Storm Flight
(Battling a Thunderstorm in a WWI Eindecker)
"You start with a bag full of luck and an empty bag of experience. The trick is to fill the bag of experience before you empty the bag of luck." (Unknown author)
Below is just one account of my endeavor to fill the bag of experience while risking the depletion of my bag of luck.
It was one of those hot summer evenings where you could be assured of two things. Loads of building thunder storms and a hideous density altitude. It's just one of those things in the blistering Georgia heat and humidity that one must deal with when flying. This particular day I was looking forward to cooling off at a little higher altitude than my five foot eight inch frame can attain standing flat footed at ground level. Although there were cumulus clouds building to a sure sign of some stormy weather, it looked like I could get at least an hour or two of some much needed aero-therapy. I figured I'd just stay close to the airport just incase some storms popped up.
A friend of mine owns a private strip just two miles away so I decided to fly over and see if he wanted to do some flying. As we were standing outside shooting the breeze the sky started to fester into an angry mass of boiling black clouds slowly folding over itself like the solution in an evil witches brew. I wasn't paying much attention to the weather as the dark, seething mass of moisture slowly stalked our position in its slow stealthy attack. Finally, the beast let out a subtle rumble from its angry gut alerting us of its looming presents and as I looked up in the general direction of the sound I suddenly realized that I had a tough decision to make. And I made the wrong one.
After contemplating the situation, I decided that the two mile journey to a dry hanger, for my little open cockpit pride and joy, out weighed the chance at getting caught flying in a thunderstorm. I thought that I would have no problem beating the storm back to the hanger. I quickly strapped on my leather flying helmet and buckled into the seat. I reached forward, flipped the mag switches to the hot position, cleared the prop and pushed the starter button. As soon as the Airdrome Eindecker fired to life, I slowly back taxied to one-eight while my temps came up to their operating range. Once at the end of the runway with the winds fairly calm, and the Eindecker ready to roll, I forced the throttle to the stop and committed myself to flight. As soon as I rotated and started to climb, invisible fingers of thrashing winds reached out from the approaching storm as if it were trying to swat the airplane from the sky. I felt the first jolt of high winds from the north. The little Eindecker was severely rocked from side to side and I could feel the loss of altitude with each blast from behind. I relaxed the climb angle looking for more speed. Each belt of wind had my airspeed indicator needle swinging like the tack on a top fuel dragster. Worried about a down wind stall I started a slow and shallow 180 degree turn into the wind while contemplating my options for a return landing on three-six. It was beginning to look like I was committed to fighting the winds at altitude rather than trying to land in this type of turbulence. Looking ahead I could see a corridor that appeared to provide a path to clear skies beyond the cell. As the Eindecker bucked and swung violently on our northern path, my mind was desperately searching for a way out of the mess I put us in. Although the little Fokker may look frail, it really builds up into an incredibly strong aircraft. I wasn't too worried about the planes ability to take the beating I was subjecting it to, but I was concerned about my ability to control the plane in that kind of wind. As I fought the vicious rolling and pitching motions of the plane I could see that I was making progress toward clearer skies. A light rain started to fall but the windscreen provides just enough of a break to keep it off my goggles. As I neared the edge of the pathway and proceeded into the clearing, the storm released its brutal grip as suddenly as it had seized us. With great relief I trudged ahead into brisk winds that were calm in comparison to what I had just been through. I could see that I would be able to fly a safe distance around the backside of the cell and return the Eindecker back where it should have always been. I should have never pulled it from the hangar that day.
After rounding the cell I made a mad dash for my home airport. I swung into a tight pattern for the north runway and lined up for my approach. The wind was still kicking but it didn't contain the violent gusts it had earlier in the flight. I dropped down below the tree line and throttled back for the attempt at landing. I was puckered up pretty tight as I waited for the gust to come but the wind remained constant as I settled in for one of the lowest ground speed landings I have ever made.
One might ask what kind of knowledge I drew form this experience. First would have to be the complete conformation of my stupidity. Second is the incredible power that even a small thunderstorm can produce while at a considerable distance. Third is my love for the Airdrome Eindecker. Its ability to withstand the results of my stupidity is a testament to the design. I was able to keep her under control in a terribly hazardous situation and she performed beautifully. Next time I'll evaluate the situation with a new sense of reverence and I'll show a little more respect for the dark rumbling creature we call a thunderstorm.
