Flying into Y2K

It’s difficult to remember now, but as 1999 was drawing to a close the country was in a panic. The fear was that all, or at least most, computer systems would crash as the year ended because of a fundamental software error.

To save precious memory, computer systems then didn’t include the digits “19” in the year. The year was simply recorded as 97, for 1997, or ominously, as 99 for 1999. When the clock struck midnight on December 31 of 1999 computers would roll over to 00 for the year.

Would that set the computer network back to the year 1900? Or would the electronic brains instantly believe it was the very first year of AD—0000? Nobody knew. But experts of all stripes were certain computer networks would crash. The pending disaster was named “Y2K” for year 2000.

People worried about the national power grid failing after the computer networks that control it failed. Maybe crazed computers would open the floodgates of dams across the country. Most certainly the banking system would fail and your credit cards and ATM card would be worthless.

The list of possible calamities was endless, but near the top of worries was the FAA’s antiquated air traffic control computer system. The news media claimed the FAA’s computers were so old they still used vacuum tubes. Not true. But the ATC computer system software was notorious for the number of times it had been “patched.” And for the number of big-name tech companies that had tried to modernize it, and failed.

As New Year’s Eve 1999 approached the country pretty much went on what we now call “lock down.” Almost all plans were cancelled as people hunkered down, many with enough survival supplies stocked to last for months. The airlines cancelled essentially all flights. Maybe airline officials weren’t really frightened of Y2K, but since passengers were, and wouldn’t buy tickets, it didn’t matter what the airlines thought would happen.

As I was thinking about the Y2K panic it dawned on me that the FAA and its computers all operate on a single time—Zulu. It’s what we called Greenwich Mean Time for many years. It’s the global reference all systems need to account for time zone changes. There are no calendars in FAA traffic facilities, only clocks showing Zulu time. The ATC system runs on a 24-hour cycle that rolls over at 0000 Zulu.

That meant Y2K would arrive at 7 pm eastern time on the Zulu clock. If the ATC system were going to blowup it would happen then. So I decided that was the perfect time to be in the air and flying in the system.

I filed an IFR flight plan from my home base at Westchester County Airport (HPN) just north of New York City to Atlantic City with departure at 6:30, or 2330 Z.

I was the only one moving on the airport when Stancie and I taxied out in our Baron. There were no delays in getting the IFR clearance, or takeoff clearance, as there would usually be. We were the only ones on the frequency.

We flew along in pretty good weather for the end of December in the northeast with only the most perfunctory communications with the controllers. The routing was the standard across JFK and down the Jersey shore to Atlantic City.

We were in Atlantic City approach airspace when the clock rolled over the 7 local time, 0000 Z. Nothing happened. All the nav signals continued. I called the controllers and asked “are you guys still there?” They were surprised by the question. So I told them to look at their clocks.

Then it dawned on them. Y2K had arrived for ATC. The clocks showed 0000 and were counting up. Everything worked. I could hear cheering and laughing when they keyed the mic. The dreaded deadline came and went without a whimper.

They asked if we wanted to land, and I said no, we want to go back home to HPN. And then the real miracle of Y2K happened. I was cleared direct. That never happens in New York. As we were handed to each controller they were full of questions about what we saw, what we heard, and was everything working.

Then New York approach control gave us a vector to fly. “That will take you right over Times Square. 2,000 feet is the lowest we can give you,” was the clearance. That never, ever happens. The controllers wanted to know if we could see the crystal ball that would drop in just under 5 hours. We couldn’t be sure, but we did see one heck of a lot of lights.

We made it home in plenty of time to go to our neighbor’s New Year’s Eve party where we watched Y2K arrive in local time. It was the second New Year for us, and it, too, went off without a hitch.

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Mac McClellan

When people ask Mac McClellan what he does for a living, he replies, “I fly airplanes and write about them. And I’m one of the most fortunate people in the world to have been able to make a career of doing what I love.” Mac has been a pilot for more than 45 years, an aviation writer for more than 40 and has been lucky enough to get to fly just about every type of personal and business airplane in production from the 1970s onward. He was on the Flying Magazine staff for 35 years and editor-in-chief for 20 of those years. He has private pilot privileges in single-engine airplanes, commercial pilot in helicopters and ATP in airplanes with more than one engine. He holds several business jet type ratings and has logged more than 10,000 hours. His first airplane was a Cessna 140 and for the past 27 years he has owned a Baron 58 flying it more than 5,000 hours to cover the aviation industry. And now he is a part-time corporate pilot flying a King Air 350.

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