It was as interesting a sight as I have ever seen from an airplane. Tuesday morning's pre- dawn arrival to the Elmira area was accompanied by exquisite turbulence amidst a circus of electrical flashes that cut through the darkness. The unusually low barometer of a stormy Monday was being filled by a tall high pressure area that was pushing a strong cold front ahead of it. Winds on the ground were gusting well above 50 mph.
I arrived at Elmira just after the cold front passed, and visibility was good under the clouds that I had descended through. The ride up from the city had been fairly smooth, but as I continued to descend for a landing in the valley the plane rode like a tavern bull. Turbulence caused by the abrupt weather change was generating flashes of lightning in the clouds, and the strong winds at the surface were dropping trees into power lines throughout the area. Every 45 seconds or so, there was a flash from either the sky or the ground. With a detached sense of amusement, I thought how the sight before me would make a great prelude to the Last Day of Earth.
It was an exciting week which featured a little bit of everything, low ceilings, heavy rain, high winds, blinding snow, freezing rain, icy airports, and icing in flight. I'll remember all those things, but still, the biggest thrill of the job is just cruising along under the stars. I often wish that I could take my wife or kids once in a while.
Towards the middle of last week there was an exceptionally average winter night flight, which would have been a pleasure to share. A layer of clouds between 4000 and 6000 feet left a token deposit of ice on the wings during climbout; nothing that was a problem, but enough to illustrate the challenges of wintertime flight. Once above the clouds, I was able to watch the moon rise through shades of red and yellow, to white, as it started its nocturnal journey. I don't ever recall seeing red in a moonrise, but at the peak of its display, the moon was red where it joined the clouds below, and like a piece of fancy candy, its color then changed through orange to a light yellow at the top.
After passing Wilkes- Barre my course takes a turn and lies directly under one of the jetliner arrival routes for the New York area. I have to descend to 6000 feet to remain below them, and on this night, my wheels skimmed the tops of the clouds at that altitude. It was like snowmobiling at 180 mph as I skimmed along, sometimes tunneling through puffy hills or shooting straight across gentle valleys in the moon's dim light.
Over the middle of New Jersey, the flight enters the New York terminal area, and things get busier. The reverie of a solitary wanderer is replaced by the discipline of an orchestra player. The radio chatter can become non- stop, and there are lots of heading and altitude changes to make. Initially I was told to turn 30 degrees right and descend to 4000 feet. I could have turned and then descended, but one great joy of freight hauling is that you can have a little bit of fun. My moonlight snowmobile ride ended quickly as I reduced power, rolled the airplane, and let the nose slice down into the clouds, all in one motion.
The moonlight faded into a nondescript gray, and the plane was swaddled in darkness before traces of light started to show from below. Abruptly, as if by magic, New York City came fully into view 30 miles ahead as the plane dropped clear of the clouds. In a matter of a few minutes the airplane had taken me from an isolated arctic fantasy to the threshold of one of the world's busiest cities.
I can't help but wonder what a passenger would have thought of this trip. We tend to remember best the things that we understand most completely, and there are many aspects of the flight that are outwardly inscrutable to a stranger. Would the flight be remembered as a seat in a dark and noisy place? Would the lights of the cities below mean anything to someone who is unfamiliar with them? I'll probably never know, because it will never happen. I would like to believe that my wife or kids would finish the flight with the big grin of a kid in a toy store; so much stuff, so little time..
