It is almost midnight on a mid-January day. In front of me, the windscreen is filled with clouds. The landing lights in the nosewheel light up the snowflakes that are still making their way slowly down to Earth, causing an eerie hyperspace effect as they streak by at almost 200 miles per hour. Behind me are 23 people: more than half the seats are empty, which is typical for this route. All around me is the wind which rocks the plane during this instrument approach.
The unseen ocean of air through which my jet swims is stirred up turbulently by the mountains which surround the airport on three sides in a C shape. The terrain gives me and my co-pilot little margin for error should one of the Rolls-Royce turbofans strapped to the back decide it doesn't want to play the big blowtorch game anymore.
The turbulence increases sharply, then dies down to a more normal level. Although I still cannot see the runway, this last burst is a good sign: I've been here before and I know it means we've passed the top of the southern ridge of the C. We're through the "shoals" of the air and ahead will soon lie safe harbor. Or at least what passes for safe in this remote winterland.
At 400 feet above the ground, we break out of the clouds. On a night like tonight in a place like this, there isn't much difference between being in the clouds and out of them: everything ahead is white. What little difference there is lies in the two white lights identifying the runway threshold and a narrow patch of gray in the vast blank expanse ahead. Black asphalt plus a white covering of snow makes for a narrow gray strip only 20 seconds ahead.
Although I'm out of the soup, I still can't let my guard down. In some ways, the easy part is over: this is a dangerous airport in the winter. Several of my colleagues, many of which I know to be good and experienced pilots, have their own stories of near-trouble here. If my flying career ends before I reach mandatory retirement at 65, I'm pretty sure it will end here.
As the Captain, it is up to me who flies what legs. On nights like these, I make sure it's always me. My skills sometimes seem to depend on the level of challenge presented to them: some of my best landings come in the harshest conditions. Tonight, I put it on so nicely that the flight attendant has to wake one of the passengers when we arrive at the gate.
As the wheels touch the pavement, they pass over the same place that hundreds of aircraft used on their way to Europe during World War II, back when this was an Army Air Field (later an Air Force Base). The tires—and I—connect through history with Clark Gable, who was stationed here in WWII; John Wayne, whose movie
Island in the Sky was set here; and the real-world exploits of one of the most famous names in aviation literature, Ernie Gann.
We reach the gate, immediately causing the gate occupancy of the airport to go from 0% to 100% as our solitary aircraft comes to a full stop. Since we're in the middle of nowhere, there is no comfortable jet bridge for the passengers to walk onto. The ramp workers roll stairs up to the aircraft door and the passengers exit into the 8°F weather onto the tarmac just as if it were still sixty years ago. They walk the fifty feet to the door through the subzero wind chill and enter the terminal which (if you don't include the office space) is smaller than my house. Welcome to Presque Isle, Maine, population 9106.
I pack up my things and shut down the plane. The taxi ride to the hotel is through a canyon of snow, the snow banks a dozen feet high on either side of me. I have 30 hours here, and to take my mind off of the last 30 minutes, I look forward to trying that odd, decidedly New England game called "candlepin bowling" tomorrow evening.
The night slowly dissolves into just another line in the logbook. Other crews will not be so lucky, but fortunately this night's flight takes a quiet place among the 3167 entries covering 5112.3 hours so far. Some are beautiful, others less so... but each one is an experience I've been privileged to have.
Thus the day ends:
2/16/2019 N11193 EWR-PQI Total: 1.73 Night: 1.73 Instrument: 0.1 Pax: 23
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The author is an airline pilot, flight instructor, and adjunct
college professor teaching aviation ground schools. He holds an ATP certificate with ERJ-145 and DHC-8 type ratings,
as well as CFI, CFII, MEI, AGI, and IGI certificates, and is a Master-level participant in the FAA's
WINGS program and a
former FAASafety Team representative. He is on Facebook as Larry the Flying Guy, has a Larry the Flying Guy YouTube channel, and is on Twitter as @Lairspeed.
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