It’s really weird how certain memories stick like fish in a hot iron skillet. So it is with a memory from my past, early in my flying career.
“Miserable” is the only description that fits for that Gulf Coast summer morning in July 1985. Don’t get me wrong: The sun was shining brightly, but the temperature and dew point were the same, and both were in the upper 70s. Anyone who is a pilot knows that, when those two numbers are in the 70s and low 80s, it is a recipe for boomers. I had a long day ahead, six legs and all single-pilot. I was to leave PNS (Pensacola, Florida) and fly to MSY (New Orleans, Louisiana) for the first leg, MSY to PFN (Panama City, Florida) for the second, then to TPA (Tampa, Florida) for the third, JAX (Jacksonville, Florida) for the fourth, back to PFN for the fifth and finally back to PNS.
