Flight Journal: flight 60
Posted: Tue Sep 02, 2008 11:56 amFlight 60
11-18-96
1979 C-152
TEB-MSV-TEB
2.2 solo
2 landings
-FIRST SOLO CROSS-COUNTRY-
"Norm/short/soft, pilotage and DR, 1st solo to unfam. airport"
Stationary front NW; wind calm; 6000 broken
Well, at last it looks like I will make that flight to Sulliuvan County International. The weather is expected to deteriorate as a rain-filled front crawls eastward, but for now, at TEB, anyway, it's not bad at all.
The only snag is that 23F, my intended mount, is still having avionics work done on it... and no other 172s are available.
I grit my teeth and settle on the 152, 51B, which isn't too bad, but it is unfamiliar, and on top of not having flown at all in four weeks, I haven't flown a 2-seater in several months, during my last visit to Orlando. My carefully prepared navlog, with its checkpoint times figured precisely, is now useless except as a directional aid.
The reason for this is that the 152 cruises a good 10 knots slower than the 172... which also means I will be more likely to be thwarted by the approaching weather.
Undaunted, I head out to the ramp, determined to complete this important flight. 51B checks out fine- no problems, full tanks, plenty of oil. But there is a problem- I can't find the fuel selector valve. I grope around where it usually is found in the 150, but not realizing that it's a very small lever buried in the carpeting between the seats, not a knob... I do recall that some 150-series Cessnas have an on/off valve rather than a left/right/both type, so I decide that if it starts and keeps running through the runup and fairly lengthy taxi, it must be in the "on"position, wherever it is.
Not knowing its precise location could be a problem in the event of a fire or other emergency, but I put such thoughts aside, in my haste.
Startup and runup are routine, the engine keeps running all the way to the runway...and my takeoff has me feeling comfortable with my new mount. Somewhere in the back of my mind, I know that if I really need to find that selector later, it'll turn up. For the moment, I'm consciously focused only on flying the airplane.
My course to MSV is a straight line, using periodic checks of the VORs to confirm my pilotage and dead reckoning. I arrive only slightly behind schedule over Oakland, NJ, which lies just beyond the outer shelf of the Class B, and I smoothly coax 51B up to 4500 feet, doing well despite the fact that in level flight, 51B wants to roll- not yaw- to the left.
Soon the smooth water of Greenwood Lake slides by under the nose, with 4N1 on my left, right where it should be. The little plane is indicating 100 knots at 2500 rpm; not too shabby. A quick check of the TEB VOR confirms my wind correction angle is perfect. This is good, as soon I will lose that signal, and the next twenty miles has a dearth of distinctive landmarks.
My next point, the town of Otisville, lies next to a small tributary of the Delaware, with a lake just to the north. Soon it appears ahead, just to my right... or... what? This should be it, but it doesn't look right. The town seems too small; the river is barely visible, and the lake looks more like part oif a river... I circle once and decide that this is indeed Otisville.
I try the VOR again, and sho 'nuff, I'm right on the money.
But it still doesn't look quite like the chart...
Ahead, the haze is thickening- definitely less than 10 miles out there. The sky to the west is dark gray- that front is definitely close, now. But the few scattered clouds in this area are safely overhead, and i can see well enough...
Or maybe not... where is Randall? The little airport should be five miles off the right wing now, but I can't see it. I try the VOR and- whoops, no more signal from the TEB station. I try the nearby Hugenot VOR, but the CDI won't settle down; must be too close.
Just as I pause to ponder my next move, a few raindrops spatter on 51B's windscreen. I quickly tune in MSV's automated weather broadcast... the news is not good.
MSV is reporting 4900 overcast... my limit is 5000. Visibilty is reported at 8 miles, and probably soon will drop below my limit of seven.
So... the ceiling at my destination, just a few minutes away, is apparently 100 below my student limits; the visibility is barely above said limits, it's raining... I reduce power and let 51B down to 3500 as more scud appears, reaching down...and... and I think I'm lost!
I know basically where I am, and more important, I know the weather is fine all the way back to TEB... I could easily outrun the front if I turn back immediately. There's probably time to get closer to MSV and see what conditions are really like, but what if I get stuck there? the drizzle slackens as I think this over, and I decide to at least correct my course to get within sight of MSV, then decide what to do next.
I see a lake with a small dam. Just north of it is a smaller lake, oblong, pointing roughly northwest-southeast. Let's see... the wind is southwesterly, so I've likely drifted north... this must be Neversink Reservoir, with oblong Rondout Reservoir nearby. but Rondout sure looks different on the chart; much smaller, and Neversink doesn't look quite... whoa! I'm letting 51B descend, not good with the higher terrain and my attention on the chart while circling the lake.
Okay, then. If I'm right about my position, the airport should be over there...
I bank that way, peering into the gloom. I check the sky behind me: still clear; I have an easy out. The rain has stopped altogether now- the front seems stalled over the hills to the west.
Suddenly I spy a cluster of small lakes ahead, and a quick glance at the chart shows I am actually a ways south of my intended course, not north- I've been over-compensating. The larger lake I saw earlier is not Neversink at all, but some unnamed body of water that closely resembles it... although studying the chart later, I will laugh aloud at how dissimilar they really are...
Triumphant, or nearly so, I set a correct course to MSV. I've been trying to get a radio check from the airport, but so far, nothing. I can hear traffic at nearby Wurtsboro and Monticello, but not a peep from Sullivan. The possible reason is apparent: both of those other fields are a ways east, while MSV is most likely under the edge of the approaching barrier of low, sodden clouds.
Soon I'm certain I am very close, but I have no positive sighting of MSV, and the scud is thickening to the point where pockets of mist are obscuring my view of the ground. Just as I decide it's time to abandon my plan, I look straight over the side and see the approach end of Runway 33 at Sullivan!
I call again, and notice that I've been hearing clicks in response to my calls- somebody down there is simply keying the mic to confirm they hear me; why they don't speak, I don't know.
Turning wide overhead in a clear patch, I confirm definitely that this is MSV below me. A Skyhawk pilot announces his takeoff from MSV, departing downwind off 15, most likely to avoid flying off into the crud to the northwest. I decide that I should land the same way; the runway is long, the wind is fairly light, and it will save me some trouble if I have to go around- don't want to climb out to the northwest with nothing but a wall of gray to use as a horizon.
My plan falls back together just like that- I may even manage to land, grab a souvenir of some kind to prove I was there, then scoot home before the weather swallow up the airport.
I can see that the runway is wet- might be slippery, so I ease the 152 down, soft-field style, and avoid braking until she's almost done rolling. Taxiing towards the terminal, I notice that the field is deserted. A fuel truck passes me on the grass, going the other way. I park the plane on the ramp, shut down, and take a moment to savor the moment. I made it!!
The plane is pointed northwest now, and I can see that for the moment, MSV is in a pocket of clear air- the front's ugly low clouds are oozing by on a more northerly heading.
The field sits on a 1400-foot pleateau, and beyond the western edge I see haze and light rain. I clamber out of the little plane and walk over to the terminal, enjoying the quiet.
The deserted but unlocked terminal is fairly impressive for a non-towered field; maybe in the winter they get a lot of skiers and resort visitors here; might explain the 6000-foot runway and the "International" designation.
I quickly make use of the bathroom, sign the guest register, and grab a "Learn to Fly" brochure with the airport name from a holder on the counter as a souvenir, then march out to the ramp, eyes on the sky. There's no rain yet, but it seems imminent- I can almost taste it.
I fire up the Lycoming and review my escape plan, deciding to climb only to 3500.
After a prudent runup, I swing 51B onto the runway and consider again what I'm about to do. The sky to the east still looks inviting. I consider checking the AWOS again, but it probably hasn't updated, and things actually look better than when I arrived.
I make a fair takeoff downwind, and as I level off at 3500 a few miles east, I look back to clearly see the clouds slowly engulfing the airport. That was a bit close, to say the least...
This time, I hold my course well- Monticello slides by, then Otisville turns up. The already-low sun is obscured by the mass of clouds to the west, and the ground below is in deep shadow. The good people of Otisville have turned on their lights, as if to aid me in spotting the little town.
By the time I reach 4N1 it's properly dark below although still technically twilight, and the sunset light at 3500 fills the cabin with an orange glow, which although pretty, is making it hard to see the instruments. Now it's time to dip below 3000, slip under the Class B, dial in the TEB ATIS, and call the tower.
Tower has me circle over Paterson a few times; 51B drones peacefully over the twinkling array of lights. I'm cleared straight-in for 24, and as I turn towards it, I see TEB's tower beacon in the darkness. My landing is a bit of a "chop and drop" affair, as 51B's landing light appears to be inop, and I can barely see the centerline, let alone judge my exact height!
I salvage that landing reasonably well, then somehow manage to taxi back to the ramp without a light. If it weren't for the taxiway lights, I'd have to park it and go find a flashlight, or leave the plane where it is until dawn. It's definitely dark out there!
Driving home, I still have doubts about my decision-making during that flight, despite its success.
Was I cocky out there? I pulled it off, but does that justify "playing chicken" with instrument conditions? And did I bust my assigned minimums...? Hard to say.
But I do know that if the rain had continued, or the overcast had really sunk lower, I'd have not hesitated to hightail it out of there.
All in all, it was a good flight, and a good set of decisions, if a little adventurous... a milestone, and something to remember next time I'm on the razor's edge.
Next: flight 61- isn't this supposed to be a "non-smoking" flight?
11-18-96
1979 C-152
TEB-MSV-TEB
2.2 solo
2 landings
-FIRST SOLO CROSS-COUNTRY-
"Norm/short/soft, pilotage and DR, 1st solo to unfam. airport"
Stationary front NW; wind calm; 6000 broken
Well, at last it looks like I will make that flight to Sulliuvan County International. The weather is expected to deteriorate as a rain-filled front crawls eastward, but for now, at TEB, anyway, it's not bad at all.
The only snag is that 23F, my intended mount, is still having avionics work done on it... and no other 172s are available.
I grit my teeth and settle on the 152, 51B, which isn't too bad, but it is unfamiliar, and on top of not having flown at all in four weeks, I haven't flown a 2-seater in several months, during my last visit to Orlando. My carefully prepared navlog, with its checkpoint times figured precisely, is now useless except as a directional aid.
The reason for this is that the 152 cruises a good 10 knots slower than the 172... which also means I will be more likely to be thwarted by the approaching weather.
Undaunted, I head out to the ramp, determined to complete this important flight. 51B checks out fine- no problems, full tanks, plenty of oil. But there is a problem- I can't find the fuel selector valve. I grope around where it usually is found in the 150, but not realizing that it's a very small lever buried in the carpeting between the seats, not a knob... I do recall that some 150-series Cessnas have an on/off valve rather than a left/right/both type, so I decide that if it starts and keeps running through the runup and fairly lengthy taxi, it must be in the "on"position, wherever it is.
Not knowing its precise location could be a problem in the event of a fire or other emergency, but I put such thoughts aside, in my haste.
Startup and runup are routine, the engine keeps running all the way to the runway...and my takeoff has me feeling comfortable with my new mount. Somewhere in the back of my mind, I know that if I really need to find that selector later, it'll turn up. For the moment, I'm consciously focused only on flying the airplane.
My course to MSV is a straight line, using periodic checks of the VORs to confirm my pilotage and dead reckoning. I arrive only slightly behind schedule over Oakland, NJ, which lies just beyond the outer shelf of the Class B, and I smoothly coax 51B up to 4500 feet, doing well despite the fact that in level flight, 51B wants to roll- not yaw- to the left.
Soon the smooth water of Greenwood Lake slides by under the nose, with 4N1 on my left, right where it should be. The little plane is indicating 100 knots at 2500 rpm; not too shabby. A quick check of the TEB VOR confirms my wind correction angle is perfect. This is good, as soon I will lose that signal, and the next twenty miles has a dearth of distinctive landmarks.
My next point, the town of Otisville, lies next to a small tributary of the Delaware, with a lake just to the north. Soon it appears ahead, just to my right... or... what? This should be it, but it doesn't look right. The town seems too small; the river is barely visible, and the lake looks more like part oif a river... I circle once and decide that this is indeed Otisville.
I try the VOR again, and sho 'nuff, I'm right on the money.
But it still doesn't look quite like the chart...
Ahead, the haze is thickening- definitely less than 10 miles out there. The sky to the west is dark gray- that front is definitely close, now. But the few scattered clouds in this area are safely overhead, and i can see well enough...
Or maybe not... where is Randall? The little airport should be five miles off the right wing now, but I can't see it. I try the VOR and- whoops, no more signal from the TEB station. I try the nearby Hugenot VOR, but the CDI won't settle down; must be too close.
Just as I pause to ponder my next move, a few raindrops spatter on 51B's windscreen. I quickly tune in MSV's automated weather broadcast... the news is not good.
MSV is reporting 4900 overcast... my limit is 5000. Visibilty is reported at 8 miles, and probably soon will drop below my limit of seven.
So... the ceiling at my destination, just a few minutes away, is apparently 100 below my student limits; the visibility is barely above said limits, it's raining... I reduce power and let 51B down to 3500 as more scud appears, reaching down...and... and I think I'm lost!
I know basically where I am, and more important, I know the weather is fine all the way back to TEB... I could easily outrun the front if I turn back immediately. There's probably time to get closer to MSV and see what conditions are really like, but what if I get stuck there? the drizzle slackens as I think this over, and I decide to at least correct my course to get within sight of MSV, then decide what to do next.
I see a lake with a small dam. Just north of it is a smaller lake, oblong, pointing roughly northwest-southeast. Let's see... the wind is southwesterly, so I've likely drifted north... this must be Neversink Reservoir, with oblong Rondout Reservoir nearby. but Rondout sure looks different on the chart; much smaller, and Neversink doesn't look quite... whoa! I'm letting 51B descend, not good with the higher terrain and my attention on the chart while circling the lake.
Okay, then. If I'm right about my position, the airport should be over there...
I bank that way, peering into the gloom. I check the sky behind me: still clear; I have an easy out. The rain has stopped altogether now- the front seems stalled over the hills to the west.
Suddenly I spy a cluster of small lakes ahead, and a quick glance at the chart shows I am actually a ways south of my intended course, not north- I've been over-compensating. The larger lake I saw earlier is not Neversink at all, but some unnamed body of water that closely resembles it... although studying the chart later, I will laugh aloud at how dissimilar they really are...
Triumphant, or nearly so, I set a correct course to MSV. I've been trying to get a radio check from the airport, but so far, nothing. I can hear traffic at nearby Wurtsboro and Monticello, but not a peep from Sullivan. The possible reason is apparent: both of those other fields are a ways east, while MSV is most likely under the edge of the approaching barrier of low, sodden clouds.
Soon I'm certain I am very close, but I have no positive sighting of MSV, and the scud is thickening to the point where pockets of mist are obscuring my view of the ground. Just as I decide it's time to abandon my plan, I look straight over the side and see the approach end of Runway 33 at Sullivan!
I call again, and notice that I've been hearing clicks in response to my calls- somebody down there is simply keying the mic to confirm they hear me; why they don't speak, I don't know.
Turning wide overhead in a clear patch, I confirm definitely that this is MSV below me. A Skyhawk pilot announces his takeoff from MSV, departing downwind off 15, most likely to avoid flying off into the crud to the northwest. I decide that I should land the same way; the runway is long, the wind is fairly light, and it will save me some trouble if I have to go around- don't want to climb out to the northwest with nothing but a wall of gray to use as a horizon.
My plan falls back together just like that- I may even manage to land, grab a souvenir of some kind to prove I was there, then scoot home before the weather swallow up the airport.
I can see that the runway is wet- might be slippery, so I ease the 152 down, soft-field style, and avoid braking until she's almost done rolling. Taxiing towards the terminal, I notice that the field is deserted. A fuel truck passes me on the grass, going the other way. I park the plane on the ramp, shut down, and take a moment to savor the moment. I made it!!
The plane is pointed northwest now, and I can see that for the moment, MSV is in a pocket of clear air- the front's ugly low clouds are oozing by on a more northerly heading.
The field sits on a 1400-foot pleateau, and beyond the western edge I see haze and light rain. I clamber out of the little plane and walk over to the terminal, enjoying the quiet.
The deserted but unlocked terminal is fairly impressive for a non-towered field; maybe in the winter they get a lot of skiers and resort visitors here; might explain the 6000-foot runway and the "International" designation.
I quickly make use of the bathroom, sign the guest register, and grab a "Learn to Fly" brochure with the airport name from a holder on the counter as a souvenir, then march out to the ramp, eyes on the sky. There's no rain yet, but it seems imminent- I can almost taste it.
I fire up the Lycoming and review my escape plan, deciding to climb only to 3500.
After a prudent runup, I swing 51B onto the runway and consider again what I'm about to do. The sky to the east still looks inviting. I consider checking the AWOS again, but it probably hasn't updated, and things actually look better than when I arrived.
I make a fair takeoff downwind, and as I level off at 3500 a few miles east, I look back to clearly see the clouds slowly engulfing the airport. That was a bit close, to say the least...
This time, I hold my course well- Monticello slides by, then Otisville turns up. The already-low sun is obscured by the mass of clouds to the west, and the ground below is in deep shadow. The good people of Otisville have turned on their lights, as if to aid me in spotting the little town.
By the time I reach 4N1 it's properly dark below although still technically twilight, and the sunset light at 3500 fills the cabin with an orange glow, which although pretty, is making it hard to see the instruments. Now it's time to dip below 3000, slip under the Class B, dial in the TEB ATIS, and call the tower.
Tower has me circle over Paterson a few times; 51B drones peacefully over the twinkling array of lights. I'm cleared straight-in for 24, and as I turn towards it, I see TEB's tower beacon in the darkness. My landing is a bit of a "chop and drop" affair, as 51B's landing light appears to be inop, and I can barely see the centerline, let alone judge my exact height!
I salvage that landing reasonably well, then somehow manage to taxi back to the ramp without a light. If it weren't for the taxiway lights, I'd have to park it and go find a flashlight, or leave the plane where it is until dawn. It's definitely dark out there!
Driving home, I still have doubts about my decision-making during that flight, despite its success.
Was I cocky out there? I pulled it off, but does that justify "playing chicken" with instrument conditions? And did I bust my assigned minimums...? Hard to say.
But I do know that if the rain had continued, or the overcast had really sunk lower, I'd have not hesitated to hightail it out of there.
All in all, it was a good flight, and a good set of decisions, if a little adventurous... a milestone, and something to remember next time I'm on the razor's edge.
Next: flight 61- isn't this supposed to be a "non-smoking" flight?
