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west blocked the setting sun.
I had no onboard radar, but I did have ADSB radar images on my iPad with a Garmin 345R transponder pro- viding the Bluetooth signal. I contin- ued southwest bound but began to be pushed further south by another line of thunderstorms. Here’s where my judgment failed me. The main line of storms associated with the cold front was well to my west, but sev- eral lines of cells formed all around. At this point, I should have landed at
the next viable airport.
But I didn’t. I thought, “If I can just
round that next cell, I’ll have a clear shot for another 200 nm.” So, I de- scended to 4,500 feet to ensure sight of the rain shafts and avoid any big cells. The gathering darkness was my enemy, but I still had enough light to avoid the convection. I felt safe, but that feeling was an illusion created by my best hopes. We all need hope, but hope is a poor plan.
Developing Problems
As I rounded the cell, the way west looked convection free on my iPad, but the darkness was growing. Soon, I was in total darkness and flying at 4,500 feet to stay clear of the clouds. The clouds at my altitude began to increase, and I descended further to remain VFR. I dared not go IFR be- cause I could not risk an embedded thunderstorm, but now it was dark. Everything was effectively “embed- ded” because I could not see the rain shafts. I was talking with ATC, and they were doing their best to guide me to a rain-free area, but the storms were growing and rain-free areas were not present. I diverted right then left. I wanted to make it to Shreveport but soon determined that I could not make it there due to the growing cells.
Then, I lost the ability to talk with ATC. I was simply too low in too remote of an area. So, I made the only choice that I could after looking at ADSB weather images on my iPad. I guessed as to where the thunderstorms were the weakest. All I could do was guess.
In the old days, we would turn on the ADF to a low frequency and the needle would divert towards a light- ning strike. I tried that, but it worked about as well as you would think. The
needle was just jumping all over the place. Not able to talk to ATC, not able to see the weather, not able to do any- thing other than hope, I hit direct-to in the GPS to Many, Louisiana (3R4).
Now, I had done no prior planning and knew nothing about Many before diverting there. I did not know if they had a courtesy car, hotels, mainte- nance availability, or if I could even get in the front door of the FBO. I just knew there was a long hunk of as- phalt and some runway lights, and that was good enough.
I turned the Cessna 310 to Many, held as close to 2,500 feet as I could, and flew as straight a line as possible. Rain pelted the airplane and lightning struck all around me. It was remark- ably smooth, but I had no doubts that incredible turbulence awaited me if I were to bumble into a column of convection that surely lurked in the
PHOTO COURTESY OF CLINT GOFF
darkness. I felt like the only fool in the zoo, with all the cages left open and all the animals present. I slowed to about 10 knots below Va and said the “prayer of resignation.”
I’ve heard it said, “There are no athe- ists in a foxhole,” and I was certainly no atheist at this point. I had made a complete mess of things and gotten to the point of resignation. The prayer of resignation is the nondescript prayer made by the fool who finds himself in a situation that could be deadly but for which they have no control. Fate, luck or divine intervention is the decider of the outcome, not skill or experience. Resignation comes when you decide you got where you are because of your own decisions, and you simply cannot do anything else to steer your fate. You turn over everything to someone else.
If I flew into convection, I’d prob- ably perish. If I flew into a microburst
Dan Moore Aero LLC
http://danmoore.aero
October 2022 / TWIN & TURBINE • 5