We fly one of our RV?s (or the other) out from Houston to Southern California several times a year. The shortest route being a straight line, we head for El Paso, passing just to the north of the city (and south of the big White Sands Restricted Area), then on to Casa Grande (south of Phoenix) and Big Bear Lake (about 5,000? higher). We usually stop in West Texas for fuel before getting to the more-expensive El Paso area, then hit Casa Grande for another inexpensive fill-up before going to the mountains. We could do it in two hops, but why push it, only to pay more for the gas? The return trip is more often made with tailwinds, and is frequently a two-hop, unless ( of course) you have to start dodging weather. Which, unfortunately, we always seem to do.
The problem is that out there in plains, the West Texas ?desert? seems to manufacture huge ? nay, monstrous ? storms. It doesn?t even seem to make a difference what time of year, so long as it isn?t the dead of winter. And if you leave the west coast at sunrise, it is early afternoon (do to flying against the sun) by the time you cross the Franklin Mountains and head out for the Hill Country. That gives the weather a chance to set up the ambush. This trip was typical. The forecast was for a ?smallish? line of weather from El Paso up to the northeast, all the way to Wichita Falls and beyond. Not big, dark stuff ? just a general area of light green on the map. But it sure looked like a typical Texas Line Dance in my mind.
Leaving El Paso behind, we had a clear view of the volcanic cones to the east, and of the Salt Flats beyond them. I had climbed to 9500 feet to make sue I was over the El Paso airspace, but shortly thereafter, saw a layer of clouds ahead with bases a little lower. Not wanting to go on top because there were cumulous up ahead (and I knew we?d never get over them), we descended to 7500 to stay clear. That worked for a little while, but they kept getting lower. Uh-oh?.this looked familiar. Up ahead was Guadalupe Pass and the old buried ref that extends south towards Van Horn. While it might seem that the land keeps getting lower as you go from El Paso to the coast, it isn?t true ? there is a buildup known as the Davis Mountains that you have to get over before the flat plains begin near Pecos. And for some dang reason, the clouds always start dropping down as the terrain rises!
Visibilities are usually great below the clouds ? except in the rain showers of course. XM really, really helps here ? we could see spotty showers up ahead ? greens and yellows, occasional widely scattered cells of more concern, but not on our course. I rarely use the Satellite image of the clouds, but in this case, it seemed accurate, portraying a line of clouds that correlated to the rain showers from about Guadalupe to the other side of Fort Stockton. Where on the other side? Well, there aren?t actually any more landmarks until you get to Senora, so let?s just say about 50 miles. I-10 is about the only thing out there, and a welcome site to put a little perspective on the otherworldly terrain.
We had to get down to about 2,000 AGL to stay under the darkening skies, but the terrain shown on both the GRT EFIS and the Garmin 696 gave me a road-map of where the low points were. Very, very useful these electronic toys! (of course, you can always follow that intestate as well?) I spent about 20 minutes jinking around cells and terrain, mapping a route generally to the east. Pecos disappeared under a blossoming red cell, but I really didn?t want to go there anyway ? the runways seem to be under some sort of reconstruction, according to the NOTAMS. Fort Stockton was an ironclad bailout if the METARS (and Radar) could be believed, but we passed north of it, not getting a look. Shortly thereafter, the clouds above went broken, and I could see that the tops were much lower ? we were through the line that puzzles me so much. I thought this was supposed to be a desert! How can that be when it seems to storm every single day?!
Why not file IFR and avoid the scramble down low? Because I hate bouncing along inside building cumulous and avoiding the storms while riding the bucking beast. Outside of my comfort level. As long as I can see well underneath, and have a couple thousand foot ceilings, I?ll take the low road when the clouds go vertical. It can be mighty pretty down there, with shafts of sunlight on the rugged hillsides. I like the ability to juke and jink as required without waiting for a clearance revision. Of course, flying down low in an RV takes away that fuel and speed advantage, so we had to put in to Junction for gas ? but that was OK, we needed to let the afternoon round of coastal thunderstorms die down at home before we got there anyway. This trip, our timing was perfect, with the shows dissipating just in time to show us a rainbow as we crossed the southwest side of Houston and slid in to Polly Ranch.
So much for the idea that the deserts of West Texas never get rain! What I want to know is ? what the heck do they do out there with all that moisture? They sure hide it well?..
Paul
The problem is that out there in plains, the West Texas ?desert? seems to manufacture huge ? nay, monstrous ? storms. It doesn?t even seem to make a difference what time of year, so long as it isn?t the dead of winter. And if you leave the west coast at sunrise, it is early afternoon (do to flying against the sun) by the time you cross the Franklin Mountains and head out for the Hill Country. That gives the weather a chance to set up the ambush. This trip was typical. The forecast was for a ?smallish? line of weather from El Paso up to the northeast, all the way to Wichita Falls and beyond. Not big, dark stuff ? just a general area of light green on the map. But it sure looked like a typical Texas Line Dance in my mind.
Leaving El Paso behind, we had a clear view of the volcanic cones to the east, and of the Salt Flats beyond them. I had climbed to 9500 feet to make sue I was over the El Paso airspace, but shortly thereafter, saw a layer of clouds ahead with bases a little lower. Not wanting to go on top because there were cumulous up ahead (and I knew we?d never get over them), we descended to 7500 to stay clear. That worked for a little while, but they kept getting lower. Uh-oh?.this looked familiar. Up ahead was Guadalupe Pass and the old buried ref that extends south towards Van Horn. While it might seem that the land keeps getting lower as you go from El Paso to the coast, it isn?t true ? there is a buildup known as the Davis Mountains that you have to get over before the flat plains begin near Pecos. And for some dang reason, the clouds always start dropping down as the terrain rises!
Visibilities are usually great below the clouds ? except in the rain showers of course. XM really, really helps here ? we could see spotty showers up ahead ? greens and yellows, occasional widely scattered cells of more concern, but not on our course. I rarely use the Satellite image of the clouds, but in this case, it seemed accurate, portraying a line of clouds that correlated to the rain showers from about Guadalupe to the other side of Fort Stockton. Where on the other side? Well, there aren?t actually any more landmarks until you get to Senora, so let?s just say about 50 miles. I-10 is about the only thing out there, and a welcome site to put a little perspective on the otherworldly terrain.
We had to get down to about 2,000 AGL to stay under the darkening skies, but the terrain shown on both the GRT EFIS and the Garmin 696 gave me a road-map of where the low points were. Very, very useful these electronic toys! (of course, you can always follow that intestate as well?) I spent about 20 minutes jinking around cells and terrain, mapping a route generally to the east. Pecos disappeared under a blossoming red cell, but I really didn?t want to go there anyway ? the runways seem to be under some sort of reconstruction, according to the NOTAMS. Fort Stockton was an ironclad bailout if the METARS (and Radar) could be believed, but we passed north of it, not getting a look. Shortly thereafter, the clouds above went broken, and I could see that the tops were much lower ? we were through the line that puzzles me so much. I thought this was supposed to be a desert! How can that be when it seems to storm every single day?!
Why not file IFR and avoid the scramble down low? Because I hate bouncing along inside building cumulous and avoiding the storms while riding the bucking beast. Outside of my comfort level. As long as I can see well underneath, and have a couple thousand foot ceilings, I?ll take the low road when the clouds go vertical. It can be mighty pretty down there, with shafts of sunlight on the rugged hillsides. I like the ability to juke and jink as required without waiting for a clearance revision. Of course, flying down low in an RV takes away that fuel and speed advantage, so we had to put in to Junction for gas ? but that was OK, we needed to let the afternoon round of coastal thunderstorms die down at home before we got there anyway. This trip, our timing was perfect, with the shows dissipating just in time to show us a rainbow as we crossed the southwest side of Houston and slid in to Polly Ranch.
So much for the idea that the deserts of West Texas never get rain! What I want to know is ? what the heck do they do out there with all that moisture? They sure hide it well?..
Paul
