A Day to Remember |
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Yesterday was unquestionably my
most challenging flying day (and night) ever. Unlike previous IMC experiences
I’ve recounted on this forum (e.g., a failing alternator, water in the static
system), there were no equipment issues this time: just weather, wind, fog and
more wind. As the night progressed, the winds and IMC conditions were so severe
that I wondered half-seriously if I’d ever find a place to land: I had enough
fuel to reach Georgia, and at one point I mused that perhaps I should start out
for Jekyll Island a few days early.
My logbook entry for November 24, 2004 shows 9.4 hours of solo cross-country
time: all of it was in IMC and 5.1 hours were at night. During the course of
sixteen hours I landed at four airports: Cincinnati Lunken (LUK), Niagara
Falls, NY (IAG), Newburg, NY Stewart Airport (SWF) and Teterboro, NJ (TEB); and
went missed on two different flights into my home base of Westchester, NY
(HPN). In this period I actually managed to satisfy virtually all of my night
and instrument proficiency requirements for the next 90 days and six months:
two night takeoffs and three night landings, six instrument approaches and
almost two hours in holding patterns. Plus countless course intercepts.
The day began at 7:30 am with an Angel Flight from Niagara Falls to Cincinnati
Lunken. It was IMC all the way, and ATIS reported the conditions at the
destination as 1.5 miles visibility, rain, mist, sky 700’ broken, 3,300’
overcast, wind 040 degrees at 5 knots, altimeter at 29.55”. I broke out of the
final cloud layer and finally spotted the runway at 400’ above ground level (it
turns out the sky was much closer to overcast than “broken”). Little did I
realize that this low IFR approach would be the easiest and smoothest of the
day.
My Angel Flight passengers went to the hospital for tests and treatment, I went
to lunch and took a nap in the pilot’s lounge, they returned around 3:30 pm,
and we departed for the return flight to Niagara Falls. We climbed to 9,000’
and benefited from a 55-knot tailwind. Again, it was IMC all the way (but
fortunately no ice all day), and ATIS reported the conditions at Niagara Falls
as 2.5 miles visibility, rain, mist, sky 700’ overcast, wind 050 degrees at 19
knots gusting to 25, altimeter at 29.53” and dropping rapidly. There is only
one ILS approach at Niagara Falls, for the 9,000’ long runway 28R, so as I
briefed the approach I debated whether to use its extensive length and land
with a tailwind or circle to land on runway 6 (a nighttime maneuver which many
commercial operators do not condone). What the ATIS did not advise was that
there was significant windshear: in fact, when I broke out of the overcast
layer at 600’ above ground level (it was night by now) the wind was an
incredible 52 knots! I was in no mood to try a tailwind landing under those
conditions, even with a 9,000’ runway, so I circled to land on runway 6. This
was a piece of pure stick and rudder flying which fortunately I’ve had previous
experience with, although during my IFR training we only talked about it. It
was definitely among the top five most challenging landings I’ve ever done, but
the night was still young and little did I realize that there were four more
approaches yet to come.
I dropped off my passengers and headed home to Westchester around 6 pm. Sixty
miles from the airport ATC advised that fog had just rolled in, shutting down
the field to arrivals. I throttled back to conserve fuel and entered the
published holding pattern at NOBBI intersection. I asked for and got 10 mile
legs, and was pleasantly surprised when studying the chart to see that CASSH
intersection is just 11 miles away, so I punched that waypoint into the Garmin
flight plan and used this improvisation to vastly simplify the procedure.
The other NYC airports were still above minimums, with nearby Stewart Airport
reporting 3 miles visibility and 700’ overcast, so that was my best and closest
alternate. With the throttle set to the speed of a Skyhawk (just below the
detent), I had over four hours of fuel left. After spending 45 minutes in the
holding pattern, ATC advised me that three corporate jets had just landed at
Westchester, so I lined up for the ILS 16 approach. The ATIS had not been
updated in over an hour, so it still reported visibility of 1/16 mile, fog,
mist, ceiling 100’ indefinite, wind 170 degrees at 8 knots, altimeter 29.68”,
but again, no mention of any low-level windshear. When I flew the approach at
120-130 KIAS I learned firsthand that the wind was anywhere from 35 to 50 knots
down to 700’ above ground level, and it was still at 25-30 knots at the
decision height of 200’. To call it a ferocious descent would be an
understatement: the PFD trend lines showed tremendous updrafts and downdrafts,
and even the chevrons popped up a few times indicated an impeding unusual
attitude. Upon reaching the decision height I took one quick glance out the
window, saw nothing, kept sweating and went missed. The windshear on the
climbout was worse than during the approach, and I was exhausted enough by this
point that I requested vectors for Stewart rather than going to the back of the
line to try this approach again.
The approach to Stewart offered a new kind of challenge: ATC kept me at 4,000’
to allow a Gulfstream (which had gone missed at Westchester right after me)
first priority on the Stewart ILS 9. That altitude was above the glideslope,
and by the time I was established on the localizer the 50 knot tailwind was
pushing me to the FAF much faster than expected. I was able to descend quickly
before the glideslope got out of reach, but again it was quite a battle to keep
the ILS needles centered due to the huge swings in wind speed and direction. I
broke out as advertised at 700’ and 3 miles, shook off one last battle with the
winds and landed at 8:15 pm. There were soon four corporate jets on the ramp
that had also diverted after going missed at Westchester.
By 9:30 pm the METAR showed a slow improvement in the visibility at
Westchester, and we learned that several other planes had made it in. So I took
off for the ten-minute flight to my home field. Once again there was no mention
of low-level windshear in the ATIS, but I knew that it would be brutal, so I
carefully planned my speed, power and flap settings to be able to deal with it.
While I was waiting for my turn to join the localizer, a Northwest Airlines jet
just ahead of me broke off its approach right after crossing the FAF because
the winds did not allow it to get properly established (much like the problem I
had at Stewart), and there were some testy communications between the cockpit
crew and ATC as they requested better vectors to final. ATC offered them a 20
mile final, which they took; a few minutes after my approach aborted I heard
them go missed as well and request a diversion to Newark.
This being my third approach that night, I already had a deep appreciation for
the problem faced by the Northwest crew, so my strategy was to get established
on the localizer and capture the glideslope at 110 KIAS with 50% flaps: fast
enough to have a speed cushion to deal with the windshear, yet slow enough to
be able to land if the opportunity arose. In fact, the ride was very bumpy but
manageable, and this time I was able to deal with the windshear all the way
down to the 200’ decision height. When I was two miles out, the tower
controller advised that the RVR was back up to 1,400’ and the sky was still
100’ indefinite ceiling. This may seem to be below minimums in most quarters,
but at Westchester Airport runway 16 has excellent MALSR approach lighting and so
these conditions do not necessarily preclude a safe approach, especially when
the winds are calm to moderate. And when I finally got to the decision height I
was, in fact, able to clearly see the approach lights, but due to the last
round of windshear the nose was oriented at least 25 degrees to the left. I
turned right to track the lights inbound when out of the corner of my eye I
caught sight of parked vehicles through the fog. Instantly my brain flashed
that those vehicles shouldn’t be there and I was probably near the NetJets
hangar, at the outer width of the ILS course. Rather than hunt for the runway
with abundant low-level windshear still lurking around, in that split second I
decided to go missed again. I went into a holding pattern for another 45 minutes,
waiting to see if the conditions would improve as the TAF had forecast. But by
this time no one else was flying into Westchester and the RVR stayed stuck at
1,400’, so I decided to throw in the towel and divert to Teterboro (which is
close to my home).
The approach into Teterboro was uneventful, but only by the perverse standards
of that day. Once again, the wind was 45-52 knots all the way down to 800 feet;
but I broke out at 1,100’ with 2.5 miles visibility and landed at 11:15 pm.
Twenty minutes later I called Flight Service to check today’s weather, and
learned that the visibility at Westchester had just gone up to the published
minimums of one-half mile and 200’ ceiling. So if I had been willing to spend
two hours in the holding pattern I could have probably landed there, but that
was way beyond my tolerance level and I had no regrets over the decision to
divert to Teterboro.
Earlier today I took a cab back to Teterboro, waited for a break in the various
low pressure fronts moving through the NY area, and flew my Cirrus back to
Westchester in windy but clear VFR weather. I landed just after a line of
thunderstorm had moved through.
In retrospect, what made yesterday so challenging was the complex combination
of skills that would be drawn upon: instrument approaches, stick and rudder
flying, ever-changing exit strategies, fuel planning, holding patterns and the
constant question of when did I have enough. I probably should have hitched a
ride back to Westchester around 8 pm with some of the other pilots stuck at
Stewart Airport, rather than trying one last flight.
Of all the wonderful equipment on the Cirrus, I have to say that the MVP in
yesterday’s marathon was the wind vector on the PFD. It gave an instantaneous
readout of the day’s most important weather factor and enabled me to fly the
approaches, circle to land, and do endless loops in the holding patterns, with
far more precision and situational awareness than would otherwise have been
possible. A close second would be the MFD, with its ability to scroll in and
out, and change perspectives from Forward to North Up, as the circumstances
required.
All in all, a day to remember.
Maybe I should have been more explicit in stating my reason for
posting this experience: in fact it was to offer a perspective and stimulate
thought and debate on how one should think about personal minimums and one's
capabilities, especially when the "available information" is bound to
be incomplete and can change dramatically while enroute: e.g., there was no
mention of windshear in the various TAFs and ATISs that night and, in fact, the
TAFs indicated that the destination weather would be above minimums.
As we all know, the weather doesn't always deteriorate at the times forecast in
the TAF, nor does it improve on schedule. So even though the return flight to
Niagara Falls was earlier than expected, the weather deteriorated dramatically
faster than forecast in the 20 minutes before arrival (I recorded three
different ATIS updates in that period). Similarly, the TAF indicated that the
weather at Westchester during my arrival window would be no worse than the
other NYC airports.
When I first started flying IFR alot in the Cirrus my personal minimums were
quite high (higher than your's, in fact); but as I became more proficient and
encountered a variety of situations I eventually adjusted those personal
minimums. More importantly, I always carry the FAA's PAVE personal minimums
checklist in my flight case, and review it regularly as a self-critique of
whether I should be adjusting my minimums based on the mission at hand and the
PAVE factors at that time. In fact, I treat it as the most important checklist
for my flying activities.
One of my personal minimums is to not attempt more than one approach unless the
weather improves dramatically, and I stuck to it the other night. I've met
plenty of professional pilots who will do as many as three approaches before
giving up, and I saw enough of that happening the other night. Good for them;
its not an aspect of flying that I care to engage in. Instead, I've gotten used
to flying around in holding patterns for an hour or more if necessary to wait
for the weather to materially improve from the conditions which existed when I
went missed.
Another personal minimum is to have at least two hours of fuel in reserve on a
flight when there are any IFR conditions either enroute or at the destination.
So I'll either fly way lean of peak, or throttle back dramatically, or divert
for refueling, if there's any question about being near that reserve level. So
the other night I had at least four hours of fuel when I was shooting each of
those approaches: enough to be comfortable that I could go to the other side of
the weather system if necessary to find a suitable airport for landing.
Another personal minimum is to have all avionics systems working perfectly for
a flight that has any IFR component. For example, if the autopilot won't
capture altitude properly, or the MFD screen is dim on one side, or the SIU
fails because of static, then I'm landing immediately rather than trying to fly
IFR with anything approaching the poor equipment that I had during my private
pilot and IFR training days. The Cirrus is a great plane because it has
excellent and redundant avionics, so I just won't fly without a full deck.
Another personal minimum is that I'm fully rested and well fed before the
return flights on a long day. On days like this past Wednesday, when I've
planned a series of Angel Flights, I always arrange the flight times with the
passengers so that I have time for a real lunch at a restaurant and time for a
nap before the return trips begin.
Another personal minimum is to always have an alternate with a working ILS
approach. I do not like shooting non-precision approaches anywhere near
minimums (although I've done more than my fair share of these), especially
since those kinds of airports usually have poor lighting systems. So even if
you're in the right spot, it can be quite difficult to see or find the field if
you're not a native. ILS approaches invariably come with very decent lighting systems,
so I've got an alternate that gives me a better advantage than the
non-precision airport I might have gone missed at.
Another personal minimum is that I do not fly non-precision approaches in night
IFR, nor do I fly VFR at night. I do lots of Angel Flights to obscure places in
northern Vermont and western NY state, and I advise the passengers from the
start that they may very well end up at a big city airport one or two hours
away simply because it has an ILS and I won't do a non-precision approach at
night.
In the winter I always fly with the TKS tank full, even on days when I'm
nowhere near the freezing level, because "Ice Happens", as the Cirrus
ads once said. I also carry on board an additional reserve equal to a full
tank. And if I actually start using TKS during a flight, another personal
minimum is that I will land immediately once half the tank has been used.
After the experiences of the other night, I'm considering how to better deal
with the heavy winds which invariably arise in low pressure systems. Like the
Northwest pilot said, he wants much better and longer vectors to final. He's
the customer, and ATC gave him what he wanted. Food for thought, even when
everyone else is happy being turned onto final just 4 miles before the FAF despite
the fact that a 50 knot tailwind can wreak havoc on getting comfortably
established.
I'd be happy to discuss these and my other personal minimums if you wish, but I
hope this gives a better picture of some of the thought processes and
parameters which bracket each flight.