It was late March, when Midwestern flatlanders flying over the Appalachians to Florida for spring breaks or a week at Sun ‘n Fun have so often found that Old Man Winter is still very much around. A kind of permanent “front” that hangs around London, Kentucky, especially after a cold frontal passage, has scared the pants off more than one intrepid aviator with unexpected ice and turbulence.
Like most everybody I’ve always been envious and in awe of Richard Collins’ grasp of the weather. Do you remember when there was somebody in your local FSS who was actually interested in the weather and you could get a pretty good briefing? But then the stations were consolidated and automated and briefers rattled off information from computer screens while you desperately tried to translate and copy their rapid-fire “24-hour clock/zulu” numbers into meaningful local time. And admit it, you were embarrassed to say, “Hey, slow down, and translate that into local time for me.” Plus, if you believed all the “occasionallys” and “possibility ofs” you’d probably never have gone flying.
