No Runway Lights

It was early 1979, and a late-winter ice storm had crippled much of southeastern Illinois. Power lines were down, and it would be days, maybe even weeks, before power was restored to everyone.

I was flying for Triangle Air Service, based out of the Olney-Noble Airport, and we did the best we could to keep our operations going under the circumstances. Because we had no electrical service to the airport, we had no rotating beacon or runway lights. As long as the visibility was good, we had no trouble flying in and out of OLY during daylight hours.

I was scheduled to fly some local business executives to a meeting in Michigan, wait and return a few hours later. Prior to departing Olney that morning I made sure that the passengers understood we would need to leave Michigan in time to land at Olney-Noble before dark. “No problem,” they assured me.

So naturally, they showed up late.

Prior to taking off, I called the airport back home and let my boss, Earl Smith, know what was going on. “There is no way we are going to get there before dark,” I said. Earl assured me that they would make arrangements so I could see to land safely. That was good enough for me, so we took off.

The flight was uneventful, until we got within thirty miles or so of OLY. From that point on, there were no lights on the ground. It was like flying in a cave. Even though visibility was good, there was no horizon, no reference of any kind on the moonless night. I contacted Earl on UNICOM frequency. No power was available to operate the radio in the company office, so he answered from the cockpit of another airplane. I let him know I was getting close to the airport and he briefed me on our plan.

Earl would be in an airplane parked on the runup pad at the opposite end of the runway. Bruce, a lineboy/mechanic’s helper/student pilot/future USAir pilot was in the snow plow at the runup pad on the approach end of the runway. And Dale, another line boy/student pilot, was standing at the midfield taxiway, holding a lantern.

The way I describe it makes it sound like a goat rope, but it actually worked like a charm. I turned on my landing light so Earl could see me. From his position at the other end of the runway he gave me instructions “Ten degrees right …. Five left …” to help me line up on final approach.

Once we got down to about 100 feet I could see the runway markings. The lights from the snow plow, the lantern, and Earl’s airplane gave me all the depth perception I needed to make a nice smooth landing.

I wouldn’t want to have to do it often, but I would not have been the least bit apprehensive about doing it again if necessary. It’s memories like these that make me glad I came up through the ranks of General Aviation. Good times.