Where was it coming from?
My wife and I had planned to fly to Sky Bryce, a private airport at Bryce Resort in northwestern Virginia, near the West Virginia state border, for a unique dining experience with our two children. This had been the proposal for several weeks, and we finally set a date for an upcoming Friday afternoon. I had been faithfully watching the weather each day and was satisfied that our trip would be free of adverse conditions, including the threat of thunderstorms.
I was driving home from work the morning of our scheduled trip (I work nights) that long-anticipated Friday when I noticed the sky seemed abnormally hazy, a condition I was not expecting. I had been around weather long enough to rule out any form of early morning fog, and no precipitation fell the previous night that might have contributed to the conditions. The mountains not far to the south and west were scarcely visible, and I estimated less than 10 miles visibility.
I hoped that as the day progressed the anomalous condition would improve for our scheduled flight in the afternoon. I drove home and scurried into bed. Of course, I allowed time for proper planning prior to leaving for the airport.
As I was awakened by the chirping of the alarm clock, I peered out of the window. To my dismay, I discovered conditions had not improved in the slightest. I consulted my computer for the weather forecast and local conditions around my home airport in Winchester, Virginia, 35 nm to the northeast of Sky Bryce. There were scattered clouds with areas of precipitation. Storms prevailed just over the West Virginia border, but they seemed to be moving on a northeasterly path, kept on track by the Allegheny Mountains. There was no development forecast for our area or at any location over the route of our flight. That was the good news. A steady increase in the humidity level was forecast as the afternoon progressed. I could live with that, but the air just seemed impassable to me even though I could see a light blue sky overhead.
Information obtained from aviation weather, DUATS, and the briefer suggested the weather would not pose a hazard to the flight, and so we would stick to our plans. Upon arriving at the Winchester Regional Airport I checked weather yet again for anything that I might have missed and the accuracy of the briefer's information; nothing had changed during the 30 minutes it took us to drive there. Given my relative inexperience as a pilot I am overly cautious, but I was convinced it was safe to fly, although our view would be limited to the immediate ground below us for the most part.
I performed my usual preflight inspection of the rental aircraft, a Cessna 172, as my wife secured our children in the backseat. It was not long after 3 p.m. when we took to the sky on a southwest heading toward New Market where we would meet some friends before continuing on to Sky Bryce, a mere 10 nautical miles to the northwest.
As we climbed to our cruising altitude of 3,000 feet msl, the sky was an abysmal gray in color, something I had never witnessed previously but often read about in aviation safety periodicals--the conditions, however, were usually associated with clouds. The ground took on a shade of pale gray as well. I had flown to New Market many times and could probably fly without ever having to reference the ground on a clear day. The visibility required that I keep a close eye on Interstate 81 and stay as close to it as possible since there are two mountains that parallel the interstate for most of the trip. I could not see either mountain, and both were within a few miles of the arterial road.
The flight only took about 30 minutes to reach New Market, and conditions had not appreciably improved. I knew the location of the airport and descended until I recognized a large turkey farm that sprawled next to it. I could not make out the runway, however, until the aircraft was nearly on the downwind leg. Something far more than haze and humidity had embraced the region. I knew at our current state we would not make it to Sky Bruce since I would have no way of navigating through the mountains.
We landed and waited with high hopes that our situation would improve and our flight back to Winchester would be a grade better than the trip down. We met up with our friends who are part-time caretakers of the field during the summer months. They are retired now, one as an airline captain, and travel up from Florida each year. Conversations with them are rich with summaries of current affairs, news events, and gossip, But we always find ourselves digressing from whatever topic we happen to be discussing to aviation. We talked about the degree of obscuration and what the contributing factor might be. Together we came up with no viable explanation. Sometime during the course of our conversation I noticed the sky above seemed to unveil for the moment as blue sky was revealed, but still not enough to quell my trepidation. As the afternoon passed I became concerned that an embedded thunderstorm might make its way across the mountains and decided we should head back to Winchester. Dinner would have to wait for another day.
We said our goodbyes, piled back into the Cessna, and climbed into the hazy sky. I thought it might be best to climb above the drab clamminess and chose a VFR altitude of 5,500 feet heading northeast. The higher we climbed the less visible the ground became until we could no longer discern the interstate from the Shenandoah River. It was time to descend back to 3,000 feet. At one point the atmosphere seemed to close around us so tightly that I experienced spatial disorientation and had to refer to the instruments to maintain straight-and-level flight. I could see the ground better after we had descended, and tuned to AWOS for conditions at Winchester as we flew in range. According to the automated weather observation system, visibility was five miles, still within VFR regulations.
This was not the flying event I had hoped for and predicted a week ago. Constant attention had to be divided between the ground and the instruments to make a safe return. We eventually landed safely at Winchester and were happy to be back on the ground. When a pilot is happy to be back on the ground it is an insight into the horrid conditions aloft. I was still burdened with the question of "What was going on?" Later, as I loafed in front of the television watching the news, I finally discovered what had happened: A southerly flow of moisture moved in during the previous night, ushering smoke from North Carolina wildfires into our area--where it settled and made for nearly IFR flying.
What did I learn from this? I walked away with an experience that will be indelibly etched in my memory--and one that will buffer me from making similar decisions down the road.
"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.
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