The Departure (Attempted)
Posted Sunday July 28, 2019
As I type this, I am sitting in the fairly nice pilots' lounge at Alexander-Sherwood Field (ISW) waiting for the rain to pass. I could be flying, but at most I could go another hour and then I'd have to land again, so I'm just going to wait it out here. There's a big front sweeping through and it seems foolish to launch into the face of it. Fortunately its full power is concentrated north of Minneapolis, barrelling toward Lake Superior like a sickly bruise across the weather map.
I awoke with the alarm today, a nice change from my recent habit of waking up much earlier than I want to. The bags were packed as much as possible last night, so this morning all I really had to do was get the food out of the fridge and check out. I walked down for my final breakfast at the Blackhawk Commons cafeteria. The spread was visibly reduced, and the cashier had told me yesterday that the hours were reduced as well.
I was packed up and checked out just after 8, and was in line for the bus 20 minutes before its arrival time. I ended up using the excess time to call a weather briefer and check out what I'd be flying into. The prediction wasn't much better than when I'd checked earlier: generally good until the early afternoon, when there was a good chance of rain and thunderstorms sweeping in from the west. As before, I figured I'd launch and see what happened. If it got bad, I'd find somewhere to put down and weather the weather.
The 8:30 bus was right on time, and in short order -- shorter than I'd expected -- I was waiting for the Fond du Lac bus from the Oshkosh bus stop. I was also at the stop 40 minutes before the bus, so I probably could have safely taken a :00 bus instead of a :30 bus from the dorms.
The Fond du Lac bus was right on time, and it was only about 40 minutes later that I was dropping off my voluminous baggage next to Norbert's door. The plane looked a little misty inside, and indeed the temperature must have been over 100° F with very high humidity. Fortunately, having the door and window open quickly dispelled the sauna-like atmosphere. The preflight revealed 19 gallons in the tanks and everything in good order, so I decided to launch. The first leg should only be 2 hours, and with 19 gallons on board, I had more than 3 hours of fuel.
I'm starting to think that there's something not really right with Avare's flight planning subsystem, or I'm using it incorrectly. Despite having current weather, when I input the path on the ground, it claimed the trip would take 2 hours; it lists the wind, and appears to be taking wind speed into account. As soon as I was up in the air and at my cruising altitude, it claimed my destination was 3 hours away; and this was after 20 minutes of proceeding along the path. That was clearly unacceptable, so I pointed Norbert's nose for the Wautoma airport, where I had stayed before my attempt to fly into Oshkosh, and where I knew fuel to be fairly inexpensive.
Plane fueled up, and locals having had their chance to appreciate Norbert's awesomeness, I launched into a dubious-looking sky. When I called to open my flight plan (which I usually do from the air, since I have my actual departure time), the briefer got a concerned tone in his voice and started describing the noxious weather along my intended path of travel. Lots of rain, possible thunderstorms, stern warnings from forecasters, and so on. He was most particularly concerned with the aforementioned dirty bruise of rain sweeping the map from west to east.
This is what I'd been afraid of happening, and now it was clearly happening. It didn't take much to talk me into getting onto the ground. The sky ahead of me was darkening, and bands of rain were plainly visible in the distance. I wondered if I'd get onto the ground before the rain arrived.
The nearest airport was Alexander, where I'd done a few practice approaches a week ago. I was suddenly pleased to have gone to that effort, as the field felt a bit familiar even if I'd only spent a moment on the ground before taking off again. I circled around for the south-facing grass runway, which was as nearly into the wind as the concrete runway, and has the advantage of being kinder to the tires on landing.
After a bit of confusion about how to exit the runway, I got myself to the ramp and tied Norbert down, not knowing quite what would be sweeping over us. A gent walked up to see if I needed anything, and I said all was well. I'm wishing now I'd detained him long enough to figure out the wifi password, and as I look at the incoming weather, to see if he has any hangar space. There may be some unhappy winds kicking up.
Witness the majesty of nature; my location marked with the pen
So now I get to spend the night at Wisconsin Rapids, because that weather system isn't predicted to be through with us until 7 am tomorrow. At least Alexander Field has a hangar I can put Norbert into, and a capacious party basement with a huge couch and cable TV. I get the impression this kind of thing happens a lot.
The sky looks suspiciously empty of looming clouds, but I know that's just the lull before the really big system moves through. Tempting though it is to launch and make some forward progress, I left myself lots of time to get home for exactly this reason. Weather has slowed me down. So be it. Possibly there's a crew car I can use here so I can get dinner at a restaurant tonight, and not have to diminish my relatively meager stores. I could think of worse places to be stuck.
I suspect I'll have more to say later, for it's only 4 in the afternoon now, and I'm unlikely to fall asleep until 10 or 11.
Later: 9:40 pm
There is indeed a crew car (a car which is available to borrow for pilots or their crew who come in and need to run some errand in town), and out of a sense of morbid curiosity, I decided to try iSpoon, which claimed to be a sushi grill and buffet. Wisconsin sushi? Food poisoning? Who knows! I had been looking for a Mexican restaurant, but this was too intriguing to pass up.
It was... not as bad as you might expect. I only really tried the sushi, not being terribly hungry. It didn't taste off, so I think I can cross food poisoning off the list, at least. If I were in Seattle, I would make an effort to never go to this place again. For Wisconsin, I'm not sure. I probably wouldn't pick it on a regular basis, but it might do for when I got sick of grilled cheese and Mexican food.
Before I left for dinner, I'd tried texting the airport manager, who was off-site but available by phone. His answers seemed a bit off, but not enough to worry me, then finally my correspondent replied that I'd contacted the wrong number, and they were just messing with me. I double-checked my number this time, and got more reasonable answers.
There were two other planes who passed through: one a Stinson of a similar vintage to Norbert, and the other a Piper Arrow, which is a much more modern design. The Stinson was bound for Daytona, Florida, and the Arrow was headed back to near Chicago after visiting here with local family. Neither was headed into the mass of rain. I continued my vigil, chafing that I was sitting still, but knowing that trying to get back into the sky was just going to cause me grief. Knowing that didn't really help.
The great masses of rain I was expecting haven't really showed up. In fact, the system seems to be breaking up before it gets to Wisconsin Rapids. I suppose that's a fine thing, and means that when I take off in the morning I should be good to go.
My mood continues to be low, a combination of coming down off the sensory overload of Oshkosh, frustration at the weather thwarting me so soon -- I've only flown 1.5 hours out of Fond du Lac -- and a generalized loneliness. Oshkosh was too many people, and a connection with essentially none of them barring Jane, which I clearly saw as more meaningful than it was, and with Sydney, which would at most result in a fun tour of Seattle should she ever make it out my way. The airport is completely empty at this point, and the two planes which came through were pleasant enough folks, but were there and gone. I miss the conversation of friends, the feeling that I actually belong in a place. Everyone has almost without fault been friendly and welcoming, and it's fascinating to observe this loneliness in myself.
Despite the early hour, it's probably time to put myself to bed and see if I can't sleep off the cranky-pants a bit for tomorrow, when I will hopefully make some forward progress. Thanks for bearing with me as I expound upon the weird states my brain gets into.
Copyright © 2019 by Ian Johnston.