Growing up in the land of conquistadors and cowboys, my opportunities for IMC involved attacking thunderstorms or slipping into shallow ponds of fog. Neither was good for gaining instrument time or icing experience. My instructors and peers shared the same background.
We equated icing to crashing. IMC in freezing temperatures stirred a fight-or-flight response—heart rate increased; blood vessels dilated; vision narrowed. I was a coward. Now, after years of churning the soup with props and jets, I’ve realized the myth frightened us far more than reality needs to.
