I had 55 hours in the air with an instructor, 12 hours solo, performed 151 take-offs and landings, and was finally starting to feel as if I was getting the hang of things flying a small Cessna 172 aircraft. When the morning of my second solo cross country flight arrived, the skies were clear, and the winds were calm. The destination was Quesnel, and the weather looked perfect, except for some reported fog at the airport in Quesnel. But the aviation weather reports showed the fog had lifted to 1000 feet AGL (above ground level), and predicted it to dissipate over the next few hours. In the pre-flight briefing the instructor told me the fog would probably be mostly gone by the time I arrived, and should be well within the required VFR flight limitations - VFR standing for Visual Flight Rules (as opposed to Instrument Flight Rules - IFR) that all pilots without an instrument rating were legally required to follow - namely to have visual contact with the ground at all times. The instructor concluded the briefing by saying that if I didn't feel comfortable with the conditions at Quesnel, I could always turn around and land back at Williams Lake, and still fulfill the requirements of a solo cross country flight, necessary to ultimately obtain a private pilot's license.

So at 12:30 PM I lifted off from Springhouse Airpark into clear blue skies, and turned northwest towards Quesnel, climbing to 6,500 feet ASL (Above Sea Level), since VFR required a cruising altitude of even thousands plus 500 for flights in that direction. When obtaining the radio frequency for the Quesnel airport, I had found that the Quesnel frequency of 122.2 was listed as Williams Lake Radio, and the instructor had confirmed that the Quesnel airport was handled from Williams Lake. So, after clearing the Springhouse area, and approaching Williams Lake, I tuned the radio to 122.2 and called Williams Lake, to inform them of my position and intended destination and find out if there was any other traffic in the area. A friendly female voice came over the radio and asked me to confirm the position I'd reported as 7 miles west of Williams Lake airport.

Oh no, I thought, have I screwed up already? Quickly checking my instruments and map, and looking over at the airport in the distance, I thought I was pretty sure of my position, so I answered "Affirmative."

"I was just wondering," came the friendly reply, "because you're on the Quesnel frequency."

But... but.. I thought, both the book and the instructor had said that Williams Lake Radio handled Quesnel airport. Would they be using different frequencies for the two different airports even though they are handled by the same person in the same building and are both addressed as Williams Lake Radio? And of course as soon as the idea entered my head it made perfect sense, and I felt like an idiot. I quickly grabbed the plane's copy of the CFS (Canadian Flight Supplement - a book that contains information on all Canadian airports) and while flying the plane with one hand, I found Williams Lake in the book and sure enough, it had its own frequency of 123.2.

Re-tuning the radio, I called, "Williams Lake Radio, this is Hotel X-ray India (the last three letters of my call sign - GHXI), am I on the correct frequency now?"

The female voice was laughing as she replied "Affirmative".

"Sorry about that," I came back, "I just wanted to make sure there were no other planes up here for me to bump into."

Still chuckling, she answered, "No reported traffic in the area," and I thanked her.

So, onward to Quesnel! I locked onto my heading, following a direct route that more or less parallelled the Fraser River, two or three miles off to my left. About twenty minutes later I was about half way there, and got my first look at the aforementioned fog off in the distance. It looked pretty significant, and as I got closer, I realized that it was more like a solid layer of cloud that stretched for many miles on either side of the river. A low level inversion layer must have prevented the fog from rising and dissipating, and caused it instead to flatten out and spread over a wide area. I could see that it was below me, so I began a slow descent as I approached, hoping to be able to go underneath it.

But as I got closer, I could see that the clouds were just barely above the treetops in front of me, and it was obvious I could not continue on my predetermined course. The cloud bank was far too wide to go around, and if I attempted such a large detour, I was sure to be far past Quesnel by the time I was around the clouds. But the river valley to my left was much lower, and looked to have plenty of clear sky underneath the clouds. It was at least a mile or two wide (plenty of maneuvering room) and since the Quesnel airport was right beside the river, I figured I should have no problem finding it by following the river.

So I banked the aircraft over and descended down into the Fraser River valley. Not wanting to go any closer to the ground than I had to, I slipped just under the clouds as I approached them. I knew the elevation at the Quesnel airport was 1,789 feet, right beside the river, so it was safe to assume the elevation of the river and the adjacent flood plain was within a few feet of that. As I ducked under the clouds my altimeter was reading just over 3,000 feet, so I was still a relatively safe 1,200 feet above the ground. I made sure my altimeter was reading true by checking the altimeter pressure setting of the Quesnel airport that had been given me by Williams Lake Radio. Checking my chart also, I saw that I was about 15 miles from the Quesnel airport, and decided to give them a call. Making sure I was on the right frequency this time, I called "Williams Lake Radio, this is Cessna 172 Golf Hotel X-ray India."

"Hotel X-ray India, Williams Lake Radio."

"I'm 15 miles south of Quesnel airport at 3,000 feet, trying to find my way through some low clouds for a full stop landing at Quesnel."

"Hotel X-ray India roger. Winds calm, 1,000 foot ceiling, altimeter 3039, preferred runway 31. Advise at five miles."

"Will do. Altimeter 3039. Hotel X-ray India. Thank-you."

So, the altimeter setting hadn't changed, and the clouds were still apparently 1000 feet above the runway. It looked like I just might make it after all. But with wisps of cloud just over my head, my altimeter was now reading 2,800 feet, just a thousand feet above the ground, an elevation I did not like to go below unless there was some sort of landing strip very close by. And worse, the clouds ahead seemed to be getting lower, although there appeared to be a narrow opening right above the river, so I steered into that, instinctively easing back on the throttle, and slowing down. But the opening didn't last long, and I was forced to descend some more to stay under the clouds.

Now my altimeter was reading 2,400 feet, a scant 600 feet above the ground. Buildings and cars and people on the ground were looking uncomfortably close, and I made a mental note that I was not going to descend any further, and began watching my altimeter like a hawk. By now there was a fair amount of adrenaline coursing through my bloodstream, and if anything, the clouds ahead seemed even lower. A quick look at my chart told me the airport was only ten miles away. I was so close! And then I was in the clouds.

As the first wispy tendrils of the outskirts of the cloud bank enveloped me, I knew in a few short seconds I would be completely blind, way too close to the ground, and I immediately initiated a 180 degree turn. Being extremely careful not to lose any more altitude - or airspeed - I keyed my mike as I was turning. "Williams Lake Radio, this is Hotel X-ray India."

"Hotel X-ray India, Williams Lake Radio."

"I can't make it through the clouds and am turning back for a full stop landing at Williams Lake."

"Hotel X-ray India roger."

Then I remembered that the folks back at Springhouse would be expecting a phone call from me, and since I didn't want them to worry, or worse - start sending out search parties, I thought I should try to contact them. But I was a long way from Springhouse, and I knew if I was to have any chance of reaching them I was going to have to start climbing. It seemed to take forever, but I finally reached 7,500 feet, conforming to altitude cruising regulations, and hopefully high enough for line of sight communication with home base. I tuned into the Springhouse frequency and had to call twice, and they finally answered, sounding very faint and far away. But they got the message, and even went so far as to assure me I had done the right thing in turning back.

But had I? Were they just placating me? Had I chickened out? Was I a wimp? Maybe if I had just dropped another hundred feet, and carried on for another mile or two, the clouds would have lifted up to that reported thousand foot ceiling, and I would have made it. Or maybe the clouds would have closed in, and the river valley narrowed, and I might have become disoriented, and ended up mashed up against a hillside, like a bug on a windshield, not to mention destroying a perfectly good airplane.

On the walls of just about every flying club in the country there is a placard that reads, There are old pilots, and there are bold pilots... but there are no old, bold pilots. I'm still here, able to write these words, and in a couple of months, I'll be welcoming my first grandchild into the world. I think I made the right decision.

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