A Weather-Guesser's Memories with the RAF
1970 - RAF Valley.
Usual start to the day - Met Brief.
We (most of us) freshly released from Fort Cranwell sitting attentively with our regulation short (very!!) back and sides.
Met Man - youngish (older than all of us studes, but relatively young) briefs us. He is dressed very casually - no jacket and tie - with long hair tied back in a ponytail. Quite "hip" probably, if hip was a word in use then. He gives us the full brief, and finishes with "That is what I am required to brief you - what is really going to happen is......................"
He was more often correct than the official version. The benefit of local knowledge, I suspect, and the courage to disagree publicly with his directive from on high.
Usual start to the day - Met Brief.
We (most of us) freshly released from Fort Cranwell sitting attentively with our regulation short (very!!) back and sides.
Met Man - youngish (older than all of us studes, but relatively young) briefs us. He is dressed very casually - no jacket and tie - with long hair tied back in a ponytail. Quite "hip" probably, if hip was a word in use then. He gives us the full brief, and finishes with "That is what I am required to brief you - what is really going to happen is......................"
He was more often correct than the official version. The benefit of local knowledge, I suspect, and the courage to disagree publicly with his directive from on high.
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1970 - RAF Valley.
Usual start to the day - Met Brief.
We (most of us) freshly released from Fort Cranwell sitting attentively with our regulation short (very!!) back and sides.
Met Man - youngish (older than all of us studes, but relatively young) briefs us. He is dressed very casually - no jacket and tie - with long hair tied back in a ponytail. Quite "hip" probably, if hip was a word in use then. He gives us the full brief, and finishes with "That is what I am required to brief you - what is really going to happen is......................"
He was more often correct than the official version. The benefit of local knowledge, I suspect, and the courage to disagree publicly with his directive from on high.
Usual start to the day - Met Brief.
We (most of us) freshly released from Fort Cranwell sitting attentively with our regulation short (very!!) back and sides.
Met Man - youngish (older than all of us studes, but relatively young) briefs us. He is dressed very casually - no jacket and tie - with long hair tied back in a ponytail. Quite "hip" probably, if hip was a word in use then. He gives us the full brief, and finishes with "That is what I am required to brief you - what is really going to happen is......................"
He was more often correct than the official version. The benefit of local knowledge, I suspect, and the courage to disagree publicly with his directive from on high.
Other encounters.
Bruggen, G.C Duty pilot one weekend, one element being to get the Met from Rhein D. Dutch TV on Friday, shows very deep Low heading our way, Sat arrives and 40kts plus / most of the N.Sea / cloud base around 100ft, ish. Call RD and forecaster says will send fax ( this dates it ! ) now, Fax arrives showing....weak to medium thermals up to 6k, 10-15kts etc !....show the rest of the club whose responses cannot be printed on here.
Repeat on Sunday...same local wx and....same fax ! speak to said forecaster and offer my sentiments as to his forecasting skills / personality and alternative employment options.
Seemingly, he was a very sensitive soul because two days later, I had to waste my time " listening" to some Wing Commander telling me I was never, ever, to speak to such an important person in that manner again. When asked if he had seen the forecast fax, said Wing Commander, as I understood the rant, said no.
Same think happened again to a friend a few months later...similar wx, similar fax.
LB, your excellent story has awoken a few memories of events that occurred whilst flying Hastings aeroplanes from RAF Colerne alongside my friend and colleague Chugalug 2. I trust you will remember the vine that grew in or just outside the Met offices in Nicosia? One tendril of this vigorous plant was trained to grow up the wall inside the office and then across the ceiling, back and forth, with little notices suspended at intervals recording world events of importance. This lasted for some years, growing ever longer and garnering many more little notices, until one day it vanished, never to be seen again!
Nicosia was the general place at which we Hastings crews would recuperate after a long flight out via Luqa (Malta) from Lyneham (that we had to use for clearing Customs before leaving the UK). I recall being there, in the city where our hotel accommodation was located, when we received the news of President Kennedy's assassination. Two days later we flew on Exercise Solinus II that involved some 30 Beverly, Argosy and Hastings aeroplanes flying in trail at night around most of the Cyprus coastline before depositing our loads of parachutists or stores on (or near) a remote DZ. If you have never taken part in such an exercise then you haven't lived!
When back at Nicosia we were supposed to land in the same numerical order in which we had been 'in trail', and the first aircraft did just that. However, someone on board left his transmit switch selected to 'transmit', and so everyone else on that frequency was treated to the somewhat critical thoughts on the conduct of the exercise expressed by the pilots, navigator, flight engineer and signaller/air electronics officer! Yes, it was a crowded flight deck, but we could all voice opinions when we wanted to. With the Tower frequency blocked out, the second Hastings crew decided not to chance a landing and went around. Then another crew, seeing an opportunity to do so, snuck in to land well out of sequence. Thus there developed a fine old mix-up of Hastings processing round the circuit until finally some order was restored and the last aircraft got down safely. The after-show party went on quite late that night!
One other memory, triggered by reference to Constable clouds, was whilst I was flying Hercules C130 A Models on an exchange posting with the Royal Australian Air Force in the mid 1960s when we staged through the Cocos Keeling islands en route from Pearce (near Perth, Western Australia) to Butterworth (Malaya) to avoid Indonesia and 'Confrontation'. These flights involved flying through the Inter Tropic Front or Inter Tropical Convergence Zone that was generally marked by an East-West band of cumulus clouds of varied descriptions. We had a flight engineer who was a gifted artist, and he would depict the shape of the clouds in forms worthy of Botticelli, the results being given to the met staff on Cocos Island for their information and entertainment. I wish I had kept one! Of course after leaving Cocos we had to stay well clear of Sumatra before changing course for Butterworth, but due to a longish over water track coupled with low clouds masking the land mass in the gathering dusk, there were times when we got a little too close to the forbidden territory. Then the 75 megahertz airways marker beacon might start to flash, picking up harmonic signals from, as I was told, Indonesian gun radar, thus a very early form of electronic warning system (?). A gentle turn towards the West sorted this one out. Aah, happy days!
Nicosia was the general place at which we Hastings crews would recuperate after a long flight out via Luqa (Malta) from Lyneham (that we had to use for clearing Customs before leaving the UK). I recall being there, in the city where our hotel accommodation was located, when we received the news of President Kennedy's assassination. Two days later we flew on Exercise Solinus II that involved some 30 Beverly, Argosy and Hastings aeroplanes flying in trail at night around most of the Cyprus coastline before depositing our loads of parachutists or stores on (or near) a remote DZ. If you have never taken part in such an exercise then you haven't lived!
When back at Nicosia we were supposed to land in the same numerical order in which we had been 'in trail', and the first aircraft did just that. However, someone on board left his transmit switch selected to 'transmit', and so everyone else on that frequency was treated to the somewhat critical thoughts on the conduct of the exercise expressed by the pilots, navigator, flight engineer and signaller/air electronics officer! Yes, it was a crowded flight deck, but we could all voice opinions when we wanted to. With the Tower frequency blocked out, the second Hastings crew decided not to chance a landing and went around. Then another crew, seeing an opportunity to do so, snuck in to land well out of sequence. Thus there developed a fine old mix-up of Hastings processing round the circuit until finally some order was restored and the last aircraft got down safely. The after-show party went on quite late that night!
One other memory, triggered by reference to Constable clouds, was whilst I was flying Hercules C130 A Models on an exchange posting with the Royal Australian Air Force in the mid 1960s when we staged through the Cocos Keeling islands en route from Pearce (near Perth, Western Australia) to Butterworth (Malaya) to avoid Indonesia and 'Confrontation'. These flights involved flying through the Inter Tropic Front or Inter Tropical Convergence Zone that was generally marked by an East-West band of cumulus clouds of varied descriptions. We had a flight engineer who was a gifted artist, and he would depict the shape of the clouds in forms worthy of Botticelli, the results being given to the met staff on Cocos Island for their information and entertainment. I wish I had kept one! Of course after leaving Cocos we had to stay well clear of Sumatra before changing course for Butterworth, but due to a longish over water track coupled with low clouds masking the land mass in the gathering dusk, there were times when we got a little too close to the forbidden territory. Then the 75 megahertz airways marker beacon might start to flash, picking up harmonic signals from, as I was told, Indonesian gun radar, thus a very early form of electronic warning system (?). A gentle turn towards the West sorted this one out. Aah, happy days!
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Nugget 90:
Two days later we flew on Exercise Solinus II that involved some 30 Beverly, Argosy and Hastings aeroplanes flying in trail at night around most of the Cyprus coastline before depositing our loads of parachutists or stores on (or near) a remote DZ. If you have never taken part in such an exercise then you haven't lived!
I did the mass brief!
In retrospect it was a very risky job to give a baby forecaster. A mile up the hill was Main Met. Office Eastern Med., one C Met O [about senior Wg Cdr Messing rates], his deputy, five SSOs of long experience, and a host of helpers. Meanwhile next to ATC was the airfield office [14 ft high hollyhocks outside, refreshed with nocturnal urine] in which a very junior and inexperienced LB was frantically genning up on 'Met. for Parachuting' [the booklet was still gospel when I retired]. My opinion is that one of the big boys should have got off his arse and taken responsibility.
Watching the Beverleys lumber out with clamshell doors removed, my heart was in my mouth. There a few broken legs and a few bent Landys but no fatalities. No thanks to my colleagues.
Bearing this in mind, when I became the man up the hill I insisted on doing or checking the drops forecasts and the Hercules special weapon movements.
Two days later we flew on Exercise Solinus II that involved some 30 Beverly, Argosy and Hastings aeroplanes flying in trail at night around most of the Cyprus coastline before depositing our loads of parachutists or stores on (or near) a remote DZ. If you have never taken part in such an exercise then you haven't lived!
I did the mass brief!
In retrospect it was a very risky job to give a baby forecaster. A mile up the hill was Main Met. Office Eastern Med., one C Met O [about senior Wg Cdr Messing rates], his deputy, five SSOs of long experience, and a host of helpers. Meanwhile next to ATC was the airfield office [14 ft high hollyhocks outside, refreshed with nocturnal urine] in which a very junior and inexperienced LB was frantically genning up on 'Met. for Parachuting' [the booklet was still gospel when I retired]. My opinion is that one of the big boys should have got off his arse and taken responsibility.
Watching the Beverleys lumber out with clamshell doors removed, my heart was in my mouth. There a few broken legs and a few bent Landys but no fatalities. No thanks to my colleagues.
Bearing this in mind, when I became the man up the hill I insisted on doing or checking the drops forecasts and the Hercules special weapon movements.
Last edited by langleybaston; 6th Apr 2024 at 16:13. Reason: for **** read shot
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I cannot leave Dinger Bell and the Finningley homos to drift. I think I have told this before, if so, a recap,
Mid morning in the coffee room, Nav School. Staff and studes mixed, as we were encouraged to do. Dinger, a professional Flying Officer, was holding forth.
"The RAF" quoth he to a sizeable audience " recently decided to post homosexuals [consenting adults being now legal] to a special unit"
"Bloody bad idea" said several.
"Where" asked one.
"FINNINGLEY DARLING!" and Dinger caressed the stude's upper thigh.
Stude disappeared upwards through figurative hole in ceiling.
Much mirth.
Mid morning in the coffee room, Nav School. Staff and studes mixed, as we were encouraged to do. Dinger, a professional Flying Officer, was holding forth.
"The RAF" quoth he to a sizeable audience " recently decided to post homosexuals [consenting adults being now legal] to a special unit"
"Bloody bad idea" said several.
"Where" asked one.
"FINNINGLEY DARLING!" and Dinger caressed the stude's upper thigh.
Stude disappeared upwards through figurative hole in ceiling.
Much mirth.
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Had something similar in the RN.
All lined up outside our building our No 5s waiting the fast black to appear with VVIP on board. Just as it hoves into view, CPO(MA) hisses out of the side of his mouth, "Just found out, Sir, one of the staff is a homosexual". "Who?" I hiss back, "Gizzus a kiss and I'll tell yer" says he.
VVIP arrives wondering why spirits of the receiving party are high.
All lined up outside our building our No 5s waiting the fast black to appear with VVIP on board. Just as it hoves into view, CPO(MA) hisses out of the side of his mouth, "Just found out, Sir, one of the staff is a homosexual". "Who?" I hiss back, "Gizzus a kiss and I'll tell yer" says he.
VVIP arrives wondering why spirits of the receiving party are high.
When involved in VC10K3 'Secondary Role' exercises and operations, we often had a tame weather guesser with us, who would consult his seaweed, beetles, fir cones and various other tools of the trade, in order to assess the most likely area for a good 'sniff'. But it was quite hilarious listening to the arguments between 'Atomic Arthur' from Aldermaston and the MetO - they often had professional disagreements about the target area. Which could be a largish chunk of remote airspace.
With the advent of the 'Cray Twins' at Bracknell, the tide began to turn in favour of the MetO's 'mesh models' though. But on the last operation in which I was involved, the art and science of the MetO found us a good time and area for the search in a much more flexible manner than the information we'd received from our colonial cousins at Patrick AFB!
At RAF Brawdy, local knowledge was vital. When a new MetO arrived and gave a standard brief, the older hands merely smiled and said "He'll learn"... One vile day, we were sitting around at Morning Met waiting for the Stn Cdr to appear. As he entered, he threw a snowball at the MetO, which bounced off and landed on the OHP slides. The wonderful art work dissolved in a splurge of various colours; drily the MetO announced "Thank you Sir, I couldn't have put it better myself - today's weather will be vile!".
With the advent of the 'Cray Twins' at Bracknell, the tide began to turn in favour of the MetO's 'mesh models' though. But on the last operation in which I was involved, the art and science of the MetO found us a good time and area for the search in a much more flexible manner than the information we'd received from our colonial cousins at Patrick AFB!
At RAF Brawdy, local knowledge was vital. When a new MetO arrived and gave a standard brief, the older hands merely smiled and said "He'll learn"... One vile day, we were sitting around at Morning Met waiting for the Stn Cdr to appear. As he entered, he threw a snowball at the MetO, which bounced off and landed on the OHP slides. The wonderful art work dissolved in a splurge of various colours; drily the MetO announced "Thank you Sir, I couldn't have put it better myself - today's weather will be vile!".
Last edited by BEagle; 6th Apr 2024 at 21:43.
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Nineteen weeks.
HR believed that taking newly-promoted [and presumably fairly proficient] outstation forecasters and swapping them with notionally forecaster-trained desk-jockeys was A GOOD IDEA. In my case they excelled themselves and, remembering my young days as a very indifferent computer programmer, they sent me to the Central Forecast Office on the ‘Intervention Roster’. This roster’s task was second-guessing the very good computer output and inserting bogus observations – bogussing. The team of two per shift was led by a Principal. Most of the bogussing had to be removed, the model was better than we were.
My shifts were often dreadful nights, but one Principal was a joy to work for. I shall name him, because he nursed me through some difficult times, times that recur as nightmares to this day. ‘Tam’ Bradbury was the younger brother of the Bradbury who eased me out of Uxbridge and on the path to a career. Tam, a renowned glider expert, seemed an old man to me, bespectacled and with snowy hair. One night he confessed to being dreadfully tired. Knowing that there was a Rest Room, Principals for the use of, I suggested that he got his head down. “Nobody ever uses it, and I am not going to start” said Tam. “Mr Bradbury, do you not trust me to cover both jobs for a couple of hours?” And I became instantly famous as the man who sent Tam to bed. Thereafter he had a kip most nights. A lovely kind gentleman.
The unique selling point of CFO was the posting letter: “on probation, if you are no good we will get rid of you and [afterthought] if by any remote chance you don’t like the conditions, colleagues, job or the fact that a weeks’ leave excluded both weekends …… you can opt out”.
After 19 weeks of Hell I was told how lucky I was, the job was mine. Two days earlier I had been head-hunted to be a senior lecturer at the Met. Office College, Shinfield Park near Reading. CFO was amazed that somebody could give up the very substantial extra pay, but our mortgages were always taken on the assumption of flat basic income. We lived in Yateley, leafy Hampshire, opposite the church and near the very good Yateley School. Joyce was a full-time mother to our four children. There were periods when another income would have helped, but we coped. Decimalisation meant a very tight few months. The car was a white Viva estate which often developed oily plugs. Perversely, when we lived in Yorkshire, we tended to holiday in the south-west, and when we lived in the south we went to Scotland.
HR believed that taking newly-promoted [and presumably fairly proficient] outstation forecasters and swapping them with notionally forecaster-trained desk-jockeys was A GOOD IDEA. In my case they excelled themselves and, remembering my young days as a very indifferent computer programmer, they sent me to the Central Forecast Office on the ‘Intervention Roster’. This roster’s task was second-guessing the very good computer output and inserting bogus observations – bogussing. The team of two per shift was led by a Principal. Most of the bogussing had to be removed, the model was better than we were.
My shifts were often dreadful nights, but one Principal was a joy to work for. I shall name him, because he nursed me through some difficult times, times that recur as nightmares to this day. ‘Tam’ Bradbury was the younger brother of the Bradbury who eased me out of Uxbridge and on the path to a career. Tam, a renowned glider expert, seemed an old man to me, bespectacled and with snowy hair. One night he confessed to being dreadfully tired. Knowing that there was a Rest Room, Principals for the use of, I suggested that he got his head down. “Nobody ever uses it, and I am not going to start” said Tam. “Mr Bradbury, do you not trust me to cover both jobs for a couple of hours?” And I became instantly famous as the man who sent Tam to bed. Thereafter he had a kip most nights. A lovely kind gentleman.
The unique selling point of CFO was the posting letter: “on probation, if you are no good we will get rid of you and [afterthought] if by any remote chance you don’t like the conditions, colleagues, job or the fact that a weeks’ leave excluded both weekends …… you can opt out”.
After 19 weeks of Hell I was told how lucky I was, the job was mine. Two days earlier I had been head-hunted to be a senior lecturer at the Met. Office College, Shinfield Park near Reading. CFO was amazed that somebody could give up the very substantial extra pay, but our mortgages were always taken on the assumption of flat basic income. We lived in Yateley, leafy Hampshire, opposite the church and near the very good Yateley School. Joyce was a full-time mother to our four children. There were periods when another income would have helped, but we coped. Decimalisation meant a very tight few months. The car was a white Viva estate which often developed oily plugs. Perversely, when we lived in Yorkshire, we tended to holiday in the south-west, and when we lived in the south we went to Scotland.
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Ah, this is what I had in mind! Well done Nugget90, you have reminded me of a mass briefing for Exercise Tense Caper (no other was so well named). This was the culmination of para and stores drop training that gradually involved more aircraft throughout the summer. By Autumn it became three night streams of Argosies, Beverleys, and Hastings (we know a song about that, don't we boys and girls?) but not necessarily in that order, Sunshine! Poor weather had meant the repeated postponement of previous attempts of the mass formation drop, and tonight was the final opportunity left. The forecaster, who had put the kibosh on all the previous briefings was told that, thanks, but his presence was not required for this one. Instead a Gp. Capt. from Command intoned the night's forecast, which by eery coincidence was close to but very marginally better than the weather minima required. So, that night at Colerne the dozen or so Hastings taxied out to the holding point, turned into wind to perform their power checks before getting clearance to enter the runway in turn. Things didn't look at all promising; low stratus and rain with less than optimum viz. However, the first three thundered off into the night, the fourth entered in turn ready to go when the Stream Commander in the lead a/c scattered his trio and cancelled further take-offs. Sighs of relief from us (we were number 6 or so), taxy back to dispersal via the runway, shut down, and back to our respective messes. Eventually those who had at least something to enter in their logbooks joined us in the bar. Where did you go? "We filed an airborne Flight Plan, joined airways and flew around in controlled airspace until we felt it safe to return". How about you? "We simply held overhead Bath (a prohibited area!) and orbited there". Third crew, "At what altitude?". "2,500', why?" Long pause...."Which way round were you going?" .
Having no Botticelli inspired forgers amongst us, completion of the Airmet Form (RAF F....?) usually required on our Hastings the combined efforts of the Navs (all the boring numbers about position and time, and ETA next position, etc) on one side and corresponding columns overleaf for drawing the clouds below, at your level, and above, which we co-pilots completed. This was then passed to the Sig for bashing out on HF, or VHF if in range. At the end of the trip the completed form would be handed in to Met in a debrief. Thus it was that my masterpiece (there were those who used different coloured pencils for defining better the layered clouds, vertical extent, precipitation, etc but I felt that was all a bit gauche myself) was handed over to the Gan Forecaster. He graciously accepted it but simply placed it on his desk rather than using it to grill us further in order to better comprehend our en-route weather. The Captain queried this by asking if a previous aircraft had recently flown the same route. It hadn't but he now had these, and with a flourish produced time sequenced photographs taken from space of the area we had just flown through. The Red Hot Heat of technology was fast overtaking us, satellites were here, and soon the pencils and crayons were to become redundant.
Having no Botticelli inspired forgers amongst us, completion of the Airmet Form (RAF F....?) usually required on our Hastings the combined efforts of the Navs (all the boring numbers about position and time, and ETA next position, etc) on one side and corresponding columns overleaf for drawing the clouds below, at your level, and above, which we co-pilots completed. This was then passed to the Sig for bashing out on HF, or VHF if in range. At the end of the trip the completed form would be handed in to Met in a debrief. Thus it was that my masterpiece (there were those who used different coloured pencils for defining better the layered clouds, vertical extent, precipitation, etc but I felt that was all a bit gauche myself) was handed over to the Gan Forecaster. He graciously accepted it but simply placed it on his desk rather than using it to grill us further in order to better comprehend our en-route weather. The Captain queried this by asking if a previous aircraft had recently flown the same route. It hadn't but he now had these, and with a flourish produced time sequenced photographs taken from space of the area we had just flown through. The Red Hot Heat of technology was fast overtaking us, satellites were here, and soon the pencils and crayons were to become redundant.
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AAC Sqn Met brief, Detmold, mid 80s. While giving his brief, the Met man glances out of the window and says, "Ah...man in raincoat running fast. Heavy rain".
Middle Wallop, Met brief for night flying, sun is just setting. Met man giving the brief, stating that cloud and viz will be good: ideal for night flying. Crews are looking on, watching out of the window behind him, fog rolling over the airfield.
Middle Wallop, Met brief for night flying, sun is just setting. Met man giving the brief, stating that cloud and viz will be good: ideal for night flying. Crews are looking on, watching out of the window behind him, fog rolling over the airfield.
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Tabs please !
columns overleaf for drawing the clouds below, at your level, and above, which we co-pilots completed. This was then passed to the Sig for bashing out on HF, or VHF if in range. At the end of the trip the completed form would be handed in to Met in a debrief. Thus it was that my masterpiece (there were those who used different coloured pencils for defining better the layered clouds, vertical extent, precipitation, etc but I felt that was all a bit gauche myself) was handed over to the Gan Forecaster.
Aircrew drawing pictures of clouds? What on earth for?
I was never involved with such activities, but I will hazard a guess. Crews collected such information so that met organisations could do some validation of their forecasts with what the flight crews actually encountered on their route. Bear in mind, this was well before the internet age, or even the common use of satellites.
Gentleman Aviator
When first married, Milady Teeters and self had a quarter at Gutersloh next to the S Met O. He had made a bar in his cellar (all the quarters had a cellar), and we went there for pre-drinks before a Christmas Draw or something. Emerging after an hour or so, we were confronted by heavy sleet.
"Oh" said S Met O in a surprised voice, "that shouldn't have happened!"
"Oh" said S Met O in a surprised voice, "that shouldn't have happened!"
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Met reports BA VC10
Joined the Fleet in 78 and we completed them routinely especially on the North Atlantic. Iirc way points included the weather ships. Reports included wind and temperatures and were an aid to producing long range forecasts. No doubt started during the war by both sides.
Do remember the met briefings from the lads at Gibraltar early 70s.
Do remember the met briefings from the lads at Gibraltar early 70s.
I was taught Met by a kindly old gentleman at Cranwell known, not very originally, as CuNim Jim. He explained everything as parcels of air being moved around. To prove his point one summer morning he took us outside and in the distance we could see the fair weather cumulus forming as the air rose up the small ridge at Leadenham out to the west. He actually instilled a real interest in me and if my training had gone badly, I might well have had a go at a career in meteorology.
In the early 70s when there was a bit of trouble brewing in Belize, we weren't allowed to use any diversions in Mexico or the USA. In their wisdom somebody in Air Support Command authorised us to regard Belize as an "Island Holding" destination where we just carried extra holding fuel rather than diversion fuel. This was really aimed at islands where the weather was usually predictable and not prone to long periods of poor weather. Anyway we set off from Gander in our Britannia in the early evening with a forecast of 10Kms+ visibility and 4/8 Cu at 2500ft (or whatever the terms were in the 70s). We flagged Nassau and the forecast for Belize was still the same. When we arrived at Belize just after dawn we were above solid cloud. The tower gave us the weather 10Kms+ and 4/8 Cu at 2500ft. We did an NDB approach which didn't even get us into the cloud and it became obvious that it was actually thick fog below us. The local fighter radar (Butcher??) gave us a talkdown which got us IMC but with no chance of seeing anything. I said to the tower "Could you please go outside and tell us what the cloudbase looks like to you". We could hear him push his chair back and open the door and when he came back he said "very, very low". Fortunately, my captain had taken as much fuel as we could from Nassau and we had a bit more than Island Holding. The navigator did some sums and announced that we could just make KIngston, Jamaica - Grand Cayman was closer, but the runway was too short for us. It was that or wait and hope the fog cleared. With no reliable forecast and no local knowledge of how long the fog might last we set off and arrived in Kingston sucking fumes some 2 1/2 hours later.
A few years later, on a Hercules squadron, our scribe wrote in the monthly station magazine an article entitled "The 10 most useless things to have on a flightdeck". No 1 was a recently serviced headset, no 2 was yesterday's met forecast, no 3 was today's met forecast. I can't remember the rest, but he managed to insult a number of other sections around the sation as well as the squadron navigators.
In the early 70s when there was a bit of trouble brewing in Belize, we weren't allowed to use any diversions in Mexico or the USA. In their wisdom somebody in Air Support Command authorised us to regard Belize as an "Island Holding" destination where we just carried extra holding fuel rather than diversion fuel. This was really aimed at islands where the weather was usually predictable and not prone to long periods of poor weather. Anyway we set off from Gander in our Britannia in the early evening with a forecast of 10Kms+ visibility and 4/8 Cu at 2500ft (or whatever the terms were in the 70s). We flagged Nassau and the forecast for Belize was still the same. When we arrived at Belize just after dawn we were above solid cloud. The tower gave us the weather 10Kms+ and 4/8 Cu at 2500ft. We did an NDB approach which didn't even get us into the cloud and it became obvious that it was actually thick fog below us. The local fighter radar (Butcher??) gave us a talkdown which got us IMC but with no chance of seeing anything. I said to the tower "Could you please go outside and tell us what the cloudbase looks like to you". We could hear him push his chair back and open the door and when he came back he said "very, very low". Fortunately, my captain had taken as much fuel as we could from Nassau and we had a bit more than Island Holding. The navigator did some sums and announced that we could just make KIngston, Jamaica - Grand Cayman was closer, but the runway was too short for us. It was that or wait and hope the fog cleared. With no reliable forecast and no local knowledge of how long the fog might last we set off and arrived in Kingston sucking fumes some 2 1/2 hours later.
A few years later, on a Hercules squadron, our scribe wrote in the monthly station magazine an article entitled "The 10 most useless things to have on a flightdeck". No 1 was a recently serviced headset, no 2 was yesterday's met forecast, no 3 was today's met forecast. I can't remember the rest, but he managed to insult a number of other sections around the sation as well as the squadron navigators.
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As an example, pairs of 48Sqn Hastings supplied logistical support to Christmas Island (by then reduced to a Care and Maintenance Role) in the 60s. One aircraft would fly north 1000nm to Hickam AFB, the other remaining at Christmas to provided SAR backup for it, and then swapping roles next time round. At Hickam we would hand over the Airep, answer any questions their forecaster might have, and repair to night stop at Fort Derussy (a US Army R&R centre) on Waikiki Beach. It was, of course, shear hell but it just had to be done! The next morning the nav would be given his own winds back at Met Briefing, it was all they had!
Incidentally, the Hawaiian ADIZ had Gates, defined as TACAN radials and distances, that had to be reported when inbound (monitored by their radar of course). On the first flight inbound we were told to report such and such a gate. "Negative TACAN", reported the Sig. OK report established on ...VOR radial 180. "Negative VOR". They sensibly then dropped the ball into our court and asked what aid we would be using. A quick search of the En-Route Doc produced the answer. "Tell him the Radio Range, Sig". And so for the rest of the detachment we homed in on the Diamond Head RR, drifting through A's, to steady, to N's and back again. Before we departed for the last time the captain was required to sign an FAA disclaimer that he would not require use of that facility again, having been the first notified user in years. It was scheduled for demolition and future detachments would have to make their own arrangements
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A few years later, on a Hercules squadron, our scribe wrote in the monthly station magazine an article entitled "The 10 most useless things to have on a flightdeck". No 1 was a recently serviced headset, no 2 was yesterday's met forecast, no 3 was today's met forecast. I can't remember the rest, but he managed to insult a number of other sections around the sation as well as the squadron navigators.
....and sky above you, runway behind you and fuel in the bowser.
...maybe one more thing?