There is that moment when an ominous sense of concern occurs, like experiencing a certain kind of shiver. Nothing bad has happened yet, but that feeling of impending doom quickly intensifies. Seeing the scattered layer below look more broken every second with the ground partially obscured was worrisome. Further, Mike and June's sailplanes, security blankets of a sort, had vanished. It was time to descend. But the deployment of full spoilers and dive brakes produced only a relatively slow descent rate of 500 feet per minute. This was far slower than the 800 to 1,000 feet per minute I'd expected. The wave was still working and, if anything, getting stronger. Further, there was a new problem. The number of holes in the broken layer was rapidly decreasing. If I couldn't reach the undercast in time, there would be no way to know the ship's orientation or location during the final descent to pattern altitude. Given I had no instrument training and the 1-26's instrument suite contained just a compass, altimeter, variometer and airspeed indicator, cloud penetration would be an improvisational act at best.