Rainy Monday

The trip back from Salt Lake City was intended to take advantage of a nice high pressure area over the western U.S. While it has held up mostly as expected, it appears that a southerly flow (maybe even from hurricane Fausto?) brought more moisture than originally forecast. I had seen that the forecast changed from mostly clear to overcast, and then scattered showers were added to the mix. Even so, the perpetual afternoon thunderstorms were also still expected.

On the drive to the airport, I kept a watchful eye to the north to see which side of the Salt Lake valley looked the best. There was a nearly solid curtain of showers across the valley, but I could still make out Antelope Island on the west side, so I decided on that direction. This was different than what I had mapped out last night, as I tried to tighten up the route a bit to make it in one shot with no fuel stops. Nevertheless, the clouds were high up and visibility below 12,000 feet was at least 10 miles, so everything was legal. The only concern was my comfort level with venturing off into some light precipitation.

As before, I tried to obtain flight following while on the ground at U42, via the Clearance Delivery frequency. I was simply told to remain clear of the Class B and contact approach for a VFR transition. As I sat on the ramp with the engine running, I looked over the charts for another few minutes, to mentally assign myself the proper altitudes at the proper sectors, at least until otherwise directed.

It was even smoother today than on the trip down, due to the cloud cover, so I thought that would continue as I moved north to outrun the rain. As it happened, Approach vectored me further out to the west than I really wanted to be, and I had to stay fairly low. This, combined with the now-steady rain, was starting to give me concern. As I reached Antelope Island, I requested to go direct to Ogden (OGD) since the rain looked at least a bit lighter that way (and it was more on my desired route). I was allowed to turn east as long as I stayed low (about 1,700 AGL at this point).

I puttered along, with the rain not really causing me much trouble, but lowering the visibility through the canopy. I finally made it out the north side of the Class B, and was cleared to proceed on course. I planned to fly a standard VFR altitude of 11,500 feet, but the clouds were lower in this area, so I had to stay a bit lower. I was able to "cheat" a little, by staying around 10,000 feet over terrain that had risen to about 7,000 (so, with less than 3,000 AGL, exempt from the "hemispheric rule"). I asked a few times what the precipitation looked like to the north, and was basically told that "what you see is what it is". So I continued to dodge heavier showers and aim for the higher visibility all the way up to Malad City, Idaho.

There, I could look back and see the rain from the other side. It was still overcast, but the clouds were much higher, there was the rare spot of sunlight peeking through, and I could climb up to 11,500 as planned. This was all the more desirable, since 10,000 had put me under the radar coverage, so I had to call ZLC back and request it again.

The rest of the flight went on without incident, although I did still pick up some early-afternoon thermal turbulence in Montana. I was happy to have successfully navigated and changed course as necessary to thread through the rain. It was also nice to have spent so much time in the air traffic environment. If you haven't yet given it a try, go for it!

In the "System"

I flew down yesterday and tried to cover some new ground -- so to speak. I made a fuel stop in Idaho Falls and then landed in Salt Lake City, with some hours that were very different than any that I've flown so far.

I've made long cross-country flights before, but this was the first done solo (long being anything than the one required for the certificate). It also included a trip through the Salt Lake Class B airspace to U42.

I got a late start -- due to the fuel truck taking a very long time to get around to the plane -- so I was in the heat a little more than I wanted, but it worked out okay. A little turbulence through Idaho, but nothing worse than what I've had before.

The first leg of the trip was also over fairly familiar country, so I took the time to mentally go over (again) what I would be doing as I got into the Salt Lake area. I knew that it can sometimes be difficult to obtain a clearance into Class B. Sometimes it's due to the volume of air traffic, sometimes just because it's hard to get a word in on the radio in time. My plan was to try to obtain "flight following" so that I was already in the air traffic system as I arrived near Salt Lake City.

I knew the basics, but a search for more information led me here and here. What a great insight to know to request flight following while still on the ground! This was great, and it's exactly what I did in Idaho Falls. After fueling, I got on with ground control and announced my regular "ready to taxi with ATIS information, southbound departure" but this time, "with request". Ground cleared me to taxi and then asked for my request. "Would you be able to process a flight following request to Salt Lake City?"

Sure enough, as I taxiied out, he came back with a Salt Lake Center frequency to call upon leaving the towered airspace. I took off, and contacted ZLC, received transponder code 6060, and was on my way. "Maintain VFR" is basically what each controller in turn told me to do until I actually began to get into the Class B and need specific altitudes and headings. In fact, it was such a slow day that there was only one traffic report as I was about 20 minutes away from my destination. I suppose that made it all the easier to transition all the way in, but it worked just the way it's supposed to.

The one thing that kept me on my toes was that, despite my extensive planning and writing down the various frequencies I thought I would need, all but one were new to me. So, as I would enter a new sector, I would write down the frequencies and have to dial them in before contact. It just goes to show that there will always be something. Another important thing to remember is to not change ANYTHING unless directed by ATC. For instance, as I flew through southern Idaho, the controller lost radar contact and asked for my altitude. That's it. DON'T change frequencies, DON'T change the transponder. About 20 minutes later, I was back on the radar screen as if nothing had happened.

In all, I moved from Salt Lake Center into Salt Lake Approach, and through at least two different air traffic control sectors, then finally released to the CTAF at Salt Lake Municipal #2. I must say, however, that I benefited from it being a fairly slow Saturday, but it was a good chance to fly "in the system".

Fits and Starts

One month and three days -- that's how long it's been since my last flight. It's been a busy time around here, and we're gearing up to move the family about 80 miles to the east. The last month has seen house hunting and long drives across the countryside for work. And when I'm not doing that, we experience super-cell thunderstorms. And when the weather's clear, surprisingly so is my checking account (I'm looking into some kind of causal relationship).

But now, with an impending strong high pressure system coming into the western U.S., combined with a family trip down to Salt Lake City, it just may be that I'll be able to log another worthwhile cross-country (into some Class B airspace no less). Since it's been so long, I went up for about 45 minutes today in the convective heat and haze just to brush the dust of and -- coincidentally -- work on some crosswind patterns.

It doesn't take long to realize that the memory gets fuzzy fast. Routines break down, checklists are needed just a little more, and small things that were just beginning to become habit now require more conscious thought. Luckily, the big things are still taking care of themselves. I can still do a slip and my ground reference work. I can land in a crosswind. And, I found out a neat little trick in the DA-20 that highlights when you are entering an uncoordinated base-to-final turn. What? That's a very bad thing? You bet it is...

An uncoordinated low-altitude, low-speed turn is bad no matter how you slice it. It is a common error, and one that often has fatal consequences if allowed to get out of hand. Most often, it is the result of trying to "save" a turn that begins to overshoot the final approach course. By using too much left rudder and not enough left aileron, you begin a skid that allows you to lose altitude a little too quickly. Then, if you are not aware of what's happening and allow yourself to pull back on the stick, your airspeed will disappear. That left wing will drop from under you and you'll have about 5 seconds to contemplate your last error.

This clearly did not happen to me.

What did happen, however, is that I entered my turn at just the right altitude where there was a pretty strong wind shear. As the plane dropped through the variable winds, it was buffeted by the many burbles and gusts (also by the thermals coming of the ground). The reaction from the left seat was to try to maintain a steady track around the pattern and a somewhat constant rate of descent. I came through the shear and the plane took a nice yaw to the right, which I counteracted with a left rudder input (keep in mind that I'm bouncing around pretty good, so no control input is lasting more than a few seconds before needing to be opposed).

I also instinctively pulled just a bit on the stick and let the airspeed go from about 70 to 60. Not enough to stall, but enough to make everything turn a little mushy and feel wrong. And what was the "little trick"?

On climbout, I had both vents open due to the heat. As opposed to the trusty Cessna, with vents up above at the wing, the DA-20 has "dashboard" vents on each side. You can aim them in any direction and get a nice blast of ram air. But as the plane bobs and weaves, the jets of air don't come straight out. You can feel them shift around the interior, almost as if you were in an open cockpit feeling the relative wind.

I was having fun experimenting with this new cue, and as I entered the previously mentioned turn, I felt the air do something odd. I can't even tell you what it did, but it wasn't following what I thought it should do. It was enough that, combined with all the other physical happenings, made it clear that I was entering some regime of the flight envelope I didn't want to be in. Of course, all this took place in 30 seconds or less, but it was enough to feel that sinking feeling.

Happily for you and me, all of the burbling and blowing up above didn't hold down where the rubber meets the road. It was a nice, steady 10 knot wind, but with some variable direction between 45 and 90 from the runway. So it was a good dose of WD-40 for my skills and a reminder that while there is a black-and-white answer to stall speed and bank angle, the ragged edge of real weather can turn that to a gray mess very quickly.