By Steve Weaver

I crouched miserably behind the instrument panel of the shuddering, heaving Aztec, listening to what sounded like a million BBs being shot against my windshield. I was reviewing my options as well as my sins, and I took what comfort I could from an observation that I remembered by someone who had been there; that when you’re really flying in hail, you won’t wonder if that’s what it is. I was still wondering, so this must still be rain. But rain like this I’d never seen. This was like being inside a garbage can that was being shot with fire hoses. I wondered how the engines could continue to run, since they seemed to be under water. Lightning was streaking on each side of me and almost at the same time the deafening crash of the thunder would for an instant, block the noise of the rain and even the engines. I was smack in the middle of a thunderstorm and I was not a happy young aviator.