We all got out of walla walla and gave landed safely in missoula. We've now passed over the highest of the mountains we will cover on this trip, though we have some more to go.
En route, we checked the weather over lewiston and VFR was forecast as absolutely no go after Missoula. We did indeed thread through scattered and two of three planes stayed at 7500 feet as a caution against the layer below us closing up. Dick spent some time at 9500 in smooth air before coming down as that higher layer began to close in. We became increasingly grateful for every mile.
That was as much drama as I ever want to see between mountain tops and scud coming down. Ever. Turbulence was no big deal -- for the two bigger planes. 172 picked up carb icing 40 miles out and lost about 500 precious fee of altitude. I watched a little very light precip on the windscreen, looked at the OAT, and just really implored the weather gods to be on our side. We are not going further today -- VFR was totally not recommended beyond this point and we were losing tops as we went along.
Opinions vary widely as to whether, "You got away with it but you are pushing thye edge of the envelope, taking too much risk!" Or "The guy we got en route on the raido says it's like this in missoula all the time!" Maybe it is. But Missoula is not the same as what it's like on the way. I cannot dismiss feeling scared over the mountains with a deck coming down and no place to land except a field 30 miles out.
The 172 get tossed around a lot more than the Cardinal, which outweighs it by 800 pounds, and the Cherokee, which flies steady like a brick.
We have rooms at a Ruby's Inn, which is sending a shuttle for us.
Judy
"So, do y'all travel a lot together?" asked the woman who was driving us from the super 8, where we thought we were going to have to stay, back to the Comfort Inn, which had no rooms for us three hours ago and just came up with two after all.
"Not anymore," came a unanimous chorus.
At this point, beyond predictable laughter, the strain of the last few days finally broke as Dick Strock totally lost it, and we watched him dissolve into a helpless puddle of hysterical tears.
The afternoon has settled down. Two guys are going out to the plane to store stuff and get charts; the guy who needed chiro is going to take the advice he got and REST; Ruth has headed out to party hearty with Aunt Marty; and Janice and I have walked into town for lunch and will then see the Indiana Jones movie.
Sensible people are celebrating what's turned into a quite lovely memorial day weekend Saturday here, better than forecast on the ground. There is a high school baseball tournament in town, family reunions are everywhere, and middle America is having a life. For today, itinerant and slightly-less-tightly-wound-than-usual pilots are doing a bit of the same.
It's about time.
Truly. I would never have gotten the chance to be on this trip if I still worked, well, almost ANyWHERE else, never mind the Embassy specifically.
And it has taken me the better part of two weeks to totally let go of the idea that I have any control at all of when we fly. Number one factor is the weather. Everything else flows out of that.
I could extrapolate from that the value, implications and critical importance of exquisite attention to one's environment -- to assess it and to decide how you want to respond.
Or I could just enjoy the day! It's the weekend, after all.
Subject: When Discretion Is the WHOLE Part of Valour
The first thing the weather briefers said this morning was "AIRMET for mountain obscuration: VFR flight not recommended along your route of flight." Attached picture is what that looks like. To fly, we need to get over the mountains. To get over the mountains, we need to SEE the mountains. And right now we can't see the mountains.
The weather overhead is exasperatingly lovely.
The other issue, after discussion with the pilot who has the most experience by a factor of at least six, remains icing. If the air is saturated, or close to it, then ice can form very easily and fast even when we are not in clouds. The temperature and dew point are only two degrees apart -- 9 and 7, respectively -- at our purported destination, Missoula, right now, and rainshowers are moving into there as I write this.
Weather reports this morning might have let us get a ways east, but the system that is hanging out over the Midwest and generating tornadoes in Kansas would have stopped us for another few days in Missoula even if we got there.
I am not happy right now because I should have kept with me to bag with my camera in it, and I accepted the suggestion of the person who offered to load it in the back of the van transferring us from the Comfort Inn to the Super 8. When someone opened the door of the van the camera fell out and hit the pavement. The lens moves more sluggishly when I turn it on, and the edge of the lens is clearly bent up. The glass part is intact. And now reservations are messed up at the Super 8, where we were supposed to stay tonight. Weather is not great for a couple more days at least.
Two guys who had been having a snit over the other two pilots' more conservative weather analysis threw up their hands this morning and said "we didn't check the weather because you guys make all the decisons anyway."
The hissy fits are an unpleasant feature of the past week. One pilot has got about 500 hours' experience over about 7 years. He pores over weather charts and apparently doesn't put much store by the advice of flight briefers. He's also easily captured by a "get-home-itis" spirit and an urge to get moving. Another one has over 4500 hours over decades...and is more cautious, because he's seen more kinds of trouble develop where there wasn't supposed to be.
He's also the pilot with a back hurting so badly that his number one task has been to get to a chiropractor. We at least got that far. He just called, and is feeling MUCH better -- "snap, crackle, pop did the trick!" he exclaimed -- so at least that is looking up.
If the new motel has room for us, at least it has a pool. It's next to the railroad tracks and walking distance from the grocery store... Our attention is fast slinking down Maslow's heirarchy of needs.
Eventually, the weather will move on. Eventually we will fly. Eventually we will get home. I have drugs enough to last.
And the Indiana Jones movie IS playing. Ruth's cousins have invited us all the Aunt Marty's 90th birthday barbequeue. The Harley drivers who have filled this motel seem nice.
Sigh
Judy
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