My Ticket's Wet

A few years ago three fellow flying club members had an adventure. All three had recently completed their instrument training and went out to fly around together in the clouds. They landed at Hagerstown, Maryland, and then were trapped by fog that closed in around them. A fourth club member ended up driving an hour or two -- each way -- to pick them up and drive them home, leaving the airplane behind until another day. They were henceforth known as "The Hagerstown Trio."

I was talking to one of them around that time and he told me that the whole adventure was about "getting your ticket wet." He explained that getting an instrument rating is one thing, but that there's really nothing like the feeling of descending out of the clouds to an airport. That first, real experience of flying in IMC to get somewhere was a positive one, he implied. He then told me that when I finished my instrument rating, we'd have to go out and "get my ticket wet."

* * * * *

I needed to go to court in Memphis. Memphis is in the same state as my new home – Knoxville - but Tennessee is a big state. The distance from Knoxville to Memphis is almost as long as the distance from Gaithersburg to Maine. It's a long way, and it's summer in the south, which means convective activity everywhere.

I completed my instrument rating last year, but hadn't flown in any clouds in 9 months. With a total of less than two hours of flying time in actual instrument conditions -- all with the comfort of an instructor in the right seat -- I was an IMC virgin.

The clouds were scattered to broken over most of the state, with a line of serious storms running Southwest to Northeast across the top of the state to the north of and parallel to my route -- a crimson streak on the radar depictions. With luck, I could get above most of the clouds, dodge the serious stuff, and avoid any serious instrument flying. As long as the clouds remained scattered, I could also cancel IFR if I was in the clear and divert for an early landing. The ceilings were forecast to be more than 2,000 feet, and the winds light.

I took off and climbed to 8,000 feet in the Tiger. Although it was in the 90s on the ground, it was about 55 degrees up high, so I was comfortable and enjoyed the beautiful skyscape while listening to music.



About a half hour into my flight, I asked ATC -- for the first time -- for a course deviation to go around a cumulus cloud that had shot up many thousands of feet above my altitude. I wasn't the only one -- the frequencies were full of pilots asking for deviations to go around weather. I could see most of the dangerous clouds, and my Garmin 496 with XM weather confirmed a lot of what my eyes were telling me.

Both my eyes and the 496 were telling me that the storms to my right were getting closer as I neared Memphis, and there was weather dead ahead. The Stormscope in my panel confirmed what I was seeing with a mess of little red dots to indicate lightning to my right and ahead. ATC gave me my first descent, to 6,000 feet, about 40 minutes out from Memphis. I began popping in and out of some cumulus clouds, with the attendant bumps.

Then ATC directed me to descend to 4,000 feet and I was suddenly in the thick of it. I was getting bounced around pretty well. I was in the clouds almost continuously, except for briefest flashes of dizzying sunlight when I would shoot out of one cloud and into the next. Those flashes were becoming more brief and less frequent. The turbulence was getting worse and was well into the "moderate" range. The airplane was getting tossed around and was spending a lot of time on one wing tip or the other. I cinched my seatbelt tighter and was thankful I had had the foresight to use the seatbelt to secure my flight bag on the right seat.

After being continuously "on instruments" for perhaps 15 minutes, I was sweating. I could see on my Garmin that there was moderate to heavy precipitation straight ahead. When my weather display updated, it seemed that there were more storms popping up ahead and off my right side, which my Stormscope confirmed. The turbulence was continuous.

I felt like I was in over my head, and I wanted OUT of those clouds. I knew that the ceilings around Memphis were around 2,000 feet, which was above the minimum safe altitude, so I called ATC and with a squeaky voice asked for lower. They denied my request and instructed me to fly direct to the Memphis VOR.

Denied?

Memphis VOR?

I had been navigating by GPS and had entered the clouds when I was too far from the Memphis VOR to dial it in. Although I often dial in VORs to provide navigational backup when navigating by GPS, I had been too busy flying the airplane on instruments, in turbulence, to read charts. The loose charts had been tossed by turbulence onto the floor on the other side of the plane and were no longer properly folded to show my location. I'd have to take my eyes off the instruments, lean over, reach down, get the chart, and then try to find the little symbols and letters on it that would tell me the right frequency for the VOR. All while keeping my plane (relatively) straight and level in moderate turbulence and IMC. I had no working autopilot to share the piloting.

Then, with a sigh of relief I remembered the "NRST" button on my 496. Nearest -- VOR -- there's MEM -- Enter -- Enter -- Go To -- Enter.

That got me on course, and I then dialed in the IFR-approved Apollo GX60 in my panel and both VOR receivers.

Something about accomplishing that act -- following ATC instructions, navigating, flying the airplane in bumpy, rainy weather -- something about doing all of that at the same time gave me a jolt of adrenaline and confidence. I thought, "Hell, I can do this!" And I thought of John Peake, my instrument instructor, and Bob Gawler, my DE, and the good bunch of guys that had flown with me as safety pilots during my training, and I thought, "Of course I can do this."

I burst out of a cloud into the open. I had been ignoring the music coming through my headset, but in the moment of calm before entering the next cloud, I reached over and grabbed my iPod out of the pocket of my flight bag. With a few clicks, the first beats of Aerosmith's "Just Push Play" pounded through my headset, the first in the playlist titled "Greg's Workout." I looked up at the wall of cloud coming at me at 120 knots, cinched my seatbelt tighter, and I grinned.

I loved every moment of the next ten minutes. It got dark -- dark enough that I turned up the cabin lights. (I didn't need them, but I didn't know how much darker it was going to get.) The rain sporadically pounded on the windscreen, and the turbulence took all my attention. Updrafts and downdrafts rocked the plane from one wing to the other, and it was all I could do to keep the plane within 200 feet of my assigned altitude. But I was doing it -- I was riding the beast, in dark, rainy, IMC.

My ticket was dripping wet.

Flying in "stormy" weather was one thing, but the red blotches, lightning bolts, and storm cells that my Garmin said were straight ahead was another. About ten minutes out from Memphis I broke out of the clouds and could see an airport ahead and to my left. I looked quickly to see what it was and called ATC. "Memphis Approach, Grumman 28244, I'm in the clear and am going to cancel IFR and divert to Olive Branch."

There was a new, younger voice on the frequency now. "Grumman 244, you can do that if you want, but I've got a hole in the weather off the approach end of the airport here and I was going to put you right through it. I'm showing clear over Dewitt-Spain [the airport where I was heading]." The phrase that immediately came to mind was "sucker hole." But my GPS had just refreshed the weather display and showed the same thing -- a gap in the serious weather where I could turn northwest and go to my destination. "Okay, I'll take it," I said to ATC.

A few seconds later, I re-entered the clouds and a few minutes later, ATC turned me to the northwest and told me to descend to 2,000 feet. The cloud bases were wispy -- solid enough so I couldn't see the ground most of the time, but I could sometimes see horizontally. That's how I saw the lightning. I don't know what caused me to look to my left -- maybe my fascination with the flexing of the wings -- but off to my left a jagged arc of lightning shot across the sky between clouds. It looked like it couldn't have been even one mile away. I gulped and returned my eyes to the instruments. ATC told me to descend to 1,500 feet and I broke out of the clouds at around 1,800. Then I saw my destination airport in the haze.

I landed, pulled off the runway, and opened the canopy to the hot, gusty air. I had cinched my seatbelt tighter so many times, it was embedded in my shoulder.



This was a trip I couldn't have made without my instrument rating, and it was a huge confidence booster. In fact, although I was dodging thunderstorms and spent a half hour in IMC on my trip home the next day, it was a relative non-event given my new-found confidence in my skills.

I filed IFR, took off, and headed north under the Memphis Class B shelf while I called for my clearance. They gave it to me right away and had me climb into the clouds. I was on instruments for maybe 20 minutes while I climbed to 9,000 feet and ATC routed me north to go around some weather to the east. I deviated north and south, with ATC's permission, to go around scattered convective buildups, and descended into IMC for perhaps 10 minutes on my approach into Knoxville. The ceilings were about 2,000 feet, and I cancelled IFR in the air for a visual approach.



After arguing in court and eating lunch in Memphis, a time zone away, I was back in my Knoxville office by 3:00.



I wish I had had more actual IMC during my instrument training, but I was well prepared. In fact, once I realized that I had all the necessary skills to aviate, navigate, and communicate in weather, it was actually fun. Lots of thanks to everyone who helped me with that rating!

T(h)ree

On Sunday I passed the three-year anniversary of passing my checkride and becoming a pilot. As I've done the last two years, I wanted to pause and take an inventory of the year. Here's what it looked like, at least from a statistical perspective:

• I flew 115.0 hours, compared to 114.4 hours last year.


• 77.5 of those hours were cross-country flights (with a landing more than 50NM from where I started), compared to 78.2 last year.


• I made 85 landings, compared to 112 last year.


• I carried 25 different people, 11 of whom I had never flown with previously, and 7 of which had never been in a small plane. Four of them were age 7 or younger.


• From Maine to Tennessee, and west to Indiana, I flew to 17 new (to me) airports, and landed in 13 different states. This is compared to 23 new airports last year.


• Jodie flew with me more than a third of the time, 41.3 hours, compared to 32.6 last year.


• I flew on 7 overnight trips, some for work, some for family events, and some for vacations. This is fewer than last year (11), but includes the "man-cation" with Ryan that had us at a different airport for three nights in a row.


• I obtained my instrument rating and passed the written exam for my commercial pilot's license.

That was a good year. My first commercial flight lesson was scheduled for Monday morning, the first day of my 4th year as a pilot. We ended up rescheduling until yesterday, but at least the year is off to a good start!

Friends in Afghanistan

Bill is a friend that I met years ago while practicing at a small law firm in Rockville, Maryland. We hit it off and were prone to spending hours talking about life, instead of billing. Bill is somewhat of a "pathfinder" for me. A few years older, he seemed to be just a few years ahead of me in a lot of experiences. That gave us a lot to talk about, and we did.

I left that firm to join a large law firm, and Bill decided to do something other than the practice of law. He stopped working as a lawyer and joined a consulting firm. Then he met the woman who would become his wife. Janae was just out of law school and joining the Army as a legal officer in the 101st Airborne Division. Bill made a decision and made a change: he joined the army.

There are some who might not understand why someone would give up a career as a lawyer to become a rifle-toting soldier. I get it. It's either one of those things you want to do, or it's not. I'm kind of jealous.

Now Bill is a true Pathfinder. Wikipedia defines a Pathfinder as follows:

A pathfinder is a paratrooper who is inserted or dropped into place in order to set up and operate drop zones, pickup zones, and helicopter landing sites for airborne operations, air resupply operations, or other air operations in support of the ground unit commander. Pathfinders use a wide array of skills including air traffic control, ground-to-air communications, sling load operations and inspections, and drop zone and helicopter landing zone support in order to ensure the mission is a success.

Bill and Janae have been stationed at Fort Campbell, Kentucky, for the last few years. They are both being deployed to Afghanistan, although not to the same location. They'll be stationed about 100 miles apart. Fortunately, since Bill's group is an aviation group, they will likely be able to see each other with some frequency. Since Fort Campbell is on the border between Kentucky and Tennessee, we've been emailing about getting together. The last time I had seen Bill was when I had taken him and his son flying.

With only a week before Bill and Janae left for Afghanistan, Jodie and I took off early afternoon on Friday to go visit. I planned for a flight of about 90 minutes to Outlaw Field and filed IFR even though the skies were clear. The ride out was the most uncomfortable of my flying career.

The turbulence caught me by surprise. It was not very hot -- only in the low 50s -- so I didn't expect convective turbulence. The winds aloft were only 15-20 knots, so I didn't expect significant terrain-related turbulence. Regardless of my expectations, though, it was a rough ride. In aviator-speak, there was "continuous moderate turbulence." I cinched my seatbelt down tight, but still hit my head repeatedly. I worked hard to hold our assigned altitude and heading, and sang along with "Three Little Birds" to try to reassure my passenger. "Don't worry [bang] about a thing [bam] 'cause every little thing [ba-bump-bump-BANG] gonna be alright...."

Va (design maneuvering speed) on this airplane is 112 knots at maximum gross weight. We were significantly under max gross, which meant our Va was lower. I was too busy to try to calculate what our Va actually was, so I just shot for about 100 knots. My stomach alternated between my head and my feet, and it was a big relief when we finally landed.

Bill showed us around Fort Campbell, and all of the various stationary exhibits. Some of them were immediately recognizable. Others I could not place, or even tell how they were supposed to fly. Can anyone tell me what this is?



Bill gave us a tour of a maintenance hangar where crews were working on Blackhawk helicopters.

As we left the maintenance hangar, we drove past the lines of Chinook and Blackhawk helicopters on our way to see Janae.



Back at Bill and Janae's apartment, Jodie and I looked at pictures while they changed out of their uniforms, then we headed to dinner.

It was great to spend time with them. Bill and I had the easy familiarity of old friends who can still talk about anything. All four of us chatted easily and we found ourselves frequently talking about the fun things we'll do when they get back from Afghanistan in a year. Far too quickly, it was nearly 9 p.m. and time to go home. I filed an IFR plan and we blasted off into the night sky, talking to the Fort Campbell Approach air traffic controllers.

The ride home was smooth and fast, with a slight tailwind giving us a push for most of the trip. As we headed into Knoxville, the air traffic controller vectored us south to get around the television towers that haunt Knoxville aviators, then cleared us for a visual approach. I cancelled IFR as I lined up on the river and called for a straight-in landing. Nobody else was on the radio. With the propeller windmilling, we silently descended over Neyland Stadium, the bridges across the Tennessee River, and dropped onto the runway with a bump. (Incidentally, when I shut the plane down I had exactly 350.0 hours of flying time.)

The airport beacon silently flashed its white and green welcome as we shut down and tied down the airplane. Godspeed, Bill and Janae. See you in March 2011!

Nephew Flying

In the last several months, I've spent a lot of time with my brother, Wes, my sister-in-law, Brandie, and my nephews, Emerson and Owen. Emerson is now four and has a long, well-documented history of a fascination with airplanes. Owen is now two.

One Friday a few months ago, they all came and stayed over. Saturday morning looked like a nice day, so I asked if they wanted to go to the airport. The answer, predictably, was yes. They LOVE going to the airport. Em and Owie think the DC-3 owned by Remote Area Medical (RAM) is a bomber, and they love to go see it. There was even a Saturday when they had stayed over and Emerson woke up early, so he and I went to the airport and sat in the Tiger for a while.

Despite his fascination with airplanes, however, Emerson has never wanted to go for a flight. The most he's ever done was ride in the airplane while I taxied it around with Em and Brandie.

On this particular Saturday, we went to the airport, looked at the airplanes, and pretended to fly.
Owen loved it just as much as Em, at least as long as he had Scruffy with him.
Then I asked, for maybe the 100th time, "Hey, do you guys want to go for a ride?" Em immediately said no, but to my surprise, Owen said yes. This prompted Em to reconsider and also say yes. I jumped on this opportunity as quickly as I could, and started doing quick weight and balance calculations. Fortunately, the Tiger's gas tanks were not full, and we could fly within limitations.

Emerson helped me get everything ready.

Then he settled into his car seat that I had securely strapped into the back of the plane.
Owie was young enough that he could sit on his dad's lap.
Brandie climbed in back with Emerson.
We put headsets on the boys, but they were way too big.
I took off and we flew around for 5 minutes. The air was smooth, but the visibility was not all that great.
Em's headset kept falling off, so he finally gave up and didn't put it back on.
He seemed to enjoy the flight, but he kept a firm grip on Brandie's hand.
I wanted to keep the flight short to avoid any possibility of the boys becoming scared, so after only 5 minutes or so we turned back to the airport and landed.

Man, I do love my nephews.

Arrival

We moved from the Washington, DC, area to our new home in Knoxville, Tennessee. It's a completely new environment, new home, new airport, new geology. Instead of the Chesapeake Bay and Blue Ridge Mountains, it's the Tennessee River, innumerable lakes, and the much-higher Smoky Mountains.

The sprawling metropolis of DC has been traded for a city less than one-tenth its size, and my commute went from about two hours a day to ten minutes. I spent the first month in my new office staring out the windows, at the Smoky Mountains in the distance and the Tennessee River in the foreground.

When I look upriver, I can see my new airport. The Knoxville Downtown Island Airport (KDKX) is on an island in the middle of the Tennessee River. Airplanes taking off on Runway 26 climb out over the river toward my office.

All of this made it very hard to "suffer" through the long period of time I was waiting for the Tiger to be fixed and delivered. I had delivered the Tiger to Hortman Aviation on December 1st, and it wasn't until January 10th that it was finally delivered and available for me to fly again.

On that day, it was beautiful, clear, and calm. The Tiger had been delivered the day before, and I was dying to get in the air. I left work early and headed to the airport, calling ahead to have the airplane pulled out for me (more on that later).

I taxied the airplane over to the self-serve fuel pumps and filled it up, pausing to take a picture of the city skyline. The middle of the three tall buildings in this photo, the second-tallest one, is where my office is located.

I took off and headed southeast to fly around and "get the feel" of the airplane again. It was sweet. It felt like I hadn't lost anything in six weeks of being ground-bound.

Then I headed back and started doing touch-and-gos. As the Tiger climbed up toward the west after one touchdown, I caught the sun just as it was setting.
The Smokies faded with the light as I continued around the pattern.

The sight of the Knoxville skyline reflecting the sunset caught my breath as I climbed out once again over the glassy Tennessee River.

A few more landings later, the Tiger and I felt firmly reunited. I called the FBO to put the Tiger away and slowly drive the half-mile to our new home.