down. We had been through a front that wasn't a front, encountered bumps that were never reported to exist, and had a visual approach when I was expecting a low approach. And the best surprise of all: My passenger had enjoyed the flight and was feeling great.
Mark Twombly is a writer and editor who has been flying since 1968. He is a commercial pilot with instrument and multiengine ratings and co-owner of a Piper Aztec.
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