On Feb 15, 4:30*pm, Sean Fidler wrote:
Please read Kempton Izuno's article (2005) "Into the Bowels of Darkness" on page 12 of the link below or in the following copied text.

http://www.pacificsoaring.org/westwi...2_WestWind.pdf

Into the Bowels of Darkness
© Kempton Izuno 2005 . All images by author.
Writing about soaring is easy with an achievement to share or a flight you are proud of. Enthusiasm and pride
are in great supply. But the flight(s) will come of which you are less than proud or downright embarrassed about.
Or worse, a flight from which you don’t return...
Since you are reading this article, you may presume I’ve not had one of the latter flights, but a few have been
close. Coming to the edge of disaster and living to learn from it is an incredible gift. In my case, a SOARING
Safety Corner article (see sidebar) read 30 years ago, is what saved my bacon after I was sucked into a cloud.
A Major Thank You to Bruce Carmichael for writing “The Spiral Dive”. May you, dear reader, never have this
experience.
Prelude
The forecast looked good for the central Nevada Great Basin area, so I planned for several days based out of
Tonopah, Nevada. Launching out of Hollister, California on June 17, 2003 in my ASH-26E, I slid across the
Central Valley and Sierra Nevada mountains, arriving at Tonopah in the late afternoon.
Part of the normal summer soaring routine in the Great Basin is working cumulonimbus clouds (CB). Now CB in
most parts of the world are BIG (50 miles or more across) and should be avoided. In Nevada, with the dry land,
dry air and high ground, there often can be small (3-4 miles across) CB cells with strong lift which do not block
your path. These “small” cells really speed up your flight and are the smallest CBs, but still hold significant risk.
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Warning Signs
The forecast for June 18 showed scattered CB cells with bases around 17,000 ft, strong heating and a very light SW
wind. The first leg along the Monitor range is great, with strong lift and a light tailwind. Turning near Elko, I head
northwest following a line between towering cu to my north and overdevelopment (OD) to the south. Rain shafts are
becoming more widespread under the cu to the south, but this does not overly concern me. There’s a ways to go
before turning south and I expect that by that time, I’ll be west of the high ground and clear of the OD. Averaging
16,000 ft or so, the path ahead looks good.
FLASH! Lightning appears around the rain shafts to the south of me while the sky ahead is 40% cu, and to the far
north, along the Oregon border, it is dark with more overdevelopment. Confident I can make McDermitt, I press on. By
2pm however, it’s clear bases are dropping on track, so 20 miles short of McDermitt I turn south along the Santa Rosa
range. Lift continues to weaken producing a stair step descent as I aim to get back to the strong lift on the edge of the
OD area to the south.
By 3pm I’m down to 9,200 ft just north of Winnemucca having averaged only 50mph for the last hour. Frustrated at the
slow speed, I’m really hungry for the BIG lift to get going again. Now under the first of a number of dark based clouds,
I make three more climbs, each better than the last, reinforcing my decision to move back to the OD area. The lift is
good (15,000 ft bases with 6 knot climbs), but I think, there MUST be better lift nearby. Cloud cover is now 70+% with
rain shafts. Anxiously, I scan the sky for a “young” cloud to get my expected 12+ knot climb. The stage is now set. I’m
in high risk weather with a very impatient attitude.
Trouble…..BIG Trouble
Threading my way between rain shafts 25 miles ESE of Winnemucca, I spy “the” cloud. With a very dark and clearly
much higher base than the neighboring clouds, plus no rain shaft, I think, “YES!, this is the boomer I KNEW was
around here! Now it’s going to be easy!”. As with investing, right before things go bad, there is often overconfidence.
Let us now watch our hapless pilot moment by moment. This is the only inadvertent cloud flight with a GPS flight
recording of which I’m aware, so for the first time we have a numeric history along with the emotionally charged
recollection. All numeric data is “as is” from the SeeYou program.
3:33:50 PST 8 kt. CLIMB The edge of the cloud is coming overhead. This is good lift!
3:34:02 12 kt. CLIMB A few seconds later I hit the start of the strong lift and instinctively slow up.
3:34:50 17 kt. CLIMB The black cloudbase is coming up fast, better push over and head for the edge. I start perhaps
a 30 degree bank to the right.
3:35:32 28.6 kt. CLIMB “Oh, s**t, THIS is the core!” Faster than I can comprehend, I’m in the cloud. Unaware, I almost
immediately relax the controls which allowed a LEFT turn. I mistakenly believe I have the controls neutral in hopes of
coming out the side of the cloud. But….in a few seconds I realize I’m not coming out the side; it’s still dark grey and
worse, the wind noise along with the G force is building from the spiral dive. I know that if I pull back on the stick it will
only tighten the radius of the dive and the G forces. The little voice of JJ’s whispers in my ear “You’re going to die”.
3:36:02 9 kt. CLIMB Trying to ignore a fast rising panic, I recall a SOARING article describing a spiral dive recovery.
When in a spiral dive, do not pull back on the stick. Rather, neutralize the stick in pitch, then push to one side and see
if the G force lessens. If it does, then you guessed correctly and are leveling the wings. I push to the right and feel
reduced G. I then pulled back to slow the ship down.
3:36:38 15 kt. CLIMB The wind noise rapidly drops off to a moment of silence. Quick!, throw out the landing flaps, dive
brakes and gear to (hopefully) give me enough drag to get out the bottom of the cloud. I momentarily consider a spin,
but having never tried one in the 26E (intentional spins are not permitted), I pass. Unbeknownst to me, I’m pitched up
at 80° vertical. Without a horizon reference I had let the nose come up almost to the vertical. Suddenly, I’m falling
backwards, which only heightens the panic. “OK, I know, I shouldn’t be here in the first place, pulezzzzzeee can I
leave now?!!!!”. A loud “CLUNK” aft further spooks me, then a sudden negative G force pushes me towards the
canopy. “What the…..?!”
Now remember, I have no outside reference as it’s all dark grey. The clunk was the rudder shoved to one side during
the momentary tailslide, and the negative G force was from the sudden pitching over from nose high to nose down. An
already terrifying experience becomes worse.
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3:36:44 6 kt. CLIMB The second spiral dive starts but at least all drag devices are deployed.
3:37:44 9 kt. DESCENT Airspeed is 110 knots and increasing. The landing flaps are red lined at 76 knots so I’m now
a test pilot. Seconds seem like hours. Reviewing the trace shows I only lost 360 feet in the past minute! Add to this an
irrational claustrophobic feeling that I need to unbuckle and get out of the cockpit.
3:38:08 38.9 kt. DESCENT
It’s getting lighter…I’m coming out the bottom! Now drop a bit more to make sure………
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3:38:14 36 kt. DESCENT
Ok, gently pull out…….
3:38:38 5 kt. DESCENT
Back to level flight. thank you, Thank You, THANK YOU! The feeling of relief is overwhelming.
The 2.5 minutes in cloud seemed like an entire day.
At that one moment, I am the luckiest guy on earth. Almost four hours of soaring lie ahead to get back to Tonopah, but
that does not matter. I cannot believe I’m alive and intact. Later inspections showed no damage to the flaps. Had the
flaps failed I likely would not be here.
Since Then
Now you have the story, but why did it go this way?
-Poor situational awareness. I can clearly recall how distinctly higher and darker the cloudbase was compared to
surrounding clouds. Did that worry me? Of course not! Like the moth to the flame, it only served to push me closer.
Hey, and I knew that lift rates can be 15 knots or more near cloud base but I had not seen that kind of climb all day.
So when the vario passed through 12 knots, I stuck with it not seriously considering that it could DOUBLE in a few
seconds. I was complacent. The unusually fast RATE of increase should have alarmed me a few seconds earlier than
it did. Gavin Wills comments further:
“Climbing at 10 knots beneath the cloud, it will take 60 secs to gain the last 1000 feet to cloud base and climbing at 20
knots it will only 30 secs which will be a little more than a single turn to do 1000 feet! Therefore be cautious and if the
lift increases towards cloud base consider action 1000 feet below cloud and carry it out by 500 feet. Action well below
cloud is essential in strong lift as one does not always have a sense of rushing up to the cloud.”
Keep your eyes out of the cockpit. Situational awareness means actively looking for and analyzing details such as the
speed & direction of the cloud shadows, the vertical rate of cloudbase tendrils, other aircraft location, or the growth
rate & state of the overdevelopment. What is the situation ahead? What is the situation behind in case I have to
retreat? What is the safety margin I need at this moment? In one minute? How do I keep it? In a “Sudden Loss of
Margin”, you think you have enough speed/altitude/clearance until *poof*….it’s gone in a few seconds. And, if you
survive, you’ll look back and say, ”Well, I’ve done this for years and that’s never happened before! How rude!”
-Remain calm, be fair to yourself and keep thinking. Poor situational awareness got me into this, but luck and recalling
the article improved my chances. An extreme emotional state will bias your judgment. During the flight, don’t beat
yourself up over a slow speed and don’t get too confident when you hit super lift.
What about Next Time?
First, ...

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Excellent stories with counter measures and morals Sean. Thank you.