The Thunderstorm and the 182
I was working the line on one of those sultry summer days that’s just begging to be broken wide open by a thunderstorm. It was the kind of day where we all kept one eye on the radar; the cold front was coming and everyone knew it was just a matter of time. Our little airport was a hoppin’ place, and we had to be sure we saw it coming early enough to hide all our little airplanes away. Sure enough, the western sky grew menacing. Swiftly, the entire sky went dark, went grey, went black in a wall of roiling rain terrifying to behold. More airplanes than we’d expected made swift landings and pilots raced for the terminal building as the storms blew in upon us. The last one to land was a transient pilot with a Cessna 182. “Tie it down!” he shouted over his shoulder, literally running for cover. I rushed to get the ropes on. The first was tied when the gust front hit.
It was like watching the Matrix. I saw a wall of water coming at me sideways. I’ve never seen it so well defined before or since. As silly as it feels to admit to nearly being knocked off my feet by the wind, I have to say I was grateful to have had a hold of the strut when the deluge came because my feet nearly left the ground. The radio at my hip crackled. It was the air traffic controller. “Wow, you guys, gusts to 55 knots already! At 60 knots I abandon the tower! I think we’re gonna get it, too,” was when I stopped listening. BECAUSE THE AIRPLANE WAS MOVING!
It was starting to pivot around the tied down wing. In a frantic, rain drenched, wind beaten panic, I hurled my whole body against it. That plane didn’t even slow down in it’s arc around the taut rope. I stepped back and launched everything I had at it again, blinded by the sideways rain. It’s a terrible feeling to realize that you might as well not have tried. “I’m leaving the tower!’ My radio barked, “And oh, my God, somebody get out there and help Dani, that airplane is gonna take off with her!” That was the last thing I heard from him (or anyone else) for a while. It was kind of amazing the radio lasted as long as it did considering the amount of water that must have rushed through it. The thing never did work right again.
The gust front had passed. Srong and gusty winds and rain persisted until the squall line passed us by, but nothing to match that initial blast. With the normal laws of physics back in my corner, I shoved that airplane back into place, quickly tied the last two ropes and trotted in my squishy, sodden shoes back to the building. The guys were irked at the loss of the radio and pretty uninterested in my little adventure as the accidental denizen of a wind tunnel. Our friend in the tower, though, remembers this one vividly, and tells it with more flair than I do every time he introduces me to someone new. “I knew Dani back when she worked the line,” he’ll start, “and this one day…”
