A Long Day Flying

New Star Aviation & Ace Academy

A wonderful feature of retirement is the luxury of changing plans with each change of the weather. On this day, I had originally planned to work in the yard, work on the boat, and work in the office a bit. Then I met an interesting associate in my flying club who's started a non profit for the purpose of exposing at-risk kids to aviation as an interest or a career. He was going to hold a session at St. Paul Downtown airport, so I decided to drive out to observe. But the weather turned out to be spectacular. Calm winds, comfortable temperatures, and sunny skies. It made much more sense to fly there instead.

St. Paul airport is what is called a Class D airspace. Not quite Minneapolis International, but close to the same Air Traffic Control (ATC) requirements. Though not terribly complicated, it called for the right communication skills with the right vocabulary. Most of all, the right listening skills. The controller gives you directions, you repeat it back to make sure you've heard them correctly, and then you follow them. Simple, right?

The radio had been silent for at least five minutes before I called in. As soon as I did, two jets and another single engine plane did the same. Suddenly, I was being squeezed in between the two jets, and had to keep things moving.

"3006 Kilo, turn left onto base for one-four now please, and keep it tight if you can."

By my calculation, the base leg was still a mile away, so I became disoriented.

"Ahh... base... ahhh... St. Paul... I think I'm going to bug out of here for a bit and come back in."

Very unprofessional, and in a language you won't find in any FAA manual. They were very kind. He vectored me out of the pattern and told the following jet to come on in.

The second try was much more successful. I had a better feel for the pattern. With a faster single engine plane ahead of me, and a 3M jet behind me, the controller asked if I could speed it up and make my pattern very tight. The plane ahead of me had made a very wide and slow pattern, and I was to make up for it. It wasn't a problem.

When I arrived, my new friend from the club had a relieved look on his face. "I expected about a dozen kids from the YMCA summer camp, but they have about sixty instead. I'm so glad you brought the other plane. Can you take half of them and give them a tour, one at a time?"

The next two hours were spent in the cockpit, rotating kids through one at a time, showing each how the controls worked, letting them operate the yoke to see how the ailerons moved.

"Okay, now turn the wheel to the left..."

Wham, wham.

"No, gently, gently. If we were flying, your passengers would be throwing up all over you right about now."

Giggle, giggle.

It was a blast, even though I was totally unprepared to participate directly. Along with the kids and their camp counselors, I met some very dedicated and positive black professional airline pilots that are coordinating these events with my new friend William through their organization called ACE Academy, but that's a story for another time.

The aircraft had to be back at the hangar by 1:00 p.m. for what the schedule showed as "maintenance," so it was time to return to base. The departure went smoothly, with the landing at Fleming Field "on the numbers" as they say. As I put the plane back in the hangar, a message came in through the scheduling program used by the club asking for volunteers to bring one of our planes back from central Michigan. A week earlier, one of our more experienced and instrument rated pilots had a complete electrical failure in our Piper Arrow. The instrumentation in the Arrow is entirely electronic, with no conventional vacuum driven instruments usually used to determine airplane attitude (up, down, left, right) or direction. In an instant, he was basically flying blind in the clouds, often a deadly situation since you have no idea if you are climbing, descending, turning, or even spinning. Fortunately, he had sophisticated back-up software on his iPad, and was able to land it safely and quickly at the small West Branch, Michigan airport, just east of Lake Huron in central Michigan.

There the plane was repaired and ready to come home. Since I was already at the hangar, I volunteered to fly the plane I had just returned since that was the purpose for the maintenance classification in the schedule. Not much thought went into my action. Just the promise of my first long cross-country flight with which to practice my navigation skills, and become more familiar with the avionics in the airplane.

Blinded by the opportunity and the possibility of at least four hours of free qualified flight time, what was not considered was the fact that I hadn't eaten since very early that morning, or that I'd already flown for an hour and a half, or that we wouldn't take off until around 3:00 for a four hour flight, or that we'd be returning at night... late at night. In other words, I hadn't given much thought to the risk factors.

The Arrow and Archer in West Branch, MI

Doug, the gentleman who experienced the electrical failure, graciously agreed to act as pilot in command for our trip out so I could observe his practices, and so he could fly on instruments if necessary. That gave us more flexibility to choose favorable altitudes with better winds or weather. As it turned out, we indeed did so, following instrument flight rules as we penetrated the clouds and flew "over the top." It was gorgeous up there, flirting with the cloud tops, staying at 7,500 feet where we could find better speed. In the process, I learned a ton about the various navigation instruments that were still fairly new to me, and how to work with ATC enroute. We arrived at 7:00 p.m. to a locked and quiet facility to meet the arriving mechanic. Doug checked out the other plane - a Piper Arrow - fueled up, and was ready to go by 7:30. He would fly the Arrow, manage communications with ATC for both of us as a flight of two, and I would chase him in the Archer.

Now sitting in the left seat as pilot in command, I reviewed the flight plan I had created while Doug was checking the Arrow. It had contingencies upon contingencies. If the weather deteriorated, which was not forecast, alternate airports were identified. with decision points defined. Since we were planning to cross Lake Michigan, the east coast was a major decision point. Weather would need to be very favorable, with clear skies on both sides and in the crossing, and good enroute conditions, to continue on. Doug's plane would have to perform without a hitch. Any sign of further trouble would call for a landing, another abandonment of the aircraft, and a return as we had come.  If I became sleepy at all, or had any instrument failures (even though I had triple redundancy) I would land and wait for morning.

ADS-B Aircraft Tracking Screen

We did a full pre-flight, and performed our run-up of the engines to see that all was working normally. Over the radio, we reviewed frequencies and confirmed he would report to ATC for both of us, and I would monitor. that frequency. Both planes were equipped with ADS-B, which is a surveillance technology that allows the pilot to see and track all other aircraft in the vicinity, their direction of flight and altitude, right on the GPS chart display. That information is repeated on a separate tracking screen (see photo). That would allow Doug to see me and pace himself since he was flying a faster aircraft, and me to keep track of following him, since it was getting dark and finding him in the sky would become tougher, even at close range.


We departed into a beautiful and clear sunset over the forests of Michigan, quickly establishing our track and contacting Minneapolis air traffic control, requesting Flight Following. That placed us under their observation and advisory's, similar to operating under instrument flight rules. Thinking ahead, Doug asked about conditions over Lake Michigan. ATC advised that there were clouds, but exactly how high, how dense, and how thick they didn't know. Another pilot reported flying at 10,000 feet in beautiful clear skies, about 2,000 feet over the clouds. He guessed the clouds to be light, with ceilings at around 6,000 feet. As we approached the coast, my flight plan decision rule called for abandoning the route across the lake in favor of either taking an alternate route over the top of the lake, or landing at a nearby airport to spend the night. Just then Doug messaged me his thoughts through a communication with ATC:

"Minneapolis Center, my partner should perhaps consider not crossing the lake given the uncertain conditions. I'm IFR qualified, but he is only VFR."

He told me later he watched his ADS-B as I turned and made my descent to a nearby airport. I accused him of being motivated by the desire to shake me so he could get home faster. We both knew better. It was the right thing to do for safety, and showed that fatigued had not yet dulled my ability to judge risk.

At that point, I wasn't thinking about that. My attention was diverted to the GPS display while I determined which course to take. That's when I decided too many factors were working against me, and spending the night at a nearby airport was the best option. Looking down I could see the outline of the town of Frankfort, Michigan, with a sizable marina and a string of what looked like businesses leading in the direction of the airport. I looked forward to the possibility of a hotel room and a bite to eat, followed by a stroll along the marina to stretch my legs.

Frankfort, MI Airport

The first step in that action plan was to get the plane on the ground in the dark. I hadn't made a night landing since about 1993, but didn't anticipate any issues. Clicking the microphone button seven times on the local airport frequency turned on the runway lights for a very welcoming sight as two rows of blue lights outlined the runway. Doug later said he watched a well executed pattern on his ADS-B. After a smooth landing, turning into the small and well lit terminal parking area, parking next to one of two other planes that had been put to bed for the night, I shut things down and cleaned up the cockpit, Stepping out of the airplane I ran into utter silence. Not a chirp, not a voice, not a bit of road noise. The terminal building was all locked up with not a sign of life (other than the misquito's, and nary a sign posted with advice. No advertisements for local businesses, no phone number to call for a taxi or for assistance.

Flying software programs common these days provide lodging and restaurant services and phone numbers for each airport. It was time to call down the list. No rooms were available, and Frankfort had no taxi service. With over two miles to walk to town, I decided to just sleep in the plane. Fine idea, until I twisted myself between the seats and listened as my stomach started working on itself. I refilled my water bottle from the outdoor hose that laid against the building, hoping it would fill some gaps. My stomach growled all night. The ramp lights would turn on for an hour, and then off for an hour. The inside of the airplane would either be lit like an operating room, or dark like a cave. The night started out warm and sticky, but by the wee hours of the morning, my thin shirt and shorts were not providing quite enough warmth. I slept for probably three hours, an hour at a time.

As the sky lightened to suggest dawn, I was up and out of the plane trying to work out the kinks in my legs and back. The night previous, preparing to land, I had listened to a weather broadcast from a larger, nearby airport assuming this one had no local weather advisory service. Looking at the charts during my pre-dawn planning session showed such a service for Frankfort. Turning on the radio and dialing in the specified frequency resulted in this broadcast message tagged on to the briefing on current conditions:

"Welcome to Frankfort. Pilots can use the terminal facilities by entering the door combination code of 1234. Please register your plane."

You've got to be kidding. I ran to the building to test the code. It worked. Inside was a wonderfully long and soft couch, and a clean bathroom with a shower. Man would that have been nice. Lesson learned.

Piper Archer N3006 Kilo and I lifted off into clear skies with a few stars yet to be seen and headed out over the lake. Reaching the target altitude of 6500 feet some ten minutes later I could see the storm clouds I found on weather radar way off to the south. The western shore was already coming into view bathed in the early sunrise. A variety of blues and whites melded the water with the sky. It was beautiful, and worth every stiff joint and aching bone. I forgot all about the hunger.

After passing Green Bay, I decided to make a bathroom stop in Cliftonville. It looked like it might be closer to town with the possibility of breakfast. My hopes were dashed as I taxied up to the older FBO building.  Once again, everything was deathly quiet. The field, it's signs, the parked airplanes and old buildings looked like a throwback to barnstorming days of yore. Unlike the fancy terminal building in Frankfort, this one had an unlocked door that led to a pilots lounge. Though much older, it also had a  bathroom with shower, a lounge area with recliners, and tables strewn with a variety of flying magazines and FAA publications. But most importantly, the vending area had day old donuts and pizza, which I scarfed to stop the growling. I left not having seen or heard a single person but revitalized for the remaining two hour flight to Fleming Field.

The landing in South St. Paul was not nearly as good as those on the rest of the trip, but not something I was ashamed of,  especially after having spent almost eighteen of the last twenty four hours in the cockpit. It was good to be home, but that twenty four hours whetted my appetite for the barnstorming I envisioned in my pre-retirement daydreams, and one of the major reasons for getting back into aviation. Next time, I'll be a little more prepared with a to-go bag of granola bars, a change of underwear, a blanket, and a pillow.