Great balls O'Fire - flying among thunderstorms - Brief Article

Combat Edge, March, 2002 by David A. Hagginbothom

My first assignment after pilot training was to L.A. -- not Los Angeles, but "Lower Alabama." Flying the CT-39 Sabreliner, we routinely shuttled Air University guest speakers into and out of Maxwell AFB. I moved to "Bama" in the fall and experienced its pretty mild climate throughout the winter and early spring. When late spring rolled around, I was introduced to a weather phenomenon the likes of which I had never seen or imagined possible -- the southeastern thunderstorm.

Built by convective heating and fed with Gulf moisture injected from Bermuda highs, they are truly awesome sights to behold. You can literally watch them grow, and they do so at rates faster than you can achieve on your vertical velocity indicator. They can -- and often do -- top out at stratospheric heights above 60,000 feet. The weatherman isn't exaggerating by much when he says, "Surface to the moon!" These behemoths may be imbedded in storm fronts or majestic solitary cells. Nowadays, ground-based Doppler and airborne weather radars greatly assist in identifying their locations and even tracking their movements, but heavy downpours can still attenuate radar returns and sucker unwary pilots directly into "the cat's mouth."

Needless to say, avoidance is always the best game plan. Flight manuals and operational guidance usually specify the minimum number of nautical miles separation you ought to maintain between you and Mother Nature's power shower. Yet, you'll probably find someone in your squadron who has had their dental fillings loosened by turbulence, hail, or lightning despite the fact that they had "legal" separation from a storm cell. Those with premature white hair are the most likely candidates!

My Aircraft Commander (A/C) and I were returning from Washington, D.C., one summer evening when we saw the distinctive anvil shaped heads of isolated thunderstorms rising out of the cirrus blowoff at our flight level. Without the luxury of on-board weather radar, I took note of the A/C's decision to descend so that we could continue to fly in visual meteorological conditions. This meant we would be able to better "see and avoid" the ominous obstacles forming along our route. Our descent achieved this immediate goal, but had the unintended consequence of putting us right at the freezing level. Right now, the gray-haired pilots reading this probably have a good guess what's gonna happen next.

No sooner had my confidence increased in our ability to safely circumvent the weather on our way back to homedrome, when my comfort zone bubble was burst by the sight of streaks and orbs of what unmistakably looked to me to be "the in-flight 'F' word" ... FIRE! These eerie, glowing plumes and balls appeared and migrated around the empennage, our windscreens, and even inside the cockpit. Even my ignorance did not blissfully assuage my innate fear of this fascinating phenomenon. My pilot instincts sensed something was wrong, but we had no warning lights or abnormal instrument indications of fire.

In a lot less time than it's taken you to read the last paragraph, the A/C abruptly pulled both throttles to flight idle, extended the speedbrake, turned our squawk to "emergency," and commenced a rather aggressive descent. Having seen it done before in World War II movies, my first thought was that we were diving in an attempt to "blow out" the fire in our nose compartment. After only a few thousand feet, I was quite pleased to note the phantom licks of "flame" had totally disappeared. However, the real logic behind this maneuver -- not to mention my copilot clue-bag and admiration for the A/C's sound judgment -- achieved epiphany as I listened to him explain to Atlanta Center the reason for our surprise descent.

After the flight and rededicated study of Weather for Aircrews, I realized that St. Elmo's Fire is often a precursor to either a lightning strike or electro-static discharge. Both can be hazardous to pilots and/or their aircraft. I also learned that, statistically, lightning strikes occur more frequently at or within 2,000 feet of the freezing level. I can honestly tell you that there has been nary a sortie over the last 20 years when I did not ask for, note, and employ this knowledge of the freezing level. This information will help you not only avoid icing, but also minimize the chances of other more shocking events.

As we welcome the arrival of warmer weather, realize that we're also entering annual thunderstorm season. To paraphrase a favorite aviation dictum, "There are no peacetime missions that require penetrating thunderstorms." We were lucky. We experienced only a cosmic light show and a roller coaster ride. If you press your luck, thunderstorms can kill or cause millions of dollars of damage to your aircraft. Don't gamble -- maintain a healthy respect for, and give wide berth to, any and every thunderstorm you encounter as you continue to FLY SAFELY!