The idea that “no plan survives first contact with the enemy” is a modernized version of something a Prussian field marshal, Helmuth von Moltke, wrote in 1871. It’s appropriate in many activities, as long as we change “enemy” to something a bit softer, like “opposition.” In everyday use, it can refer to authority figures who are not on our side. Air traffic controllers, for instance. Events, too, like weather.
In early April, I flew my Debonair on a 2700-nm round trip over four days, from Florida to Maine and back, to view the April 8 eclipse. The eclipse itself was an amazing, epic experience in many ways (see this month’s Editor’s Log on page 2 for more deets).
Getting there and back also was an experience, and included challenges like unfamiliar airspace, low ceilings, bouncy headwinds, inflight icing and storm-generating cold fronts, plus an overtaxed ATC system. It also was a practical demonstration of aeronautical decision-making, operational flexibility and risk management, all while more or less keeping to a schedule. And let’s not forget how it highlighted a personal airplane’s utility and transportation value.
Day One: Plan A
I’d been thinking about this flight for a few weeks before launching. I had set aside two days on either side of the eclipse for travel, knowing the distance I was going to cover—it’s about 1300 nm each way—increased the risk of weather I didn’t want to deal with. The immediate task was to get to KPSM, Portsmouth International Airport at Pease, in Portsmouth, N.H., where my passenger and I would overnight, meet with a friend, and use that built-in extra day to rest up and make final plans for viewing the eclipse.
But, sure enough, the weather wasn’t cooperating. Precipitation was moving through, and the forecast called for things to deteriorate from at least marginal VFR to 500 or so overcast in rain about when I’d arrive. The surface temperatures were advertised to be in the mid-30s, with colder air above, guaranteeing a risk of airframe icing. Plan A included a fuel stop, at about the halfway point, which would have left me with about two hours of gas on arriving KPSM. That would have been after flying all day and fatigue would be a factor in my performance.
Meanwhile, the following afternoon’s forecast at Portsmouth was for good VFR under a 5000-foot broken deck, with gusty winds. In other words, if we overnighted somewhere en route and took our time the next morning, we could sail into KPSM under much better conditions. Great, let’s do that. But where to overnight?
The sidebar below has more detail on my decision-making process, but Plan B had us overnighting at KACY, the Atlantic City (N.J.) International Airport. It also left us within easy striking distance the next morning. So ended six hours of flying for the day.
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It’s typically rare for me to have to remain overnight (RON) somewhere other than my destination. But I’ve sampled the delights of Raleigh, El Paso, Albuquerque, Madison and a few others while waiting for a situation to improve. On this trip, an en route RON was the smart thing. Since I could pick it myself, with scores of choices in the Mid-Atlantic and Northeast U.S., the big question was where.
Looking at the charts, it made sense to stop for the night south of New York City, and be fresh to tackle that airspace the next day. I originally thought of Cape May, N.J., which had been a beach weekend spot many moons earlier. But checking the airport details, the FBO closed at 5pm local; we wouldn’t be there before then. There was also the issue of ground transportation—how likely is it an off-season beach town will have decent Uber or cab service?—and a choice of hotels. Basically, I wanted something predictable.
Philadelphia was going to be too much of a hassle, and I wanted to be further north than Baltimore, so I picked Atlantic City, N.J., and its international airport, KACY. The Signature Flight Support people were very helpful—since it was the weekend, I got a fuel discount—and the rides to and from the hotel were drama-free.
Predictability in airport and FBO facilities, plus accommodation and mobility choices, relieves a lot of the stress of having to RON in the first place. You’ll be more rested and distractions will be minimized. You have other things to worry about.
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Day Two: Relocation
The next day’s two-hour hop from KACY to KPSM developed about as I figured. We took our time that morning and ended up launching shortly after noon. The Chart Supplement’s preferred IFR routing from New Jersey to New Hampshire put us on V1, flying just offshore, then over JFK, Long Island and Long Island Sound before going feet-dry in Connecticut. Aside from headwinds and bumps, it was an easy flight. Except for one thing.
After going feet-dry again, I canceled IFR and headed off direct to the destination at 7500 feet with flight following. We were on top of a scattered cloud layer, which gradually became broken and then a solid overcast. I easily could have turned around and found a hole to descend through but decided to ask for a pop-up IFR clearance for the descent.
After a bit of back and forth with ATC, I was cleared down to 5000, and then to 3000. We broke out of the overcast at about 5500 feet msl, and soon spotted the destination. In the descent, I picked up a trace of rime ice, and reported it to ATC. No one seemed all that interested, and it sublimated off a few moments after we broke out. Two more hours of flying had taken us from KACY to KPSM.
After hooking up with our local friend, we spent the evening reviewing our options for the eclipse. The weather was going to be good for both flying and viewing, and the consensus was to get an early start the following morning.
Day Three: Eclipse Or Bust
That consensus also included a destination to which we would fly to view the eclipse itself. Thanks to AOPA, which developed and made available for free a ForeFlight content pack depicting the path of the eclipse over the ground as well as its totality, picking an airport was fairly easy (see the imagery on the opposite page). We ended up aiming for the Houlton International Airport in Houlton, Maine (KHUL), which is up against the Canadian border. We would be about as far east as one can be in the Continental U.S.: Part of the traffic pattern for Runway 23 is in Canadian airspace.
My local friend had spent some time calling around to airports underlying the event’s path and we knew two things: One, some airports were anticipating quite a crowd to fly in and were requiring reservations. Two, many airports weren’t, and would be operating on a first-come, first-served basis. The airport at Houlton had adopted the latter policy and appeared on satellite imagery to have plenty of ramp space. It also had two runways, self-serve fuel and published approaches. We had no other expectations.
Once the Debonair had warmed, converting all its frost to water, we departed. After a smooth flight at 7500 feet, we soon were on a 20-mile straight-in final to Runway 05, easily made the midfield taxiway and taxied to the ramp. We were greeted on the CTAF by a voice asking if we were there for the eclipse and would we need fuel. We didn’t need fuel, just a place to park, so we pivoted into a space next to a recently arrived Beech 58 Baron and shut down.
The eclipse itself was an amazing event. Using a personal airplane to make it happen just added to the adventure.
Day 3: Southbound
After the totality, the question among my group was which pilot and airplane would be the first to crank up and leave, even though there was still a partial eclipse in progress. Shortly, a Piper Saratoga II SP’s pilot ended the debate by cranking up and rolling out to the runway. It soon was followed by another 10 or so piston airplanes, plus the five or so bizjets that had come in for the show and parked on the closed shorter runway across the way.
I was a little anxious about getting out of there. The FAA’s Special Notice warned of all kinds of mayhem associated with the eclipse and the flood of traffic anticipated. It may well have been hectic in some areas of the country, but our departure was orderly and the traffic that took off about the same time we did was either falling behind or outpacing us. As far as I could tell, we had our 8500-foot cruising altitude pretty much to ourselves, all the way back to Portsmouth, another two hours of flying. The sidebar on page 9 has more details.
Soon enough, we started letting down for Portsmouth and worked our way into a much less busy ATC system. Reporting a mid-field downwind, as instructed, ATC advised we were #2 to land behind a 182 about six miles out. I was on a right downwind and was about 0.5 miles out, and had the traffic in sight, but that’s what ATC wanted. So I went into hover mode: gear and flaps down, maintain 75-80 knots or so until the traffic goes past. Then turn base and fly a bit more slowly down final. Of course, the Skylane took his time getting off the runway, but I’d seen this movie before. Another four hours of flying for the day ended well.
Day Four: The Get Back
By the time the three of us parted that evening, we’d decided to one-stop the trip back to Florida and leave the next morning. The local friend was riding back to attend the Sun ‘n Fun Aerospace Expo. in Lakeland, Fla., just up the road from my home. Even with full tanks, three people and bags, we were 100 lbs. under gross at takeoff.
Plan A that morning was to motor off to the southwest and cross Kennedy at 8500 feet. After that, follow the coast down past the Chesapeake Bay and Potomac River. Then stop at Cheap Gas Municipal, N.C., for fuel and a stretch, before launching on the final leg. The weather was great VFR—we even had a tailwind for a while.
Around Norfolk, I started seeing green and yellow inkblots on ADS-B’s Nexrad weather radar. Zooming and panning showed the eastern edge of some weather was in front of us and would arrive at our Plan A fuel stop after we did. But I didn’t want to spend any time on the ground in the rain—I’d rather dodge it in the air. So Plan B became a different Cheap Gas Muni in North Carolina, one that would be out of the green and yellow. And that’s what we did, popping into Elizabethtown, N.C., KEYF.
There were enough ceilings being advertised down the road that I filed IFR for the last leg. In hindsight, that was a mistake. The reason? This was opening day for Sun ‘n Fun, and the area was a madhouse. I filed for my typical route, but ATC wasn’t having it.
Once I got into Jacksonville Center’s airspace, I got a complicated new clearance that was basically head south over Florida’s east coast until ATC says otherwise. Part of the problem was the special-use airspace over central Florida, but the main problem was too much traffic for the three approach facilities—Jacksonville, Orlando and Tampa—to handle. Wanting to keep the IFR for a while longer, I accepted the clearance, with a simplification, which was approved. It was a smooth ride, but I had 30 knots of headwind on the nose and my passengers were on the verge of asking, “Are we there yet?” It was time for another Plan B.
Plan B
After getting south of some special-use airspace to the west, I canceled IFR and descended to 3500, with flight following. The controller was easy to work with and cleared me into Orlando’s Class B, direct destination. That didn’t last long, though, and once I was talking to a different controller clear of the Bravo, my flight following was terminated. But we still had to get home. It was time for some broken-field running.
Fortunately, my right seater was a rated pilot, and we worked together to identify ADS-B traffic on three different cockpit displays. Using their presentations, we knew where to look and spotted most of the traffic. The squiggles toward the south end of the flight track shown at right were all to avoid ADS-B-plotted traffic. Visibility was merely okay, and we got pretty good at aiming to ensure the ADS-B traffic symbols weren’t in front of us. It was the busiest I’d ever seen this airspace, especially for a Tuesday.
I had to do a 360 to get down and slow down, but the rest of the approach and landing back home were typical. Another eight-hour flying day was in the logbook.
Postflight
It had been an interesting four days. I had warned my friends before we left that this would be an adventure, and I think I was proven right. We flew more than 2700 miles over those four days, saw some amazing scenery, including New York City, and viewed the eclipse’s totality. I put more than 20 tach hours on the airplane. It used one quart of oil. Despite my griping, ATC was superb throughout the trip.
Did all my Plans A survive? Not a chance. Many elements did, but there’s no way to mix weather, airspace, ATC and traffic without some changes in the plan. If you accept that, then you also have to accept that your Plan B should be a good one that accomplishes the same goal. Look at it this way: At least I didn’t need a Plan C.
Maybe the old saying should read something like, “No plan survives the second hand-off”?
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Anticipating the demand for air transportation to and from the eclipse’s path, the FAA published a Special Notice listing each airport destined to be within the totality. It also had this to say: “There may be a higher traffic volume than normal anticipated at airports along the path of the eclipse. Traffic should anticipate delays during peak traffic periods. Parking may be limited—particularly at the smaller, uncontrolled airports. There could be a delay with issuance of IFR departure clearances. VFR departures may also expect delays for airborne pickup of IFR clearance within 50 NM either side of the path of the eclipse.” With that in mind, we launched out of Houlton for Portsmouth VFR without even asking for flight following.
Everyone and their brother decided to fly home at pretty much the same time. Although I wasn’t talking to ATC, I had Boston Center on one radio and Houlton’s CTAF on the other. Hilarity ensued, at least for me. Those who needed IFR clearances were told to remain VFR while Center found their paperwork and verified they were clear of other traffic before issuing one. Others, who just wanted VFR flight following, also were told to maintain VFR and Center would get back to them, around Memorial Day.
At one point, an IFR bizjet was inbound to Houlton. Once it came on the CTAF, reporting about 11 miles out, a couple of the waiting bizjets got all up that captain’s grille for not canceling IFR earlier so they could get out. It was a severe-clear day, so he deserved some of that, depending on his op specs. Soon after, the jets announced on CTAF they were rolling and then came up on Center’s frequency one after another.
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