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If you’re a student pilot, instructor, or anyone with a checkride or training flight on the calendar this week in the Upper Midwest, you’ve probably already glanced at the METAR, looked out the window, and muttered something colorful. The sky has that milky, yellow-orange haze. The sun looks like it’s shining through a dirty ashtray. Everything smells like a forest fire that decided to visit. And right there in the weather report—FU.

No, the weather gods aren’t literally typing profanity at you. In the international language of METARs, FU is the code for smoke. It comes from the French fumée. When smoke is reducing visibility to six statute miles or less (and sometimes when it’s just hanging around being a pain in the ass), the METAR sticks FU in the weather phenomena section or remarks. You’ll see it alongside HZ for haze when the air gets thick with fine particulates from wildfires.

Right now—mid-July 2026—that smoke is pouring south out of western Ontario and northern Minnesota fires. Dozens of blazes, some massive, some out of control, are feeding a plume that has turned large parts of Michigan, Minnesota, Wisconsin, and points east into a hazy mess. Air quality alerts cover at least 17 states. Michigan and parts of Minnesota have seen hazardous to very unhealthy AQI readings—some spots pushing well over 300 and even spiking past 1,000 in northern Minnesota. Detroit has been among the worst major cities in the world for air quality on some of these days. The smoke isn’t just a local annoyance; it’s a widespread, lingering layer that the high pressure and northwest flow have been parking over the Great Lakes region.

And it’s doing exactly what the abbreviation suggests to a lot of training programs and checkride schedules: F-ing Up the plan.

Why FU actually matters in the cockpit

Surface visibility in a METAR is measured horizontally at the airport. That’s useful, but it doesn’t tell the whole story when smoke is involved. Slant-range visibility—the view you actually need to see traffic, spot the runway on final, or maintain visual references in the pattern—is often worse. Smoke scatters light differently than fog or mist. It can sit in layers, get trapped under inversions, and turn what looks like “6SM HZ/FU” on the ground into something that feels like flying through thin soup at pattern altitude.

For VFR training and checkrides, this creates real problems:

• Traffic spotting becomes a guessing game. In the practice area or on a cross-country, you’re relying on see-and-avoid. Hazy smoke kills contrast. That Cessna you should have seen at three miles is now a gray ghost until it’s uncomfortably close.
• Pattern and landing work suffers. Judging height, flare, and touchdown in reduced visibility and flat light is harder. Depth perception goes to hell when the horizon is washed out and the runway environment lacks crisp definition.
• Student pilot and solo limitations get tested. Many CFIs and 61.87 endorsements have personal minimums well above legal VFR (3SM visibility, 2,000-foot ceiling). Smoke that keeps the airport reporting 5–7SM but feels worse often triggers a smart “no-go.”
• VFR maneuvers without a horizon. Steep turns, chandelles, lazy-8’s, pretty much any visual maneuvers get really hard to do the right way, looking outside when the visibility is reduced due to smoke. Without at least 8-10 miles visibility, and certainly when visibiity dips below 5 miles, these maneuvers get much harder to do within ACS standards.
• Checkride/Flight scheduling chaos. As a DPE, I’ve lost count of how many rides I’ve had to delay or move because the weather wasn’t just legal—it wasn’t smart. Examiners are supposed to evaluate judgment as much as stick-and-rudder skills. Launching into marginal smoke just to “get it done” is the opposite of good judgment. I know lots of CFIs are working on reschedules with their students this week also. Rescheduling sucks for everyone, but bending minimums or personal comfort levels sucks more.

IFR pilots and aircraft aren’t completely immune either. Smoke can extend to surprisingly high altitudes, create its own turbulence or pyrocumulus if fires are active enough, and just generally make an already busy IFR day more tiring. Plus, nobody wants to breathe that crap for hours on end. I honestly have no idea how bad it is for the aircraft either, which needs air to breathe as part of the combustion process that keeps our engines going. Does anyone have any thoughts on that? Share it here please, if you do.

The current Upper Midwest reality check

This isn’t some distant western fire season problem that only affects California or Idaho. The fires in Ontario (one of the big ones over 130,000 acres) and northern Minnesota are close enough that the smoke is dropping right on top of us with minimal dilution. On bad days you can smell it even inside hangars. The sky takes on that apocalyptic glow that makes sunset photos look dramatic but makes actual flying feel stupid.

Air quality agencies are telling people with respiratory issues to stay inside. Pilots should be paying attention too. Fine particulate matter (PM2.5) doesn’t just stay outside the airplane. And while a single training flight in light smoke probably won’t kill you, repeated exposure or pushing into visibly deteriorating conditions isn’t the kind of risk that builds good habits.

TAFs and METARs around the region have been showing FU, HZ, or just plain reduced visibility in spots. Some airports stay VFR on paper while the practical flying conditions are marginal at best. That disconnect is exactly why you have to look at more than just the visibility number—satellite smoke maps, AirNow, pilot reports, and your own eyeballs out the window all matter.

So what do you do when the sky says FU?

First, don’t treat it like a personal insult. The weather doesn’t care about your checkride date or your student’s 90-day solo clock. It cares about physics and fire behavior. Plan for it.

• Pull the smoke forecasts and satellite imagery early. These events can linger or shift with the next front.
• Have honest personal minimums and be willing to use them. “Legal VFR” and “smart VFR in smoke” are not the same thing.
• Use the downtime productively—ground lessons, simulator sessions, systems review, or even just a frank talk with your CFI or examiner about decision-making in degraded visibility.
• If you’re the instructor or DPE, model the behavior you want to see. Canceling or delaying because conditions suck isn’t weakness; it’s professionalism.

And yeah, sometimes you just have to laugh at the cosmic joke. The abbreviation really does feel like the sky is giving you the finger this week. Mother Nature has a dark sense of humor, and right now she’s using Canadian wildfires to deliver it straight to the Upper Midwest.

The good news? These smoke events move. Fronts come through, winds shift, and eventually the air clears. Your checkride or training block will happen—just when the smoke clears.

Hopefully, the FU will clear soon, and we will all be back to some good flying. Certainly, hopefully before next week for Oshkosh EAA AirVenture 2026!

There are so many “pretty good” airplanes out there in general aviation, but I can’t help but think of a couple that I wish “could have been.” Airplanes that would have taken a next step, that would have probably commanded a significant amount of market share if they had just done ____________ or had _________ (you fill in the blank).

I know, these might be wishful thinking, and sometimes, those things that would have made that next step were just not mechanically practical at the time, or maybe the market wasn’t quite ready for them yet. But imagine with me the following.

A 200hp Piper Cherokee: A Perfect Match for an Iconic Airframe

The Piper Cherokee (PA28) series of aircraft has been GA’s backbone since the 1960s. Models like the PA-28-140 (140hp), -160 (160hp), and -180 (180hp) defined entry-level flying, with over 32,000 built. The airframe was simple, rugged, with Hershey-bar wings for forgiving handling, and it was a hit for training and short hops. But for serious utility, it often felt underpowered. I can’t help but wonder why there was never a 200hp Cherokee option? This would have blended the simplicity of the Cherokee 180 with the punch of later Arrows.

Real Cherokees topped out at 180hp for most base models, though the Cherokee 235 offered 235hp in a stretched fuselage. A 200hp version, say, a Lycoming IO-360 like the Arrow’s, would have been gold. At gross weights around 2,400 pounds, the thrust-to-weight ratio would have jumped, improving takeoff and climb without overwhelming the structure.

I have to think this would have been a great match for the airframe. The Cherokee’s airframe was overbuilt for its typical powerplants, with strong spars and a wide CG envelope. Adding 20hp would have improved weight and balance. Imagine how it would have been performance-wise? I have to think we would have seen cruise speeds of about 125-130 knots and improved climb rates, especially when fully loaded. Fuel burn wouldn’t have changed much, probably still about 10-11 gph, and the IO-360’s injection smooths operations.

Piper’s development history shows they iterated on the Cherokee, adding retractables and turbos, but a 200hp fixed-gear base would have made a truly load-hauling 4-person aircraft that I have to think would have competed with the Cessna 182 competition. 

If only Piper had made this one in the 1970s, I think it might have outsold many other airframes.

A 235hp Piper Arrow: The Powerhouse That Could Have Redefined Retractables

The Piper Arrow, introduced in the late 1960s as the PA-28R, was Piper’s entry into the retractable-gear trainer and tourer market. In reality, most Arrows came with a 200hp Lycoming IO-360 engine, offering a cruise speed of around 131-145 knots and a respectable climb rate of 831 feet per minute. Some early variants had 180hp, but the 200hp became standard, making it a solid step up from fixed-gear Cherokees for complex aircraft training. It was affordable, easy to fly, and sold well over 7,000 units by the time production paused in the 1980s.

But oh, what if Piper had bumped that to 235hp? The airframe was begging for it. The Arrow’s design, with its low-wing stability and retractable gear, handled like a dream, but the 200hp often felt underpowered when loaded up or at high-density altitudes. A 235hp engine, like the variants found in some Piper models, would have significantly boosted the thrust-to-weight ratio. At a typical gross weight of around 2,650 pounds, the real Arrow’s ratio hovers around 0.075 (200hp / 2,650 lbs, adjusted for prop efficiency). Upping to 235hp pushes that closer to 0.089, unlocking quicker takeoffs, steeper climbs, and better hot-and-high performance.

Why 235hp specifically? It matches the power of the Piper Cherokee 235, a fixed-gear sibling with a beefier engine for hauling. Transplanting that into the Arrow would create a retractable that punches above its weight. Imagine departing a short strip at 8,000 feet density altitude: the extra power means shorter ground rolls and a climb rate pushing 1,000 fpm, versus the real Arrow’s struggle to hit 700 fpm.

Like the Cherokee, Piper had a variety of powerplants in its aircraft. But for the life of me, I can’t figure out why they didn’t put a 235hp option in the Arrows. Was it just because they were afraid pilots would consider needing to get a high-performance endorsement that big of a barrier? They would already need the complex endorsement for it; it really wasn’t that much more training or a requirement to satisfy.

I think Piper missed a trick by not pursuing this; it would have made the Arrow not just a complex aircraft trainer, but a true traveler’s delight. I wish they’d built it; my logbook would be full of adventures in one.

A Fixed-Gear Cessna 210; The Pressurized, Deiced Turbo Beast That Would Have Been Like No Other

Cessna’s 210 Centurion, debuting in 1960, was a retractable-gear hauler with up to 310hp turbo options and pressurization in later models. It evolved from 260hp IO-470s to 285-310hp IO-520/TSIO-520s, grossing up to 4,000 pounds. But retractables add complexity and maintenance. Enter the Cessna 205/206 series, fixed-gear cousins with 260-300hp, built for bush work but lacking high-end features. My ultimate wish: a fixed-gear 210, essentially a super-205, with full deicing, pressurization, and turbocharging.

This hybrid would marry the 210’s cabin (six seats, 28-foot length) with the 205’s robust fixed gear, powered by a 310hp TSIO-520 turbo. Turbo benefits are huge: maintaining sea-level power up to critical altitudes around 18,000 feet, enabling climbs over weather and faster TAS. Pressurization could keep cabin altitude at 8,000 feet or below, reducing fatigue and hypoxia risks—vital for long legs. Deicing, via boots or weeping wings, giving the option for at least some light icing management, climbing through or descending through, for more capable weather operations.

Why fixed gear? Simpler, cheaper to maintain, better prop clearance for rough strips, perfect for GA utility. At 3,600-4,000 pounds gross, a thrust-to-weight ratio of around 0.078 means strong performance; the turbo pushes the service ceiling to 25,000+ feet, dodging icing layers and extending range to 800+ NM. Sure, it wouldn’t be as fast as the 210, but a few extra knots isn’t that big of a deal for the easier to manage systems it would provide when compared with the somewhat finicky to maintain retractable gear option.

Cessna’s history shows they pressurized the 210 in the 1970s, but never this fixed variant. It would have been the everyman’s airliner: haul gear to remote spots, cruise high above storms, land anywhere. Icing? Dealt with. Weather? Avoided. I wish Cessna had built it; it’d still rule a big segment of the owner-flown single-engine traveling aircraft market today.

The Ultimate Pressurized Turbocharged Hauler that Wasn’t – A Turbo, Pressurized A36

And then there is what is probably my dream personal airplane. A turbo-charged, pressurized, fully de-icing equipped Beech A36. Imagine it. 

This just screams “missed opportunity” to me. With 6 seats, a 3,650-pound gross weight, and a cruise speed up to 175 knots, a pressurized version of this would allow comfortable cruising at altitude. There are turbocharged versions, but you have to wear oxygen masks or a cannula when up at altitude. There are some deicing options, but not many of them had it or they were limited.

My imaginary version: an A36 airframe with a 300hp TSIO-520 turbo, pressurized to 5-6 psi differential (cabin at 8,000 feet up to 25,000), and boots/weeping deice. Turbo maintains power high, boosting climb to 1,200+ fpm and ceiling to 25,000 feet. Pressurization adds comfort for long hauls, reducing noise and allowing oxygen-free flights. Deice enables IFR in known icing, a GA rarity.

Imagine crossing multiple states at 180 knots, above weather, with family and gear. It’s the “everyman travels everywhere” machine, rugged, fast, safe. Beech missed the boat; this would have been GA’s crown jewel. There just isn’t anything like this in the market. It would give the efficiency of a single-engine aircraft in terms of fuel burn that many owners have to give up by going to multi-engine aircraft, such as the Cessna 340, to get the speed and altitude for cruising.

I have to think that if this plane were made, it would be a heavy competitor for market share taken by the Piper M600 series of aircraft and would be a slightly smaller option for personal owners than the TBM series offers. I wish it existed.

Ok, enough dreaming for today. Maybe you want some of these also. If anyone reading this happens to work for any of the manufacturers who might just want to revisit their airframes and take a hint from this post, call me. I would love to help and be a test pilot for them.