The view out the front windows is starting to worry me. The constant flashing of lightning amongst the darkness off to the right of our route has started to swing around in front of us. The plan to fly west, past the line of weather and then turn north towards Akron and the end of our day, is rapidly falling apart in my mind. At times like this I begin to wish for a top down view of the weather. I had that view about 45 minutes ago while safe at the gate, looking at the radar loop on my phone. Now, 100 miles down range and far from the nearest cell tower, I am stuck with the airplanes radar dish in the nose to find the way. Right now the onscreen display, despite my constant fiddling with the pitch and gain isn’t showing much more than a few scattered returns. The problem though is that the huge amount of electricity flickering across the skyline is seriously making me doubt what I am seeing depicted on the screen in front of me.

The Atlanta Center controller we are talking do offers us a turn to the north. As far as he can see there is a pretty good sized hole in the line we should be able to sneak through. We take his offer and while I spin the heading bug around to north my FO enters the identifier for the Henderson VOR into the flight computer. The plane thinks about it for a second and then generates a new course line stretching from our present position off to the north. Following the flight director cue the plane starts a gentle turn to the right, following an invisible line into the darkness.

As we roll wings level the radar dish in the nose starts sweeping 60 degrees to each side, where it finds absolutely nothing. The line has solidified out my window to the west, now clearly visible, looking like an electric fence running parallel to our new course. Making sure my hot mic is turned off so my FO can’t hear me, I laugh out loud at my joke. Sometimes, after 6 hours of flying and almost 12 hours of duty that’s about all you can do.

I’ve been here before I realize, threading my way through a canyon of angry, electrically charged clouds in the dark. Today marks four years for me at the company and with our routing issue momentarily under control I think back on some of the more memorable night journeys through the storm filled skies. Many took place while I was still in the right seat, some with captains who are still at the company, some with captains who have moved on from this company, and a few with captains who have moved on from this Earth. I realize I knew so little then compared to what I know now and I know so little know compared to what I’ll know four years from now and how little I’ll know then compared to whenever I get out of this game. Aviation is a constant lesson in continuing education. The day I feel like I can’t learn any more is the day I stop flying.

But today, between two lines of weather, somewhere over West Virginia, I am far from that moment. Ahead of us the lights of southeastern Ohio start to materialize through the gloom. The aura turns into a glow and then the glow turns into orderly lines of roads and buildings far below. Off to the west Columbus is ablaze in light. To the north and the east a low overcast layer of clouds covers the ground but the lights of Cleveland and Pittsburg are both discernable below the layer.

ATC gives us a clearance down to 10,000 feet and with the power pulled back the plane begins a graceful swan dive towards the dark earth below. With some reluctance I turn away from the view out the window to being the task of getting ready to land.

I’m the last one off the plane and into the heat of the jetway but manage to catch up to the rest of my crew as they get stalled in the crush of people trying to grab their carryon bags. Once clear of the jetway the four of us turn right and start hoofing it towards gate 17. Our departure time is rapidly approaching and our new aircraft is half a terminal away; all too typical of last flights of the day.

Minutes later we arrive at the gate to find an airplane but no gate agent. The agent soon appears from the jetway to tell us Maintenance is doing a tire change and they think they will be done in 15 minutes, which not surprisingly equates to more delays for us on our go home leg. With the paperwork in hand we head into the jetway to get away from the crowds and wait for the nose gear to be changed out. While we wait my FO and two FAs start a game of wheelchair bowling in the jetway. This almost ends in disaster when the chair all but dumps my FO on the ground. At that point they decide to stop, which coincides nicely with the mechanics finishing up their work. 10 minutes later our first passengers are streaming down the jetway and boarding the plane.

Departure time comes and goes with passengers still wandering onto the airplane. We finally get the paperwork only to have it taken back by the gate agent as more passengers and bags show. Meanwhile, leaking through the earpieces of my headset, I can hear a steady stream of aircraft calling ready to push back and taxi, all heading out towards the runway ahead of us. It’s going to be a long evening. A quick look at my phone’s weather radar shows a large mass of thunder cells to the west of Dayton moving east. As far as I’m concerned, the quicker we get going the better.

Finally the last passengers, in from Montego Bay, Jamaica, well tanned and with the slightly bleary look so common to people returning from vacation, stroll up to the plane. Their bags follow shortly and we get the door closed. My FO calls for pushback clearance, which we are given. Ramp also tells us that the FAA tower has requested we take off from the left runway instead the right one, which we had expected. It’s odd but I’m not complaining as it’s a shorter taxi and despite the line I could see stretching around the corner, it probably will get us airborn faster.

Before we even finish the push back ramp is calling us back to inform us ground wants to get us out right away and plan on jumping the line. With that in mind we start both engines and once clear of the pushback tug request a taxi clearance. It’s quickly granted and we head out to the exit of the ramp. Ground control tells us we are going to get right out and asks if we can take an intersection departure. We have the numbers for it and my FO lets the controller know that is fine. We are slightly puzzled as to what’s going on but shrug it off and get busy running the taxi and before takeoff checklist. Minutes later we arrive at the intersection they want us to use and are cleared on to the runway.

It’s my leg to fly and as soon as we are cleared to go I put the power up. We are full and heavy on gas due to the potential weather in Dayton so it takes a while for the plane to decide to start flying. Once up and running tower turns us back towards the northwest and home. The radar is showing a mess of dying thunderstorms ahead of us but it looks like if we head slightly east we should avoid the worst of it.

50 minutes later we are descending into the hazy murk below us. The sun is just below the horizon and the skyline is tinged with orange. Approach points out the airport off to our left. It’s barely visible through the haze but the beacon strobes clearly every few seconds. With it in sight we are cleared for the approach so I dump off the autopilot and turn for home. The runway clarifies itself out of the darkness and several minutes later we are (gently) thumping onto the pavement. The taxi to the gate is short and our passengers are quick to unload.

Walking out to our cars in the parking lot I mention to our FAs that we really lucked out in getting to the front of the line. Neither the FO nor I can figure out why it happened. A lightbulb appears above the head of one of the FAs and she explains that one of the passengers had made a comment about how she worked in the tower in Charlotte and she was going to call a friend to see if we could push us out quickly. It’s nice to have connected people on board on the last leg.