Senior Editors Jill W. Tallman and Dave Hirschman are making the trek to Oshkosh for the really big show—should they fly over Lake Michigan or not?
I’ll take the scenic route
Leave Lake Michigan to the ships
By Jill W. Tallman
Not just “no,” but “heck, no.” That’s how I feel about flying a 51-year-old engine over Lake Michigan en route to EAA AirVenture.
I’m not too proud to bring John and Martha King into the argument. The Kings are huge proponents of managing risk factors in flight. Following their example, I believe there are enough risks inherent in flying a small piston aircraft that I try very hard to manage the risks I can control. In addition to practicing good airmanship, that means I don’t fly IFR at night, and it means I don’t overfly 70 nautical miles of cold (very cold) water when an overland route is available.
Let’s talk about that water for a moment. Lake Michigan warms up to a whopping 60 degrees in July. Not exactly bathtub temperature. Assuming a successful ditching—which is a big assumption in a fixed-gear airplane—the prospect of bobbing like a very cold cork in a life vest while waiting for the U.S. Coast Guard to arrive is not a happy one.
Even if I climb to a good gliding distance, how many great landing spots could there be on either side of that lake? I’d rather not have to find out.
From Frederick Municipal Airport (FDK) to Outagamie County Regional Airport (ATW) in Appleton, Wisconsin—about 16 nautical miles north of Oshkosh—flying direct and over the lake is 570 nautical miles, or about six hours of flying in my 1964 Piper Cherokee 140. So a fuel stop is mandatory anyway. Sure, zigzagging around the lake adds a chunk of time to my flying day, but flying direct is not going to save me a huge amount of time if a fuel stop already is required.
I have flown over Lake Michigan in GA aircraft on several occasions. The first time, in Editor in Chief Tom Haines’ Beech Bonanza A36, I could not stop looking for cargo ships. In the event of a ditching, how long would it take one of those slow-moving behemoths to spot us and come to our aid?
Zipping across in a Bonanza is one thing. In my Cherokee, which cruises at 110 knots or so, that amount of time could easily become 20 minutes to a half-hour with headwinds. That’s too long to spend gripping the yoke and listening to the engine—wait, what was that? Was that a hiccup? A very smart colleague of mine says, “The risk is small—but it’s not zero, and there’s no real payoff for taking it.”
Isn’t flying to Oshkosh supposed to be fun? Of course, it is. So I’ll take the scenic route.
Email [email protected]
Go jump (over) a lake
Come on, the water’s fine
By Dave Hirschman
As the aviation world prepares to convene in Oshkosh, Lake Michigan confronts pilots arriving from the east or northeast with a stark choice: to fly over it, or around it. Even though I fly single-engine, piston airplanes, I usually opt for “over,” and here’s why.
First, there’s typically only about 20 minutes of exposure. An airplane cruising at 150 knots can cover the roughly 70 nautical miles from western Michigan to Wisconsin in less than 30 minutes. If you fly at 10,000 feet, you’re within gliding distance of shore for about 10 of those minutes. Assuming your engine is operating normally, weather conditions are good, and there’s plenty of fuel in the tanks, it seems reasonable to expect the engine to continue chugging along.
Second, the Second City. Chicago, on the lake’s south shore, has some of the world’s busiest airspace, and there’s little chance of a VFR clearance into the Class B there. Even when flying IFR, expect to be routed to the (appropriately named) BRAVE intersection over the middle of the lake. A Chicago skyline tour is a scenic compromise—but that, too, gets crowded, especially during AirVenture week. And the bustling waterfront presents few good emergency landing sites (except, of course, the “park” where Meigs Field used to be).
Third, there’s good ATC radar and radio coverage over the lake in both Milwaukee and Muskegon approach airspace. In the rare case of a catastrophic engine failure, you can declare an emergency, squawk 7700, and have confidence that a search will begin promptly—and that rescuers will know right where to look.
Fourth, the water’s fine. OK, the surface water temperature is typically in the low 70s at its summer peak. That’s not the Caribbean, but it’s plenty survivable. And no sharks here.
Finally, crossing the world’s sixth-largest lake gives me a chance to wear the stylish FAA-approved flotation device I’ve carried on many overwater flights but, thankfully, have kept dry. It’s the aviation equivalent of an umbrella. As long as I carry it, I’ll probably never need it.
If you opt to fly across the water, and you (or your passengers) want to relax during those anxious minutes beyond gliding distance from shore, try this: Go to the moving map on your GPS or tablet, and zoom out—way out. The lake looks so much smaller when it only covers an inch on your display.
Email [email protected]
Related Articles
