Too Windy for Flying

The plan was perfect. Fly to Albuquerque, NM and help daughter Ingrid around her house for a day. Then fly to Flagstaff, AZ and drive with a rental car to the Grand Canyon. Camp and hike for a few days, then do everything in reverse to get back to Dallas.

The flight to Albuquerque is uneventful except for some turbulence and a strong headwind as we cross the mountains east of Albuquerque and fly toward the Double Eagle airport, our destination.

The next day starts with a surprise. The TAF (Terminal Area Forecast) for Flagstaff predicts strong and turbulent winds for the Flagstaff airport, with winds 22 kts gusting to 34 kts. 

See below the forecast for the period 16:00Z to 20:00Z, which corresponds to 10 am to 14:00 pm MDT (Mountain Daylight Time). The Z means Zulu. It refers to Greenwich time.

Terminal Area Forecast for Flagstaff (KFLG)

For the same period, the Garmin Pilot predicts headwinds for the route Albuquerque to Flagstaff at 30 kts. Some headwind had been forecast when we planned the trip, but the strong, gusty winds at the Flagstaff airport are new.

Many years ago, in 2004, we inadvertently got into such conditions in California. More on this in a moment. Suffice it so say: We don’t want to repeat such a dangerous flight.

Plan B

The stormy conditions for the route call for plan B: We forget about flying to Flagstaff and instead rent a car in Albuquerque and drive directly to the Grand Canyon. This converts a dangerous flight to a boring but safe car trip.

Well, not quite boring. We have very strong, gusty headwinds on Interstate 40 that shake big rigs. For fun we check the actual wind conditions for the Flagstaff airport. Winds are 26 kts gusting to 43 kts. The headwinds for the route would have been 37 kts.

For some sections of the interstate, bicyclists may use the embankment since there is no alternate road. On one of those sections, a bicyclist is walking his bike into that awful, turbulent wind. 

He's bent forward, with head down. Strong gusts shake him. Pedaling the bike is obviously impossible.

I shudder when I imagine landing under such conditions.

Here is the story of the high-drama flight that took place in 2004 and taught us an important lesson about strong winds.

A Lesson

Friend Manfried and I are on a trip west to Yosemite National Park. We just have refueled in Kingman, AZ and are heading west across the Colorado River toward Mojave, CA and the Sierra Nevada mountains.

The wind is from the west, and the ground speed slows to 75 kts. The FSS (Flight Service Station) has forecast a headwind of 20-30 kts and has issued an AIRMET (AIRman's METeorological Information) for occasional moderate turbulence below 18,000 ft. This means that the plane will bounce around a lot but will remain controllable.

The current situation is better than forecast. There's just light turbulence.

Near Daggett, CA, forward visibility drops due to a tan-colored haze. I venture that this is LA type pollution. But Manfried has it right, as we learn from the Daggett ASOS (Automated Surface Observing System): This is a dust storm. 

We climb to 8,500 ft to escape the worst of it. In doing so, the groundspeed drops to 45 kts.

I am not worried about this change since we just have a few more miles to go west.

Here is a map with the route we are about to take. Daggett is off the map on the right hand side. The route is the green line starting on the right hand side.

Green route from Daggett begins at right hand side and ends at General Fox Airfield.

We chug along until we reach Lancaster, CA.

We turn north for the 20 mile leg toward the Mojave airport, our next waypoint. The groundspeed goes up to 110 kts. Great!

Once we are near the airport, we turn northwest and climb to get over the Sierra Nevada. The groundspeed drops to 46 kts. I am still not worried since we have enough fuel left.

Halfway across the mountain, Manfried points to the GPS and says “Das GPS Radio ist kaput.” No translation needed here. 

Indeed, the expected-time-enroute number has been replaced by two dashes. The reason is right next to that field. The groundspeed has dropped to 24 kts. 

The GPS radio thinks we have landed! Of course, we are still in the air, but have a headwind of 65 kts.

With 24 kts groundspeed we cannot cross the mountain with our remaining fuel. 

After a short discussion about the choices, I turn around and head back to the Mojave airport since it has three runways. 

On first contact, the Mojave tower says, “Wind 40 kts.” That's a lot of wind, but we may be able to handle it since it is coming straight down the 8-26 runway. An optimistic thought since I have never handled such a strong wind.

As I fly downwind in the traffic pattern, the control tower says, “Wind 60 kts.” Ouch! 

This is way beyond the stall speed, so we are not going to land here. In fact, even if I could get the plane on the ground, the plane would flip over as soon as I would turn off the runway.

The tower says that the 60 kts wind is likely to stay that way, so waiting for a change is useless.

At that moment, I realize for the first time that we may be in serious trouble. I ask the tower for the Riverside FSS (Flight Service Station) radio frequency since the bouncing makes it impossible to read the AOPA book and get that information.

When I call the FSS, a briefer responds immediately as if he has been waiting for us. I say, "We need assistance. We are over the Mojave airport, with 1 1/2 hrs of fuel remaining, and need an airport on the east side of the mountain to land."

He asks us to stand by, comes back shortly, and suggests Lancaster with 30 kts gusting to 37, and Daggett with 22 kts gusting to 29. In both cases, the wind is straight down the runway. 

He does not tell me, but we know, that Daggett is in the midst of a dust storm, so I rule out that airport. That leaves Lancaster. 

The situation is worrisome since I have never landed under such strong and gusty wind conditions. 

Manfried has stayed quite cool about the situation, but nevertheless I do not tell him that the next landing will be a new experience for me.

I dial the identifier for Lancaster into the GPS radio. Up pops the warning that this is a US Air Force airport. 

Back to the briefer. He explains that he meant the General Fox airport of Lancaster. 

General William J Fox Airfield in Lancaster, CA. Three taxiways are slanted or can be traversed at 45 degrees. Credit Google Earth

We get the ATIS (Automatic Terminal Information Service) information, contact the control tower, report a 2 mile right-base position, and are cleared to land.

On final, the plane bounces up and down. We hardly seem to move forward while indicating 70 kts. 

As we cross the threshold, I pull power and focus on controlling the bouncing airplane.

We bump with the main gear onto the runway, are thrown up again in a strong gust, once more bump onto the main gear. I quickly lower the nose, and the plane stays on the runway.

As we move off the runway onto a taxiway that, mercifully, is slanted at 45 degrees, the tower asks for our intentions. I say, "We want to tie down and stay overnight."

We taxi right next to the control tower to get a bit of protection from the wind gusts. 

Getting out of the cockpit without losing the doubly hinged canopy is not easy, but with proper planning we leave the cockpit and tie down. 

Taking out all of our overnight luggage would be too dangerous. Instead, we open the canopy just enough to grab the shaving kits. That is, one person hangs onto the slightly opened canopy while the other grabs the kits.

On a nearby parked Cessna, we see a tightly wrapped yet flapping canopy cover scouring the plexiglass, so we forget about installing our canopy cover.

Once we are in the terminal, I confess to Manfried that this was a new landing experience for me. He smiles and says, "Okay."

What have I learned? When flying in high wind conditions, continuously check that backup airports do not only have runways with the right direction, but also that the wind does not exceed the limits of the airplane. We have done this on every flight since.

Two Tales About the Lancaster Airport

Later that night in the hotel, I call the Riverside FSS about the weather forecast for the next day. 

She says, "The earlier you can leave, the better. Winds will pick up again just as happened today, and there is another AIRMET about occasional moderate turbulence below 18,000 ft."

Once we have covered the weather forecast for the planned route, it seems that the briefer is willing to tell some more about the winds of the area. She says that there are two tales about Lancaster. They are about the Antelope Wind Festival and the wing walkers.

Antelope Wind Festival

"The story about the Antelope Wind Festival is rather short. It is a festival about the wind in Lancaster."

She pauses for effect, then adds, "The festival lasts each year from January 1 to December 31."

I laugh, while she says, "This is a joke, of course."

Here is an example day, using the TAF of May 16, 2022.

TAF for General William J Fox Airfield, May 16, 2002

The period 21:00Z to 03:00Z is 1 pm to 7 pm PDT (Pacific Daylight time), essentially all afternoon. During that time, winds of 30 kts gusting to 38 blow widespread dust. 

She continues, "But the second story about wing walkers is true."

The Wing Walkers

"Years ago, I started out with the Flight Service when the Lancaster airport still was a Flight Service Station. When a plane would come in under high wind conditions such as today, we would send out a person to the exit ramp. 

"The plane would stop on the runway at the exit, nose still pointed into the wind. The person would go out to the plane and hang onto the wingtip of the upwind wing as the plane taxied onto the ramp.

"This was essential for high-wing, light planes such as a Cessna 152 or 172. Otherwise, the plane would have flipped over. Then the person would walk with the plane to the tie down area. We called those guys the wing walkers."

I thank her for the interesting stories.

Another Windy Surprise

The next day, we take the earliest possible shuttle to the Lancaster airport, refuel the plane, and take off shortly after 7 am. The wind is already 20 kts gusting to 27.

At 1,000 ft AGL, the air becomes smooth, and we climb at 70 kts ground speed. At the Mojave airport, the mountain is already producing low level clouds, fortunately not of the lenticular or rotor variety. They would be evidence of severe turbulence.

We pass under the clouds, then climb in earnest at 300 ft/min. The rate-of-climb needle creeps up: 400 ft/min, 500 ft/min, it just keeps going. 

Soon we have 1,000 ft/min, then even more, 1,500 ft/min, and finally the needle reaches the peg at 2,000 ft/min. If you are a fan of the metric system, that's going up more than 10 meters per second.

The altimeter winds up like a toy. Soon we reach 9,000 ft, then 10,000 ft. The entire process is in completely smooth air.

The first feeling of "Wow, this is really fun" is gradually replaced by a growing worry. How high can we be pitched up?

At 10,500 ft altitude, I lower the nose, first a little, then a lot. First the rate-of-climb needle does not move. But finally it leaves the peg, goes down to 1,500 ft/min, and stays there. 

The nose of the plane is pointing way down as if we are in a nose dive. But we are climbing like the blazes, and the ground speed is 100 kts. What a strange sensation!

To my relief, the rate-of-climb needle begins to drop, first slowly, then faster. The rate goes down to 1,000 ft/min, 500 ft/min, 0, then -500 ft/min, -1,000 ft/min, -1,500 ft/min. 

The needle reaches the peg at -2,000 ft/min. That's dropping more than 10 meters per second.

While this goes on, I repeatedly retrim the plane and add power. We become nose high, are indicating 65 kts, yet are dropping like a rock. 

Just like the climb, the rapid descent is in completely smooth air. It feels eerie. Are we doomed to crash into the ground?

The descent rate slows, finally reaches 0. We are nose high at 65 kts, in level flight, and the groundspeed has dropped to 45 kts. 

I am reminded of the day before, or, as Yogi Berra once said, "It is deja vu all over again."

But now I am ready to try a different strategy. I lower the nose and allow the plane to descend further, finally reaching 6,500 ft. We are at 2,000 ft AGL, the minimum recommended altitude for crossing a mountain.

The ground speed increases to 60 kts, and we are making progress. In 20 minutes we are on the west side of the mountain, descend into the valley, and head north.

The ground speed goes to 85 kts, and in 2 hrs we are at the destination airport, Merced, CA. We land, tie down, get the waiting rental car, and load the camping gear.

We do a quick on-the-ramp oil change since we have spent about 20 hrs in the air, and are off eastbound to Yosemite National Park, for a wonderful week of camping and hiking in one of America's wonderlands.

A Lesson Learned

The above flights were done at a time when little preflight information was available. Even worse, radio contact with a flight service station was the only way to get updated weather information. 

All this has changed for the better. Before and during the flight we can obtain all current and predicted weather. 

That doesn't change the rules for handling stormy winds.  We avoid them. Period. In this case, we rented a car to drive directly to the Grand Canyon.

If you conclude differently, consider this. Even if I had landed safely at Flagstaff, how would I have gotten the camping gear out of the plane in those severe winds? Most likely I would have lost the canopy.

Have any questions or feedback? Please share your thoughts in the comments.