Two days of rest and relaxation and I was getting itchy to move on. When you feel that itch as a relatively low time senior pilot (or any pilot, for that matter), you need to put that in your risk assessment. "Get-there-itis" is a well known and documented cause of aircraft accidents.
That's one of the reasons I spend so much time in flight planning assessing the weather (aside from the fact that I enjoy it). Many times when spotted pulling out my cell phone, I'm actually looking at station "METARS" (Meteorological Terminal Aviation Routine) which give information on winds, clouds, visibility, temperatures, and altimeter reading for a specific airport. It's readily available in the U.S. for a host of airports, giving one picture of how weather is moving and what you might be in for going any specific direction.
In Canada, that information is more sparse. Especially away from cities, as in the area I was traveling, there are not as many reporting stations and, in flight, my flight navigation system was not able to pick up these reports, so I needed more input. For that I called Canadian Flight Services, who uses satellite imagery to provide input on cloud formations and trends, among other weather trends. Since on this day, Saturday, I looked up in the sky (the first and best indicator of conditions) and saw blue when conventional forecasts said low clouds and possible rain, I definitely had to see further towards my minimum destination of Sault St. Marie, Ontario.
They said their was a fair bit of variety on coverage and ceilings. Everything from overcast at 3500 feet to scattered at 4500 feet and overcast at 10,000 feet. Bottom line - I could run into just about anything, but could probably fly out of anything, too. The essential part was that visibilities were very good everywhere. After fueling and looking up in the sky, I decided to launch.
It wasn't long and I saw the clouds covering various parts of the sky. Because their tops and bottoms were relatively low, I decided to fly what we call "on top." That doesn't come without risk, because if the clouds close in, which they can do quickly, you can get stuck on top with no way down without flying through the clouds - a likely death trap for a pilot without an instrument license and experience. In this case, I could see vast open areas of clear sky to the east along with a number of visible gaps for "corkscrewing" down below the deck if needed, so I remained confident. The question was my destination of Sault St. Marie. It was reporting 3500 in overcast, but if so I could always go east to an alternate or back to Killarney, where skies remained partly cloudy.
As I got closer to the Sault, the cloud deck thickened. It was only when I got within reporting distance that I found gaps I could descend through, though the METAR was still reporting 3500 overcast. As I got below the deck, Sault St Marie skies opened wide, offering unimpeded access to the airport - albeit with a 15 - 25 knot headwind. Safe landing made, and another flying adventure under my belt.
But it didn't end there. After trying to find a reasonable hotel room without success after half a dozen phone calls, and learning that a taxi would be available in two hours for a cost of around $90 Canadian one way, researching the prospects going north in the direction of Wawa and Marathon seemed like a better idea. Marathon was virtually at the top of my journey around Lake Superior, and would shorten the exposed trip to Thunder Bay. Exposed because both the leg to Marathon, and from Marathon to Thunder Bay is over rough terrain with virtually no safe landing options and very little population to fall back on for rescue. We all know what the chances are of surviving a water landing in Lake Superior. Not because of the landing (well, maybe that too), but because of the speed of hypothermia. This part of the trip got the most attention during my planning over the winter, and got a very close look now.
The call to flight service suggested many of the same conditions just navigated were present, but with the concentration of clouds along the shore and about 10 miles inland. Plenty of patches of partly cloudy skies could be found to the east. With full tanks of gas, I could roam around out there for about two hours, twice the trip length of any leg, and still have plenty of fuel to reach an alternate and then some. So, off we went.
Since it was late in the day, with the sun coming from the west over the lake, the sites were awesome. The famous Whitefish Bay, with a ore carrier on it's way out into the lake, exposed the risk those carriers faced in November weather. The shoreline was rugged and unpopulated, with islands exposed that I never knew to be there (no sailing experience on this part of the lake). Occasionally I had to descend or climb to avoid the clouds, but not to any degree that gave me cause for concern. A beautiful flight all the way to Marathon, where the field was calm, quiet, and empty upon arrival. Only to find a hotel room.
Which was only five minutes drive from the airport, longer than the clerk I had called made walking a good option. Taxi, or sure there's a taxi, for which he gave me the number. The driver picked up on his radio-phone within two rings, and twenty minutes later I took the one mile, two minute ride to the Airport Inn, just off the other end of the runway. The next day would definitely make for a nice walk back.
The motel was in need of some love, for sure, but the bed felt great and the taco salad delivered to me by a nearby bar took care of the growling that comes from nothing to eat since breakfast. Just before bed, there was planning to do for the next leg to Thunderbay.
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