Waypoints: Thanks for the delay

This year we were spared the tornadoes we endured a decade ago when a twister ripped across the campus. Thunderstorms didn’t dampen the show this year, but there were still plenty around to the north that hindered those attempting to fly in or depart.

My arrival the day before the show opened was uneventful, with the efficient staff at Skyport Aviation at Tampa Executive Airport welcoming me and my passengers to their mostly vacant ramp on that April Monday. Typically, on the day before the show, there would be dozens of airplanes already in place. But this year, my Bonanza doubled the number on the ramp. I wondered if this was a signal that the show was going to be a bust.

But it was not.

Attendance was good throughout the week—greater than many of the exhibitors had anticipated. The number of exhibitors was down as some larger companies dealt with corporate travel bans thanks to COVID-19 concerns. Still, the number of exhibitors was respectable and those I spoke with were satisfied with the crowds (see “Briefing: Airshows”).

Sunday’s weather at the end of the show didn’t look promising, so Elizabeth Tennyson, executive director of the AOPA You Can Fly program, joined me for a Saturday departure, which presented its own weather challenges. A stationary front stretched across the northern Gulf of Mexico and all the way across Florida from just north of Tampa to the Atlantic Ocean.

My usual plan is to depart early in the morning ahead of when the thunderstorms crop up, but in this case, they raged all night. Early on Saturday, a series of strong storms was shuttling along the front as we attempted to pick up an IFR clearance from Tampa approach control for our trip north to Maryland. The weather was vacillating between marginal VFR and IFR at Tampa Executive, worse to the north, so departing VFR was not an option. The Tampa Approach frequency was jammed, with the overwhelmed controller telling everyone particularly at Executive to use the phone to call in for a clearance. Of course, the phone line was also busy, but eventually we got our clearance and taxied out, number five in line for takeoff. After a time, we figured out that the phone was also the way to pick up the IFR release when number one and ready to go.

With the SiriusXM weather off the satellite, we could watch the storms progressing up north. As we waited, the line of storms began to split apart. What had looked like a difficult flight was beginning to look easier. But then a series of dots began trailing behind the first storms—dots that soon went from green to yellow and then a few to red. It was a thin line, but seemed to be growing quickly, threatening to fill the gap.

After about an hour we got our release and off we went. As we headed north, the controllers were masterful in providing guidance, assuring that a gap was still open in the line. We passed through at 7,000 feet, hardly touching a cloud. Once on the other side, though, we saw another large area of green and yellow in our path. Again, the controller assured it would be to the east by the time we got there, and sure enough, she was right. We motored northeastward without encountering any rain. By the time we got to Savannah, the skies had cleared, and we were enjoying a beautiful view of the coast and a few knots of tailwind.

Over the decades, I’ve flown the route between Maryland and Florida probably 100 times, with Florence, South Carolina, often the fuel stop in the middle. I’ve come to expect wind and bumps on the way down, and this flight didn’t disappoint. We taxied in behind the same Cirrus that had left just ahead of us at Tampa. They were headed to Manassas, Virginia, just southwest of Washington.

With the tanks full, we headed northeastward where the clouds cropped up again and soon at 9,000 feet, we were on top of an overcast that stretched up to about 8,500 feet. As we approached the descent point, I flipped on the pitot heat. Good thing, because as soon as we entered the cloud tops, rime ice began forming on the windshield. We exited the layer at about 7,000 feet with just a little frosting on the wings. It dissipated as we continued the descent, touching down in Frederick to a chilly northwesterly breeze, quite a change from the nearly 90-degree temperatures in Lakeland.

Despite COVID, Sun ’n Fun was, well, fun, and as always, Mother Nature didn’t disappoint with the usual springtime weather buffet.

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