I needed to visit Kangaroo Island to fix the deranged shower screen
door on our rental house. But first I had to visit the Stegbar people
and learn how to fix it (it has three panels- two that move- and my
first attempt had convinced me it was some sort of executive puzzle
that I hadn't yet cracked). The Navigator wasn't coming because she
was buried in statistics and SPSS (learning both at the same time- I
could have shot her lecturers!) and was stuck-so I needed to help her
so she'd have work to do while I was away. The Stegbar people had to
come first on Saturday morning and they opened at 9:00am, meaning I'd
have to fly down in the late morning, overnight at sis's place and
return early on Sunday.
On Saturday morning we discovered that the fridge had failed. I called
the fridge emergency people, bolted down some brekkie, raced to
Stegbar's, received good advice and a few spare parts, raced home, and
discovered the fridge mechanic still hadn't arrived. I worked through
some of the problems with the navigator, watched the fridge mechanic
spend $360 fixing the fridge, then (finally) examined the weather
forecast.
It wasn't good. A southerly bringing moist air over Flurieu Peninsula
was generating scattered showers and low stratus -1200' to 1500'- in
the rain. Broken stratus with showers on the windward slopes of the
ranges was also forecast. It's usually easy to determine the
"windward" side and decide the location of the cloud and rain as the
wind usually has an easterly or westerly component and the range runs
roughly north-south. With a southerly, I figured the weather would
mainly be around the tip of the peninsula, so if I could get across
the ranges, I should be able to sneak down to KI on the western side.
The rest of the forecast mentioned cloud at 2500'- high enough to
allow me across the ranges if I could dodge the rain. I grabbed my
tool box and a few other necessities, threw them in the car along with
my maps and headset and bolted for Callington.
During the drive through the hills I encountered a heavy shower that
blocked visibility beyond about 1 kilometer- much less than the
forecast 5000M. I could see the low scud amongst this, but when I
checked Mt Lofty in the rear view mirror, the TV towers were clear,
suggesting that the cloudbase away from the rain was as forecast.
Still, I began to wonder if I'd get to KI today.
At Callington I had to replace Dorothy's battery which I'd removed for
charging, an exercise involving wielding spanners in the confined
space behind the rear seat. Then there was refueling, pre-flight and
loading before I could swing the prop and finally get airborne at
about 2:30pm. During the climb-out to the south I studied my intended
track. Initially, I set heading for Cape Jervis, but it was soon
obvious that the cloud was lower and the rain showers more frequent
along the peninsula than I had expected, and my usual route across the
ranges wasn't available. However, the weather looked clear due south
down the valley towards Goolwa, so I tracked that way, thinking I
could tip-toe through a valley that runs from Goolwa to Rapid Bay
where the valley floor is less than 600' high. And if that was
blocked, maybe I could fly around the end of the peninsula to Cape
Jervis.
By the time I reached Goolwa, the cloudbase had descended to about
1200'. The valley didn't look too inviting, so I tracked over The
Bluff and along the coast to see if I could go around the muck. But no
such luck- as I went further west, the cloudbase descended further
until I was blatting along just underneath it at 700'. The cliffs are
about 600' high thereabouts, so I was almost level with the tops, and
more heavy rain was blocking the way ahead. Offshore though, there was
a clear view of the western end of the island and I considered
tracking across the 25 miles (or so) of open water around the back of
the rain shower towards the Dudley Peninsula. But I decided against
this for the following reasons: (1) I was well off my usual track, and
no-one, not even the Navigator, knew I was going that way; (2) I was
low, so in the event of engine failure, a radio call might not be
heard; (3)if I had to ditch, there were few fishing boats out here who
could assist, so (4) I'd probably die of hypothermia before rescue-
even with my gee-whizz, U-Beaut GPS coded beacon and life-jacket.
So I backtracked and then headed inland towards the valley for a
closer look. At first, it seemed possible, but after I rounded the
first corner I realized the sea at Rapid Bay wasn't visible, and the
hills on the left side fading into the rain. About face again and head
back to Goolwa. About half way through the turn the horizon ahead
disappeared. I checked the turn and bank and then glanced left. The
view that way was clear, so I hadn't entered cloud- the rain ahead was
just too heavy to see through (breathes again).
Back at Goolwa I parked near the clubhouse and rang the Navigator to
give her an update. A check on the figures showed three hours of fuel
remaining, so that wasn't a problem. However, it was now almost
4:00pm, with sunset predicted for about 5:10, and with about 40
minutes of flying to Kingscote, it was clear I only had time for one
more attempt. If I could get through, well and good. If I couldn't,
then I'd probably have to land at either Goolwa or Aldinga, as by then
I wouldn't have enough time to return to Callington before darkness,
especially on the eastern side of the ranges.
I decided to give the valley one more try, hoping the rain had
cleared, and sure enough, as I rounded the first corner, I could see
sunlight and the ocean beyond Rapid Bay. There were still some showers
on either side, but not moving fast enough to impede progress. And the
reason I could see the sun was that it was getting low in the sky. I
decided that Rapid Bay would be the decision point for going on or
turning north for Aldinga. I selected Kingscote on the GPS for an
estimate of the elapsed time to compare with my rough calculations
from the map. As I emerged from beneath the cloud bank at Rapid Bay my
calculations said I'd need another 35 minutes and it was 45 minutes to
sunset. The GPS said I'd need 40 minutes, but it was assuming a
straight line and I was going via Penneshaw, so that was about right.
I put Dorothy into a climb and turned left for Penneshaw, giving the
Starfish Hill wind farm a wide berth and ducking around the last
shower of rain. We crossed Backstairs Passage at 2000', and turned
west for Kingscote. The groundspeed increased and we landed at
Kingscote with about 12 minutes to spare before the sun ducked under
the horizon.
I should congratulate the met bureau for their accurate forecasting.
The cloudbase down south was a little lower than predicted, and the
visibility in the rain was a bit less, but the extent of the cloud and
rain, the presence of even lower scraps within the rain showers, and
the wind speed and direction were all within fair margins of the
actual conditions. The AAAA mob in SA is going to visit the Met boys
in a few weeks and I will be interested to learn which of these
parameters are hardest to predict accurately.
Sunday afternoon's return flight was a doddle- a few scraps of cloud
over KI which were readily surmounted, and clear skies from Penneshaw
onwards. I'd just begun my usual slow curving descent near Strathalbyn
when, as is my habit, I was idly looking around and a movement in the
corner of my eye caught my attention. A Cessna was overtaking me from
about my 7 o'clock and 500' below. I watched as he crossed underneath,
and just as I lost sight of him he appeared to enter a climb, so I
altered heading to bring him out on my starboard side where I could
continue observing him. He continued climbing, which slowed him down,
and as I was in a descent I was almost matching his speed. We crossed
altitudes with him about half a mile away. Perfectly safe, but it
hammered home the point that maintaining a straight line in a descent
is not good practice. A gently curving path, snake-like, causes
relative motion to develop, at least intermittently, and gives a
better chance of spotting someone who could be converging from below.
The Navigator wasn't in tears when I got home, so the help I gave her
must have done some good. Mind you, it's knocking the rust off my
mathematics something fierceÂ….

Coop