Saturday was a great morning to fly. The winds were light, the visibility was good, the ceiling was high, and the temperatures weren't far below freezing. Even a tough winter like this one has lots of good days, but I was stuck on the ground, singing the hill- country airport blues.

Lots of Thursday's snow had blown onto my plane in the hangar, and Friday's sun had melted it into a crust which stuck to the plane. Several icicles hung from the wings as an extra insult. With my plane covered with ice, and the runway filled with snow drifts, I knew I wouldn't be flying until a good thaw. Folks who keep their planes down in the high- rent district where hangars have doors, and runways have pavement, don't have these sorts of problems.

It was Friday morning that I had first conjured the idea of flying on Saturday. You may recall that it was an absolutely gorgeous morning with bright sunshine and calm winds balancing against temperatures that hovered just one side or the other of zero. I had really enjoyed my flight down from Syracuse in the Company plane, and had taken many pictures. The good forecast for Saturday was plausible.

Friday was quite a remarkable morning actually. My rule- of- thumb is that clear days are boring days because an empty sky is so much like an unfurnished room; it lacks character and the cozy charm that are provided by the intricacies of clouds. The visibility was exceptionally stunning, and I could see farther than my eyes could perceive landmarks. From Syracuse, I saw peaks of the Poconos, the Canadian shore of Ontario, and Pennsylvania hills to the south and southwest.

For all these distances I looked through a sky that was empty except for narrow strings of cloud that rose from the unfrozen parts of Seneca and Cayuga Lakes. All the valleys were filled with morning mists due to the cold temperatures that were capped by warmer air that was flowing aloft from the south.

By the end of Friday morning's trip, I had succumbed to the foolish notion of trying ready my airplane for a Saturday flight. Yes, it was devilishly cold, but it was forecast to warm. I further deluded myself that the sun would make my south- facing hangar tolerably warm for the work I promised my plane I would do before its next flight.

It was a simple task, really. All I wanted to do was to pressurize my intake manifold and check all of the twenty- something connections for leaks. I would use my almost- new shop- vac to provide the pressure, and would then spray soapy water on the manifold to locate any leaks. With the nose of the airplane opened up, I could give the engine a good once- over that is never a waste of time.

I waited until after lunch before I went up the hill to the airport, and quickly realized that all my plans would be for naught. The airport road was filled with drifted snow, so I knew that I would have to plow before I could fly. When I arrived at the top, I saw that my plane was covered with ice. It wouldn't be flying until after it thawed... Too late on Saturday.

Moreover, the sunny oasis of my south- facing hangar was spoiled by a stiff south wind that continued to carry snow in swirls and waves. I worked undaunted, and amidst the roaring wind and the creaking hangar, I readied the plane for the leak check. As a final assurance that the freshly cleaned shop vac was blowing pure air, I directed the flow onto the oily engine. As I watched very fine pieces of sawdust catch in the oil, I concluded that a once- used shop vac can never again blow clean air.

This was all the encouragement that I needed to pack my gear and take my cold hands and feet home. Once there, I conjured a new plan and went out back to my "autogarten" and found an old air filter housing, complete with a good filter. With some tinkering, a fair amount of caulk, and the hose fittings from my old shop vac, I was able to install this filter assembly into the pressurization line. I tested it, and nothing but clean air came out the hose.

As it turned out, Saturday was also a passable day for being a mechanic, and I was able to check the intake manifold and all the other little worries that come to visit in the middle of the night. There was no way that I could have flown last Saturday, but now I am all set for the next good day that comes along.

Cayuga Lake "steams" in the foreground, as does Seneca Lake in the distance. The empty blue sky stretches forever in this view to the northwest.

This is Friday Morning's view of the Elmira area, showing the great visibility above the haze that is trapped in the valley. At the right side of the picture is an excellent example of a temperature inversion at work. Warm moist air is seen rising from a cement plant, but it is stopped and pushed back down by the cap of warmer air above it.

The "final filter" lays on the ground directly below the engine, and it is fed by the hose from the shop- vac. The white oval pieces on the gear legs are my "rat spats"; removable pieces of tin that keep mice from using the gear legs to access the plane.