EAA Sport Aviation - October 2009

deviation indicator somewhere on the face of the instrument, watching the airspeed twitch, and trying to hold altitude—which just bounced to 100 feet low—to the next step-down. Or at least what you think the next step-down is, between quick glances at the bouncing and blurry approach plate.

Great, isn’t it—the thrill of the challenge.

You are so darn busy trying to keep the ship upright that other things could go to heck, and you probably wouldn’t even notice it. The dark and stormy approach really narrows your focus. Any ice on the wings? How to know if you’re too busy to look out? A good copilot is a real asset in this situation.

You become of the mind-set that you just want to get it on the ground, one way or another. Does this mean you might take a chance on landing that you wouldn’t ordinarily take? Be careful. Something about the structural integrity of the airplane crosses your mind, too, as it groans, creaks, and flexes in the turbulence. Not to worry… well, not too much, anyway.

What about your integrity—how are you holding up? If you’ve never done this type of approach before, maybe not too well. You can’t hold your normal parameters, and that bothers you. You did this approach last week and it was gravy, but then it was 1,000 feet overcast, stratus layer, 50º F, and calm winds. Not tonight. The meteorological aviation report (METAR) should just state it like it is, something like WX: NASTY. A little apprehension about now means you’re normal; this type of approach isn’t comfortable for anybody. Just do what the veterans do: No. 1—fly the airplane; No. 2—stay on the lines and altitudes; and No. 3—hang in there.

You break out of the clouds—you did remember the gear, didn’t you? There’s the runway, about 11: 30 on the windshield…bump…now 12: 30. At least you think it’s the runway. There is a freeway that parallels the runway to the west. Hard to tell sometimes with the nose swaying back and forth like it is. Not to mention the heavy

Just do what the veterans Flight Data Systems

do: No. 1—fly the

airplane; No. 2—stay on

the lines and altitudes;

and No. 3—hang in there.

High

Capability

rain on the windshield, with all those little droplets reflecting the light every which way. A little red reflection here, a little green reflection there, with white swirling in between.

The airplane on the approach in front of us goes around. What’s up with that? There are the REILs (runway end identifier lights) and the VASI (visual approach slope indicator). Red over red—get back on the glide slope! There’s the runway. No markings, though. There is so much rain on the runway it looks like a black reflection. You can see the red lights at the other end, however. Short runway. You just have to get the plane on the ground and stopped before you get to the red lights. Did you check landing performance data for a wet runway? Or were you too busy thinking other things? Forty knots on the nose generally makes for a short landing roll…if you can just get the pitching bronco on the runway somewhere near the approach end.

Crunch. One wheel. Crunch again. The other. Don’t do anything drastic now. Gentle braking. Check the steering. Taxi to the gate.

Put on your captain’s jacket—your antiperspirant quit working a long time ago—and get on the PA system and say something stupid like, “Welcome to XYZ, folks. And thanks for flying with us.” Now imagine some 100 people rolling their eyes, because that is exactly what they’re doing.

You’ve just experienced a dark and stormy night approach and landing. I’ve made a little merry with it here and there, which is easy to do after you’ve done one. But while on the approach, I guarantee you, I’m all business. Dark and stormy night approaches demand it.