The winter challenges of a general aviation pilot

By BILL BOND

While many general aviation pilots living in the northern part of the U.S. avoid cold weather flying, some elect to brave the elements for brief sightseeing flights or longer trips.

These folks demonstrate the same hardy traits as their ancient family members who settled and thrived in the (sometimes) frozen northern states — commitment and stubbornness.

Consider this scenario, those of you basking in the warm sunny southern states: Following an overnight storm that dumped eight inches of snow in the area, my idea was to dash to the airport for a quick flight around the patch.

The challenges began before I even left my house.

After getting dressed for the day, starting with my “long johns’ underwear,” I pulled on my warmest winter coat, found my heavy-duty mittens, and laced up my winter boots. Suddenly, my biggest issue once suited up in all my winter paraphernalia was getting outside before I overheated and started sweating.

Removing snow from my driveway in 10° weather with moist underarms can be very uncomfortable, sometimes necessitating a trip inside to change to dry clothing.

Descending my snow-covered steps to the snow-covered sidewalk made even the few steps to the snowblower inside my garage a major undertaking.

Florida natives have probably never struggled with a frozen extension cord that resists your efforts to untangle it from the last time you had to plug in your electrical starter for the snowblower.

Long ago I learned the lesson that a snowblower sitting in a frozen garage with only a pull cord start will just refuse to start. Who can blame it? Heck, I didn’t want to be outside in the cold working either!

Once the snowblower fires up and is running smoothly, it is time to engage the clutch and start the snow removal process. My lawn is an acre lot with a very, very long driveway, including a circular portion. A large, powerful snowblower is mandatory. Everything about the process is a challenge with one to two feet of drifting snow.

The driveway finally cleared, I grab my headset and flight bag and head to the airport.

Making sure to avoid unplowed roads, I see many vehicles stuck in ditches until either the snow melts or someone can come and rescue them.

Getting to the airport is a challenge in itself. My usual half hour trip ends up taking the better part of a morning.

Feeling victorious when I arrive at the airport, it is only when I turn onto the taxiway in front of my hangar that I realize Old Man Winter has established yet another contest for those foolhardy enough to brave the elements. While the airport snow plows have created a path to the hangars, the apron in front of my hangar needs clearing before I can even think of pulling my airplane out.

I have another snowblower in the hangar, also with an electric start. But first I must free the hangar door from the snow bank the snowplow created against my hangar door.

After this additional struggle, I am grateful for the electrical outlets in my unheated hangar that maintain an engine block heater and a battery trickle charger for my 1968 Mooney M20C Ranger.

Once my preflight is complete — done inside the hangar to protect me a bit from the cold — my next chore is to put snow cleats over my overshoes so I don’t slip on the packed snow while I battle with the cold to get the Mooney out of the hangar and the hangar door shut.

While the Mooney creaks a little to protest the very cold weather it must endure, I smile when I think about the extra performance it will develop from the cold condensed air molecules once airborne. Somehow that makes the struggle just a little easier to bear.

It’s no surprise that folks who fly during the winter in the northern part of the country appreciate a warm, sunny June flying day just a little bit more as they reflect on the winter barriers Mother Nature sets up for us.

You may empathize with me enduring these cold winter struggles just for a flight around the patch. However, I confess I am writing this account from a condo on South Padre Island, Texas. Here my only struggle is avoiding a sun burn as I sit on the patio sipping gin and tonics. No sympathy necessary.

My Mooney? I left it for a friend to take out and fly in the winter to keep it limbered up and ready to go once I return in spring. And to him I say, “thanks, buddy…enjoy the snow.”