Waiting in a winter wonderland
A large Canadian high was the dominant feature in the weather for the Midwest. That meant clear, cold weather with a smooth ride--almost ideal. Conditions were forecast to remain that way for about five days.
After getting our briefing and filing our IFR flight plan, I preflighted the airplane, a 1978 Cessna 172, loaded the luggage and our dog, and launched out of Spirit of St. Louis Airport for Waukegan Regional. I remember thinking that it was almost silly to file an IFR flight plan, as the forecast was for clear skies and cold temperatures all the way.
En route, I noticed that there was a widely scattered stratus layer that had not been in the forecast. It was scattered enough and thin enough that I easily avoided the few clouds. Since they were thin and wispy, and with the outside air temperature hovering at minus 25 degrees Celsius, I actually flew through one or two of them since they seemed so inconsequential--I could see right through them. When I flew through one of these clouds, I really didn't perceive anything, although I could have sworn that I heard the ice crystals brushing past the airplane--strictly my imagination, I'm sure. In the afternoon sun they were quite beautiful and magical to see.
That evening, while watching the news at my in-laws'home, I started learning about what those pretty cirro-stratus clouds were all about. The meteorologist explained how the jet stream was really going to get deflected to the south, pick up a lot of Pacific Ocean moisture and actually carry it, along with warmer temperatures, all the way to Chicago.
After spending a wonderful holiday with my wife's family and a lot of our friends, it was time to start thinking about getting back to St. Louis. On Christmas night, I called for an outlook briefing. The briefer gave me the news--low IFR, with a pretty good probability of icing in the clouds in the Chicago area, and with St. Louis showing scattered to broken. But try again in the morning, and have a nice rest of the holiday.
The next morning, I called Flight Service again, asking for a standard briefing. Nope--low IFR all the way down to Springfield, Illinois, with pilot reports of icing in the clouds, tops at 2,500, clear above. Temperature zero Celsius at the surface, with a major inversion above, 15 degrees Celsius at 6,000 feet--the overlying warm, moist Pacific air was on top of the cold-soaked ground. Well that's OK, we'll just call the FBO in St. Louis, tell them we're stuck, and we'll ship our gifts to our house.
That evening, I asked for another outlook briefing. Same deal as before. I had some vacation time banked, so it wasn't an issue for me, but my wife had to get back to work. We booked her on a flight for early the next morning. And if I could get out anyway, well, she would be home ahead of me and we could go out for dinner.
Next morning, December 27, I got up early and called for a standard briefing. When the briefer heard the route of flight and the tail number, all he could say was, "Sorry, but we still have that massive inversion," and then gave me the brief.
The next outlook briefing sounded hopeful. Temperatures were supposed to go up to around the 9-degree-Celsius mark, with broken clouds in Chicago and broken clouds in St. Louis. On December 28, I got up early and called for a briefing. Not ideal, but it could be done. My alternate would have to be Lambert Field in St. Louis, but OK, this would work.
I packed my stuff, and my father-in-law took the dog and me to the FBO at Waukegan Regional. I'd thrown my stuff in the airplane, and it was just down to getting the plane preflighted and loading the dog. I called for one last abbreviated briefing and to file the flight plan. Great! No forecast for icing, no pireps that indicated icing, tops reported at 2,000 feet, clear above. Of course, it never occurred to me that maybe there weren't any pireps because the airplanes that were flying were those that would blast right through the layer without having a chance to accrete anything.
As I was preflighting, a Lear flew the ILS Runway 23 approach, landed, and taxied to the FBO. Just about the time I was sumping the right tank, the captain of the jet came over and said, "Hey, you want to see something?" With that, he took me to the leading edge of his airplane's wing, showed me some clear ice, and said, "Picked that up during the descent on the ILS." So much for the lack of pireps and favorable forecasts. I unloaded the airplane, and back to the house we went.
The following morning, things were looking OK out my in-laws'window. I called Flight Service, gave my tail number and type, and asked for a standard briefing for an IFR flight to Spirit of St. Louis. Instead of the standard reading, the briefer said, "So you're going to do this in a piston single, huh?"
"Er, uh, why?" I asked.
"Well," he replied, "Springfield says that they can't see 10 feet past the tower cab windows." Oh. OK. Thanks....
This continued, in various forms, through New Year's. I did manage to launch on December 30. The only way the flight would work, given the forecast ceilings, would be to fly to Rockford, Illinois, top off, and then fly to Spirit of St. Louis. After reaching Rockford, I called FSS for an update. Lambert's ceilings were now forecast to be 500 feet--too low to be my alternate. Back to Waukegan to be picked up for another night.
Finally, on January 2, I called Kankakee for yet another outlook briefing. Upon hearing my tail number, the briefer said, "Holy cow! Are you still there!? Look, I think we can get you out of there in the morning." The outlook briefing indicated that things looked good. The layer was forecast to be only 500 feet thick, with temperatures above freezing from the surface up to flight level 180. I thanked the briefer and went to bed.
The next morning, the sky was what Kodak used to call "hazy bright" as the sun rose. I called FSS and, again, got a standard briefing. It still looked good--a thin layer in Chicago, two miles in haze at Springfield, with clear skies forecast in St. Louis. Temperatures were still above freezing. Happy days! I filed the flight plan to Springfield, where I planned to top off so I could have lots more options at St. Louis; called the FBOs at Waukegan and Spirit of St. Louis and told them that I was going to try again; and loaded up my father-in-law's car for the trip to the airport.
After preflighting the plane, I called the Kankakee FSS one more time. When I gave the briefer, the same one that told me of the zero/zero conditions at Springfield a few days earlier, my tail number and asked for an update for the route, he gave it to me and then said, "If you're ready--get going! Milwaukee just reported a drop in temperature. You should be good to go, but don't waste time."
With that, the dog I strapped in and launched. In contrast to the temperatures on the trip from St. Louis, I was actually overdressed at altitude; I was seeing 18 degrees Celsius on the thermometer at 6,000 feet. And once above the overcast/ haze layer, the sky was a deep, deep blue, and visibility was infinite.
So, what lessons did I learn? First, have confidence in my own doubts. I've underplayed the pressure that other pilots were putting on me, as a relatively new instrument pilot, to make the flight back. To this day, I will always be grateful that my instructor backed up my decision not to launch; this is something I have vowed to do as an instructor myself.
Second, listen to experience, if you don't know enough to listen to your own inner voices. I probably owe my life to that Learjet pilot. It felt raw and nasty out on the ramp, but the lack of pireps and the favorable forecast overrode my feelings, which I thought weren't valid because of inexperience as an IFR pilot.
And finally, it's OK to be delayed. My wife made it back to work via alternate means; I never heard a word from anyone at work myself, other than "Too bad you had to use your vacation time that way. Glad you're back OK."
"Learning Experiences" is presented to enhance safety by providing a forum for students and pilots to learn from the experiences of others. It is intended to provoke thought and discussion, acknowledging that actions taken by the authors were not necessarily the best choices under the circumstances. We encourage you to discuss any questions you have about a particular scenario with your flight instructor.
