Last night, after writing my daily journal, I contemplated the next morning. Would it still be windy? How much wind is "too much", considering my level of experience, and my airplane? Could I have flown (yesterday)? Was I being overly cautious? Other biplane pilots had flown into Liberal under these very windy conditions, but they had considerably more experience. Is there an exact number that I can put on wind speed, and crosswind factor, beyond which I will not attempt to take off, or land? Lots of questions, no answers.
To help make up my mind, I turned the TV to The Weather Channel to get the local forecast for the morning. It was identical to the weather when I decided I would not fly. So I replayed the information I had learned during the day.
I remembered in talking to a few pilots during the day that they reported very strong headwinds for my direction of travel (south), but also reported that the air was not turbulent at all, in fact they reported it as smooth. This really surprised me. In California, windy conditions always seem to be accompanied by turbulence, probably because of the mountainous terrain. Here in Kansas, the terrain is extremely flat. Maybe I'm learning something here.
Flight Service also mentioned low level wind shear. But they called for a possibility of this condition after the day had warmed up a little, not for first thing in the morning.
They also called for gusty conditions, but I spent a lot of time yesterday looking at the windsock, and it looked as if it was made of cement. It stuck straight out all day long, never varying its direction, and never indicating any noticeable gusting.
Weather tends to run in patterns which are repeated from day to day. The weather on any particular day is most likely to be the same as the day before, unless some front is nearby, or passing through. There were no fronts in the area. The weather for the next morning would almost certainly be the same. Would I fly?
I looked over the charts again. The runways at all the airports along my flight path were aligned with the direction of the wind during the past several days. I should not expect severe crosswinds on landing.
I resolved to go for it. Even if it was bumpy I was sure I could handle it. I had been through some really rough stuff earlier on this trip, and it was unpleasant, but still flyable. Also, I could turn back if it was totally bad. I would get up again before daybreak and be there ready to go at first light. I was now comfortable in my decision. It just took more thought.
I turned off the light and lay back in bed, and for some reason, started changing channels on the TV, even though I really didn't want to watch anything. That's when I learned of the TWA flight 800 disaster. Was this an omen? Should it affect my decision to fly in the morning? I decided that it was not an omen, and it would not change my plan. It was a tragedy, of course, for the passengers, the crew, and their families, but it was certainly not meant as a message to me. I went to sleep.
This morning I woke with the determination to fly, to face the dreaded dragon wind, and to conquer it. I reserved the right to change my mind for any valid reason which may occur, but I was resolved to face this challenge with strength.
Outside, the wind was already blowing the trees around, just as the morning before. At the airport, the windsock was still straight out, but my spirit was stronger. As before, it was a smooth continuous wind, with no discernible gusts or changes in direction. I went for it. Full throttle into the wind, the Waco lifted off smoothly and climbed straight out. At 1000 feet above the ground I leveled off at maximum cruise speed, and was shocked to notice that my speed across the ground was only 60 knots! I have never before had such a headwind. At the same time, I was very pleased to find that there was no turbulence whatsoever... the air was perfectly smooth. What a strange combination! As I turned to the southwest toward Tucumcari New Mexico, and slightly at an angle to the headwind, my ground speed improved a little bit. I climbed to 2500 feet above the ground, and eventually my groundspeed picked up even more, but it was a long slow flight.
The plane seemed motionless against the vast perfectly flat landscape. I was following a road below me, but there were virtually no landmarks at all for long stretches of time, and the plane felt as though it was stuck in some glue in the air. It was at times a very uneasy feeling.
Ever so slowly Nebraska, then Oklahoma, then Texas, and then New Mexico slipped beneath my wings. Painfully slowly, Tucumcari came into view. I called the airport on the radio from 8 miles out and learned that the runway I was expecting was CLOSED! That meant that I would be facing a crosswind of 20 knots. There were no other airports in the area. This was a more of a challenge than I had anticipated. There were planes on the ground which were readying for takeoff, but they announced that they would wait for me to land. I knew what was on their minds. They wanted to watch this arrogant biplane pilot attempt a landing in these awful winds. They wanted to see me suffer through this. They probably even wanted to see splinters of wood as I ground-looped in the crosswind.
I resolved to spoil their fun. I certainly knew the theory of what had to be done. I had done this sort of thing before, just not with such a high wind. I would do it, because I MUST do it.
Biplanes are in that category of airplane known as "taildraggers". They fly exactly like airplanes with a nosewheel, the only difference occurs when a taildragger is on the ground. And the most critical time on the ground is at the point of landing. At this time, any crosswind wants to push against the side and tail of the plane, causing it to turn around (swap ends) while it is still moving down the runway, causing great damage to the wing as it ground-loops. The only control the pilot has at this time is the rudder, which has greatly reduced effectiveness at low landing speeds.
The approach must be made with the windward wing held down with the aileron, whilst the forward direction must be held straight down the runway with the opposite rudder. In a strong crosswind the plane should be landed on just one of the main wheels, and almost simultaneously touching down with the tailwheel, rolling just a few feet and allowing the other main wheel to touch just before the plane comes to a stop.
The theory is really quite simple. It almost never works that way in real life. Typically a landing like this is a continuum of overcorrections (mistakes), followed by recoveries which turn out to be too short lived before it's time to recover from the recovery. In fact, it's a process which is done more by instinct than by intellect. More by will than by want. It is the ultimate moment of truth in flying. The landing is the pilot's signature. A crosswind landing in a taildragger is a pilots resume' for all to see. On days like this, the old-timers come out to the airport to watch pilots do their stuff. It's a proving ground, a learning experience for pilot and spectator alike.
All of these thoughts are going through my head as I'm flying my pattern overhead, looking wishfully at the closed main runway with big X's painted on both ends while it's under reconstruction. I turn final and notice that I'm being pushed WAY off the centerline and apply power and correct into the wind to get realigned, dipping my left wing, giving lots of right rudder, holding the nose up to bleed off airspeed, and noticing that I'm falling a lot faster than I want to, so I give it some more power just a few feet off the ground, while the plane is being rocked by the wind, and I notice that my groundspeed is really a LOT faster than I should be going, so what's going on here?, oh! Yeah! Its the higher elevation (over 4000 feet) and the high temperatures (over 80 degrees), so this is going to be normal for these conditions so get back to focusing on the centerline, and airspeed, and height over the runway, and keep that wing down, and the stick back, and let that left wheel touch just a bit before the tailwheel, and when it does be sure to give it a lot more left stick, and back stick, and keep increasing these controls as the plane slows until I use up all of the left stick and back stick I have just as the right wheel touches ever so gently and the plane rolls a few feet and I brake it to a stop. YES!
Taxiing up to the terminal building, still amazed that I have kept my Waco in one piece, I am greeted by several of the old-timers who have been watching the whole drama play out. Merle and Bocephus and Lyle and more whose names I didn't catch are streaming out with big grins on their faces. Almost in unison the chorus of expert spectator/pilots sings the most beautiful music ever heard by a pilot: "Nice Landing!"