I was a brand-new CFI running my own flight program outside of Grand Rapids, Michigan, teaching in a 1952 straight-tail Cessna 150. I had been working with my one and only student for a few months, and we were in the throes of cross-country training. We planned a 59-nm trip from Lowell City Airport to Clare Municipal Airport.
After a weather briefing we decided to shove off in the early afternoon to the north. It was a sunny day with typical West Michigan winter lake-effect snow showers moving in off of the lake. Part of the cross-country training was learning how to navigate around the big, beautiful, isolated snow drapes.
After our arrival we filled the fuel tanks and checked the weather again. The weather had not changed: sunny with isolated snow showers. As we cranked the engine, a snow shower moved in over the airport. We shut down and waited it out. By the time we took off it was about 4 p.m., and we headed south with plenty of fuel for our estimated 45-minute flight home.
A half-hour into the flight we came upon a large wall of snow that extended from Lake Michigan and proceeded many miles inland. There was no going around this one. We flew along the snow line looking for a break and made a number of attempts to punch through, with no luck. The sun would set at 5:30 p.m. so we had an hour of sunlight left. We opted to divert to a different airport.
As we approached our alternate, we were again blocked by snow. We selected a new alternate and were again blocked by snow. The area where we were flying was beautiful, with blue sky above us and perfect visibility, but it seemed as though the snow showers wanted to fence us in.
With a half-hour of sunlight left, I told my student that I would take the aircraft. I contacted Grand Rapids Approach and explained our predicament. Approach suggested the same airports that we had already tried and I said it was no good. The sun had slipped below the snow clouds, and they became menacing and ominous.
There was very little light left when I told approach I would be making a precautionary off-airport landing in a large field. I was not too keen on avoiding snow showers at night in a VFR aircraft; I chose to bow out before the situation got any worse. The tower said he would contact the local police and then gave me a phone number to call when we were on the ground. Finally, he wished me luck.
I overflew our selected field to look for potholes or debris, and with the second pass executed a soft-field landing. There was about an inch of snow on the ground as we rolled to a stop on top of a small hill. After exchanging high fives and a brief hug with my student, we egressed and secured the little airplane. I tidied the cockpit and clipped the seatbelts, knowing the local authorities and the FAA would eventually be out to investigate.
It was a mile to the nearest road where we flagged down a pickup truck and climbed inside. “You the pilots who just landed in my field?” asked the driver.
“Yep,” I said and began to apologize when he exclaimed, “That was the most amazing thing I have seen in a long time around here!” He was a supplier to a large potato chip company, and he gave each of us a bag of freshly made potato chips to munch on. They were delicious.
I called the tower number to notify them we were safely on the ground. The following weekend I drove back out to the Cessna with my boss, and to our surprise, the farmer had plowed a mile-long runway in his field for me. Flying home, I realized I had a lot to learn as a new CFI and was thankful that I was given opportunities to make good decisions in deteriorating circumstances.
Later that week I got a call from the FAA. The investigator said I was lucky no one was hurt and there was no property or aircraft damage. I agreed and felt a little discouraged. Finally, he said, with all things considered and after talking it over with other FAA inspectors, they “applauded my decision” but to “never do it again.”
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