Around the Patch: Voices in your head

Sometimes it’s the voice of a Flight Training contributor. Flying from Frederick, Maryland, to Lancaster, Pennsylvania—a one-hour trip in my Piper Cherokee 140—I recalled Budd Davisson’s challenge to fly each leg as precisely as possible—no altitude wavering and no meandering five or 10 degrees off heading. I also thought about contributor Wally Miller’s 2002 advice about planning for the unexpected: “As you fly along over trees and built-up areas, visualize where the Jolly Green Giant might place his feet if he were walking over the terrain you’re overflying. Then look for his ‘footprints’—clearings or other possible landing areas—the most useful of which might be behind you when your engine fails.”

In late August 2016, I flew down to Savannah, Georgia, a day or so before the onset of Tropical Storm Hermine. Approaching Savannah/Hilton Head International Airport, an ominous white-misted clump of rain loomed to the southwest, but I landed just ahead of raindrops. The FBO moved my airplane into a hangar for the next two days as the storm lashed the low country.

I tracked the storm’s passage up the East Coast into North Carolina and Virginia, and departed Savannah on a brilliant blue-sky Saturday morning, confident that I could pass behind the weather without having to veer too far west. Using ForeFlight and a Stratus receiver to keep a close eye on radar displays, I enjoyed the greater-than-forecast tailwind as I sailed toward my fuel stop. When I touched down at Raleigh Executive Jetport at Sanford-Lee County near Raleigh, North Carolina, the skies had clouded over, but it appeared conditions would be VFR all the way home to Maryland.

They were—and then they weren’t. I had requested flight following and noticed that the ceilings were lower than forecast—4,000 feet. And now there were rainshowers popping up to the west and east of my route. At first I skirted them easily. Then they began to mushroom. Finally, I saw a line of showers directly ahead—and I could not see through to the other side.

Raleigh Approach had just handed me off to Washington Center, and I had been trying to check in. I turned the airplane 180 degrees and flipped the frequency back to Raleigh Approach. The controller was calling my N number. “I noticed you turned around,” he said.

“I turned around to maintain VFR,” I said. I hit the NRST button on the Garmin 496 on my yoke. A list of identifiers came up, and in my growing state of stress the letters and compass headings looked like another language. Which would be the best one? Which direction would take me to VFR conditions, and which would put me in harm’s way? Could I get back to Raleigh Executive?

And then another voice spoke up in my brain. Use all available resources.

The controller asked, “Do you need help?”

“Can you direct me to an airport that’s VFR?” I asked.

He asked me a few more questions and gave me radar vectors to Person County Airport in Roxboro, North Carolina. He stayed with me on the frequency until I spotted the airport and started a descent to pattern altitude. In the 10 minutes it took to fly to Person County, I probably thanked him three times. On the ground, I tried to wait out the weather and ended up spending the night there—something I’ve done before and, until I get instrument current, I’ll likely do again.

Pay attention to those helpful voices of reason when you’re flying. Challenge yourself to be a better pilot on each flight. And don’t forget to call on that voice on the other side of the microphone, if you find yourself in conditions that make you uncomfortable.