Boundary Layers

Flying in winter has encounters with cold stable air, precipitation falling in the form of snow, and often icing in the clouds. Weather, always a source of intrigue. Stable dense air provides lift which results in good airplane performance. Takeoffs need less runway. and climbouts enjoy rapid altitude gains. There is goodness in the harshness of winter.

Beginning the trip starts with a drive to the airport. It takes less then twenty minutes and the route goes through the town and continues on the highway. It is on the highway that I saw a man hitchhiking and I slowed to a stop. The wintry weather was no place for extended exposure. I've done quite a bit of hitching during college some 30 years earlier. You meet helpful people and eventually get to your destination.

The man climbed into the passenger seat, said he was trying to get to Florida. He was dressed modestly for outdoor exposure and had no gloves. He introduced himself as Brian and shook my hand. It was a good beginning. He said he was cold and had tried to hitch the day before from the nearby area. Apparently he had no success. Brian was in his mid to late 40s age, had a beard, slender build, and courteous. That was enough for a short ride and all I could offer. My exit was a scant two miles ahead.

My curiosity rose. Why was this man beginning a saga at such a late hour? Why was he so modestly prepared for a long wintry travel? What drove him to a second attempt one day later? These questions never were answered. Brian simply thanked me for the ride. He did ask if I could, "help out ..get a cup of coffee...". His apparent physical needs were urgent. There is no good rest stop in a short two mile stretch before the airport exit. I pondered how to reply? Brian continued to try and warm himself by rubbing his hands together. A cold wintry night would soon great him and he took refuge in the moment.

I stopped at the exit to the airport and discharged my passenger. He again pleaded for "some help... a cup of coffee", and I search my pocket for change and handed him a few coins. He thanked me a got out. When I arrived at the airport parking lot I noticed that my right hand glove was missing.

"Where could the glove be?", I pondered. It was not in the car or on the parking lot. Then I mentally retraced my steps from home to now. It might be somewhere in between. A brief thought came to my gloveless hitchhiker and wondering if he had it? Confidence and trust flashed in my mind. Would someone in need take something not theirs? Would I, if roles were reversed? It certainly was cold outside! I fished out a spare leather work glove from the flight kit and walked to the cargo terminal.

Climbing to a cruise altitude at 6,000 and 7,000 feet mean sea level on this night flight brings encounters with all the above winter elements. It is late January and snow has finally arrived in the past week. It covers the ground and the snow flurries come and go throughout the day. From where does this come?

The answer is learned in grade school. Snow is frozen precipitation. Test this if you want: hold a snow flake in you hand and it will melt. Snow comes from the clouds. Clouds result from condensed moisture. Cloud formations are identified by height and structure. Cumulus clouds have vertical development, while status clouds are layered.

Growing older and advancing in school science courses, we learn more about weather. Inside the clouds contains the moisture which may result in icing. Icing types are identified by the results of droplet sizes that impact on an airplane surface. Small droplets produce rime ice, which resembles refrigerator frost. Larger droplets form clear ice. How large is large? Consider the size of a pencil point and that is the basis for small droplets.

We learn this early on in our years but still marvel at the wonderment of it all.

Clouds have height. This ranges from fog, which is defined as clouds less then 75 feet high; to low, middle, and high level clouds. Cruising at the 6,000 and 7,000 levels discovered flight conditions in between cloud layers. Flying on top of an undercast is something airplane passengers often experience. But many spend their lives on the ground and know only an overcast view of the sky, and one might add, of life.

What is it like to experience flight between cloud layers? You have to do this yourself, is probably the best answer. It expands your frame of reference. The effects of light passing through clouds when viewed above an undercast show the locations of cities. You can't see buildings, roads, or the familiar landmarks we use for navigation and reference. But there it is, the soft glow of light, forming a large circular area which mark a city limits. Patches of light and darkness distinctly mapped out. It is an undercast which provides the reference now instead of the ground. Reflecting on the this thought provides a most pleasant feeling. It is the newness, the unfamiliar, a welcome experience during the course of flight. Light and darkness, distinctly separated by the clouds. A city below and a starry sky above.

Waking up from a few hours nap finds that I have overslept. My one hour plus preflight arrival is down to fifty minutes. I amble out of the quiet room and quickly phone in to company flight following for the flight release. All goes well. A call to request a crew shuttle is met with a reply, "he just went there and will be back in a few minutes.". I hang up and ease towards the pickup area, joined by a co-worker who is also named Scott.

Talking with Scott turns out to help ease my tension at a later wake-up. The snowfall has stopped but airplanes need de-icing. This becomes most apparent during the few minutes shuttle ride. Our shuttle driver is a heavy set man in his late forties or fifties. He looks like a downsized employed from another place, or so I imagine. Why would he be working at 4AM, driving people around? I might ask him sometime.

The van driver makes a routine run to the flight line but stops at the airplane ramp entrance about half the distance to the plane. He gives no explanation for the stop and several moments and then minutes pass. My co-worker and I are perplexed at this extended stop. I'm particularly irked, partly by my own tardiness from a late wake up, and added by this extended and unexplained stop.

Finally an explanation comes from the driver, "...have to stop for airplanes with their rotating beacon on...it's a safety rule.". A large jet is parked at the ramp and receives deicing from trucks spraying the wings. But then he continues, "I know the plane's not going anywhere but I have to stop." He again cites safety rules and adds that he had talked with a supervisor about this. But in this extended ten minute wait, four other tanker trucks have driven past the plane. I am at a loss for an explanation for such rule-following. "Does the van driver not notice the other trucks taking another route?", I ponder. My co-worker continues with other conversation which helps keep me occupied. But my real concern is to arrive at the plane - now!

Eventually the jet taxis out and we proceed but not before an agonizing fifteen minutes have passed. I can only trust my loading crew to be sympathetic and understanding. They are, and I arrive at the plane and note the loading is already in progress. Enid the loading supervisor has things well in hand. I'm just glad I didn't receive a cell phone call, "where are you?". I dismiss this saga and get on with the preflight.

Loading is complete and ahead of schedule. But a deicing is required and the plane has to wait it's turn. A delay code is received and recorded in the paperwork. Getting out is now a matter of waiting. Everyone has done their job.

On an early morning, a plane full of cargo, an undercast below and a clear sky above, there is little traffic. Departing from Indianapolis comes after a midnight snowfall. The plane's wings are covered, as are the airplanes on the ramp. Deicing procedures are in effect and the pace becomes moderate. Time passes and a deicing is received and completed in less than five minutes. Engine start and taxi requests are received and the trip begins. Patience is developed as you wait your turn to exit the parking spot, flow into the ramp lanes, and then to a taxiway.

A take off is made into the northwest with a plane socked full over 1,800 pounds of cargo. Once airborne all the previous concerns wash away Climbout begins to an initial 3,000 foot altitude. Then a radio transmission with the radar controller brings a clearance to higher cruise altitude of 7,000 feet, followed by a moment of passing through the clouds.

Instruments guide the navigation, heading, altitude, and airspeed. Anti-icing equipment keeps airspeed and stall instruments operating. Curiously, no icing is encountered on the return trip home. Perhaps it is just timing or perhaps a result of a brief climb through clouds? Either explanation is welcome. Ice degrades lift and lift is essential to keep a plane flying.

Then as if by magic, the plane crosses above the cloud tops and a starry sky greets the trip. You realize where you came from and where you are in space. The area between clouds, an undercast below and few clouds and many stars above, it is the boundary layer.

Headwinds extend the enroute portion of the trip. Arriving within fifty miles of South Bend, the center radar controller passes control to the locals at South Bend. A descent is prepared from the clear air into the clouds and ice, deicing systems activated, and the descent started. An inquiry is made to the local radar controller for cloud tops. . "No reports available.", comes the answer. An offer for a cloud tops report is made and then provided when reaching 5,800 feet during descent. Cloud bases are high enough for a visual approach from about ten miles. The landing is accomplished and the unloading is crew standing by.

Parking the plane at the ramp and shutdown are quickly accomplished. The unloading crew gets the cargo doors opened and loads of cargo spill out, onto a loading conveyor belt, into a container, and then trucked to the cargo terminal. Twenty minutes later and all is done. People depart and the plane is secured just as a cargo jet arrives on the ramp. This completes the morning arrivals

Driving home, I ponder the morning traffic into the town. It is ten minutes to seven and many more cars are passing in the early morning. Time has passed from, "while all the world sleeps", to normal waking and moving of day persons. I again ponder the boundary layers, this time between night cargo and the day time.

Arriving at home and parking the car, I step out and look at the garage floor. There on the ground is the missing glove. My hitchhiking passenger is still gloveless on this wintry day, or so I ponder.

Entering the home and starting up the computers, I note an e-mail is received from a high school classmate, now married and living in the southeast. She reports news of the passing of her father after a three year battle with a neurological disease. I send a short reply and follow-up with an e-card. His passing ends years of suffering. But she is now fatherless.

Boundary layers, whether it be between clouds, time of day, social status of affluent or impoverished, or our time on earth, provide insights into our life. We strive to make the most of our time, offering care to others in need. What separates myself from the conditions of others that are sick, poor, lonely, confused, or just needing someone to talk with? Its question arises from this flight's experience but the answer remains elusive.

Turning to the Bible chapter of Matthew 25: offers a better answer.

[35}I was hungry. And you gave me something to eat. I was thirsty. And you gave me something to drink. I was a stranger. And you invited me in. 36 I needed clothes. And you gave them to me. I was sick. And you took care of me. I was in prison. And you came to visit me. [45] Then he will answer them, `Truly, I say to you, as you did it not to one of the least of these, you did it not to me.' [46] And they will go away into eternal punishment, but the righteous into eternal life."

With the final thought and promise of eternal life this story concludes, and I drift off to sleep.