The great man Billy Connolly once said, “there’s no such thing as bad weather, just the wrong clothes”. Substitute “clothes” for “perception” and those words could apply to recreational flying.
Many of us are fair weather flyers. We fly for fun not to rescue people or haul freight, but as I continue to build hours I actually look forward to kind of the conditions that once kept my feet glued to terra firma.
Maintaining height, avoiding clouds and getting more of a feel for the Tecnam’s controls along the snaking rivers also helped build more confidence.
That said my bar was set pretty low. When booking an aircraft I’d keep an eye on weather forecasts and choose a day and time most likely to have the least cloud and wind. Then, if the weather gods are kind, I’ll fly as high as needed to avoid even mild turbulence.
My tight personal minimums were probably a result of trying to overcome air-sickness while training, meaning lowish cloud and anything more than a brisk breeze was often a deal breaker even though the weather was actually flyable - not because I was scared but because I didn’t think it would be much fun.
But on one cold and gusty Saturday I decided to throw caution to the wind, and a 1500ft cloud base, spurred on by another persistent pilot on his third touch and go.
I’d flown circuits in worse weather with an instructor and figured if I had to wait for perfect winter weather to my logbook would simply become a repository of dust rather than hours flown.
The plan was to do a couple of circuits to see how I felt, but on taking off I surprised by the clear air and forward visibility at circuit height.
With the other aircraft back on the ground I radioed to no one in particular that I was leaving the circuit and decided to get down low and slow to follow the rivers to the south of the airfield. I had an absolute ball!
Despite the wind gusts the air was remarkably calm so I stayed down around 800ft, which was high enough for keep the airfield vicinity in sight, but low enough to require some stick and rudder work to follow the Leigh River’s bends.
Crisp blue skies are gorgeous to fly in, but the kind of weather that can ruin a picnic can actually be a joy to behold from the 800 feet
The sun’s rays broke through the cirrus creating a dappled patchwork of green, gold and grey, parts of which would disappear behind rain showers and the occasional rainbow providing a stunning reminder about why I’m go glad to have persisted with this flying caper.
I’m not about to become a storm chaser any time soon, but, while weather commands respect it’s important to dip your toe in the water and loosen those personal-minimum strings a little.
Maintaining height, avoiding clouds and getting more of a feel for the Tecnam’s controls along the snaking rivers also helped build more confidence. Hell, I even hit some turbulence over a pine plantation and enjoyed the ride.
My hubris was tested overhead the airfield when I noticed the windsock was wavering in stiffness and direction, taunting me with 12-knot crosswind gusts.
As with flying through turbulence I realised the prospect of having to perform a crosswind landing is actually worse being faced with it.
I’m not sure if it was my training kicking in or just the realisation that no one else was going to land the bloody thing, but I recall feeling calm doing everything by the book.
I extended my base to allow for drift back toward the runway, left the flaps at 15 degrees, maintained about 70 knots to compensate for the gusts, and crabbed accordingly without really thinking about it.
The actual landing wasn’t pretty but I put the aircraft away feeling really satisfied that I had taken an important step in really learning to fly the aircraft instead of just taking it up to enjoy the view – even though the vistas were stunning.
We’re so lucky in Australia that the winter months don’t mean having to put aircraft into hibernation. But going by the full hangars and empty skies I wondered how many other pilots realise this.