EAA Sport Aviation - January 2011

Somehow the Wilkes-Barre controllers, and New York Center controllers, understand that it’s not possible to fly a low altitude airway directly over Cleveland-Hopkins, but that information hasn’t filtered down to Westchester clearance. But that’s how you do things in New York. Figure out how to survive the system because you can’t change it. Just accept the routing you know that you won’t fly and then work it out later.

THE WORST FLYING WEATHER IN THE COUNTRY

There was nothing any controller could do about the reality of flying the breadth of Pennsylvania one more time. In all of those years, the majority of my trips began and ended by traversing the width of Pennsylvania because the heart of the general aviation business lies to the west of that big state.

Please, if you live in Pennsylvania, don’t take this the wrong way, but that state is home to some of the most consistently terrible flying conditions in the country. The terrain is lumpy, even mountainous in some areas, so minimum en route altitudes are fairly high. The hills seem to be like glue that grab and hold haze, low clouds, and lots of precipitation. Turbulence is a given over Pennsylvania, with the only question being, “Is that a ‘moderate’ bump?” or “Do I need to have the airplane inspected after landing?” In the summer, the near constant murk hides thunderstorms almost every afternoon. These are not the 45,000-foot whoppers of Kansas and Oklahoma, which you can see for miles. Over the Alleghenies, a thunderstorm is just a slightly darker spot in the already dark sky, but they are big enough to break the wings off.

I came across a story in an old issue of Flying about a study of flying conditions done by the U.S. Weather Bureau in the 1940s. The bureau examined many years’ worth of reports looking at ceiling, visibility, wind, and precipitation and determined that the consistently worst flying weather in the country was at Bradford in northwestern Pennsylvania. I remembered that story as I flew over Bradford. I didn’t see the town or airport—as usual I was in the clouds.

BACK HOME AGAIN

My new home base is back at Muskegon where I kept my airplane for several years in the 1980s. I can get to Oshkosh before I left, thanks to flying from the Eastern to Central time zone. Wichita is an easy trip instead of the 1,200-nm marathon that I flew so many

The experience made me a better instrument pilot for sure, and fast-talking controllers and constant routing changes don’t faze me.

times from New York. Texas is closer by almost 40 percent, and it’s virtually the same distance to south Florida from Muskegon as it is from New York. And the clearances are “cleared as filed” at the altitude I asked for. It is wonderful to be back.

Am I happy I did the New York decades? Yes. The experience made me a better instrument pilot for sure, and fast-talking controllers and constant routing changes don’t faze me. We made many friends living there and had the opportunities only a huge city and cultural center can offer.

But New York is about as far away from the heart and soul of general aviation—not to mention the center of its manufacturing—as a pilot can be. People who own and fly airplanes around the big city have to work harder and spend more to do it, and I admire each and every one of them. And they live and fly there because that’s home, or for many that’s where the job is. But for us, going to EAA and Michigan is going back to a flying lifestyle that we cherish and are so lucky to have. Give our best to Broadway; we are back where we belong.