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VFR to IFR by Lynn Merli                                      

For me, flying is magic. When I first started to even consider the possibility of learning to fly and joining the ranks of those who could slip the surly bonds, there was a lot of doubt there. Pilots, after all, were crisp older men in crisp dark suits with stripes on their shoulders and gray hair that spoke volumes about their experience in divining the mysteries of the upper realms. How in the world was I ever going to learn how to get an airplane from one place to another when I could not stand on my own porch and point north and my only real talent was for shopping at the mall? Flying still is hard work for me and I envy those for whom it comes easily, but I know that they can't appreciate the magic as much as I can. The things that come to you the hardest are the things that you see the magic in the most.

The winter weather last week did not appear to me to be any cause for celebrating the magic of flight. I was rapidly running out of ideas for flying excursions; maybe after three years it really was possible to have an airplane and not have anywhere to go. I had not flown in nearly two weeks. (Yikes!) The weather had been more than terrible on the day of the IDOT Springfield safety seminar and I sat at work and wondered if anyone had flown in at all. Fly-in breakfasts were, of course, non-existent at this time of year, and it seemed to me that the usual places Christopher and I frequented for a meal on the fly were stale and boring. I didn't even have a 99's meeting this month to save me!

Sikeston, MO. to the rescue!! Christopher even suggested that we take his parents along to get some famous fried chicken and "throwed" rolls. Christopher and I had already been to Sikeston once before and so we knew that the food was excellent and the service first class. I launched my purple and white airplane into a sunlit sky thinking of crispy chicken legs and hot rolls so sweet they didn't really need to be buttered.

I made good use of a convenient hole in the scattered cloud layer at around 3,000' MSL and headed for the enticing blueness I could clearly see just above me. I asked for and got flight-following as I usually do on cross-countries, and as I settled back at 4,500', the clear air was crisp and smooth and I had a very helpful push from a convenient tailwind. We'd make St. Louis' Spirit of St. Louis airport (SUS) in just under 1 hour and fifteen minutes. The clouds under me must have thickened up very gradually, because I don't remember exactly at what point in the trip I no longer had ground contact. I think I turned to Christopher to reply to something he had said and looked through his window and realized that there was nothing but white below me. This hadn't been in the weather 1 had read. Christopher, as usual, was right on top of me with lots of questions.

"How are you going to get down when it's time to land if this cloud layer goes all the way to St Louis?", "Isn't it illegal to be flying "on-top" with no IFR clearance?", and "How come you didn't file before we left Champaign?" being among those at the top of his list. I leaned my left elbow on the convenient ledge formed where the side window meets the fabric of the fuselage and flew with my right hand. Sometimes stuff just doesn't work out.

"This wasn't supposed to happen," I told Christopher, hoping to see an end to the solid cloud deck somewhere out in front of me. "What are you going to do?" he asked me. "Wait," I said simply. "If we don't get a break in these clouds, I'll have to get an IFR clearance into Spirit and do an approach." Yuck. I had never had to air-file before and had always heard that it was not appreciated by the flight gods who probably reasoned that you should have made up your mind about what kind of flight you wanted it to be before you left the ground. I was handed off to Springfield Approach while I waited and observed the white puffiness under me. It certainly didn't seem like it was going to give way any time soon. Also, I knew from experience that Springfield would probably turn me loose after a time and "suggest that for further flight following I could contact St. Louis Approach on 124.2 in approximately I0 more miles." Well, the last thing I wanted to do was make a cold call to the flight gods sitting in the double ivory towers at Lambert and air-file into Spirit. There might be yelling. So, while I would rather have waited a bit longer to see how things were a little further down the airway, who knew, maybe I could yet find a legal way down through those clouds before I had to be under the second layer of St. Louis wedding cake, I bit the bullet, called Springfield, and mentioned that I would like to go IFR now and could we please have it at 6,000'. Amazingly, there was no yelling. Another flight myth exploded. Or perhaps I just happened to get a really nice flight god on a good day. I was given a new squawk code, which Christopher, well-trained as he is, helpfully dialed into my transponder for me.

Of course, you can guess what eventually happened. The offending, troublesome cloud layer did break up not ten minutes after I got a clearance direct to the Cardinal VOR at 4000'. I looked at Christopher with an "I just can't win" expression, and he shrugged noncommittally.

"Hey, we get to overfly Lambert. Not everyone in a little airplane gets to do that you know." I watched the big jets taking off from both Runways 30 as did Christopher from our front row seats at 4,000'. Cool. Christopher always has been a positive thinker. By contrast, the rest of the flying that day was as expected, a fact for which I was very grateful. Whenever I have passengers that do not fly that often, I want them to enjoy flying with me so that they will want to do it again. We had a good time and a great meal. Christopher and his parents chatted all the way down to Sikeston and back, about the rest of the family and what they were up to, his mother even recognizing an abandoned factory in the town of Festus where Christopher' s uncle had apparently lived and worked for 40 years. My landing at the Sikeston airport was an absolute greaser with the airplane loaded heavier than I usually fly it (with four adults) and I am somewhat ashamed to admit that perhaps I led my in-laws to believe that all my landings were, of course, always like that. I basked in my passenger's praise shamelessly. I'll always remember what my mother-in-law said to me from the back seat as I turned onto the taxiway headed for the transient parking area: "You land better than the airline pilots do. You can always feel a THUMP when they land those jets."

I was very full and content when we pulled out onto the runway and headed for home. I had leftover rolls safely stowed in the luggage compartment and two huge Lambert' s Cafe drinking mugs for our growing collection. I was expecting a nice night flight home in clear, bright, star-filled conditions. What I got was the airplane door coming partially open just after takeoff This must have been another one of those flights for experiencing new things. The wind whistled through the newly created opening and was a bit distracting as Christopher struggled with it, squirming in his seat as he angled for better leverage to replace the loose upper latch. Thoughts of the accident reports, some fatal, that I had read involving just this situation went through my head, although strangely, the scenario was not playing out like I thought it would. I broadcast an intention on the CTAF to return to the airport and flew the familiar rectangular traffic pattern just like it was another practice session of stop and goes to keep up my night currency. There was absolutely no difference in how the airplane felt or flew, except for the windy noises and cold breeze coming from the seat next to me. On the runway again, Christopher easily re-latched the door and we were off again into the night sky. I remember thinking at the time how sad it was that an open cabin door could ever cause a fatal aircraft accident.

I filed IFR on the way back to Champaign. We had dropped Christopher's parents off at their car and as usual, promised to call them when we got home. The clouds I had left in the Champaign area were still there at around 2,500' and for a night flight in anything less than crystal clear conditions, I like the security of a flight plan and someone who knows who I am in case of trouble. On the way home, I thought about the things that had happened, what I had learned, and best of all, the fun we had had. Who says that winter isn't a really great time to go flying??!

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