We filed our flight plan with the FAA, direct to Waco and thence down to Austin. Our destination was Bergstrom Air Force Base, where we'd rented the old Navion 2995C. Neither I nor our plane was equipped for instrument flying, so conditions had to be right for us to continue.
The plane was thoroughly soaked, with water puddled in about every nook and cranny of the fuselage. The only dry parts were the front seats and the instrument panel. The kids riding, in the back seat, had to mop up the cushions and put raincoats down for a dry place to sit. We were not having fun.
The forecast westward from Monroe to Waco was cautiously optimistic, meaning that with luck we would be able to remain clear of clouds and above terrain obstacles. But then who says that weathermen really know what's out there. In this case they were dead wrong.
We got about half way to Waco when ceilings began to drop and visibility was reduced to less than a mile. It quickly became obvious that we had to find a place to land. Just as we began to contemplate turning back to Monroe we spotted the Crockett, Texas airport right below. Boy, was that a welcome sight.
Outside it was cold and blustery, as we taxied across the ramp toward the cluster of small buildings. It seemed strange that there were no planes on the tarmac, and for that matter no signs of life around the hangar or the little office at one end of a Quonset hut, which appeared to be the fixed base operator's facility. It was not raining at least, though the clouds look ominous.
We shut down and secured the plane right next to the Quonset hut. The kids jumped out and headed for the nearest restroom, with my wife close behind. I headed for the office, hoping to get information about the weather situation.
The office was empty. It appeared as though no one had been there for some time, as the lights were out and even the furnishing were gone. I peered in the window but didn't see a soul. A phone hung on the wall opposite the door. That might be of some use.
To my surprise the door was not locked, so I went in. I looked around and was not encouraged by the bleakness of the empty office. The only furnishing was a small glass-front counter. It had probably been used some time ago to display pilots' merchandise, like charts, logbooks and other paraphernalia common to little airport stores. The counter was bare.
I picked up the telephone receiver from the wall bracket, noting that there was no dial, or even a tag with the local number. It was just a plain black handset. And it didn't appear to be working, for there was no dial tone or hum to indicate it was connected. I tapped the chrome receiver hook up and down repeatedly, hoping to bring life to the apparently dead instrument. Nothing. No luck at all. I scanned the wall around the phone for signs of scribbled numbers or instructions, but nothing made any sense.
My wife came into the office with the kids. They looked around for a vending machine or soft drink dispenser. No luck. The disappointment on their faces was clear.
"Well, did you get Flight Service on the phone?" my wife inquired. I stood there holding the receiver and shook my head.
"Nope, this thing's dead," I responded. But I spoke too soon, for to my surprise and great delight a woman's voice suddenly grabbed my attention. "Operator. May I help you?"
Excitedly, I responded that she could indeed help. I asked her to connect me to the nearest FAA Flight Service Station. "Charge the call to my home number," I insisted. She informed me that it was a free call to the Waco Flight Service Station. She'd connect me right away. I gave my wife the "A-OK" hand signal and grinned broadly.
"Hello, Waco Flight Service? Yes, I'd like to cancel my flight plan. This is N-2995C. We're on the ground at Crockett, Texas. We landed at 1330 hours. Please notify Bergstrom AFB that we are on the ground and ... yes, that's right also cancel that flight plan from Monroe to Austin."
The man on the other end of the telephone line indicated that he had canceled our flight plan. And then he asked me of my intentions.
I told him that we intended to continue as soon as possible on to Waco and thence to Austin and our original destination of Bersgtrom AFB, but I needed to know what the weather forecast was.
"Can we fly under VFR conditions to Waco and then down to Austin?" I inquired. "What's the prognosis for Crockett ... in the next few hours?"
The answer was not what I wanted to hear. Crockett weather was deteriorating, fast. It would be below VFR minimums shortly, and remain that way for the next 24 hours.
"What's it like now from Crockett to Waco?" I implored. "Hmmmm ... not good. Well, how soon do you expect I could get out of here? I'm already overdue back at Bergstrom."
The voice on the line suggested that I'd probably be able to make it to Waco, where conditions were well above VFR minimums. But, I'd better get going.
"It's below minimums here already", I mumbled. "The ceiling here is barely 300 feet now, and the visibility is probably less than a mile."
"Well, I cannot officially advise you of this", the voice responded, "but I would get out of there right now and head for Waco under the clouds. Ceilings are better just 25 miles west of Crockett and you'll not get another chance for 24 hours."
Quickly, I piled the gang back into the Navion and we took off, headed west. Fortunately, I had plenty of fuel. What we didn't have though was plenty of room below the clouds.
A quick double check of the charts indicated that there were no hills or obstacles between us and Waco. A tall television tower or the like could have ruined our whole afternoon.
The ceiling kept getting lower and lower for the first ten minutes or so. My wife was convinced that the tails of the cows in the pastures below were swishing our wingtips. We were down to barely 300 feet above the ground.
With much relief, I soon saw open skies ahead. The FAA man was right about improving conditions to the west. What he had not known was how rapidly the weather immediately around Crockett was deteriorating. We were mighty glad to see the weather look better up ahead. In fact, buy the time we got to Waco, just 75 miles from Crockett, the ceilings were over 7,500 feet and visibility was up to five miles or more. Whew!