Flying Carpet

A wish for smooth skies

When Colorado pilots grumble to you about their tough flying weather, take them seriously. Today's flight marked eight and one-half round trips that we'd attempted from Phoenix to visit our son Austin in Colorado Springs, and always there had been problems. So far we had twice been stranded by blizzards, twice detoured over Albuquerque because of strong winds, and five times been delayed by thunderstorms, including a reroute over Santa Fe. A third blizzard blocked Colorado Springs altogether--that time Austin rode in a four-wheel-drive vehicle to Grand Junction, where we picked him up.

Today would prove no exception. For days I'd eyed the forecast charts for this most important mission, but with each update the same blob of bad weather shrouded Colorado Springs. Sure enough, when Jean and I launched from Phoenix this morning with our older son, Hannis, dense fog smothered our destination. Fortunately the skies were clear to Alamosa--from there we could rent a car if necessary.

Complicating the situation, however, were powerful winds aloft. For the moment we rocketed along at 180 knots, a happy number rarely seen in our modest Flying Carpet, a Cessna 182. But those gales had better diminish before we reached Colorado's high mountain passes, or the long detour over Albuquerque would be required to bypass their angry turbulence. If that happened, who knew where we'd end up?

Luckily, the ridge-top winds dropped below 25 kt just as we reached Cumbre Pass through the snowy San Juan Mountains. Relieved of that concern, I was suddenly filled with memories. At this very spot five years ago, a gangly teen pilot had lamented another year of high school before he could attend the U.S. Air Force Academy. Afterwards came more Colorado journeys: cadet orientation, spring break, and four successive Parents Weekends. "How can Austin be graduating already?" I asked Jean with a lump in my throat.

Entering the San Luis Valley, I radioed flight watch for the umpteenth time. Now only the Sangre de Cristo Mountains separated us from Colorado Springs, but still our destination languished in cold clouds and mist. With no pilot reports available, I prepared to land at Alamosa. But then I had an idea.

"Is Colorado Springs in your airspace?" I asked the Denver Center controller monitoring our flight. Indeed it was, so I inquired about cloud tops, icing, and whether other airplanes were successfully completing instrument approaches to our destination. "For the moment, everyone's getting into 'Springs," he replied. "Tops are at 9,000 feet, with above-freezing temperatures and negative icing reported on the approach."

The minimum en route altitude for instrument flying from Alamosa, however, was 14,000 feet. "La Veda Pass appears clear," I radioed. "Can you arrange an instrument flight clearance on the other side?" He did. We navigated the pass visually, and once east of the Rockies skimmed a porcelain cloud deck. Joining the instrument landing system on the approach to Colorado Springs, we descended with painful slowness into the soup.

"Please call the runway in sight," I asked Jean so I could concentrate on the instruments, "and cross your fingers that the weather holds until we get there." Six eternal minutes later the runway materialized a mere 300 feet below us. We touched down elated but shivering; it was 40 degrees cooler here than in Phoenix.

Of course our flying ordeals had been nothing compared to the grueling academic and military challenges endured by Austin over the past four years. Along with demanding classwork and intense physical training, the terrorist attacks of September 11, 2001, had deepened his mission and strengthened his character. A mature and confident young man greeted us upon arrival.

At the Graduation Parade the next morning, we watched formations of soon-to-graduate "firsties" break ranks with their squadrons and march symbolically toward new lives as military officers. Then we hosted an honored guest for dinner. At our son's request, Col. Merrick Krause, an Academy grad himself, had flown out from Washington to commission Austin as an officer. Tradition calls for swearing-in at the first allowable moment--holding back tears Jean and I pinned on our son's second lieutenant bars at 12:01 a.m. on graduation day.

Just a few hours later we reconvened bleary-eyed at Falcon Stadium for the main event. Before proud parents and friends, the smartly uniformed cadets marched in precise formation to seats on the stadium floor. I could only imagine their emotions upon receiving their commencement address from the vice president of the United States. A cobalt queue soon snaked to the podium, and as the final graduates shook the vice president's hand and received their diplomas, cameras and voices rose throughout the stadium.

"Congratulations, Class of 2005," boomed the announcer. "You are dismissed!" Nine hundred and six glistening white parade caps flew simultaneously skyward. I never saw the F-16s skim overhead, just quaked in their powerful shadows at the instant of passing. The swoop of the Fighting Falcons marked the graduation of this year's cadets into Air Force officers and opened the traditional congratulatory airshow.

As the Air Force Thunderbirds rocketed overhead, our son joined us in the stands smoking a celebratory cigar. "Austin, will you look back this afternoon when leaving the Academy for the last time?" Jean asked between hugs.

"No, Mom," he replied. "It was a great experience, but I'm ready to move on--I'll soon be flying jets!"

The next morning, Jean and I dodged snow-slathered 14,000-foot peaks at Wolf Creek Pass to drop Hannis at Durango for a friend's wedding before proceeding to Phoenix. After so many weather difficulties along this route, for once only a modest headwind impeded our progress homeward. May the skies ahead for one young Academy grad and his many fine classmates prove equally smooth and sweet.

Greg Brown was the 2000 National Flight Instructor of the Year. His books include Flying Carpet, The Savvy Flight Instructor, The Turbine Pilot's Flight Manual, Job Hunting for Pilots, and You Can Fly! Visit his Web site.