Owning up to inadvertent IMC entry

I left heading west on a sunny VFR day in western North Dakota. Those were the days before everyone had cellphones, when the FAA flight service stations (FSS) were staffed by personnel who gave you the expected weather on your flight path. Departing Dickinson, North Dakota, in my newly purchased 1975 Cessna 172M, I checked in with the FSS in Miles City, Montana, landed, and received the weather for the next leg of my expected journey.

The weather was expected to be VFR to Lewistown, Montana, with a 30 percent chance of showers in the area. Seemed like a “go” decision to me. No hazards were indicated. I fueled up with gas to the full line—38 gallons—and off I went on a westerly heading of 6,500 feet agl, as best I can remember. All seemed normal for the first hour, then things gradually began to change.

An overcast cloud layer formed above me, but I was still VFR, so I continued toward my next leg’s destination. I was perhaps not well versed on the procedures you should take if inclement weather develops (namely the 180-degrees turn back from where you came). After a considerable time in the air, I became nervous about my situation, as I could not see the western horizon or the approaching Big Snowy Mountains, which I hoped would be to my left.

I started to make radio calls to Billings Approach and Salt Lake City Approach but got no response. Maybe I was too low at my cruising altitude. I then radioed Lewistown, with no response. This part of eastern Montana is called the “empty quarter” as only ranches, small towns, and county seat nontowered airports exist.

By this time the most disconcerting sight appeared: An undercast came below me. I was now in between cloud layers. The Great Falls sectional chart was now useless, and I looked ahead to see if I could see any discerning features on the horizon, but I saw nothing but gray clouds.

I began calling different frequencies—Salt Lake, Billings—but they did not respond. I called Lewistown again and to my relief a voice became audible. I saw a break in the undercast just off the airplane's nose to the left, but my relief turned to horror as a group of Ponderosa pines appeared on a side hill directly ahead. I banked hard to the right, and the Lewistown controller asked if I was in the clouds. At just that instant, I was in billowing nimbostratus clouds, and I replied, “I am now!”

Lewistown Radio said they would give me a “directional steer” to get me down. I believed I was halfway prepared for this, as for several training lessons previous, my flight instructor Linda had me under the hood, doing just as she instructed: ascents, descending turns, straight and level for several minutes at a time. This training saved my life, as I climbed north to about 9,500 feet as instructed, glued to my steam gauge instruments.

As I recall, there was just a little turbulence, with moderate rain pelting the windshield, so it felt reasonably comfortable. Lewistown then had me then turn west, then south, and descend to roughly 6,500 feet msl and eventually over the airport making several turns and gradual descents for the last 2,000 feet. I broke out of the overcast at 400 feet agl after about 45 minutes in instrument conditions but off to the left of the runway, so I did a circle and landed.

Much to my surprise, there were only one or two other airplanes on the apron. Lewistown Municipal Airport (LWT) was built in 1942 as a B–17 Flying Fortress training facility, so the runway was long and wide. I reported to the FSS and went to a motel to stay the night. The next morning was clear and a perfect blue sky but to the south the Big Snowy Mountains at 9,500 feet msl had about a foot of new snow. I returned to western North Dakota that day, having never made the trip west, or told my parents.

A letter from the FAA office, Helena, Montana, appeared a few days later, stating that I had flown into IMC conditions and would have been cited if the weather had not been so “poor that day.”

Charles Taylor is a private pilot and has been flying for 28 years. He owns a Cessna 172M.