Waypoints: To minimums, really?

Meanwhile, the miles to go and the estimated time enroute marched down smartly as a 30-knot tailwind propelled my Beechcraft Bonanza along at 200 knots groundspeed at 9,000 feet. AOPA Live Executive Producer Warren Morningstar was in the left seat as we considered options. We were on top in severe clear and a smooth ride. Below were a few scattered clouds, but farther northeast, tenacious low clouds hugged the coast. Our circuitous routing around the New York City airspace had us passing directly over Providence, Rhode Island, which was reporting marginal VFR—a safe bet should we miss on the approach to Plymouth. We both agreed that at the reported 200 feet, there was no sense in trying the approach.

The terminal aerodrome forecast (TAF) suggested conditions at Plymouth would be marginal VFR by 11 a.m. We had delayed our departure an hour already. With the tailwind we would be arriving at Plymouth around 10:30 a.m. Yes, we could pull the throttle back, but, hey, how often do you get a tailwind like that?

If we didn’t see an improvement at Plymouth, we agreed to land at Providence and wait awhile. However, updated weather from the Providence controller reported the ceiling at 300 feet. Progress. We decided to give it a shot at Plymouth.

During the descent, we briefed the approach and talked through the missed approach procedure as well as the immediate action items when going missed. I loaded the approach in the Garmin GTN 750, overlaying the approach procedure on the moving map, and backed it up on the GNS 530. We both also had the procedure displayed on our iPads. Morningstar set the minimums reminder in the Garmin G500 at 450 feet, as close to 446 as we could get.

Cleared for the approach, I activated the procedure in the GTN as we progressed toward the initial approach fix at 2,000 feet msl, just skimming the cloud tops. Morningstar requested one more check of the automated weather at Plymouth. The ceiling was up to 400 feet. We just went from “unlikely” to “perhaps.”

The glidepath marker descended out of the top of the display right on schedule as we approached BURRK intersection, where Morningstar put in approach flaps and lowered the gear—and down we went into the murk. The winds at 2,000 feet were out of the northwest at about 22 knots, but on the ground they were out of the west at about 12 knots. We anticipated some bumps on the way down and were not disappointed. Morningstar did his best in the bumps to anchor the green flightpath marker from the synthetic vision to the end of the simulated runway while monitoring the HSI, speed, glidepath, and altitude.

I had found a frequency for the pilot-controlled lighting in the U.S. chart supplement (airport/facility directory for us geezers) on my iPad, clicked the mic more times than necessary to bring up the lights, and then announced our position on the common traffic advisory frequency. My eyes were locked out the window with an occasional glance over at the primary flight display to monitor our progress. I crosschecked our altitude at the intermediate fix—right at 780 feet.

Soon out of the corner of my eye I began to see the ground out the side window.

Pilots all the time say they broke out “right at minimums” and you can’t help but wonder—was it really that low? Or, was it actually lower and perhaps they cheated a little? With such a high decision altitude on this approach—300 feet above the ground—one could understand the temptation to cheat a little. I, however, could not imagine descending below a more typical 200-foot decision height without the airport in sight.

But on this day, no need to cheat. Just as the nice Garmin lady said “Minimums, Minimums,” I saw the runway end identifier lights and called “runway in sight, continue” to Morningstar.

“I’ve got it now,” he said a couple of beats later, and a few seconds after that we were on the runway, rolling past an Eclipse jet waiting to take off at the nontowered airport.

As we exited the runway, I called Boston Approach on the remote frequency and canceled our flight plan. A minute later the Eclipse blasted off into the clag.

Just another day at a busy GA airport.

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