IFR

Written by Alan Hoffler

Took a relaxing morning to get some sleep and shoot the breeze.  Had a decision whether to press on to TIX after church or do more local training.  Several factors, including my stress testing the airframe landings, led me to scrub the long mission in favor of a TBD one.  Church ran long and we ran longer, but I survived kid #1’s driving home to make it back for delicious steaks on the grill. 

By this time, we had decided to pursue Jesup as a destination, but after discovering our intended party to visit wasn’t there, we changed to attempt long cross country day and night.  1J0-MAI-MGM and back.  The kids were especially contentious, and the bargaining began.  I don’t know all the details of the auction block discipline that transpired, but at least 4 of the five kids were in a huff on our departure.  Clint has confided the plane is a very peaceful place.  Preflight was easier since I made one of my own checklists that I’m familiar with for the plane last night.  Weather was forecast as 6000 scattered at MGM, and partly cloudy in the local area.  Did see several cumulous buildups, but the wind was dead calm — a nice change from yesterday.  Departed runway 19 at 1J0 and scared the cows on the 27 nm trip to MAI.  Checked out the three landmarks useful for navigation: the dairy, the highway, and the prison.  Saw a beautiful rainbow and circled for pictures that didn’t turn out very well.  Landing at MAI was my best yet.  Full stop and VOR check, and we’re off to MGM.  Familiar controller didn’t even ask what a Skipper was.  We asked for 6500 and it only took us 20+ minutes to get there, weaving between the scattered layers.  At one point, we spot a shower, and Clint has us head for it to wash the windshield.  I learn about updrafts and had the best climb performance of the day.  After climb, it wasn’t long before we saw a broken layer, well below, but it quickly became overcast and rising.  We had at least two excursions around cumulous heads, and I had already settled in my mind the required approach that I assumed would be IFR into MGM.  Probably wouldn’t be able to get this classified as VFR CC.  Did get to see a pretty sunset over the clouds.  ATIS reported MGM clear, and sure enough, 25 nm out, the clouds disappeared more quickly than they started, and we had a gorgeous dusk descent and a SHORT field landing to accommodate the plane flying up our T-tail.

FBOs are nicer everywhere we go than I’m used to.  Get a snickers bar and leave a few messages, and check weather.  Briefer was a little confused at conflicting reports — forecast was for marginal VFR, but all reporting stations were clear and calm.  We’re now fully dark and ready to go.  As always, the Class D’s are a little more slack than the class C’s, and MGM is no different.  They can’t give us a VFR clearance, but tell us to taxi and they’ll work on it.  We hold short for landing traffic, and they clear us for takeoff and heading.  We depart.  About 5 minutes out, we get “cleared direct to the Miami (MIA) airport”.  Thanks, but we’ll plan to stop at Marianna (MAI).  Dyslexia and ATC don’t mix.  The line of traffic coming up I-65 into Montgomery must have been bump and roll for 20 miles — glad we were at 3000 feet and not in THAT.  Worse than marginal VFR conditions.  Night is clear, and we spot checkpoint after checkpoint and have several philosophical discussions about airplanes.  Cairns approach seems to have trouble with everyone who checks in — but these appear to be confused pilots for the most part.  One guy is VFR “level at 8”.  One guy asks for an IFR descent into an airport without an approach procedure.  But 1819R rolls on at 87 knots groundspeed.  Pass Dothan and begin to hear of folks who are in the soup.  We’re in the clear but visibility is noticeably less.  Cairns clears us for a descent we don’t ask for, but we soon see a cloud over top we suspect he steered us clear from it.  These guys are the best in the area.  We have a 3-second stint in a cloud, and ask for more descent.  This particular Cairns controller is back from his holiday, and asks us (unprompted) if we’ll land at MAI or continue on to Bonifay International.  Pretty sharp.  We finally spot MAI, now flying in class G airspace just above the deck, and go to advisory.  Clouds are easily visible above.  Grease one on with a tailwind at MAI, and since we flew low over from Bonifay, I’m confident in the same approach in reverse, albeit at night.  The low altitude and prevailing southern winds allow another sense to take in a skunk/chicken house/pulp plant for the trip home.  Also on the way MAI-1J0, Clint renews his acquaintance with the Cairns guy, who informs us his recent visit to Bonifay International left him a little short of his expectations.  While he was impressed with 1819R in the hangar, he was a little miffed that he drove his Caddy instead of his pickup since the airport road is red clay and mud.  Foggy landing on the wet runway is probably not 15 minutes (or even seconds) before the fog settles, and we are glad we didn’t shoot the breeze in MGM any more than we did.  No way I’ve have made this one solo, or without an IFR pilot.  My confidence has ballooned since my landings no longer do, and I’m pumped with another 4+ in the logbook, and my commercial 2+ >100 nm day AND night complete, and another 101 digital pics taken (263 total now).

Kids are now on restriction until each one turns 21, with kid #2 having to secure sound legal advice to avoid life confinement in his room.  Kid #3 is upset that we bought ice cream (Moose Tracks, of course!) on the way home and ate it after he went to bed, which violated the Adult Sweet Treaty of the Dirty Sock Conference held earlier in the week.  He commutes the sentence when it is noticed that he is violating curfew to investigate and report the offenders.  We are forced to use salad spoons and paper plates to even be in violation since the week change went unnoticed and whomever had kitchen duty left it in disarray.  Kid #5 waddles in with her flannel PJs to join my nightly conversation with my spouse, quantity=one, type=female.  Kid #5 now even knows her name.  Bo (the dog) probably had the best day of all, as he got steak scraps instead of dry food to eat today, and he played at least two holes of golf this morning before joining the family portrait prior to church.

Tomorrow the fog will need to burn off, but weather is forecast scattered at 6 with light winds, so I’ll be off as soon as practical to TIX, then back to 1J0 via JES on Tuesday, and the PTAOAL will end Wednesday at noon.  My eyes are sore from the sun and constant vigilance, the sleeper couch has bruised my hipbone, my ears are deaf from the din of five kids, I miss my boy and girl terribly, but will be sorry to see it all end.

Written by Alan Hoffler

About the time I became conscious of daylight, the knock at the door came with the announcement “the weather is nice”.  “Let’s fly!”, says I.  Hasty breakfast of Cinnamon Toast Crunch, no shower, quick formal check of weather, and we’re off.

After yesterday’s full tank episode, I decided to begin this trip with my own void time behind the hangar doors.  Can’t do that at RDU (well, if the truth be told…).

Get ground training on fueling the plane and the hangar ops, and we decide to go VFR to Tallahassee.  Take off into mostly clear skies.  Several reporting stations said 1900 overcast, but we were on our way.  At 2k, we are easily above the scattered layers, but they quickly become broken, and within 30 minutes, we’re VFR on top.  Manage to get to TLH via MAI, with the by-now-expected and requisite query from Cairns approach, “1819R, what type of Beech did you say you were?”  Seems the Skipper is not the most popular bird on the block, and we have been called “Duchess” as much as we’ve been called “Skipper”.  I think our ground speed of 75 kts gives us away pretty quick, though.  The TLH approach controller didn’t like Clint’s request for a “local clearance”, and I am learning all the time about the dialects of regional controllers and systems and how folks have been taught.  He didn’t take too kindly to our request to go direct to the FAF, either.  We finally get him to agree to an IFR clearance with the promise of a Snickers bar upon landing and take his vectors to the ILS for Rwy 36, TLH.  We decide the Thanksgiving-holiday controllers are the second string and they’re all grumpy.  Cairns approach (mostly retired ATC men) is better than TLH, but only marginally.  TLH was reporting 400 overcast, which would make for one great approach, but we see only scattered on the way down, and my glide slope was the first I’ve done in real life that didn’t have a bust.  My landing was in honor of our armed forces in the Middle East, though my tailhook didn’t grab and I had to do a ground loop (not really, but almost) to make Foxtrot exit.  Taxi instructions at TLH (Class C) are a little more lax than I’m used to, but Clint knew the way and we got out at Flightline Aviation, which has to be the nicest FBO I’ve been to, even if it is in the heart of Seminole country.  We got their VW Beetle crew car and directions and headed to the mall to look for a filter for our camera.  The nice lady at the desk wasn’t able to tell me where the N.C.State paraphernalia shop was, even when I asked.  I catch my first whiff of myself and rue the decision to skip the shower.

We found our filter, grabbed some food (Clint believed the ads and ate more Chicken, Alan opted for the Jamaicanmecrazy slurpy flavor and a dark Milky Way).  1.5 hours away and we manage to get back to the airport.  I have a poignant and heart-warming reminder of the pride of this daddy — J.W. — that I’ve left behind for this adventure.  The sewage plant is right beside the airport and smells just like a dirty diaper.  I miss you, ‘Dub (you, too, ‘B’, and Pepper, and Maddie…, in no particular order). 

Quick weather check shows low clouds but the wind is what makes me nervous.  TLH reporting 170@16 and we can’t keep the doors on the plane open because of it.  We get clearance for VFR departure even with scattered at 1900, and depart into the breeze and turn westward.  We find a hole and go VFR on top again.  This time, the clouds are a lot thicker and with much more texture.  Pretty soon we’re weaving through the billows.  With max performance climb, it only takes us 20 minutes to get to 4500 feet, and we have a ball chasing the clouds.  Find a hole and slip back down to scare the cows.  The lack of towers, hills, or anything that resembles natural terrain is obvious.  Three cheers for GPS and I-10.  We get back to 1J0 and try landings.  Try being the key operative.  Nothing broke, and given the stresses involved, that is either good design by Beech or the grace of God, or both.  The Skipper does not handle flare the way the high-wing Cessnas do, and it is a hard to break a habit that my 250+ landings in the high-wing have given me.  Clint either needs a break or a laugh, so he suggests we head to Enterprise, AL (EDN) and off we go.  I don’t think we’ve heard more than 3 planes at uncontrolled airports all day, and EDN is empty.  Airport advisory says winds are 140@12g16.  Runways are 5/23.  Could be interesting.  We clear the power lines fine (finally figured out how to hold the approach) and I see the most crowned field I’ve ever been to.  Midfield must be 75 feet higher than the ends.  The uphill landing coupled with the highest crosswind I’ve ever had yields what I begged Clint to let me log as three landings, but we’ll put it down for just one really bad one.  Again, kudos to the Beech designers.  We were to have rented the Arrow at EDN for my first trip up in a complex, but trying to learn the difference between manifold pressure, gear handles, manual flaps, and my first Piper led to a wise scrub.  We did a walk-through of the plane with 30 minutes ground school. 

Back into the air and to 1J0, and we are getting a ride Walt Disney would be proud of.  The heat, even during this “cool” part of the year, makes me glad again to live in NC, glad I skipped lunch, and glad that a hot water shower awaits me at home.  Go straight in to 1J0 and my 5 mile approach is perhaps my best yet.  Followed by my first return to terra firma that could really be classified as a landing and not controlled flight into terrain.  We decide to end on a good note and check for loose bolts and come back for night landings. 

Refuel and back home where Clint has dinner duty for the rugrats.  I am happy to hear that he’s brokered a deal with sis to swap tonite’s Fish menu for one of my favorites — Jambalaya.  “I’ll talk you out of fish tomorrow night”, says he.  I take kid #3 to the store in the old Toyota that I blew the engine out of 10 years ago, and see battery and brake annunciators.  Learn later that’s normal.  Ah, back to the land of broken instruments that I’m familiar with.  Lady at the gas station informs me there are tornados in Dothan (45 minutes) and headed our way.  I mentally scrub the night flying today.  News reports Haleyville, AL has been nearly destroyed — I hope that’s not figurative.

I eat a ton of Jambalaya.  2 hours later, it feels like I drank jet fuel.  The kids will slop toilets for the promise of ice cream, but kid #5 still lags on her broccoli.  “I eat slow — I have a small mouth!” was her explanation.  Kid #2 cornered and caught a mole, which they wanted to use for skeet practice with the shotgun.  Kid #1’s friend had decided to make points by helping Clint paint, and had his name painted in the window when we drove up.  Clint’s prediction the outside light would stay on all day came true, but the kids had mostly done their chores and save for the usual arguments over who would sit on the couch to watch TV (seems I mess up their normal routine, and no one asks me to sit on the floor), the night is smooth, even with mom out to work for the day.

With the Gators back in the hunt for the national championship thanks to Big 12 upsets, Clint is happy.  With a shower, I, too, am happy.

We’ll worship tomorrow morning — there is much to reflect and be thankful for:
•    a loving family awaiting my return
•    a God who loves, protects, provides, and doesn’t laugh at my landings (or maybe He does)
•    hot water for a shower
•    heavy duty landing gear

Then we’ll see if weather permits the long haul to TIX and see mom & dad, fresh off their own 10-day adventure in Panama and other Caribbean regions.  Probably stay local and wait for Monday.  I’ll sleep well again tonite: 4.3 on the Hobbs, 6 returns to earth — 1 that can be called a landing.  Only three more (sniff) days.  It truly is the PTAOAL.

Written by Alan Hoffler

The day started early, with one basic sound: drip, drip.  Turns out it’s the toilet.  Everywhere I go those things leak.  Still suffering from time warp into CST, I was awake before the kids, even, at 6:30 local time.  Pity.  Get on DUATS to check weather.  Overcast 1100, winds 15g25.  Another drip, drip sound becomes evident, and the Weather channel confirms with solid green and pockets of yellow.  Ate my Apple Jacks and by the time I was done, we had crisis #1 — running low on milk.  Clint brokered a deal and we headed that off at the pass.  Crisis #2 — Bo (the dog) is missing or at least out roaming in the rain.  Crisis #3: kids don’t want to start school.  We decide to turn attention to aviation.

We plan an IFR flight to Marianna (MAI), Montgomery (MGM), Dothan (DHN) and back to Tri-County (1J0).  Decide to change to westward location when Weather Channel shows a little clearing.  Hastily change plans to go to Mobile Downtown (BFM) and file a flight plan.  They say it’s marginal for departure and to call back.  In the drizzle, we get ready to go.  Crisis #umpteen: child reports septic overflow.  Hasty fix and we’re off.

20 minute ride to the airport for aviation lesson #1: a plane won’t start without the key.  One hour lost.  Road time in near IFR conditions, call and reschedule flight plan.  Back to airport.  They say things look nice in Pensacola and may be OK by departure.  Preflight Skipper (BE77, N1819R) and get ready.

Worth mentioning is the top-notch facility I’m training at (“there isn’t a finer pilot training place in the nation”).  Only accessible by dirt road.  5 hangar spots.  5 more planes under the lean-tos.  3 on the field, including a Dromedary (I believe manufactured in Johnston County, NC).  The grain bins and rotting Grumman Tiger add a nice touch.  Upon return, a local was happy to show us the doe he shot.  Interesting folk, here.

Back taxi on 19 at 1J0 and we’re off.  The Skipper flies quite differently from the high-wing Cessnas that have compromised all of my 135+ hours to this point.  Its nose points down in level flight.  It yaws left much more pronounced than a 152.  Visibility is great compared to the 1×2.  The instruments in 1819R actually work.  All things I’m not used to.  Thankful for ground effect, we do manage to take off.  I don’t know why they waste the paint for a centerline when I’m flying.  We break into IMC at about 1100 feet, and break out at about 2400 feet.  270 seconds into my first flight in this aircraft is also my first IMC experience.  Quite interesting, and glad to have BIL/CFII along.  Then we’re “ON TOP”, and dodging the boomers.  Wonderful feeling, and I set in getting the beast trimmed.  No problems, except that dry mouth promotes sipping the Big 32, which promotes tank control that has no selection lever.  100 nm is a long way to fly in a Skipper (95 kts cruise) with a full bladder.  Especially with a 20 kt headwind.  After about 15 minutes ON TOP, we’re scattered, then few, then clear by Crestview.  The last hour was VACU.  Wonderful flying.  Get set into Mobile Downtown — right off the bay — and set up to land.  At 1000 AGL, in downwind to 14, and abeam the tower, the controller says “still don’t have you in sight, but you’re cleared to land, one-four”.  On departure, he told another guy the same thing.  Only place I’ve ever been with a blind controller — I could have spit and splattered his tower.  All he did was tell people to come on in and land.  Landing was tolerable.  Only time in taxiing I’ve ever had a view of a 747 in my windscreen.  We park, get a car, and enjoy the culinary pleasures of “Gone Fishin'”, a local catfish restaurant.  Shrimps were good.  Come back VFR the whole way, albeit with lowering ceilings and increasing haze.  Never see another plane.  Desolate land, here.  Were it not for GPS, it’d be tough to fly VFR — unless you count cows and hay bales as landmarks, there isn’t a whole lot to look at.  Have had to deal with “good ol’ boy” controllers.  Every time we switch over, we have to explain three times that we’re headed to 1J0, and yes, it really should be in the system.  Not a prime destination, evidently.  Cairns Approach finally clears us to “Bonifay International Airport”, we buzz the homestead with a 720 fly-by, land in the dark, do a go around and another landing: my first night flight in over a year.  Total, 3.9 cross country, 0.3 night.  3 landings.  No crashes.  Longest consecutive string of holding my altitude.  Learn the GPS.

Back at the homestead, we revel in the success of getting some time in a day that didn’t look all that great.  Clint is bolstered by the news of Colorado’s football upset (his Gators still have a chance).  We eat at the burrito buffet (might not be good to stretch the cross country tomorrow), and at the kids’ request settle in for a night of family cards.  We make it three games before blatant accusations of cheating erupt complete with fits and yelling, and the kids got upset, too.  Kid #5 has a crisis because she can’t remember the name of “that lady I’m married to”, but we survive, make it halfway through a movie before that woman calls, and we all claim exhaustion and head to bed.  Tomorrow: Tallahassee so Clint can settle some rivalry goading with the folks in the FBO there, perhaps we’ll even make it to a camera store (not in Bonifay).  Weather is still iffy — long cross country is now pushed at least until Sunday.

I am as wiped out as I could imagine.  Typing at 9:01p CST, I am about to fall into the keyboard.  It’s off to bed, and I can’t wait to do it again tomorrow.