Skimming Along
An excerpt from the book Highways in the Sky by David B. Freeman
Date: 6/12/79
A/C Type: Cessna 210
Registration #: N2255S
Route of Flight: Ruston – Fort Worth
Two-two-five-five-sierra, depart Scurry heading two-eight-zero, maintain four thousand."
"Five-five-sierra, is out of eight for four, departing Scurry heading two-eight-zero." I acknowledged DFW Approach’s instructions, released the altitude hold and beeped the Centurion’s nose down with the electronic trim. The deviation from the Scurry 6 arrival was expected when Meacham airport was your destination.
Waves of light from the setting sun splashed across the cloud tops beneath me, tinting them with traces of red and gold. Home was less than thirty minutes away and the air was smooth and cool. The groundspeed readout indicated no headwind, and my new altitude was going to put me right in the tops of the clouds.
"It doesn’t get any better than this," I thought, as I leveled off at 4,000 feet. The groundspeed indicated 160 knots, but it felt like I was flying at jet speeds as I skimmed the cloud tops. The sense of speed was awesome! The clouds were solid and thick, with billowing tops that resemble roll upon roll of tufted cotton and stretched as far as I can see. It was a speed demon’s dream.
I could have just flown straight and level. I could have maintained heading and altitude perfectly, letting the autopilot do the work. No way! Autopilot off, I leaned forward in my seat and envisioned a path through the twisting maze. As long as I kept the VOR needle centered and the altitude within 300 feet of my assigned altitude, the controller would never know what I was up to.
Picking a towering tuft of white cloud, I headed for it. At the last moment I twistd the control wheel to the left, embedded my wingtip in the cloud and skirted its perimeter. Coming around on the opposite side, I dove into a slight valley of cloud, then climbed up the far side. It was nap of the clouds–contour flying at it’s best.
Over the misty hills and into the foggy valleys the 210 raced, nip and tuck with the clouds–a roller coaster ride, free from rails and trestles. Twisting around the peaks, burying a wing here, punching through a cloud there, I was having the time of my life. In the radar room at DFW my blip on the scope tracked steadily toward Fort Worth . There was no way they could know the fun I was having.
The course change came all too soon. "Five-five sierra, fly heading three-three-zero, maintain three thousand."
"Five-five-sierra is out of four for three, heading three-three-zero."
Into the clouds I went, deeper and deeper, until the white turned to gray and I was solid on the gauges. It was time to put “George” to work again. Heading bug to 330, autopilot on, altitude hold on at 3,000, it was serious flying now. Approach charts out, the ILS and Outer Marker tuned in, ground speed readout no longer accurate as I tuned number two VOR to DFW and locked the DME to it. There was darkness below. The descent clearance to two thousand came and the darkness began to come alive with the twinkle of lights as I flew out of the bottom of the clouds to the sight of hundreds of thousands of Metroplex drivers making their way home. Think I would trade places with them? Not on your life!