Always learning

I’d waited three months to fly the airplane from Minute Man Air Field (6B6) in Stow, Massachusetts, to Aurora Municipal Airport (ARR) in Aurora, Illinois, to have its avionics gutted and replaced. The Tiger was donated in November; its annual inspection not finished until January; and winter storms repeatedly blocked my route of flight in early February. The avionics shop requested the airplane arrive by February 8 to install the upgrades and fly to Sun ’n Fun by April 13. The clock was ticking.

On February 10, already behind schedule, I finally began my journey west—toward another approaching winter storm. Although the Tiger had no installed ADS-B In or SiriusXM Aviation weather, my iPad and iPhone both powered an electronic flight bag (EFB) sporting FIS-B weather (see “ADS-B and FIS-B,” aopa.org/ft/fis-b). It’s important to know the radar images received through FIS-B are not real-time. The delay of 15 minutes or more from the time the radar images are captured to when they appear on your device means you should use the info strategically (to see the big picture), rather than tactically (trying to fly between areas of heavy precipitation).

My flight was truncated by the approaching snow, so I overnighted in Williamsport, Pennsylvania. After the snow stopped the next morning, the weather was clear all the way to Aurora. I anticipated an easy afternoon arrival—a few hours before another round of light snow was forecast to move into the Chicago area from the north.

As I entered Illinois, snow began to fall over Chicago, as expected. Thankfully, my destination was well southwest of the city, and still clear. Just 50 miles from Aurora, however, I spotted precipitation not appearing on the radar—a wall of snow falling from the clouds all the way to the ground with zero visibility through it.

The radar indicated I could easily outflank the isolated snow by flying southwest, circling north, and then approaching Aurora from the west. Big picture assessed, strategy set, and alternate landing spot Greater Kankakee Airport (IKK) in the clear to the south, I went for the end run. But despite the clear path visible on the radar, no end to the solid line of snow appeared in real life. I decided to land at Kankakee to come up with a better plan.

I was achingly close to my destination, and aware I was susceptible to the powerful effects of get-home-itis. Getting stuck in Kankakee overnight could delay the project far longer than just one more day—the temperature was going to drop below 10 degrees Fahrenheit for the next several days and the airport had no engine preheaters, or hangars, available to keep the airplane warm. It would be extremely difficult to start the airplane until the frigid temps subsided. I called AOPA’s weather expert Tom Horne to ask about the disconnect between the radar images and reality. “Sometimes radar struggles to depict snow accurately,” was his observation.

I decided to make one more attempt to circumnavigate the snow before the sun set, promising myself I would not get lured into visibility less than 5 miles to avoid accidentally flying into a snow squall. There are too many stories about inadvertent VFR flight into instrument conditions, and they rarely end well. I flew the route the radar showed would provide a clear path to my destination, but the wall of snow remained. Frustrated and annoyed, I admitted defeat and returned to Kankakee to expose the Tiger to its inevitable deep freeze.

The next morning dawned clear and crisp. The FBO surprised me by finding a heated hangar to help thaw the Tiger. Its engine started right up, and the short flight was a cinch. Through the fresh perspective of a new day, I could see arriving at Aurora the previous evening was a want, not a need. And, instead of being upset we were behind schedule, the owner of the avionics shop said he was happy I did not push my luck the previous day in tricky conditions. He correctly stated my safety was more important than any time pressures we might impose upon ourselves.