BEST CHRISTMAS PRESENT ANYONE COULD EVER DELIVER

© 1992, Clayton Davis

(First published with this same title by The Southern Aviator, Dec. '92)

Knowledge is power. Know what is causing the weather you will fly through.

Imagine the Weather Service's computer printout is a paint-by-numbers puzzle. Form a mental image about what it will look like on the runway at your destination. Have that picture clearly in mind before you get there. Know what you will do when you arrive over the Initial Approach fix. Know where you'll go if you don't find the runway. Most of all, when conditions are marginal, have a really great reason to make the flight in the first place.

A foggy holiday is a most dreadful time for a charter pilot to get a call. Moreover, Christmas Day is not my favorite time to fly. Such things happen often, however, when you fly for a company that has an agreement with the Maryland Organ Procurement Center. We were committed to fly for them anytime, anyplace, anyhow.

Somewhere in West Virginia, near Charleston, a person had signed an Organ Donor card. That Christmas day he made the ultimate sacrifice. A team of doctors were on their way to Baltimore-Washington International Airport. They had been assigned to bring the heart back to a patient in Baltimore.

My telephone rang just as I sat down with my family to eat dinner. The cockpit of a Beechcraft Kingair is not a bad place to spend Christmas, especially for a good cause.

Flight Service reported, "Charleston, West Virginia, this past hour had the sky obscured by an indefinite ceiling. Visibility was one-fourth of a mile in fog. Now for the good news, Runway Visibility Range (RVR) has been between fourteen and sixteen hundred feet, occasionally twenty-four hundred," and he added, "the forecast calls for just about the same all night long. Go ahead with your flight plan."

Fog covered everything from Ohio eastward. The front was starting to move very slowly, causing some stations to report light rain. That's when the RVR went to "occasionally twenty-four hundred."

Our company Operations Manual required eighteen hundred feet for landing. To put these values in perspective, imagine driving your automobile on a very foggy night at a hundred miles an hour.

Dashing through the clouds at that speed won't give you a very good look at the runway. A wonderful option in many cockpits is a secret weapon called Copilot Eyeballs. Copilots are the kind of people who will talk about whatever they are able to see, or not see.

After levelling off at cruising altitude, we asked Weather Watch for the most recent observation at Charleston. Their weather was following the forecast faithfully. When we got close enough to hear it, we listened to the ATIS (Airport Terminal Information Service) broadcast from Charleston. That's when we found our best clue. The ATIS was being amended every eight to twelve minutes. The only change was visibility.

Airport elevation at Charleston is nine hundred and something feet above sea level. Wind was from the northwest, less than five knots, when it cared to move some air. Before we decided to make the flight, we had formed an impression about what conditions looked like at the airport.

Weather Service didn't say so, but our experience told us that some very small rain clouds were moving across the runway. When they did, the visibility dropped. What we had to do was land precisely when a cloud was moving away from the runway. The trick was timing the approach so we arrived at the runway between clouds.

Charleston Approach Control informed us that a Learjet had missed the approach twenty minutes ago. He then made only one turn in the holding pattern, completed the approach and landed. That gave us some idea how the weather was acting.

Our plan was to stay in the holding pattern and have them give us the visibility as it changed. When it was what we wanted to hear, we would turn inbound and land.

Charleston cleared us to the Initial Approach intersection. It is designated on the charts as a holding pattern, a very nice place to make circles while waiting to land. When we reported that we were on the outbound leg of the holding pattern, the RVR increased to twenty-four hundred feet. That's just what we needed.

We requested the ILS (Instrument Landing System) approach to Runway-23. Charleston cleared us for it. We had calculated the visibility would drop after we turned inbound to land, but get better as we arrived at Decision Height -- just when the small cloud moved off the runway.

After we reported the Final Approach fix inbound on the ILS, Charleston told us the RVR had dropped to fourteen hundred feet. We elected to continue the approach, go down and take a look.

Copilots are the coolest people in aviation. There is a rumor they trust Captains completely. The gentleman riding with me that night reported, "One thousand feet above DH (Decision Height)."

"Thanks."

All of his announcements were in the same confident tone of voice. "Five hundred above," he reported, and suggested, "Tell you what, after DH, I'll read the Radar Altimeter from there on down to the runway."

Radar Altimeters are exceptionally accurate instruments. When it shows fifty feet, that's how far it is to the nearest tree.

"Roger," I acknowledged. "Gear. Flaps. Power. On Course. On Glideslope. Come on, cloud. Get out of our way."

"It'll move," he said. "We are now at DH. Radar Altimeter two-five-zero feet. I see the Rabbit (Sequence Flashers) and approach lights."

"That helps," I replied, concentrating on the instruments.

"Radar two hundred."

"Roger."

"I don't have the lights anymore. Radar one hundred."

"Standby to go around."

"I see the green lights marking the runway end. Radar fifty."

"Thanks."

"Radar forty. I don't see green lights anymore."

Concentrating on the instruments, I only said, "Uhh."

We were over the runway end. That's why he couldn't see the green lights.

"Radar twenty. I see the centerline."

Feeling cheered up, I replied, "Sounds like good news."

"I lost it. Radar ten feet."

That's almost how tall a Kingair airplane is. Our tires were just beginning to roll on the runway.

We both heard a loud, "SQUEAK!"

He grinned at me. It was the landing gear. That said it all. We had arrived. We were on the ground. Might as well stay awhile.

Charleston Control Tower requested we report landing, or missed approach, or whatever we had been able to do. I liked the first part of that sentence better. The truth was, it was so foggy they couldn't tell what we had done.

"Tower. I think we just landed. Anyhow, we're sitting right side up on a paved surface, but we can't see a thing."

"Roger. Taxi to parking when able."

An official letter from Maryland Organ Procurement Center said a little girl received the best Christmas present anyone would ever deliver to her -- a heart transplant.

Did we break regulations? No, of course not. We had minimum visibility when we started the approach and we had the runway environment in sight at Decision Height. My copilot lost sight of the green lights because we were passing over the runway end.

This story was reviewed by two people in the local FSDO and they blessed it. More importantly, we didn't break the airplane either.

But, hey, there has to be a very special reason before I want to fly in those conditions, especially on Christmas Day.

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