Why relying on forecasts is a bad idea.

I’m deep into cherry drying season here in central Washington state. I’ve built a team of five pilots (including me) to cover about 400 acres of cherry trees in this area. We’re all on standby, which means we need to be around during daylight hours, ready to fly if it rains and we need to dry an orchard.

Standby is serious business. My contract with my growers says that I will have a helicopter in the air within 15 minutes of a call. To make that possible, I have to monitor the weather closely throughout the day and evening every single day. I use apps on my phone to get current radar information and the latest forecasts from at least two reliable sources (neither of which is The Weather Channel). And whether I’m home or out running errands, I’m always scanning the sky, noticing a build up of clouds. Even when I’m flying I have the radar layer displayed in Foreflight on my iPad, tracking the directional movement of cells.

I basically live the weather for 10 weeks every summer.

I Become a Weather Source

For good or bad, my clients have come to depend on me for this.

Years ago, I got a lifelong client when I called a grower at 6 AM on a Sunday morning to report rain on his orchard. It was a tough call to make; he was a newlywed living miles away down in town. There had been no rain in the forecast but rain had woken me in the middle of the night. I’d been camped nearby and when I went into the orchard to pick a few cherries for breakfast, I saw how wet the trees were. Do I call? It’s not my job. What do I do? I called. He launched me and drove out to the orchard to take a look. I was about 15 minutes into the job when he called me in the cockpit and said, “These trees are really wet. You probably saved our crop.” His 100+ acres in three different orchards makes up a good portion of my contracted acreage every year.

Last year, I was home doing some chores when I noticed a buildup of clouds out to the northeast, over the Waterville Plateau. That area, which is full of wheat fields, is prone to nasty thunderstorms every summer. There was nothing in the forecast for the two areas we service — Wenatchee/East Wenatchee/Malaga and Quincy — but I didn’t like the way this looked. I checked the radar. Sure enough, it was a big cell and it was moving south, right toward the orchard we service in Quincy. I got on the phone and called my guy based down there to ask what it looked like. He hesitated and then admitted that he was in Leavenworth, at least an hour away. There had been nothing in the forecast so he and his family had gone out for the day. While he hustled back, I called the grower. He lives in East Wenatchee and didn’t see the cloud build up. I told him what I saw on radar, and he headed down to Quincy for a look. Meanwhile, I prepared to fly in case my guy didn’t get back on time. I watched the cell move right on down to Quincy. A while later, the grower called back. The cell had dropped some rain on the far east end of his orchard — not enough to call the pilot out. Yes, it had been a false alarm, but he was glad I’d alerted him. And I think my pilot learned a valuable lesson about trusting forecasts.

I could tell stories like this half the day — after all, this is my twelfth season as a cherry drying pilot. But you get the idea. Forecasts simply can’t be relied upon.

Today’s Forecast

When I went to bed last night, there was no rain in the forecast. It was cloudy as I fell asleep, but I just assumed all that would move off during the night. Wrong. When I woke up just before 4 AM, it was still cloudy and unusually dark for that time of morning.

I checked the radar on my iPad as I do first thing every morning. I was surprised to see some light echos on radar. I’ve learned over the years that even that isn’t an indication of actual rain. Still, it put me on alert.

So did the text I got from a client who had to leave town to manage picking at another orchard he owns 2 hours away. (Coincidentally, this is the same grower who told me I might have saved his crop a few years back.) Without someone there to check how wet his trees might get in a rain event, he was depending on adjacent growers’ decisions to launch pilots to launch me. I only had one other orchard near him that was on contract, but it was close enough to be a good indicator.

Around 6 AM, as I was having coffee, I was also watching the weather from my home. It’s perched up at the base of some cliffs, high up over the Wenatchee Valley and offers a 180° to 270° — depending on where you’re standing on my 10 acres — unobstructed view of the whole valley. It’s a perfect perch for someone doing what I do and makes a great base of operations for cherry drying services.

Here’s what I saw on radar and from my window.

Here’s the view from my deck when I captured the radar image above.

I started texting my crew. Of the three guys, Trevor responded within a minute. He gets it, I reminded myself. The other two: nothing.

Then I got a text from my friend Cyndi, who lives up on Wenatchee Heights. (Cyndi’s house was my starting point in this recent video: Flying Home from Taco Night.) “It’s raining!” She said. (It’s funny how many of my friends report rain to me throughout cherry season. I definitely appreciate it.)

I put Trevor on alert but didn’t send him to his helicopter yet. I tried to get the other one in the area, Ben, on the phone. I called once and it went to voicemail. I told him that if he had Do Not Disturb turned on, he should turn it off. Then I called again. It went to voicemail again and I told him that he was in trouble. Then I texted his boss, who was in Portland. Ironically, he responded immediately. I made sure he understood that I wasn’t happy about not being able to reach the pilot I was paying him to be able to reach 24/7. On call meant on call.

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The rain moved through the area southeast bound. I texted two of my clients to see how much rain they had. One texted back that the rain had been light but it was very windy. The other called with the same information. Cyndi reported the same thing. It looked like we could stand down. I texted Trevor.

It rained at my house. The wind was howling so hard that only half of my deck showed drops and they dried within seconds of hitting the ground. Then it was gone and only the wind remained.

It’s an hour after I took the photo shown above. The sun is out and there’s some blue sky. Radar shows a “wintery mix” over Mission Ridge, which is south of the orchards we have on contract. Even if we did have some more rain, I’m pretty sure this wind — which has been in the forecast for the past few days — would dry the trees.

It’s an hour later and the weather is clearing out.

This is what I do for 10 weeks every summer: play the weather game.