Frozen to the Ground
This is the true story of a flying adventure I had in January, 1994. It was originally published in East Coast Aviator magazine.
Wednesday morning dawns clear and cold, if you can call -24F merely "cold." The view out the back of my sister's house is beautiful. Soft white snow wraps the houses scattered down the hillside. The occasional plume of white smoke stands out against the pink and blue sky, and with the church steeple in the background all that's missing is "N. Rockwell" in the corner.
Today is even more special though—I plan to fly in my native Ohio for the first time. I've arranged to rent a pair of wings from Pro Aero at the Hamilton airport, northeast of Cincinnati. After my checkout this morning I'll be on my way to spend Wednesday afternoon with friends in Columbus, continue on to Cleveland on Thursday to visit my Mother-in-law, and return on Friday.
The briefer at Dayton AFSS has assured me that good VFR conditions will prevail until late tonight, so the worst of my worries (weather) are put to rest.
Bob, my brother-in-law, drives me to Hamilton, skillfully maneuvering past the broken water main. "You can head on to work now" I say as I jump out of the van. Being wiser in the ways of Ohio winter than I am, Bob says "I'll wait."
I make my way over the icy ground into the FBO, but the expected rush of warm air is missing. "The furnace has been out all night" I'm told. "All the planes are grounded."
What!? Scowl. Grrr. Harumph.
Bob takes me back to the house. I call around to all the other airports within reasonable driving distance and finally find someone at Schmidt Aviation at Blue Ash who says they'll be happy to rent me a C172 as soon as they get the ice off one, which will be soon, as they have one in the heated hangar as we speak. "Great," I think, "just enough time to buy some long underwear."
My helpful sister shuttles me over to Blue Ash. Well, it seems that N75528, the almost defrosted C172, has suffered an alternator failure, and it doesn't look like the new one will be on by this afternoon. "No problem," they say, "N733LK will be ready to go in a jiffy and the only person signed up for it can be moved to 528 tomorrow." Super. I can still make it to Columbus this afternoon and will only have to cancel my lunch date. I check the weather, which is still supposed to be good until late tonight, and settle in for a chat with Mike the CFI about local flying.
One or two or three jiffys later, I'm out in the hangar popping big sheets of ice off a drippy C172. These things don't thaw quickly. Finally, at about 3 o'clock it's clean and dry. Off we go for the checkout, which goes well, but we notice things seem pretty hazy. We return, park by the fuel truck, and I call Flight Service again while they put more "go juice" into the trusty Cessna. Can you guess? That's right: "VFR not recommended. OSU is reporting 6,000 OVC, vis 2 miles in snow." The forecasts are still calling for VFR... Well, this weak low should blow through overnight and leave a nice high in place, so I call my long-suffering sister to rescue me for the evening, and it's just a minor set-back, right?
While I'm waiting I hear there's a charter booked for this evening. Seems a young flight student wants to take his girlfriend up for a scenic ride and propose marriage. They arrive dressed to the nines in a stretch limo and, despite the gray skies, take wing in "my" Cessna, with Mike the CFI at the helm and the love birds snuggled in the back.
The sightseeing flight taxis back to the ramp a mere 30 minutes into the planned hour. Inside, we are rife with speculation about the reception our young suitor has received. But, alas, it's not nuptial discord which has brought our love birds prematurely back to the nest, but another failed alternator. Sigh!
Now, I'm nothing if not persistent. Next morning I eagerly call the airport to see if they'll be able to slip a new electricity maker into one of the beleaguered Skyhawks. "Well," they sheepishly respond, "all the mechanics are out on the runway trying to get the Cessna 421 that's just attempted mating with a snow bank, off the runway." There's still hope for making it to Cleveland to see my mother-in-law's new house, and I'm curious about a 421 without nose gear. I head on over.
Though watching the crane remove the 421 from the snow is fun, it looks grim for me. Of the four C172s the FBO has, one is in Myrtle Beach, one is reserved for traffic watch duty, and the other two have broken alternators. "No problem" they say "it doesn't take long to slip a new alternator into a C172." But, 528 also needs a 100 hour, so it won't be ready to fly for a day or two, and 3LK managed to fry some wiring in the process of munching its alternator, so no go there. The only other plane they have that I can fly is a Warrior, still sitting under mounds of snow...
"OK," says I, "can you recommend another place to rent a 172?" The Schmidt's people very helpfully call around and find that the FBO next door would love to rent me a 172. They have N74JB in their hangar ready to go. Great, except there's one catch—the frost heaving has jammed their hangar doors closed!
After about three hours of raising, banging, and shoving doors, the bird is freed. I make some calls, check weather one last time, preflight, and fire it up. It catches on the first try. Oh, what sweet music!
Wait a sec. The left brake feels awfully flat. Let's try it again. Sure enough, it ain't workin'. Shut down, call mechanic. "No problem," says he, "these tend to leak a little in the cold and it's been sittin' for a few days." He back-bleeds in some fluid, tops up the right master too, and, finally, at last, I'm off.
It's late, so I head right on up to Burke Lakefront airport, detouring only enough to overfly Wright Patterson. The night flight is uneventful, though I'm glad to have the long underwear in that drafty cockpit! I park at Avitat where they tie down the airplane, gas me up and provide a pre-heat the next day. The aging Skyhawk seems incongruous among the bizjets and marble.
The adventures continue, with a flat tire on the way to my mother-in-law's house, where we discover burst water pipes in her garage, but I'll stick to the airplane stuff...
The return to Cincy the next day is uneventful. There are a few bumps climbing out from Cleveland, but it's smooth at 6,500, and very pretty after I get out from under the overcast around Columbus. Burke was clear and dry on the ground, but Blue Ash is literally a sheet of ice. Fortunately the winds are light so that doesn't pose a serious problem. Taxi speed is creep.
Now I'm back in rainy California after my week of frigid adventures. It's true what the locals told me—it's pretty easy to fly VFR in Ohio in the winter. The hard part is getting to the runway!
Total Hobbs time: 5 hours. Total ground time: 12 hours.
Wednesday morning dawns clear and cold, if you can call -24F merely "cold." The view out the back of my sister's house is beautiful. Soft white snow wraps the houses scattered down the hillside. The occasional plume of white smoke stands out against the pink and blue sky, and with the church steeple in the background all that's missing is "N. Rockwell" in the corner.
Today is even more special though—I plan to fly in my native Ohio for the first time. I've arranged to rent a pair of wings from Pro Aero at the Hamilton airport, northeast of Cincinnati. After my checkout this morning I'll be on my way to spend Wednesday afternoon with friends in Columbus, continue on to Cleveland on Thursday to visit my Mother-in-law, and return on Friday.
The briefer at Dayton AFSS has assured me that good VFR conditions will prevail until late tonight, so the worst of my worries (weather) are put to rest.
Bob, my brother-in-law, drives me to Hamilton, skillfully maneuvering past the broken water main. "You can head on to work now" I say as I jump out of the van. Being wiser in the ways of Ohio winter than I am, Bob says "I'll wait."
I make my way over the icy ground into the FBO, but the expected rush of warm air is missing. "The furnace has been out all night" I'm told. "All the planes are grounded."
What!? Scowl. Grrr. Harumph.
Bob takes me back to the house. I call around to all the other airports within reasonable driving distance and finally find someone at Schmidt Aviation at Blue Ash who says they'll be happy to rent me a C172 as soon as they get the ice off one, which will be soon, as they have one in the heated hangar as we speak. "Great," I think, "just enough time to buy some long underwear."
My helpful sister shuttles me over to Blue Ash. Well, it seems that N75528, the almost defrosted C172, has suffered an alternator failure, and it doesn't look like the new one will be on by this afternoon. "No problem," they say, "N733LK will be ready to go in a jiffy and the only person signed up for it can be moved to 528 tomorrow." Super. I can still make it to Columbus this afternoon and will only have to cancel my lunch date. I check the weather, which is still supposed to be good until late tonight, and settle in for a chat with Mike the CFI about local flying.
One or two or three jiffys later, I'm out in the hangar popping big sheets of ice off a drippy C172. These things don't thaw quickly. Finally, at about 3 o'clock it's clean and dry. Off we go for the checkout, which goes well, but we notice things seem pretty hazy. We return, park by the fuel truck, and I call Flight Service again while they put more "go juice" into the trusty Cessna. Can you guess? That's right: "VFR not recommended. OSU is reporting 6,000 OVC, vis 2 miles in snow." The forecasts are still calling for VFR... Well, this weak low should blow through overnight and leave a nice high in place, so I call my long-suffering sister to rescue me for the evening, and it's just a minor set-back, right?
While I'm waiting I hear there's a charter booked for this evening. Seems a young flight student wants to take his girlfriend up for a scenic ride and propose marriage. They arrive dressed to the nines in a stretch limo and, despite the gray skies, take wing in "my" Cessna, with Mike the CFI at the helm and the love birds snuggled in the back.
The sightseeing flight taxis back to the ramp a mere 30 minutes into the planned hour. Inside, we are rife with speculation about the reception our young suitor has received. But, alas, it's not nuptial discord which has brought our love birds prematurely back to the nest, but another failed alternator. Sigh!
Now, I'm nothing if not persistent. Next morning I eagerly call the airport to see if they'll be able to slip a new electricity maker into one of the beleaguered Skyhawks. "Well," they sheepishly respond, "all the mechanics are out on the runway trying to get the Cessna 421 that's just attempted mating with a snow bank, off the runway." There's still hope for making it to Cleveland to see my mother-in-law's new house, and I'm curious about a 421 without nose gear. I head on over.
Though watching the crane remove the 421 from the snow is fun, it looks grim for me. Of the four C172s the FBO has, one is in Myrtle Beach, one is reserved for traffic watch duty, and the other two have broken alternators. "No problem" they say "it doesn't take long to slip a new alternator into a C172." But, 528 also needs a 100 hour, so it won't be ready to fly for a day or two, and 3LK managed to fry some wiring in the process of munching its alternator, so no go there. The only other plane they have that I can fly is a Warrior, still sitting under mounds of snow...
"OK," says I, "can you recommend another place to rent a 172?" The Schmidt's people very helpfully call around and find that the FBO next door would love to rent me a 172. They have N74JB in their hangar ready to go. Great, except there's one catch—the frost heaving has jammed their hangar doors closed!
After about three hours of raising, banging, and shoving doors, the bird is freed. I make some calls, check weather one last time, preflight, and fire it up. It catches on the first try. Oh, what sweet music!
Wait a sec. The left brake feels awfully flat. Let's try it again. Sure enough, it ain't workin'. Shut down, call mechanic. "No problem," says he, "these tend to leak a little in the cold and it's been sittin' for a few days." He back-bleeds in some fluid, tops up the right master too, and, finally, at last, I'm off.
It's late, so I head right on up to Burke Lakefront airport, detouring only enough to overfly Wright Patterson. The night flight is uneventful, though I'm glad to have the long underwear in that drafty cockpit! I park at Avitat where they tie down the airplane, gas me up and provide a pre-heat the next day. The aging Skyhawk seems incongruous among the bizjets and marble.
The adventures continue, with a flat tire on the way to my mother-in-law's house, where we discover burst water pipes in her garage, but I'll stick to the airplane stuff...
The return to Cincy the next day is uneventful. There are a few bumps climbing out from Cleveland, but it's smooth at 6,500, and very pretty after I get out from under the overcast around Columbus. Burke was clear and dry on the ground, but Blue Ash is literally a sheet of ice. Fortunately the winds are light so that doesn't pose a serious problem. Taxi speed is creep.
Now I'm back in rainy California after my week of frigid adventures. It's true what the locals told me—it's pretty easy to fly VFR in Ohio in the winter. The hard part is getting to the runway!
Total Hobbs time: 5 hours. Total ground time: 12 hours.
