The talking heads have been yakking for days about this morning. A “complex” storm has been headed our way and the predictions have been dire.
At 0515 I trudge through the snow, hop into my truck and head for the airport. It is challenging going in the darkness and the irony of going flying in weather I can barely drive through is not lost on me.
I would much rather stay on the ground today but it is not to be.
The forecasts for the day's destinations are not good but good enough.
The crews at home base have been out plowing the runways so I can leave. They do a good job most days, which leads to a bit of an internal conflict: I'd rather they not have cleared the airport at all this morning, so I couldn't leave but am thankful for their dedication on those nights when I return in a snowstorm to a freshly plowed runway.
All fired up, clearance copied and I taxi out gingerly. Everything is plowed, but below the snow lie sheets of ice. I jockey the throttles to stay straight, add a touch extra power to the outboard engine to help make the turns.
It is pure madness. The taxiways are so slick I can't increase power to do a proper run-up without sliding forward. The runway, I can only assume, is just as slippery.
A quick check of the magnetos at low power will have to suffice then, lest I attempt one at the normal 1,700 RPM and slide off into a snow bank. They are all functioning, the props appear to feather normally and all the temperatures are finally in the green.
An abort on the runway, a possibility always top of mind in an old piston-twin freighter, is sure to end badly. Getting stopped by the end probably isn't going to happen. I mitigate this by telling myself that the snow banks are still soft so hitting one probably won't hurt too much or do significant damage to the airplane.
There are places we fly into routinely where an abort is sure to be far more catastrophic, even on a good weather day. The level of risk then is still slightly lower than I've accepted on a routine basis.
Seat belts snugged tightly I slither out onto the runway, which is indeed at least as slippery as the taxiways, line up carefully, take a deep breath and go for it.
Power up slowly and every ounce of concentration to keep the airplane pointed perfectly straight ahead. A modified soft-field technique gets the 310 into the air quickly, where I have full control.
I do love these airplanes.
Cleaned up and climbing through the snowstorm I relax. The worst bit is over for now.
At 6,000 feet I am between layers, having picked up only a trace of ice on the climb out. Life is good and the flight down to Sioux Falls is routine.
At Sioux Falls the weather is marginal VFR. That is the good news. The bad news, and there is always bad news, is that they are down to one runway with a 20-knot crosswind and braking action reported as “Poor.”
In other words it's the same slippery mess I left an hour or so ago at home base, only with more wind.
The landing is an adventure and I fishtail down the runway as I gingerly try to get stopped while not getting blown off the side by the wind.
The taxiways are ramps are literal sheets of ice. Just getting from the runway to the ramp takes serious concentration.
My freight is quickly loaded and a few minutes later I am on my way, tiptoeing back out to the runway.
Like most pilots I have a particular personality defect, which is an overwhelming desire to get the job done and today it is in play.
Taxiing out I contemplate calling it a day. The runway conditions, in conjunction with the crosswind (now up to 23 knots) are on the ragged edge of doable.
It is my decision. My company will back me fully should I decide it's simply too dangerous to attempt a takeoff in these conditions. There is hot coffee close by, satellite television, comfortable chairs and a nice crew car with which to go fetch breakfast.
Still, gnawing at me is the thought that it can be done and done safely.
I come up with a plan I like.
The runway is wide and it is long.
Instead of carefully lining up on the center line I will start my takeoff run from the far downwind edge of the runway. By angling across the runway, into the wind, I will reduce the crosswind component somewhat.
By keeping more power on the downwind engine I will gain an advantage as well. By then, I should have sufficient airspeed that my flight controls will be effective, negating the lack of friction between my tires and the runway itself and allowing me to maintain control. It is, in effect, flying the airplane while still on the ground.
All that's left is to lift off as soon as possible and hope both engines keep turning.
I have emptied my bag of tricks.
It works, although not without more sliding and slipping than I would have liked.
Gear up, cleaned up, power set and climbing out. A deep breath and a decision is made: I will not try that ever again.
I have a done a dumb thing and gotten away with it. I am angry at having talked myself into it, grateful that I now know my limit and haven't broken an airplane in the process of finding it.
The final outbound stop is routine. The runway is dry and the weather better than expected.
At breakfast I talk with the company to relate the morning's experiences and give them my command decision: Under no circumstances will I return to Sioux Falls as scheduled later that evening unless they open a runway that is pointed into the wind.
A flurry of phone calls follow throughout the day, a plan is hatched, changed, re-worked, extended and folded, stapled, torn up and hatched again. Finally, Sioux Falls opens the sheet of ice that is pointed into the wind, which is good enough for me.
The second time into Sioux Falls isn't quite as bad as the first. The runway is still a sheet of ice but it is, thankfully, almost directly into the wind and the landing is uneventful. Taxiing, incredibly, is even more difficult than it had been in the morning.
We load up quickly in the wind and I tiptoe back out and blast off into the snow.
The weather has been getting worse and the ceiling at home base is approaching minimums for the approach that faces into the wind. It is still well above the minimums for the ILS approach, but that approach would mean landing with a direct tailwind and the breaking action is still poor.
Another plan is hatched. I will fly the approach that faces into the wind. If I go missed I'll divert to Saint Paul, leave the airplane there and call my wife for a ride home.
The weather grants a reprieve and I catch sight of the runway nearly three miles out. Slowed down as much as I dare I do my best to drive the airplane through the snow covering the runway in hopes of finding something solid for the tires to grab onto.
It doesn't work nearly as well as I'd hoped and I slide helplessly past my assigned turnoff.
Finally, the airplane is slowed enough that I can take the second-to-last taxiway. Creeping along I envy my co-worker in our Caravan as he lands and throws the prop into reverse, stopping quickly in a shower of snow and ice.
Finally, parked and the strain from the day is over. While our cars warm up the few pilots from our company working this late replay the day. The flying, incredibly, wasn't as bad as we had expected that morning but ground operations were far, far worse.
It has been a day of learning.