The Mighty 150 and the darkened skies
Like an angry, snarling tiger, the Mighty 150 boasted her prowess and thundered
down the grass runway. The rebuilt cylinders that had been recently installed hummed
and thrummed with a satisfying throb of combustion. The field was damp, and my little
lady was loaded to capacity, however my wallet was $1500 lighter from the recent annual
inspection and repairs. I looked over at my passenger and nodded with a confident smile.
“We just might get off in time! Hang on!” The field was getting shorter all the time, but
the Mighty 150 was not about to quit. With a heave on the yoke, we bounced into the air
and clawed for altitude. Up we climbed, and southward we wheeled. We were off to
Gainesville TX. The great antique fly-In had began.
At altitude we were joined by some fellow flyers. Two pipers joined up on the
Mighty 150, one old and one new. We trekked south in eager anticipation of the days
activities. At Gainesville, we saw many venerable old birds and wandered the tarmac in
quiet revere. We wolfed down hot dogs and drank Cokes until our bellies were full. Ah,
this is living. To fly your own beautiful aircraft to exotic locations, and sample gourmet
delicacies is indeed a rare privilege. After all the sights had been seen, it was time to
head for home. With the cool manner of all who fly such awesome craft, we ventured
into the pilots lounge to survey the weather. To our dismay, the wicked and tempestuous
skies had betrayed us. There were boomers blocking our way home. This was about to
get interesting.
Normally, these cumulonimbus devils will move in a north westerly track clearing
the area in a short time, but not on this day. This day the malevolent vapors lingered in
one place, daring the intrepid aviator to challenge their heavenly domain. This was
personal. With a contemptuous toss of the head, we flung ourselves headlong into the
darkening unknown. Three tiny craft against the greatest forces on earth. Oh, what
foolhardy courage these daring airmen possess! Others were ahead of us, already doing
battle with the evil winds and ill-behaving clouds. Radar was their ally, and there banter
on the air-to-air frequency was most informative. It didn’t look good for the brave flight
of three, and decisions would need to be made, and made soon. I looked over at my
somewhat less fearless passenger. He was turning a little green. I gazed into the
darkening horizon and shook my fist at the wicked winds of fate. No, I would not make
my charge endure what would surly be a test for even a seasoned pilot of 200 hours, like
myself. I called up my fledgling friends, and told them of my intent to divert. I wished
them luck, as they chose to challenge the gods of air, and pointed the Mighty 150 toward
Ardmore.
As we slammed into the runway, bouncing first five feet then three, I remarked to
my brave quivering passenger how skillfully I had handled that landing. He gulped and
removed his blindfold, speechless in the presence of such aviating skill. We lingered on
the ramp, then the restaurant, then the pilots lounge, then back to the ramp again
pretending that we planned this stop all along. The evil vapors see and report all, and we
were not about to let on that they had us cowed. Eventually, the radar seemed to indicate
a safe passage home. For good measure I called my former flight mates and asked how
they fared. The told a story of true aviation terror, but one of eventual success. The field
was clearing, and they had managed to make it back to roost. So again, the Mighty 150
blasted off into the less dark, but still menacing unknown.
As I approached the home field, I could see several large puddles on the north
end, which is also the lowest point on the runway. I was not too concerned because my
friends had landed previously and had not reported any problems to me about the field.
What I was blissfully unaware of was the fact that there had been an inch of rain since the
intrepid flight had landed. None of them thought to tell me of that fact. Even so, I knew
that I would need to use a soft field technique and land on the higher ground to the south.
I held the Mighty 150 off and touched down on the uphill part of the field, about 2/3 of
the way down the runway. Even being prepared for the soft field landing what happened
next was a shock. The nose of the airplane immediately plunged into the soft ground like
a crazed fat man in a belly flop contest. It was all I could do to save her and hauled the
yoke back into my lap. Then we started to hydroplane and slew to the side. Let me tell
you that doing a slip maneuver was never intended for ground operations, and the Mighty
150 knew we were in trouble. I slammed hard on the opposite rudder and struggled to
stabilize the wildly careening craft. I looked over at my much abused passenger with a
sickly smile as the ship finally righted herself. “Another great landing ehh?” He did not
respond, his neck limply resting on his chest, his face a peculiar shade of white. I
congratulated myself on my aviating skill. I had managed the landing without even
waking my sleeping passenger.
Once down, I located a bucket of cold water to awaken the sleeping beauty. With
a calm and serene revere I reflected on the my daring skill as I hosed off a large portion
of the runway that had enviously attached itself to my beautiful craft. As a famous
criminal is fond of saying, “It’s a good thing.” And it was.
down the grass runway. The rebuilt cylinders that had been recently installed hummed
and thrummed with a satisfying throb of combustion. The field was damp, and my little
lady was loaded to capacity, however my wallet was $1500 lighter from the recent annual
inspection and repairs. I looked over at my passenger and nodded with a confident smile.
“We just might get off in time! Hang on!” The field was getting shorter all the time, but
the Mighty 150 was not about to quit. With a heave on the yoke, we bounced into the air
and clawed for altitude. Up we climbed, and southward we wheeled. We were off to
Gainesville TX. The great antique fly-In had began.
At altitude we were joined by some fellow flyers. Two pipers joined up on the
Mighty 150, one old and one new. We trekked south in eager anticipation of the days
activities. At Gainesville, we saw many venerable old birds and wandered the tarmac in
quiet revere. We wolfed down hot dogs and drank Cokes until our bellies were full. Ah,
this is living. To fly your own beautiful aircraft to exotic locations, and sample gourmet
delicacies is indeed a rare privilege. After all the sights had been seen, it was time to
head for home. With the cool manner of all who fly such awesome craft, we ventured
into the pilots lounge to survey the weather. To our dismay, the wicked and tempestuous
skies had betrayed us. There were boomers blocking our way home. This was about to
get interesting.
Normally, these cumulonimbus devils will move in a north westerly track clearing
the area in a short time, but not on this day. This day the malevolent vapors lingered in
one place, daring the intrepid aviator to challenge their heavenly domain. This was
personal. With a contemptuous toss of the head, we flung ourselves headlong into the
darkening unknown. Three tiny craft against the greatest forces on earth. Oh, what
foolhardy courage these daring airmen possess! Others were ahead of us, already doing
battle with the evil winds and ill-behaving clouds. Radar was their ally, and there banter
on the air-to-air frequency was most informative. It didn’t look good for the brave flight
of three, and decisions would need to be made, and made soon. I looked over at my
somewhat less fearless passenger. He was turning a little green. I gazed into the
darkening horizon and shook my fist at the wicked winds of fate. No, I would not make
my charge endure what would surly be a test for even a seasoned pilot of 200 hours, like
myself. I called up my fledgling friends, and told them of my intent to divert. I wished
them luck, as they chose to challenge the gods of air, and pointed the Mighty 150 toward
Ardmore.
As we slammed into the runway, bouncing first five feet then three, I remarked to
my brave quivering passenger how skillfully I had handled that landing. He gulped and
removed his blindfold, speechless in the presence of such aviating skill. We lingered on
the ramp, then the restaurant, then the pilots lounge, then back to the ramp again
pretending that we planned this stop all along. The evil vapors see and report all, and we
were not about to let on that they had us cowed. Eventually, the radar seemed to indicate
a safe passage home. For good measure I called my former flight mates and asked how
they fared. The told a story of true aviation terror, but one of eventual success. The field
was clearing, and they had managed to make it back to roost. So again, the Mighty 150
blasted off into the less dark, but still menacing unknown.
As I approached the home field, I could see several large puddles on the north
end, which is also the lowest point on the runway. I was not too concerned because my
friends had landed previously and had not reported any problems to me about the field.
What I was blissfully unaware of was the fact that there had been an inch of rain since the
intrepid flight had landed. None of them thought to tell me of that fact. Even so, I knew
that I would need to use a soft field technique and land on the higher ground to the south.
I held the Mighty 150 off and touched down on the uphill part of the field, about 2/3 of
the way down the runway. Even being prepared for the soft field landing what happened
next was a shock. The nose of the airplane immediately plunged into the soft ground like
a crazed fat man in a belly flop contest. It was all I could do to save her and hauled the
yoke back into my lap. Then we started to hydroplane and slew to the side. Let me tell
you that doing a slip maneuver was never intended for ground operations, and the Mighty
150 knew we were in trouble. I slammed hard on the opposite rudder and struggled to
stabilize the wildly careening craft. I looked over at my much abused passenger with a
sickly smile as the ship finally righted herself. “Another great landing ehh?” He did not
respond, his neck limply resting on his chest, his face a peculiar shade of white. I
congratulated myself on my aviating skill. I had managed the landing without even
waking my sleeping passenger.
Once down, I located a bucket of cold water to awaken the sleeping beauty. With
a calm and serene revere I reflected on the my daring skill as I hosed off a large portion
of the runway that had enviously attached itself to my beautiful craft. As a famous
criminal is fond of saying, “It’s a good thing.” And it was.