Circle-to-land

The weather and I have arrived at the same point in time and space, something I was trying to avoid.

Off my left wing, through the snow I can make out the runways of Mitchell, SD.

Barely.

My brain is struggling to reconcile two voices.

One, obviously uncomfortable, is telling me that the situation is nuts and I need to go find better weather.

The other, coldly rational, is telling me that my airspeed and altitude are good, that the airplane is still well under my control, that we have the required visibility, that the people who designed the approach knew what they were doing and that I can continue.

Against all my preferences and desires I have elected to attempt a circle-to-land approach at Mitchell in what is quickly approaching the legal minimums of 500-foot ceilings and 1-mile visibility.

The ILS approach, which is nearly straight into the wind, is out of service today. In fact the entire runway that points into the 20-knot wind is closed.

It's days like these when we earn our pay. I'm paid to be able to fly approaches safely to minimums. I'm also paid to know when doing so isn't a good idea.

There are no co-pilots with which to discuss options. No dispatchers to text message in flight. It is the same for every pilot at our company. Once we are airborne the decisions are ours and ours alone.

In return, the company backs us without question. If we elect to not attempt an approach that's fine with the people who sign our checks. It is a good system and as a result of that trust we are each usually willing to at least try in all but the most terrible of conditions.

Typically, I avoid circling approaches like the plague in anything less than decent VFR conditions. The risk factor of maneuvering 500 or so feet off the ground in low visibility is outside of my personal comfort zone.

Today, I am down to two options: Circle or divert.

The weather when I began the approach was reported as favorable but I am well aware that what I have been seeing out my window is worse than what is coming through on the automated weather, which is a few minutes old.

I decide to continue.

At the minimum descent altitude I still cannot see the airport, although I do have ground contact. I level off and pour on the power to maintain airspeed.

According to the automated weather report, which is perhaps 10 minutes old, I should be able to see the airport by now. I can't.

I have done everything I could to get here ahead of the weather but we have arrived at the same time instead.

I am on course and the GPS shows me 2-miles from the airport. Still nothing.

I prepare to go missed and am thinking of pushing the throttles forward even further when I catch a glimpse of the runway. My eyes dart to the GPS. 1.5 miles. Ok, it's still above minimums.

Continue.

Turning base the turbulence increases and I estimate the visibility at a mile, perhaps slightly more.

The two voices in my head argue. The rational voice recalculates, perhaps going missed is the play after all.

I can see the middle of the runway, barely, through the snow. It is a mile long and I am at least a half-mile from the threshold so I still have enough visibility to be legal.

Continue. I think.

On final the tough part is over. The PAPIs show me on the glide path and I relax slightly.

I am holding a significant crab angle into the wind but I can see the far end of the runway, barely. Good enough then.

Full flaps on short final and I chop the throttles. It is snowing sideways and I forgo style points and try to drive the airplane onto the runway like a hammer hitting a nail. Hard on the brakes and we squirrel our way to a stop, darting left then right as the tires grip then slip and the wind pushes then releases.

Taxiing in to the ramp both voices agree: Neither wants to try something similar again.