ZOE MANNING RECOUNTS HER EXPERIENCE WITH AUSTRALIA’S WILD WEATHER
I come from a long line of aviators. You could say that flying is in my blood. My dad was a commercial pilot and some of my earliest memories involve flying in aeroplanes! My grandfather, a WWII Wing Commander, also went on to fly commercially. But, thanks to an obsession with horses I’ve had since the age of six, flying never caught my attention… until I was 45.
I was late to the pilot party, but in the last 18 months I’ve managed to accrue 300 hours. Now I feel like I don’t have time to lose! They say much of becoming a good pilot comes down to experience. There is only so much you can learn from theory, and the story I’m about to recount was a lesson that was well and truly burned into my brain! I tell this in the hopes that others may avoid what I faced.
I’ve been very lucky to fly an awesome little light sport aircraft: easy to fly, affordable and extremely capable. She is, of course, ‘Trixie’ the Foxbat! The Ukrainianmade Aeroprakt A22LS.
From day one I’ve wanted to fly my mum into central Australia. In September, after loads of planning, we set off on our adventure together from Tyabb (YTYA) in Victoria. Day two from Broken Hill to Arkaroola was the only day of the 12-day journey where I was not flying in the company of another aircraft, and that’s when things got interesting.
After completing my flight plan and checking the weather, we set off into an overcast sky with a high cloud base of around 4,500 feet. The forecast was for isolated showers east of the ranges. Our track, the forecast assured me, was clear.
As we approached the southern edge of Lake Frome, only 50 miles from our destination at Arkaroola, we encountered showers. The cloud base was still high with the cell stretching northward. It was clear to the south. The rain cell was still a fair way in front of us, maybe 10 miles, and I was confident that at any time I could divert south into the clear sky if necessary, so I decided to keep tracking towards the cell and reassess as we got closer.
The radar on my iPad was clear, which didn’t make sense. What was behind that front? Would we be able to divert to the south and then scoot along the eastern edge of the Flinders Ranges to get into Arkaroola airstrip? I still had clear sky behind me and to the south. I delayed the decision to divert for a few more minutes.
The pull to divert grew within me. I sent my dad a photograph over text. And then I got his reply.
‘DIVERT! DIVERT! Do NOT fly into that!!’
I had just enough time for a flash of panic before both Mum and I hit the roof! Trixie dropped out from beneath us, everything in the cockpit that wasn’t tied down came raining down on our heads. There was shit everywhere. I immediately pulled the power back and started banking to the left, away from the oncoming weather. Another violent jolt! The right wing flipped up suddenly, throwing all the loose stuff around the cockpit again.
Mum was giggling like a schoolgirl. ‘Wee! Ohhhh!’
‘Are you ok, Mum?’ I asked.
‘I hope the wings don’t fall off!’ She replied with a hysterical giggle.
‘The wings are NOT going to fall off, Mum!’ I growled nervously.
I identified a place to land, just in case. The cell rumbled over my right shoulder. What was light, misty rain a minute ago, was now an impenetrable, grey, wall of water stretching to the ground. And what was worse, the heavy rain kicked up the ground into an angry, red, dust storm! Landing would be a bad idea!
Another text from Dad. ‘That’s Mammatus cloud! Like hanging breasts, stay clear!’
WHAT? Breasts? Why the hell is he talking about hanging breasts at a time like this? Bloody weirdo, I thought. One last jolt, this time less violent, brought me back to the moment. In the rear it seemed as though the wall of grey was going to catch us. I eased the throttle to full power. Hearts in our throats, and Trixie’s engine roaring, we slowly pulled away from the wall of water.
We diverted around the southern edge of the weather and headed north again to land uneventfully, and with relief, at Arkaroola. The sky was angry that day, and Mammatus ‘Hanging Breast’ cloud is a thing! Sorry, Dad, for calling you a weirdo!
When we arrived at camp later that day, I did some reading on Mammatus cloud. Mamma is a Latin word, which means ‘udder’ or ‘breast’, which is attributed to the appearance of the cloud. They really do look like hanging breasts or udders. Often associated with severe thunderstorms, they are indicative of severe windshear and turbulence and should be given a very wide berth!
We continued our trip through the Flinders Ranges to Lake Eyre and William Creek and had a wonderful time. Trixie is a pleasure to fly. She’s such a fun and capable little aeroplane, and the views of the spectacular scenery can be appreciated fully from the near-360-degree windows.
As my first fly away trip I can confidently say that I gained a tonne of valuable experience. Learning firsthand about Mammatus clouds, and why you should avoid them in a light aircraft, was a highlight I won’t forget about any time soon!
