As I look back over 40 years and 14,000 hours in the air, including 20 years in the U.S. Air Force and more than 13 years of flying for a major airline, I can recount some memorable flights—and some that I would prefer to forget. However, in all of those years and hours, there is still one flight that, to this day,
I cannot figure out why I considered it—much less flew it. About 15 months after finishing pilot training and C-130E transition training, I was stationed at Pope Air Force Base, North Carolina. Looking for any opportunity to fly and gain experience, I decided to acquire a flight instructor certificate through a flight school at Fayetteville Municipal Airport.
The training was in a Cessna 150, and my instructor, Mike, was a former Army UH-1 pilot and a Vietnam veteran. While Mike was thorough and professional, he still made flying a lot of fun. He decided I was ready for the checkride just before our squadron was scheduled to deploy to England for two months in early February 1973.
When I left Fayetteville for the Raleigh-Durham airport on a Tuesday morning to take the CFI checkride, accompanied by a fellow squadron mate and loadmaster who wanted to take the commercial written test, the weather was very nice for early February. I made my first mistake of the day in assuming the weather would stay that way, so I didn’t get a weather briefing prior to departure.
We took off VFR and headed up what is today V136 from Fayetteville to Raleigh. Even in a Cessna 150 the flight didn’t take very long, and soon we were at the flight standards district office. A couple of hours later, the examiner finished grilling me and said it was time to go fly. I headed to the flight service station to file a flight plan and get a weather briefing.
The briefer informed me that the local area weather currently had a prevailing 2,500-foot ceiling and two miles’ visibility, so that ended any hope of finishing the checkride. I informed my examiner of the weather, and asked when we could reschedule the flight. We agreed on Friday, weather permitting. Since we were leaving for England Friday night, I was definitely going to do everything I could to be there.
I went back to Flight Service to review the weather and learned that now there was intermittent conditions of 500 feet and one mile—definitely not VFR at Raleigh-Durham, although Fayetteville was still clear. I couldn’t file an IFR flight plan and head home, because the airplane recently had a new altimeter installed and had not undergone a pitot-static check for IFR recertification.
We discussed our limited options and decided to see if we could get the tower to give us a special VFR clearance to exit what was then known as an airport traffic area; if we were not able to maintain VFR after departing their airspace, we wanted to get another special VFR to return. The tower controller had no problem with that, and asked for our N number so he could keep an ear out for us when we called for taxi. We headed out to the airplane, taxied out with a few air carriers, and soon were heading southeast with our special VFR clearance. By the time we exited the airport traffic area, the weather seemed to be improving, so we bid tower a good day and pressed on VFR at 3,500 feet.
It’s only 53 nm between Raleigh and Fayetteville, but it quickly became the longest 53 miles I had ever flown. The clouds were gathering below us and we soon found ourselves between layers, but still VFR. Realizing that we didn’t need to be in that situation, I pulled out the sectional chart I’d brought along and began to cross-tune our one VOR receiver to track our progress along the airway. Meanwhile, the clouds began to close in on us. We made a decision to get below them as quickly as possible, although we had no idea where the bases might be as the weather was deteriorating faster than had been forecast. We found a good-sized hole, ducked through it, and found ourselves in marginal VFR.
We ended up having to descend farther, and by the time we got down to about 1,000 feet msl (approximately 700 feet agl), we were almost dragging the tail through the clouds, trying to stay in the clear. Thankfully, I had been tracking our position as best as I could with the VOR, because it was about that time that Bill asked, “Are there any towers near us?” He had no more than asked the question when we broke out into one of the clearest skies I’d ever seen, and right in front of us were two radio towers in Fayetteville. We were above them by a bit, but it was unsettling. A few minutes later we landed, parked the airplane, and called it a day. I decided right there that I would never do anything that stupid in an airplane again.
What did I learn? First, always, always, always check the weather—even if it’s severe clear and forecast to stay that way. Second, this happened back in the days before flight following was available from air traffic control. Even if you’re not going to file a flight plan, at least ask for flight following—ATC can be a world of help, and the controllers appreciate knowing that you are there VFR. Third, know the terrain—even today, with advanced technology like TAWS-B and synthetic vision, you can still get suckered by getting too low in the wrong place—check your route of flight and know what the minimum safe altitudes are. Fourth, don’t get overconfident in your abilities.
Finally, don’t get a case of get-home-itis. Better to make a few phone calls, and maybe rent a car if you really have to get there. By the way, I did get back to Raleigh to finish the CFI checkride as scheduled.
