IFR Lesson 12 - Long Way Around
12/12/2007 Filed in: Flying
IFR Lesson 12 - Long Way Around
CFII and I had planned to the the long IFR cross country today. The weather is... um... interesting. Seems we have IFR and LIFR in just about every direction. I call CFII to see if we're a go.
Me: This is exactly the kind of weather that would be a no-go for me personally. But if you're very comfortable, it would probably be a good experience for me.
CFII: I'm good, but we need a plane.
Too true. The Katana obviously can't go. The school's DA-40 is still fubar. The arrow is booked. Hmmm. Aha! There's a DA-40XL over at John Tune (JWN) we're both checked out in. I run it by CFII and he's cool with that. So we'll get treated to a healthy dose of G1000 IFR goodness today. I quickly plan a flight from JWN to GZS to MKL and back to JWN and head out the door.
Next I call FSS for the world's longest weather briefing. Seriously, there are folks with PhD's in meteorological studies who wrote shorter dissertations than the briefing this guy gave me. The first question the guy asks is if we're IFR or VFR. I tell him IFR but I want a weather briefing only and I'll call back and file after evaluating the weather (with CFII). He then starts the briefing.
About halfway through the briefing I'm getting the unmistakable feeling this guy is trying to talk me out of the flight. When he says things like "forecast at GZS is 600 overcast" his tone belies a sort of parental disapproval used when talking to a child whose decisions the parent can no longer forcibly influence. It's like getting a full briefing from my dad and he really, really wants me not to go. This being my first real IFR flight, I'm getting moderately disturbed by it. Maybe this guy knows something about the inhospitality of this weather that I don't. Finally about 2 minutes from the end of the briefing:
FSS: So obviously this would not be an advisable VFR flight.
Me: Uh....
FSS: Oh wait! You said IFR didn't you!
Me: Yes, sir.
FSS: My mistake, I thought for some reason you said VFR.
FSS: (noticeably less negative) So would you like to file now?
Man that was a weird conversation. I'm gonna have to ask mom to have a word with him.
Upon reaching the FBO, CFII and I discuss the weather. Doesn't appear to be any ice or convection, but suffice to say we'll definitely get wet, and I'll want to pay particular attention to the missed approach procedures today. We eventually decide it's a go after discussing various contingency plans in case of equipment failure and/or IFR student malfunction.
I get our clearance from BNA clearance delivery on the ground at John Tune and I'm ready to takeoff into the great, white unknown.
Me: I'm going with 400 ft for those clouds.
CFII: I'll say 300.
We're kind of both right as I enter the clouds around 350 ft AGL say silent little prayers for the continued health of all 180 horses beneath the XL's cowling.
Now, let me take a moment to give the G1000 its due. I got checked out in this airplane shortly after getting my PPL, and I really couldn't appreciate the glass at the time. Sure, it's sparkly and pretty and all that, but other than the active traffic, I just didn't really see the point while flying around VFR. I do now.
Having that huge horizon bar when I entered those clouds immediately put me at ease. It's like I'd have to make a conscious effort *not* to stay upright, very much unlike when I flew the Arrow the other day. It was a very dramatic display of the capabilities and benefits of the G1000, so I have to eat a bit of crow for any uninformed statements with which I previously maligned the system. The G1000 must be flown in the soup to be fully appreciated.
During the first leg to GZS, we were in and out of layers the entire time. Never once saw sky or ground, and it was an eerie feeling being unable to tell when we were in a cloud or simply between them. I get the weather as far out as I possibly can to give myself plenty of time to sweat over the approach. Looks like I'll be performing a solo arrangement of the GPS 16 approach in E minor.
I load up the approach on the MFD and, again, the G1000 shines spectacularly. The large screen shows both my course and the approach and the intersection of the two. If only it had the vertical profile information as well, it would be nearly impossible to screw this up. Even for me! As it is, I'll just have to man up and find a creative way to botch it.
As I get to the approach, I fly it right along as I've been taught, only about 10 knots faster than the Katana. At the final approach fix I make the final descent down to minimums and I'm still completely in the soup.
Me: I don't know if we're going to make it.
CFII: We may not.
I just now realized how macabre that sounds when taken out of context. Anyway, I review the missed again and then just as we make it to minimums, I can see the ground but there are still clouds obscuring my view of the runway environment. I continue flying at the MDA, as someone interested in living should, watching and waiting for either the runway or the MAP.
Approximately one mile from the end of the runway, and mere tenths from the MAP, the clouds opened up like an early Christmas gift and provided us a very welcome, picturesque view of our runway. I could not have scripted the weather any more perfectly than that. Well, maybe with X-plane.
Me: Wow!
CFII: I was hoping it would do that.
I put the XL on the pavement, my first rain landing, and we taxi off to the ramp for clearance to Jackson, TN (MKL). It takes just this side of forever because FSS lost the second leg of our flight plan, so I'm forced to refile. Then we wait for clearance and receive it just before the point at which we could have reached MKL via bicycle. Grr.
We finally get back in the air, after reviewing the departure procedures of course.
ATC: N745DS, when you get a moment update me on the conditions at GZS.
For some reason I found that pretty cool. I am probably one of a very few people that will fly in or out of that airport today, so I was all too happy to relay what we saw to ATC. I felt very piloty doing so.
The flight to Jackson was also, in, among, and between clouds the entire way.
CFII: See if you can hold altitude within 40 feet this leg.
Me: Ok.
I'm happy to say that while I didn't manage that 100% of the time, it was the exception not the rule when I was outside those parameters. As we neared MKL, I requested and was cleared for the VOR 02 approach, and then ATC hands us off to MKL tower.
Now, apparently they don't have radar at MKL. How do I know? Because the lady in the tower asked me about every 5 seconds where I was on the approach. That would normally be fine, except that, you know... I'm totally blind and somewhat busy trying not to kill us while flying this joker. I understand she had other traffic she wanted to get off the ground and whatnot, so it wasn't like I thought she was pestering me unnecessarily. It just added to my workload significantly that she needed a progress report every other nanosecond. Fly the plane, dude.
Despite the distractions, I fly the approach with only a couple of hints from CFII, and again, we break out and find the runway almost exactly at minimums. This is the exact weather for which this approach is published. It was nuts that two of these lined up so perfectly with their published minimums.
We get out for a small snack and break and as we're discussing the day so far, CFII gives me a sobering lesson.
CFII: Now, imagine you're on an approach at night where you see the ground but not the runway and you decide to descend below minimums to get the runway in sight.
CFII: Next thing you know you're hanging by some power lines you couldn't see. This has actually happened to people.
Me: *gulp*
I can see how it would. I can also see how people wouldn't consider the possibility, so I'm quite thankful that he mentioned it.
After gobbling down the utmost nutrition-yielding sustenance the vending machines have to offer, we decide that, while Jackson is a nice town, it's time to head home.
We're happily flying along on the third and final leg when CFII dips into his bag of tricks again. This time it involves a breaker and the GPS units. And a certain finger from his student in response.
CFII: So where are we?
Me: (ballparking it in my head) Um...
CFII: Here, use this. (Hands me the enroute chart)
Me: Hrm, ok.
For a second I think he just wants me to point out the location until I see the VORs and realize he wants me to determine our *exact* position based on the radials of a couple of those. Well, fair enough, if you're gonna get all picky about it. After some minor fumbling about, I finally coerce the G1000 to produce what I want in a manner sufficiently accurate to satisfy CFII.
CFII: Starting to feel like an IFR pilot now?
Me: Actually.... yeah, a little.
CFII: You should. You're doing everything right.
That may be overstating the case, but certainly today has been a good testament to the training I've received up to this point.
As we approach John Tune (KJWN) I begin to prepare for the ILS 02 approach. Here's the thing about John Tune... there's a 2000 ft TV tower just to the east of it. It's a big, intimidating, airplane-eating, metal beastie. Even more so when it hides in the clouds just waiting to pounce on our unsuspecting, composite vessel.
CFII: If you're going to screw up, please do so to the west side of the localizer.
Me: Roger that.
We were unable to complete the approach trifecta as this one was NOT to minimums, but I'll take a 500 AGL breakout, thank you very much.
I taxi off the runway and shutdown, and I'm taxiing back to the hangar mentally letting my guard down and then...
CFII: What was that last instruction from ATC?
Me: Oh shit! Gotta cancel!
I'm used to flying out of Smyrna, a towered field, where you don't have to cancel your IFR flight plan. While I know you're suppose to cancel at an untowered field, it completely slipped my mind.
Chalk another one up for CFII. Oh, and I want very much to never hear the score on that game.
CFII and I had planned to the the long IFR cross country today. The weather is... um... interesting. Seems we have IFR and LIFR in just about every direction. I call CFII to see if we're a go.
Me: This is exactly the kind of weather that would be a no-go for me personally. But if you're very comfortable, it would probably be a good experience for me.
CFII: I'm good, but we need a plane.
Too true. The Katana obviously can't go. The school's DA-40 is still fubar. The arrow is booked. Hmmm. Aha! There's a DA-40XL over at John Tune (JWN) we're both checked out in. I run it by CFII and he's cool with that. So we'll get treated to a healthy dose of G1000 IFR goodness today. I quickly plan a flight from JWN to GZS to MKL and back to JWN and head out the door.
Next I call FSS for the world's longest weather briefing. Seriously, there are folks with PhD's in meteorological studies who wrote shorter dissertations than the briefing this guy gave me. The first question the guy asks is if we're IFR or VFR. I tell him IFR but I want a weather briefing only and I'll call back and file after evaluating the weather (with CFII). He then starts the briefing.
About halfway through the briefing I'm getting the unmistakable feeling this guy is trying to talk me out of the flight. When he says things like "forecast at GZS is 600 overcast" his tone belies a sort of parental disapproval used when talking to a child whose decisions the parent can no longer forcibly influence. It's like getting a full briefing from my dad and he really, really wants me not to go. This being my first real IFR flight, I'm getting moderately disturbed by it. Maybe this guy knows something about the inhospitality of this weather that I don't. Finally about 2 minutes from the end of the briefing:
FSS: So obviously this would not be an advisable VFR flight.
Me: Uh....
FSS: Oh wait! You said IFR didn't you!
Me: Yes, sir.
FSS: My mistake, I thought for some reason you said VFR.
FSS: (noticeably less negative) So would you like to file now?
Man that was a weird conversation. I'm gonna have to ask mom to have a word with him.
Upon reaching the FBO, CFII and I discuss the weather. Doesn't appear to be any ice or convection, but suffice to say we'll definitely get wet, and I'll want to pay particular attention to the missed approach procedures today. We eventually decide it's a go after discussing various contingency plans in case of equipment failure and/or IFR student malfunction.
I get our clearance from BNA clearance delivery on the ground at John Tune and I'm ready to takeoff into the great, white unknown.
Me: I'm going with 400 ft for those clouds.
CFII: I'll say 300.
We're kind of both right as I enter the clouds around 350 ft AGL say silent little prayers for the continued health of all 180 horses beneath the XL's cowling.
Now, let me take a moment to give the G1000 its due. I got checked out in this airplane shortly after getting my PPL, and I really couldn't appreciate the glass at the time. Sure, it's sparkly and pretty and all that, but other than the active traffic, I just didn't really see the point while flying around VFR. I do now.
Having that huge horizon bar when I entered those clouds immediately put me at ease. It's like I'd have to make a conscious effort *not* to stay upright, very much unlike when I flew the Arrow the other day. It was a very dramatic display of the capabilities and benefits of the G1000, so I have to eat a bit of crow for any uninformed statements with which I previously maligned the system. The G1000 must be flown in the soup to be fully appreciated.
During the first leg to GZS, we were in and out of layers the entire time. Never once saw sky or ground, and it was an eerie feeling being unable to tell when we were in a cloud or simply between them. I get the weather as far out as I possibly can to give myself plenty of time to sweat over the approach. Looks like I'll be performing a solo arrangement of the GPS 16 approach in E minor.
I load up the approach on the MFD and, again, the G1000 shines spectacularly. The large screen shows both my course and the approach and the intersection of the two. If only it had the vertical profile information as well, it would be nearly impossible to screw this up. Even for me! As it is, I'll just have to man up and find a creative way to botch it.
As I get to the approach, I fly it right along as I've been taught, only about 10 knots faster than the Katana. At the final approach fix I make the final descent down to minimums and I'm still completely in the soup.
Me: I don't know if we're going to make it.
CFII: We may not.
I just now realized how macabre that sounds when taken out of context. Anyway, I review the missed again and then just as we make it to minimums, I can see the ground but there are still clouds obscuring my view of the runway environment. I continue flying at the MDA, as someone interested in living should, watching and waiting for either the runway or the MAP.
Approximately one mile from the end of the runway, and mere tenths from the MAP, the clouds opened up like an early Christmas gift and provided us a very welcome, picturesque view of our runway. I could not have scripted the weather any more perfectly than that. Well, maybe with X-plane.
Me: Wow!
CFII: I was hoping it would do that.
I put the XL on the pavement, my first rain landing, and we taxi off to the ramp for clearance to Jackson, TN (MKL). It takes just this side of forever because FSS lost the second leg of our flight plan, so I'm forced to refile. Then we wait for clearance and receive it just before the point at which we could have reached MKL via bicycle. Grr.
We finally get back in the air, after reviewing the departure procedures of course.
ATC: N745DS, when you get a moment update me on the conditions at GZS.
For some reason I found that pretty cool. I am probably one of a very few people that will fly in or out of that airport today, so I was all too happy to relay what we saw to ATC. I felt very piloty doing so.
The flight to Jackson was also, in, among, and between clouds the entire way.
CFII: See if you can hold altitude within 40 feet this leg.
Me: Ok.
I'm happy to say that while I didn't manage that 100% of the time, it was the exception not the rule when I was outside those parameters. As we neared MKL, I requested and was cleared for the VOR 02 approach, and then ATC hands us off to MKL tower.
Now, apparently they don't have radar at MKL. How do I know? Because the lady in the tower asked me about every 5 seconds where I was on the approach. That would normally be fine, except that, you know... I'm totally blind and somewhat busy trying not to kill us while flying this joker. I understand she had other traffic she wanted to get off the ground and whatnot, so it wasn't like I thought she was pestering me unnecessarily. It just added to my workload significantly that she needed a progress report every other nanosecond. Fly the plane, dude.
Despite the distractions, I fly the approach with only a couple of hints from CFII, and again, we break out and find the runway almost exactly at minimums. This is the exact weather for which this approach is published. It was nuts that two of these lined up so perfectly with their published minimums.
We get out for a small snack and break and as we're discussing the day so far, CFII gives me a sobering lesson.
CFII: Now, imagine you're on an approach at night where you see the ground but not the runway and you decide to descend below minimums to get the runway in sight.
CFII: Next thing you know you're hanging by some power lines you couldn't see. This has actually happened to people.
Me: *gulp*
I can see how it would. I can also see how people wouldn't consider the possibility, so I'm quite thankful that he mentioned it.
After gobbling down the utmost nutrition-yielding sustenance the vending machines have to offer, we decide that, while Jackson is a nice town, it's time to head home.
We're happily flying along on the third and final leg when CFII dips into his bag of tricks again. This time it involves a breaker and the GPS units. And a certain finger from his student in response.
CFII: So where are we?
Me: (ballparking it in my head) Um...
CFII: Here, use this. (Hands me the enroute chart)
Me: Hrm, ok.
For a second I think he just wants me to point out the location until I see the VORs and realize he wants me to determine our *exact* position based on the radials of a couple of those. Well, fair enough, if you're gonna get all picky about it. After some minor fumbling about, I finally coerce the G1000 to produce what I want in a manner sufficiently accurate to satisfy CFII.
CFII: Starting to feel like an IFR pilot now?
Me: Actually.... yeah, a little.
CFII: You should. You're doing everything right.
That may be overstating the case, but certainly today has been a good testament to the training I've received up to this point.
As we approach John Tune (KJWN) I begin to prepare for the ILS 02 approach. Here's the thing about John Tune... there's a 2000 ft TV tower just to the east of it. It's a big, intimidating, airplane-eating, metal beastie. Even more so when it hides in the clouds just waiting to pounce on our unsuspecting, composite vessel.
CFII: If you're going to screw up, please do so to the west side of the localizer.
Me: Roger that.
We were unable to complete the approach trifecta as this one was NOT to minimums, but I'll take a 500 AGL breakout, thank you very much.
I taxi off the runway and shutdown, and I'm taxiing back to the hangar mentally letting my guard down and then...
CFII: What was that last instruction from ATC?
Me: Oh shit! Gotta cancel!
I'm used to flying out of Smyrna, a towered field, where you don't have to cancel your IFR flight plan. While I know you're suppose to cancel at an untowered field, it completely slipped my mind.
Chalk another one up for CFII. Oh, and I want very much to never hear the score on that game.