Well I'm back home in London for the winter. The last week or so has been fairly busy, and I've been preoccupied with moving so I haven't written, so I apologize.
The last few days before I left it was snowing intermittently, not a whole lot of snow, but enough that I was sweeping off the Twin Comanche wings every chance I got to keep it from freezing into a solid block of ice. My day of escape was a little hectic, as I still had some last minute packing to do, and for weather reasons I planned on getting away in the afternoon, but my boss came by and asked if I could do one last trip, because my replacement pilot couldn't show up until later. Actually technically the season wasn't over, it was me that bailed out early. We've had such a late start to winter that I probably could have stayed for another month before the winter road goes in, which kills the flying business. I don't think I could have stayed and still had time to finish my instrument rating though. I wrote the written exam almost 2 years ago now, and if I don't finish the rest of the flying portion and do the flight test before the 2 years is up, the exam will expire and I'll have to write it again. Its a tough exam, so I'd rather now have to tackle it again.
These past 8 months have been a pretty cool adventure. The company was great to work for, and I've also grown as a pilot quite significantly since I first went up. I really did learn a lot.
But now I'm back home. The flight home was relatively uneventful. The weather wasn't ideal but I knew I couldn't expect perfectly clear VFR days for an entire 500-some-odd mile trip this time of year. I still made it home in good time however. I was surprised how busy the London airport is these days. I knew it got changed to a Class C airspace (same level as Toronto) several months ago, but they've even got multiple tower frequencies now. I came in and they lined me up to land and then handed me off to a new frequency I had never used before. Crazy. It was quite fun to fly in such a past-paced environment like that again, but I felt a little rusty. Its been almost a year now since I've regularly operated out of a towered airport, let alone come in a night, and I also haven't flown the Twin Comanche very often lately, so my cockpit procedures weren't as greasy smooth and as second-nature as they used to be. I'm looking forward to regulary flying it again as I finish up my Instrument Rating.
As for now I'm home, living with my parents again for the next few months (its been a while), enjoying seeing family again, and enjoying the things that Southern Ontario has to offer that I missed out on up north.
So for the next few months my blogging will have a change of pace as I'll mostly focus on writing about my IFR training.
Thursday, December 3, 2009
Tuesday, November 24, 2009
Better to Be in Bed
Nov 23, 2009
Currently I’m riding the train south. The Cherokee is finally fixed, so I’ll stay down south for the night and then fly it back in the morning. I’m looking forward to logging a few more hours in the Cherokee. Not because I need Cherokee hours, but because its just a more pleasant airplane to operate, and I have a bit of an attachment to it after 700 hrs.
Last night I had an OPP officer knock on my door at about 6 PM. It was rather unexpected, and as I answered the door I tried to quickly scroll back through my mind to try to find the reason they were at my door. I didn’t REMEMBER doing anything illegal. They were actually here for a favour. The officer had a guy with her, and she explained that he had a family emergency, and needed to get to Toronto ASAP. He was wondering if I could fly him in the Comanche. He was visibly upset, and mentioned that he had a significant amount of money on his VISA to cover the fuel costs. I told them I would if I could, but I’d have to check the weather first, and clear it with my employers, so if I got stuck somewhere they’d know where I was. It sounded like it was going to be a long night; it would have been an easy 6 hr round trip, so if I was airborne by 7, I probably wouldn’t be back until close to 2 AM.
I got some stuff together and took a good look at the weather. I’m still not Instrument rated so as always I’d have to make the trip VFR, which can be problematic this time of year for covering such a large distance, especially at night, where scud running (very low level flying) isn’t so safe. There was fog forming all across my route. Fog is still probably the single biggest thing that scares me. Strong winds can be handled, thunderstorms can be flown around or navigated through with the Stormscope, its tough to land if you can’t see the runway through fog, let alone even see the fog at night. I had to call the poor guy and let him know I couldn’t do it. I felt bad, I’m not sure what his emergency was, I didn’t ask and it was none of my business, but he seemed pretty desperate to get to Toronto.
As I went to bed I wondered if we could have at least tried the flight, but then images of being stuck in the dark cold night above a layer of fog unable to land, and I decided that I’d rather be curled up in bed like I was.
-------
Back home now, safe and sound, and one day later. I stayed the night last night, and then spent most of the day killing time waiting for the weather to clear, as I woke up with ceilings on both ends of my route at 200 ft agl. Finally as daylight was running out today the ceilings lifted JUST enough for me to give it a go. I spent a good part of the flight flogging through poor visibility, but both the ceilings and visibility got better as I got further north and the ground fell away below me.
Once again I get to sleep in my own bed.
Currently I’m riding the train south. The Cherokee is finally fixed, so I’ll stay down south for the night and then fly it back in the morning. I’m looking forward to logging a few more hours in the Cherokee. Not because I need Cherokee hours, but because its just a more pleasant airplane to operate, and I have a bit of an attachment to it after 700 hrs.
Last night I had an OPP officer knock on my door at about 6 PM. It was rather unexpected, and as I answered the door I tried to quickly scroll back through my mind to try to find the reason they were at my door. I didn’t REMEMBER doing anything illegal. They were actually here for a favour. The officer had a guy with her, and she explained that he had a family emergency, and needed to get to Toronto ASAP. He was wondering if I could fly him in the Comanche. He was visibly upset, and mentioned that he had a significant amount of money on his VISA to cover the fuel costs. I told them I would if I could, but I’d have to check the weather first, and clear it with my employers, so if I got stuck somewhere they’d know where I was. It sounded like it was going to be a long night; it would have been an easy 6 hr round trip, so if I was airborne by 7, I probably wouldn’t be back until close to 2 AM.
I got some stuff together and took a good look at the weather. I’m still not Instrument rated so as always I’d have to make the trip VFR, which can be problematic this time of year for covering such a large distance, especially at night, where scud running (very low level flying) isn’t so safe. There was fog forming all across my route. Fog is still probably the single biggest thing that scares me. Strong winds can be handled, thunderstorms can be flown around or navigated through with the Stormscope, its tough to land if you can’t see the runway through fog, let alone even see the fog at night. I had to call the poor guy and let him know I couldn’t do it. I felt bad, I’m not sure what his emergency was, I didn’t ask and it was none of my business, but he seemed pretty desperate to get to Toronto.
As I went to bed I wondered if we could have at least tried the flight, but then images of being stuck in the dark cold night above a layer of fog unable to land, and I decided that I’d rather be curled up in bed like I was.
-------
Back home now, safe and sound, and one day later. I stayed the night last night, and then spent most of the day killing time waiting for the weather to clear, as I woke up with ceilings on both ends of my route at 200 ft agl. Finally as daylight was running out today the ceilings lifted JUST enough for me to give it a go. I spent a good part of the flight flogging through poor visibility, but both the ceilings and visibility got better as I got further north and the ground fell away below me.
Once again I get to sleep in my own bed.
Saturday, November 21, 2009
Happy Hour or Happy Birthday
More low level scud running today. I did one trip up the coast with a load of passengers, ALMOST got to the point of turning back, but we made it. The weather looked like it was clearing a little bit as the day went on so we decided to try a second trip taking two passengers and a load of stuff up to the usual place.
As we were fueling the plane I noticed my two passengers, a rough looking couple standing off by the edge of the apron with their backs turned with some suspicious beverages in their hands. It was obvious they were drinking alchohol, but were trying not to make it obvious. I went over and approached them about it. They seemed sober enough, but I told them sternly not to drink any more, otherwise they might get sick on the plane. There's also the concern that they may get a little too rowdy on the flight. I looked at their coat pockets, and it didn't seem like they had any other drinks stashed on them, so I figured they'd be fine and let it go at that. The woman mentioned that it was her birthday as an explanation for their drinking.
We took off and headed north, and most of the flight was fine. About 15 miles from landing, the women sitting in the back, who was probably twice my size, started to get a little louder and more boisterous. She kept leaning forward and shouting things to her husband upfront. As we got closer and closer to landing it became clearer that she had been drinking more since we took off. By the time I had landed and we were taxiing for the apron she was grabbing my seat and yelling at me to get my attention about something. She wanted to take off again or something, I don't know. Finally as I pulled off the runway I turned around and told her to "BE QUIET!", which worked long enough to taxi in and shut down. I was certainly glad we were on the ground. I shut the airplane down, and she was so drunk she couldn't even get out of the airplane on her own. Then the fiasco started. When she finally fell out of the airplane she was rambling and making a commotion. Next thing I know she chucks 3 empty plastic bottles out onto the ramp. Unloading the airplane would reveal one more empty. So much for listenning to the pilot's instructions...
Usually we give passengers the benefit of the doubt and settle the payment last, but on a hunch I figured I'd ask for payment BEFRORE I unloaded the airplane and gave them all their stuff. It turned out my hunch was right, because they only had the cash for less than half what they owed for the trip. She kept trying to give me a debit card to pay for the rest of the trip. What was I supposed to do with a debit card? The woman was stumbling around, almost falling over, and rambling on unintelligably. I did my best to keep her away from falling on the airplane while she was stumbling around. I was getting a little worried how I was going to manage the situation and get the rest of the money, and was glad when I saw two police trucks pull up. The passengers were known booze smugglers, so they had come to search the luggage, but I was also happy to have some support in dealing with this crazy lady.
4 cops walked up and asked how it was going. I rolled my eyes, motioned to the woman and mentioned she was a little drunk, and that she still owed me money. As all this was happenning the woman just got rowdier and rowdier, to the point where the cops finally gave up trying to reason with her and took her to put in the back of the truck, but she didn't want that, so she fought it. They got her over to the truck, but she was still struggling, so one officer gave her a final violent shove and slammed the door. I was a little taken aback by the shove, but I suppose she deserved it, there was no reasoning with her. It was agreed that one of the officer's would take her husband to the Northern Store to withdraw the rest of what they owed me, while the rest of us waited here. We sat around for a good 45 minutes waiting for them to return, and the entire time the woman in the back of the police truck was pounding on the tinted window, screaming and shouting, and apparently at one point took off all her clothes for some unknown reason, lol. What a joke.
Finally the husband and one officer made it back to the airport and I got the rest of what was owed, and it all ended well, for me at least. I only have less than 10 days before I go home, so I probably won't fly these people anywhere again, but if I do I'll certainly be more stern with them and more cautious that they don't have any drinks on them. Interfering with the crew of an aircraft, or disobeying orders from the Pilot-In-Command (in this example - don't have any more drinks) is actually a serious offense. I'm not entirely sure of the details however, but I could have probably pushed to the police a little more on the fact of the women's lack of obeying my specific instructions of not drinking anymore, but at the time I was just glad to be back on the ground. In hindsight I should have been more clear to the police about the sequence of events and push for charges. I didn't really think about that at the time, but if something like this happens again I'll certainly take it more seriously. I specifically told my passengers no more drinking for the exact reason of what happened, and I think there should be a zero tolerance level for it, especially with passengers in small aircraft when they're within reach of the flight crew.
In a way its a different world up here. Natives are very much treated like spoiled children, and many act like it. Kids somehow think its ok to regularly tamper with boats, or let them float away. Many adults abuse alchohol, the welfare system, and the healthcare system, and get away with it. The worst that happens when someone smuggles booze is to have it confiscated. Able bodied people spunge off government handouts because they're too lazy to find a job, and when one of them feels like going on a shopping trip down south all they have to do is claim they have a tummy ache and a medevac flight will pick them and a family member up and take them direct to the Kingston hospital. While the patient is treated for their "stomach ache", the family member gets to go hit up the shopping centers. At the end of the day, the patient miraculously feels better and they get their private medevac charter back home, courtesy of the government, via hard-working Canadians. Some people don't feel compelled to listen to the pilot's instructions about onboard drinking because its her birthday. When she throws a fit with the police, the worst that will happen is she's thrown in the drunk tank for a night, and the next day the world will continue as normal. Natives also get comprehensive free healthcare. They get dental work paid for, yet the general condition of the population's teeth here is the worst I've seen anywhere, and that includes the natives I've been with in the Venezuelan amazon jungle who still live in the stone age. Nor do they pay for medication, which is a good thing, because diabetes is a serious problem up here. Education is also paid for, for the very few that choose it. SPOILED CHILDREN. I do know some natives up here who do work hard, and take care of themselves, and those people I have the utmost respect for because they've broken the mold. I however also feel sorry for them in that they're associated with the majority who do in fact fit the native sterotype. I wonder how much better off Canada would be if we stopped treating natives with kid-gloves.
As we were fueling the plane I noticed my two passengers, a rough looking couple standing off by the edge of the apron with their backs turned with some suspicious beverages in their hands. It was obvious they were drinking alchohol, but were trying not to make it obvious. I went over and approached them about it. They seemed sober enough, but I told them sternly not to drink any more, otherwise they might get sick on the plane. There's also the concern that they may get a little too rowdy on the flight. I looked at their coat pockets, and it didn't seem like they had any other drinks stashed on them, so I figured they'd be fine and let it go at that. The woman mentioned that it was her birthday as an explanation for their drinking.
We took off and headed north, and most of the flight was fine. About 15 miles from landing, the women sitting in the back, who was probably twice my size, started to get a little louder and more boisterous. She kept leaning forward and shouting things to her husband upfront. As we got closer and closer to landing it became clearer that she had been drinking more since we took off. By the time I had landed and we were taxiing for the apron she was grabbing my seat and yelling at me to get my attention about something. She wanted to take off again or something, I don't know. Finally as I pulled off the runway I turned around and told her to "BE QUIET!", which worked long enough to taxi in and shut down. I was certainly glad we were on the ground. I shut the airplane down, and she was so drunk she couldn't even get out of the airplane on her own. Then the fiasco started. When she finally fell out of the airplane she was rambling and making a commotion. Next thing I know she chucks 3 empty plastic bottles out onto the ramp. Unloading the airplane would reveal one more empty. So much for listenning to the pilot's instructions...
Usually we give passengers the benefit of the doubt and settle the payment last, but on a hunch I figured I'd ask for payment BEFRORE I unloaded the airplane and gave them all their stuff. It turned out my hunch was right, because they only had the cash for less than half what they owed for the trip. She kept trying to give me a debit card to pay for the rest of the trip. What was I supposed to do with a debit card? The woman was stumbling around, almost falling over, and rambling on unintelligably. I did my best to keep her away from falling on the airplane while she was stumbling around. I was getting a little worried how I was going to manage the situation and get the rest of the money, and was glad when I saw two police trucks pull up. The passengers were known booze smugglers, so they had come to search the luggage, but I was also happy to have some support in dealing with this crazy lady.
4 cops walked up and asked how it was going. I rolled my eyes, motioned to the woman and mentioned she was a little drunk, and that she still owed me money. As all this was happenning the woman just got rowdier and rowdier, to the point where the cops finally gave up trying to reason with her and took her to put in the back of the truck, but she didn't want that, so she fought it. They got her over to the truck, but she was still struggling, so one officer gave her a final violent shove and slammed the door. I was a little taken aback by the shove, but I suppose she deserved it, there was no reasoning with her. It was agreed that one of the officer's would take her husband to the Northern Store to withdraw the rest of what they owed me, while the rest of us waited here. We sat around for a good 45 minutes waiting for them to return, and the entire time the woman in the back of the police truck was pounding on the tinted window, screaming and shouting, and apparently at one point took off all her clothes for some unknown reason, lol. What a joke.
Finally the husband and one officer made it back to the airport and I got the rest of what was owed, and it all ended well, for me at least. I only have less than 10 days before I go home, so I probably won't fly these people anywhere again, but if I do I'll certainly be more stern with them and more cautious that they don't have any drinks on them. Interfering with the crew of an aircraft, or disobeying orders from the Pilot-In-Command (in this example - don't have any more drinks) is actually a serious offense. I'm not entirely sure of the details however, but I could have probably pushed to the police a little more on the fact of the women's lack of obeying my specific instructions of not drinking anymore, but at the time I was just glad to be back on the ground. In hindsight I should have been more clear to the police about the sequence of events and push for charges. I didn't really think about that at the time, but if something like this happens again I'll certainly take it more seriously. I specifically told my passengers no more drinking for the exact reason of what happened, and I think there should be a zero tolerance level for it, especially with passengers in small aircraft when they're within reach of the flight crew.
In a way its a different world up here. Natives are very much treated like spoiled children, and many act like it. Kids somehow think its ok to regularly tamper with boats, or let them float away. Many adults abuse alchohol, the welfare system, and the healthcare system, and get away with it. The worst that happens when someone smuggles booze is to have it confiscated. Able bodied people spunge off government handouts because they're too lazy to find a job, and when one of them feels like going on a shopping trip down south all they have to do is claim they have a tummy ache and a medevac flight will pick them and a family member up and take them direct to the Kingston hospital. While the patient is treated for their "stomach ache", the family member gets to go hit up the shopping centers. At the end of the day, the patient miraculously feels better and they get their private medevac charter back home, courtesy of the government, via hard-working Canadians. Some people don't feel compelled to listen to the pilot's instructions about onboard drinking because its her birthday. When she throws a fit with the police, the worst that will happen is she's thrown in the drunk tank for a night, and the next day the world will continue as normal. Natives also get comprehensive free healthcare. They get dental work paid for, yet the general condition of the population's teeth here is the worst I've seen anywhere, and that includes the natives I've been with in the Venezuelan amazon jungle who still live in the stone age. Nor do they pay for medication, which is a good thing, because diabetes is a serious problem up here. Education is also paid for, for the very few that choose it. SPOILED CHILDREN. I do know some natives up here who do work hard, and take care of themselves, and those people I have the utmost respect for because they've broken the mold. I however also feel sorry for them in that they're associated with the majority who do in fact fit the native sterotype. I wonder how much better off Canada would be if we stopped treating natives with kid-gloves.
Friday, November 20, 2009
Boat Hunting
I've been playing airliner service for the last couple days. I've had 3 trips so far that has involved taking a load of freight up the coast, unloading, installing the seats, taking a group of people further north, dropping them off, picking up more, heading back south to my original stop, dropping THOSE people off, and then taking more people on my final leg back south. There's been a lot of people wanting to move around lately.
Today was no exception. There was supposed to be fog this morning, but there was none out my window when I woke up. The GFA weather map was also indicating low cloud/fog all the way up the coast, however standing on the ground andn looking to the north there was no visual indication of anything. I shrugged, the weather forecast is often wrong, its so tough to make a prediction with so few weather stations.
So I took off with my load of pop and chips and 4 seats stuffed into the back and headed north. It turned out that the GFA was sort of half right, and I ran into the forecast layer of low cloud about 20 miles south of my first stop, and long story short I got the trip done, but we called it quits when I got back because we were picking up some airframe icing along most of the route.
So I went home, used the time to do some shopping and make some lunch. About an hour later my boss came by to go for a local flight. Apparently some mischievious kids untied some boats by the river, and they got carried away by the tide. We were being chartered to take a flight up and down the river to see if we could locate them. One of the locals who had lost his boat came with us, and I also took along our co-op student who's been working with us this semester as a spotter. Our co-op student and I took one truck to the airport to get the plane ready while my boss took another truck to pick up the client.
As they pulled up I turned around to greet the client, and he looked at me in disbelief and said, "How old are you?" Lol. I confidently answered that I'm 24. My answer didn't seem to put him at ease. Personally I don't think 24 is young at all to be doing this job, but the general public would seem to disagree. I take it as a compliment usually when people ask my age or mention/insinuate that I'm young to be a pilot. After we had all gotten seated and strapped in he asked me how long I've been flying. I told him I'd been flying for 8 years now, to which he relaxed and chuckled, "So you've been flying since you were 16? Heh heh, ok now I trust you.". Although I haven't been a professional pilot yet for 8 years, it wasn't a lie. I signed up for flying lessons soon after my 16th birthday. I could have told him how much flight time I had, but I find for most people uninitiated in the aviation world a total of hours doesn't mean much, since they don't really have any comparison.
It was a little warmer then up the coast, so icing wasn't an issue for the flight, but we were still stuck crusing around at 400-500 ft through misty conditions. It wasn't a great day for sightseeing, but finding boats was somewhat time-sensitive, considering the river current could potentially carry them out into the bay, where they'd be gone for good - forever consigned to roaming the vast emptyness of open water. Six boats had washed away. We found 2 right away that had floated into a small island inlet. Several trips up and down the river, and out to the bay didn't turn up the other four unfortunately. Too bad, when we took off I was fully expecting that we'd recover all of them. I guess not. I sure don't want to be those kids if they ever find out who did it, if it was my boat that got lost I'd be ready to skin them alive.
Today was no exception. There was supposed to be fog this morning, but there was none out my window when I woke up. The GFA weather map was also indicating low cloud/fog all the way up the coast, however standing on the ground andn looking to the north there was no visual indication of anything. I shrugged, the weather forecast is often wrong, its so tough to make a prediction with so few weather stations.
So I took off with my load of pop and chips and 4 seats stuffed into the back and headed north. It turned out that the GFA was sort of half right, and I ran into the forecast layer of low cloud about 20 miles south of my first stop, and long story short I got the trip done, but we called it quits when I got back because we were picking up some airframe icing along most of the route.
So I went home, used the time to do some shopping and make some lunch. About an hour later my boss came by to go for a local flight. Apparently some mischievious kids untied some boats by the river, and they got carried away by the tide. We were being chartered to take a flight up and down the river to see if we could locate them. One of the locals who had lost his boat came with us, and I also took along our co-op student who's been working with us this semester as a spotter. Our co-op student and I took one truck to the airport to get the plane ready while my boss took another truck to pick up the client.
As they pulled up I turned around to greet the client, and he looked at me in disbelief and said, "How old are you?" Lol. I confidently answered that I'm 24. My answer didn't seem to put him at ease. Personally I don't think 24 is young at all to be doing this job, but the general public would seem to disagree. I take it as a compliment usually when people ask my age or mention/insinuate that I'm young to be a pilot. After we had all gotten seated and strapped in he asked me how long I've been flying. I told him I'd been flying for 8 years now, to which he relaxed and chuckled, "So you've been flying since you were 16? Heh heh, ok now I trust you.". Although I haven't been a professional pilot yet for 8 years, it wasn't a lie. I signed up for flying lessons soon after my 16th birthday. I could have told him how much flight time I had, but I find for most people uninitiated in the aviation world a total of hours doesn't mean much, since they don't really have any comparison.
It was a little warmer then up the coast, so icing wasn't an issue for the flight, but we were still stuck crusing around at 400-500 ft through misty conditions. It wasn't a great day for sightseeing, but finding boats was somewhat time-sensitive, considering the river current could potentially carry them out into the bay, where they'd be gone for good - forever consigned to roaming the vast emptyness of open water. Six boats had washed away. We found 2 right away that had floated into a small island inlet. Several trips up and down the river, and out to the bay didn't turn up the other four unfortunately. Too bad, when we took off I was fully expecting that we'd recover all of them. I guess not. I sure don't want to be those kids if they ever find out who did it, if it was my boat that got lost I'd be ready to skin them alive.
Wednesday, November 11, 2009
Windy Days, Long-Windedness, and World Wars
Happy Remembrance Day everyone. I hope you all had time this morning and did better than me to pause for our veterans. I missed my chance at 11:00 AM to give a minute of silence, as I was loading the airplane and pre-flighting for my first flight of the day and 11 AM slipped right past me. As I taxiied out I checked my watch to record the time up and it was 11:11. I guess the 11th minute of the 11th hour of the 11th day of the 11th month will have to do. I sat at the end of the runway lined up and ready to go, the engine idling, as I gave a moment to ponder our veterans of the 2 World Wars. I could only manage 15 seconds before I had to cut it short because there was an Embraer 110 on final behind me closing fast.
It was windy today. Very windy. Gusts on the surface started out strong, and got stronger as the day went on, but I was lucky in that the wind direction was lined up within 10 degrees of the runways on both ends of the flights, so I didn't have much crosswind to wrestle with. But it did mean I had almost a direct crosswind for the cruising portion of the flights. It was quite fun actually, the upper winds were pushing 50-60 knots, which meant my wind drift was almost 30 degrees. You always have at least a few degrees of drift (the angle between the heading of the airplane and the actual path its travelling), but I don't think I've ever had as much as I did today. When flying I find it difficult to wrap my mind around pointing the airplane 30 degrees to one side of where I actually want to end up. Its unintuitive to keep where you want to go that far away from directly in front of you. Once I had the airport in sight I had to resist the urge to steer directly towards it.
Since the winds were so strong I couldn't resist the chance to see if I could slow the airplane down, and turn it into the wind to see if I could stop the airplane in midair altogether. The slowest I managed was 8 knots groundspeed on the GPS, which pretty much looks and feels like a standstill looking out the window. The 206 with its Robinson STOL kit can land and stop in an impressively short distance to begin with, but today with the winds I could have it down and stopped in under 100 ft with full flaps and a nice slow approach speed. What fun!
The high winds picked up as the day went on as a result of a low pressure system moving in from the north. I could see the weather system moving in on on the trip before, the winds were getting quite strong, and we were pretty much out of daylight, so when I taxied in I figured we call it day. Normally we would have called it quits, but the next load included some electrical supplies, which HAD to be there that night. Apparently there was an electrician that had been flown up the coast and he was leaving the next day, so I agreed to brave the winds, rain (which didn't turn out to be that bad), and darkness to get the job done. Technically we're a day only operation, but we can fly the airplane just like a private operator for repositioning flights and such when there isn't any paying passengers or freight onboard. So I had to make it up north with the load before official night-time, and the flight on the way back which would be empty would be legal to make.
It made me think about the idea of managed risk. Its the essence of commercial aviation. In one sense you always want to mitigate the risk as much as possible, but at the same time there is a job to do, and customers that are counting on you. Private pilots have the luxury of just deciding not to go flying if the weather isn't exactly how they like it, but its a bit more of a delicate balance with commercial aviation. In this case NORMALLY we wouldn't have made the flight, cause they can usually wait a day or two for more pop and chips, but today they couldn't wait on the electrical supplies - at least not without incurring a great deal more expense. So I thought about where do we draw the line? By doing the flight both the company and myself were exposing ourselves to a certain amount of MORE risk/danger than usual, but we were still charging the same amount for the trip, and the consequences would still be exactly the same if I bent up the airplane (ie. expensive repairs/possible injury). So why did we make an exception for this flight? At first it seemed like we should decide on an acceptable level of risk and never cross that line under any circumstances, regardless of the urgency. If the immediate rewards were still the same (in the form of X number of dollars paid for completing the trip), why increase the risk?
I came to the conclusion that its not always that simple. Sometimes its just good business sense to increase the acceptable level of risk in certain conditions. Like I said, the essence of commercial aviation is to manage the risk, not to cap it. In that case I was still very sure I could make the flight safely, as was my boss, so that temporary increased risk was worth the reward, intangible as it may be, of proving ourselves able to be counted on by our customers. From a business standpoint that makes the difference. If it was just another usual pop and chips run that could wait, it wouldn't make sense to expose ourselves to the increased risk, because it wouldn't make such a big impression on the customer. But when it mattered to the customer, it mattered that we came through, and as a result will be around for that customer to call on us again to use our service. Safety is always counter balanced by running a viable business. If we cancelled flights too much out of "safety", the company would go under eventually. In the other sense, running a viable business also to some extent contributes to safety. If a company crashed or bent up an airplane every week it wouldn't take long to go bankrupt. Obviously there's a threshold where it just isn't worth the risk, but that threshold can be different for every flight.
I joked once that I was going to start up a competing company to the one I work for now. My fleet would comprise of Cessna 150's cause they're cheap (I'd operate them two-crew, for safety of course). That way in addition to not doing any sort of maintenance whatsoever, and hiring extremely low time pilots at minimum wage, I'd be able to offer much lower prices than my competitors. When an engine seized up or a wing fell off out of lack of maintenance and crashed in the bush I'd just buy another Cessna 150 and hire a couple more pilots. Its the perfect business plan... right? Anyways back to the serious discussion.
Flying freight in higher-risk situations is one thing, but what about exposing passengers to increased risk? That can sometimes be a tricky situation. When I'm flying freight the only one that's exposed to that higher level of risk is me, and I have the ultimate go/no decision, and I'm well aquainted with the level of risk for that particular flight. Not so with passengers. Most passengers would have no idea of the level of risk that they're being exposed to, and generally trust 100% that they're not being put in harms way. Luckily I found however, is that MOST of the time that works itself out, simply by the fact that flying in weather that increases the the level of risk an appreciable amount, is weather that is far beyond the level where most passengers would be scared crapless. Usually when its a passenger trip with questionable weather we cancel the flight out of fear that the passengers would be airsick, or scared crapless, or otherwise be convinced we're crazy to go flying (and choose not to fly with us again) long before we'd cancel the trip out of a genuine risk to safety. So in that sense consideration for our passengers' sanity (so they DO fly with us again) generally prevents the need to asses the actual risk to safety.
I'm essentially separated from the business side of the decisions, so I never have to weigh the safety vs. the business gain. Its a good thing, I've come to realize a long time ago I'm not a very good businessman. My job is JUST being the pilot. Somebody else gets to decide whether or not it would make good business sense to try to attempt the flight. That doesn't mean my fate is left to someone else though, or that I just skip the decision making process altogether. My job IS the pilot. Its still my right and responsibility to consider whether "I" think I can do it safely or not. I don't have to consider the business ramifications however, my decision is based almost entirely on if I'm gonna come back alive or not. In practice however most of this is all just theory, because my employers are ALL pilot's themselves, so they can generally make a pretty good decision all on their own, with the exceptions that sometimes they need input from me on current weather conditions (since they can't see it for themselves from the airplane) and my particular skill-level (although by now they know my skill-level fairly well).
So that was my thought process provoked by the flight today. Writing it down may have been long-winded and far too over-analytical for the actual importance of the event, but I won't apologize. Its my blog.
It was windy today. Very windy. Gusts on the surface started out strong, and got stronger as the day went on, but I was lucky in that the wind direction was lined up within 10 degrees of the runways on both ends of the flights, so I didn't have much crosswind to wrestle with. But it did mean I had almost a direct crosswind for the cruising portion of the flights. It was quite fun actually, the upper winds were pushing 50-60 knots, which meant my wind drift was almost 30 degrees. You always have at least a few degrees of drift (the angle between the heading of the airplane and the actual path its travelling), but I don't think I've ever had as much as I did today. When flying I find it difficult to wrap my mind around pointing the airplane 30 degrees to one side of where I actually want to end up. Its unintuitive to keep where you want to go that far away from directly in front of you. Once I had the airport in sight I had to resist the urge to steer directly towards it.
Since the winds were so strong I couldn't resist the chance to see if I could slow the airplane down, and turn it into the wind to see if I could stop the airplane in midair altogether. The slowest I managed was 8 knots groundspeed on the GPS, which pretty much looks and feels like a standstill looking out the window. The 206 with its Robinson STOL kit can land and stop in an impressively short distance to begin with, but today with the winds I could have it down and stopped in under 100 ft with full flaps and a nice slow approach speed. What fun!
The high winds picked up as the day went on as a result of a low pressure system moving in from the north. I could see the weather system moving in on on the trip before, the winds were getting quite strong, and we were pretty much out of daylight, so when I taxied in I figured we call it day. Normally we would have called it quits, but the next load included some electrical supplies, which HAD to be there that night. Apparently there was an electrician that had been flown up the coast and he was leaving the next day, so I agreed to brave the winds, rain (which didn't turn out to be that bad), and darkness to get the job done. Technically we're a day only operation, but we can fly the airplane just like a private operator for repositioning flights and such when there isn't any paying passengers or freight onboard. So I had to make it up north with the load before official night-time, and the flight on the way back which would be empty would be legal to make.
It made me think about the idea of managed risk. Its the essence of commercial aviation. In one sense you always want to mitigate the risk as much as possible, but at the same time there is a job to do, and customers that are counting on you. Private pilots have the luxury of just deciding not to go flying if the weather isn't exactly how they like it, but its a bit more of a delicate balance with commercial aviation. In this case NORMALLY we wouldn't have made the flight, cause they can usually wait a day or two for more pop and chips, but today they couldn't wait on the electrical supplies - at least not without incurring a great deal more expense. So I thought about where do we draw the line? By doing the flight both the company and myself were exposing ourselves to a certain amount of MORE risk/danger than usual, but we were still charging the same amount for the trip, and the consequences would still be exactly the same if I bent up the airplane (ie. expensive repairs/possible injury). So why did we make an exception for this flight? At first it seemed like we should decide on an acceptable level of risk and never cross that line under any circumstances, regardless of the urgency. If the immediate rewards were still the same (in the form of X number of dollars paid for completing the trip), why increase the risk?
I came to the conclusion that its not always that simple. Sometimes its just good business sense to increase the acceptable level of risk in certain conditions. Like I said, the essence of commercial aviation is to manage the risk, not to cap it. In that case I was still very sure I could make the flight safely, as was my boss, so that temporary increased risk was worth the reward, intangible as it may be, of proving ourselves able to be counted on by our customers. From a business standpoint that makes the difference. If it was just another usual pop and chips run that could wait, it wouldn't make sense to expose ourselves to the increased risk, because it wouldn't make such a big impression on the customer. But when it mattered to the customer, it mattered that we came through, and as a result will be around for that customer to call on us again to use our service. Safety is always counter balanced by running a viable business. If we cancelled flights too much out of "safety", the company would go under eventually. In the other sense, running a viable business also to some extent contributes to safety. If a company crashed or bent up an airplane every week it wouldn't take long to go bankrupt. Obviously there's a threshold where it just isn't worth the risk, but that threshold can be different for every flight.
I joked once that I was going to start up a competing company to the one I work for now. My fleet would comprise of Cessna 150's cause they're cheap (I'd operate them two-crew, for safety of course). That way in addition to not doing any sort of maintenance whatsoever, and hiring extremely low time pilots at minimum wage, I'd be able to offer much lower prices than my competitors. When an engine seized up or a wing fell off out of lack of maintenance and crashed in the bush I'd just buy another Cessna 150 and hire a couple more pilots. Its the perfect business plan... right? Anyways back to the serious discussion.
Flying freight in higher-risk situations is one thing, but what about exposing passengers to increased risk? That can sometimes be a tricky situation. When I'm flying freight the only one that's exposed to that higher level of risk is me, and I have the ultimate go/no decision, and I'm well aquainted with the level of risk for that particular flight. Not so with passengers. Most passengers would have no idea of the level of risk that they're being exposed to, and generally trust 100% that they're not being put in harms way. Luckily I found however, is that MOST of the time that works itself out, simply by the fact that flying in weather that increases the the level of risk an appreciable amount, is weather that is far beyond the level where most passengers would be scared crapless. Usually when its a passenger trip with questionable weather we cancel the flight out of fear that the passengers would be airsick, or scared crapless, or otherwise be convinced we're crazy to go flying (and choose not to fly with us again) long before we'd cancel the trip out of a genuine risk to safety. So in that sense consideration for our passengers' sanity (so they DO fly with us again) generally prevents the need to asses the actual risk to safety.
I'm essentially separated from the business side of the decisions, so I never have to weigh the safety vs. the business gain. Its a good thing, I've come to realize a long time ago I'm not a very good businessman. My job is JUST being the pilot. Somebody else gets to decide whether or not it would make good business sense to try to attempt the flight. That doesn't mean my fate is left to someone else though, or that I just skip the decision making process altogether. My job IS the pilot. Its still my right and responsibility to consider whether "I" think I can do it safely or not. I don't have to consider the business ramifications however, my decision is based almost entirely on if I'm gonna come back alive or not. In practice however most of this is all just theory, because my employers are ALL pilot's themselves, so they can generally make a pretty good decision all on their own, with the exceptions that sometimes they need input from me on current weather conditions (since they can't see it for themselves from the airplane) and my particular skill-level (although by now they know my skill-level fairly well).
So that was my thought process provoked by the flight today. Writing it down may have been long-winded and far too over-analytical for the actual importance of the event, but I won't apologize. Its my blog.
Thursday, November 5, 2009
Just One of Those Days
We had 4 inches of snow last night. I had some flights I was supposed to do in the morning around 8:30, but the boss said if the weather doesn't look great when I wake up just go back to bed. Sounds good to me. Sure enough as my alarm went off this morning I got up and peaked out the window. I was surprised to see the winter wonderland out the window, but it didn't look to good for flying. Just to be sure I checked the weather reports, and they confirmed the Mark 1 Weather Observation System (aka living room window), so I crawled back under the gloriously warm blankets.
About an hour or so later the boss knocked on my door as per usual and said the weather's looking better, so to be ready in a half hour. We were supposed to have a couple freight trips, but we didn't end up getting all of the freight for one of the trips, so that's been pushed till tomorrow, so I just had the one, and then I had one pax trip after the train arrived in the afternoon.
The Cherokee is down south for maintenance, so I'm flying the C206 in the meantime. I've got almost 50 hrs in it now, and its starting to grow on me, but I think I still like the Cherokee a better. The 206 is just so awkward to climb into. You have to move the seat all the way back, then climb in by vaulting off the tire, and somehow squeeze your feet through the 6" space between the seat and the front of the door openning. Then you have to slide the seat forward, watching that you don't tangle your feet in the dangling headset wires in the process. Before you do that however you have to latch the back cargo door, which can only be done from the inside. Not a big deal if you have a full load of passengers, you can just get them to do it, but if the back of the airplane is all loaded up with freight you have to go in from the front door, somehow reach across the airplane through/over the baggage, feel for the handle, and latch it (you'll have to do that again to unlatch it). Boarding was not a top priority on the engineer's design features for Cessnas.
We got out to the airport, and thankfully it was still well below zero the snow was dry and fluffy so it was just a matter of pulling the wing covers off and then brushing off the rest of the airplane. No scraping ice. We also ended up waiting 15 min or so for the freight to be delivered out to the airplane, so I got a chance to brush the snow off the Twin Comanche as well. Better to do it now than when it warms up a few degrees and turns crusty. The first trip was uneventful. After I came back we still had a couple hours until the train came in so I had a chance to go home and get something to eat before I headed out for my second trip.
The second trip was two adults, both large people, with a baby and a small toddler, and a TON of stuff. It was awkward stuff to pack too. Things like a shovel, a baby basket and a sled as well as the usual boxes and bags. Finally we managed to pack it all in and squeeze the doors shut. The packing job was a work of art. Next came loading the passengers in from the other door. I keep my flight bag in between the two front seats, but that presents a problem for the front seat passenger in boarding since he has to climb over the pilot seat into the front right seat, so I pulled my bag out and put it on the ground beside the airplane. I'll throw it back in after my front passenger has boarded and then I'll be the last to climb in myself. The woman climbed in and got seated in the back, and I waited to host the toddler up onto her lap as she dug around for her seatbelt. She found the one strap, but couldn't locate the other one. I tried to poke my head in and help her dig around to find it, but with no luck. It must have been buried under the bags packed beside the seat. I couldn't get it with her still seated, so she had to extricate herself from the airplane so I could better dig my hands under the bags and pull it out. Still no luck, I couldn't find it. I did however find the rung that it should have been attached to, so that means it wasn't there. Dang. So I wormed my arm through the stacks of cargo to unlatch the back door, and then walked around to the other side of the airplane to see if I could dig up the seatbelt. I tried rustling around with my hand wedged under all the cargo to find it, but still had no luck, so getting quite frusterated, started UNPACKING the back of the airplane again to locate the missing seatbelt strap. I ended up unpacking the entire airplane, because the strap must have somehow come loose during the previous freight trip and been thrown by someone to the very tail end of the cabin.
In a hurried frusteration I started REPACKING the airplane again. It wasn't quite the work of art that it was the first time, but still managed to get it all in there. Time for take two. Once again I closed the door and walked back around to start the boarding process again. Somehow try to latch the back door, load the back passenger, get her belted in, hand her the toddler. Hold the baby while the front passenger climbs in. I've held so many babies this year than I ever thought I would. I used to generally avoid holding babies cause I had never really done it before, but its kind of a requirement of the job here. Apparently I'm doing something right because when the father handed him to me he was crying away, but as soon as I took him in my arms he stopped instantly, lol. Finally everyone was good to go, so I hauled myself up into the airplane. I got seated, and was just about to put my seatbelt on when the passenger in the back piped up, "What about your briefcase?" Aww frig, there it is, still sitting on the ground beside the airplane, out of arms reach. So I extricated myself from the airplane to retrieve my bag, stuffed it between the seats, and climbed back in. I'm glad she said something. I probably would have started up the airplane, then reached for my notebook to record the time, and done the 'ol slap the forehead routine. What a gong show. FINALLY everyone was aboard, the doors were closed, and we were ready to go. Just one of those days.
About an hour or so later the boss knocked on my door as per usual and said the weather's looking better, so to be ready in a half hour. We were supposed to have a couple freight trips, but we didn't end up getting all of the freight for one of the trips, so that's been pushed till tomorrow, so I just had the one, and then I had one pax trip after the train arrived in the afternoon.
The Cherokee is down south for maintenance, so I'm flying the C206 in the meantime. I've got almost 50 hrs in it now, and its starting to grow on me, but I think I still like the Cherokee a better. The 206 is just so awkward to climb into. You have to move the seat all the way back, then climb in by vaulting off the tire, and somehow squeeze your feet through the 6" space between the seat and the front of the door openning. Then you have to slide the seat forward, watching that you don't tangle your feet in the dangling headset wires in the process. Before you do that however you have to latch the back cargo door, which can only be done from the inside. Not a big deal if you have a full load of passengers, you can just get them to do it, but if the back of the airplane is all loaded up with freight you have to go in from the front door, somehow reach across the airplane through/over the baggage, feel for the handle, and latch it (you'll have to do that again to unlatch it). Boarding was not a top priority on the engineer's design features for Cessnas.
We got out to the airport, and thankfully it was still well below zero the snow was dry and fluffy so it was just a matter of pulling the wing covers off and then brushing off the rest of the airplane. No scraping ice. We also ended up waiting 15 min or so for the freight to be delivered out to the airplane, so I got a chance to brush the snow off the Twin Comanche as well. Better to do it now than when it warms up a few degrees and turns crusty. The first trip was uneventful. After I came back we still had a couple hours until the train came in so I had a chance to go home and get something to eat before I headed out for my second trip.
The second trip was two adults, both large people, with a baby and a small toddler, and a TON of stuff. It was awkward stuff to pack too. Things like a shovel, a baby basket and a sled as well as the usual boxes and bags. Finally we managed to pack it all in and squeeze the doors shut. The packing job was a work of art. Next came loading the passengers in from the other door. I keep my flight bag in between the two front seats, but that presents a problem for the front seat passenger in boarding since he has to climb over the pilot seat into the front right seat, so I pulled my bag out and put it on the ground beside the airplane. I'll throw it back in after my front passenger has boarded and then I'll be the last to climb in myself. The woman climbed in and got seated in the back, and I waited to host the toddler up onto her lap as she dug around for her seatbelt. She found the one strap, but couldn't locate the other one. I tried to poke my head in and help her dig around to find it, but with no luck. It must have been buried under the bags packed beside the seat. I couldn't get it with her still seated, so she had to extricate herself from the airplane so I could better dig my hands under the bags and pull it out. Still no luck, I couldn't find it. I did however find the rung that it should have been attached to, so that means it wasn't there. Dang. So I wormed my arm through the stacks of cargo to unlatch the back door, and then walked around to the other side of the airplane to see if I could dig up the seatbelt. I tried rustling around with my hand wedged under all the cargo to find it, but still had no luck, so getting quite frusterated, started UNPACKING the back of the airplane again to locate the missing seatbelt strap. I ended up unpacking the entire airplane, because the strap must have somehow come loose during the previous freight trip and been thrown by someone to the very tail end of the cabin.
In a hurried frusteration I started REPACKING the airplane again. It wasn't quite the work of art that it was the first time, but still managed to get it all in there. Time for take two. Once again I closed the door and walked back around to start the boarding process again. Somehow try to latch the back door, load the back passenger, get her belted in, hand her the toddler. Hold the baby while the front passenger climbs in. I've held so many babies this year than I ever thought I would. I used to generally avoid holding babies cause I had never really done it before, but its kind of a requirement of the job here. Apparently I'm doing something right because when the father handed him to me he was crying away, but as soon as I took him in my arms he stopped instantly, lol. Finally everyone was good to go, so I hauled myself up into the airplane. I got seated, and was just about to put my seatbelt on when the passenger in the back piped up, "What about your briefcase?" Aww frig, there it is, still sitting on the ground beside the airplane, out of arms reach. So I extricated myself from the airplane to retrieve my bag, stuffed it between the seats, and climbed back in. I'm glad she said something. I probably would have started up the airplane, then reached for my notebook to record the time, and done the 'ol slap the forehead routine. What a gong show. FINALLY everyone was aboard, the doors were closed, and we were ready to go. Just one of those days.
Sunday, October 25, 2009
Winter Flying is Here
So winter arrived for real yesterday. We got about 2 inches of snow over the course of yesterday and last night. As the afternoon rolled around my boss came by to tell me the weather looked ok to try some flights. We had a couple trips booked.
When I got out to the airport they had the Cherokee fueled and loaded up and the wing covers off already. I had to take one passenger and a load of the usual freight up to the usual destination. The AWOS was calling 1500 ft ceilings and good visibility before I took off, with the surface temperature just above freezing. I took off into a crisp 13 kt wind directly down the runway. Most of the flight we went through some mist/drizzle, so I stayed at 500 ft, knowing that the temperature up above would probably dip just below freezing, making the drizzle turn into icing conditions. I was sure to be vigilant in checking for carburetor icing. Carburetors have the interesting property of being able to ice up even in atmospheric temperatures well above freezing. Carburetors employ a bernoulli effect to create a lower pressure and draw up the fuel and mix it with the air. A side effect of this air pressure lowering is a cooling effect on the air. So even though outside air temperatures may be above freezing, its quite possible that the air in the carburetor is well below freezing temperatures.
As I left the airport area I passed the local Navajo coming back from where I was going. We gave each other a quick call to make sure we were safely separated, and he also let me know conditions up the coast were about 1500 ft ceilings, good vis underneath, with the winds on a direct crosswind to the runway. The winds weren't too strong, and I touched down lightly on a slushly and soggy gravel runway, with two tiny snow piles plowed alongside the runway.
I dropped off my passenger and unloaded the freight tromping around on the slushy gravel. I bought some winter boots about a week ago when I was down south for the last inspection, and today I was glad I did, my feet stayed warm and dry. They're kind of like a high hiking boot except with a fully rubberized foot section so they're fully waterproof up to about 3 inches, but the lace and toungue section is also fully attached to make them near-waterproof up to the full height of the boot. My summer-weight hiking boots I've been wearing all summer are cracked in the bottom of the rubber sole and no longer waterproof in the least. For the price I paid they didn't hold up to much actually, they started cracking like that 4 months after I bought them, and I haven't really abused them in the least. Don't ever buy Prospector brand boots, waste of $120. Pieces.of.crap. Hopefully my new winter Columbia brand boots hold up better. They were regular $76, but when I took them to the counter to pay for them, surprise! They were on sale for $60. Sweet deal.
Anyways, once again the cops were there to do a quick search. They've really been cracking down. They've been at the airport almost every time I've been there the last few weeks. Its good.
I took off and climbed out to head back south. I knew for the second trip since it was getting late in the day it would cool down a few degrees more, so I decided to do some experimenting and climb up to 1500 hr ft, where it would be cooler, and I could simulate what the misty conditions would do on my second trip back up north in the cooler weather. Sure enough as the temp dropped below 0 the water droplets on the window would start to freeze. That's icing, so I went back down lower where we were still in the positive temps. By the time I had made it back further south and temperature had already dropped a couple of degrees, and even at 500 it was -1. I checked the AWOS and the surface temp was reported as being right on 0.
My windshield had started collecting trace amounts of ice even down at 500 ft. I wasn't going through the drizzle for the entire flight, so the ice would collect on the windshield for a few minutes, and then sublimate off, then collect some more etc, so I never got a build-up any thicker than just a paper-thin layer, but it was icing nonetheless. I landed and my boss pulled up with another passenger with him and asked me how the weather was. I told him about the icing.
"Oh, well thats not too good, I guess we'll try the second trip in the morning."
So that was it for the day, he turned around to take the passengers back while I pushed the airplane back into its parking spot, refueled it and put the engine blanket back on. There was still a thin layer of clear ice covering the leading edges of the wings. It was only maybe the thickness of 2 or 3 pieces of paper - not thick enough to see from the cockpit with no sun to glint off of it, but it was still cool to see it up close. I've picked up a little bit of icing a couple times before in the last month, but its always been above 0 degrees on the ground and so had melted off and disappeared before I had a chance to look at it from outside the cockpit.
When I got out to the airport they had the Cherokee fueled and loaded up and the wing covers off already. I had to take one passenger and a load of the usual freight up to the usual destination. The AWOS was calling 1500 ft ceilings and good visibility before I took off, with the surface temperature just above freezing. I took off into a crisp 13 kt wind directly down the runway. Most of the flight we went through some mist/drizzle, so I stayed at 500 ft, knowing that the temperature up above would probably dip just below freezing, making the drizzle turn into icing conditions. I was sure to be vigilant in checking for carburetor icing. Carburetors have the interesting property of being able to ice up even in atmospheric temperatures well above freezing. Carburetors employ a bernoulli effect to create a lower pressure and draw up the fuel and mix it with the air. A side effect of this air pressure lowering is a cooling effect on the air. So even though outside air temperatures may be above freezing, its quite possible that the air in the carburetor is well below freezing temperatures.
As I left the airport area I passed the local Navajo coming back from where I was going. We gave each other a quick call to make sure we were safely separated, and he also let me know conditions up the coast were about 1500 ft ceilings, good vis underneath, with the winds on a direct crosswind to the runway. The winds weren't too strong, and I touched down lightly on a slushly and soggy gravel runway, with two tiny snow piles plowed alongside the runway.
I dropped off my passenger and unloaded the freight tromping around on the slushy gravel. I bought some winter boots about a week ago when I was down south for the last inspection, and today I was glad I did, my feet stayed warm and dry. They're kind of like a high hiking boot except with a fully rubberized foot section so they're fully waterproof up to about 3 inches, but the lace and toungue section is also fully attached to make them near-waterproof up to the full height of the boot. My summer-weight hiking boots I've been wearing all summer are cracked in the bottom of the rubber sole and no longer waterproof in the least. For the price I paid they didn't hold up to much actually, they started cracking like that 4 months after I bought them, and I haven't really abused them in the least. Don't ever buy Prospector brand boots, waste of $120. Pieces.of.crap. Hopefully my new winter Columbia brand boots hold up better. They were regular $76, but when I took them to the counter to pay for them, surprise! They were on sale for $60. Sweet deal.
Anyways, once again the cops were there to do a quick search. They've really been cracking down. They've been at the airport almost every time I've been there the last few weeks. Its good.
I took off and climbed out to head back south. I knew for the second trip since it was getting late in the day it would cool down a few degrees more, so I decided to do some experimenting and climb up to 1500 hr ft, where it would be cooler, and I could simulate what the misty conditions would do on my second trip back up north in the cooler weather. Sure enough as the temp dropped below 0 the water droplets on the window would start to freeze. That's icing, so I went back down lower where we were still in the positive temps. By the time I had made it back further south and temperature had already dropped a couple of degrees, and even at 500 it was -1. I checked the AWOS and the surface temp was reported as being right on 0.
My windshield had started collecting trace amounts of ice even down at 500 ft. I wasn't going through the drizzle for the entire flight, so the ice would collect on the windshield for a few minutes, and then sublimate off, then collect some more etc, so I never got a build-up any thicker than just a paper-thin layer, but it was icing nonetheless. I landed and my boss pulled up with another passenger with him and asked me how the weather was. I told him about the icing.
"Oh, well thats not too good, I guess we'll try the second trip in the morning."
So that was it for the day, he turned around to take the passengers back while I pushed the airplane back into its parking spot, refueled it and put the engine blanket back on. There was still a thin layer of clear ice covering the leading edges of the wings. It was only maybe the thickness of 2 or 3 pieces of paper - not thick enough to see from the cockpit with no sun to glint off of it, but it was still cool to see it up close. I've picked up a little bit of icing a couple times before in the last month, but its always been above 0 degrees on the ground and so had melted off and disappeared before I had a chance to look at it from outside the cockpit.
Just a Few Terms
I've been asked by a couple of my non-pilot readers a few weeks back now to post some explanations of some of the aviation abbreviations and terms that I use often. So I went back through some of my posts and picked out all my commonly used terms that I don't usually provide explanations for directly in the posts, so here they are:
AWOS - Automated Weather Observing System. This is a radio broadcast that repeats every couple minutes with the current weather report for that particular airport. The pilot usually tunes it in to listen to prior to takeoff and while he's approaching the airport to land. The report includes all the weather items included in a METAR (see below)
GFA - Graphic Forecast Area. This is a regional weather chart that depicts current and forecast weather (up to 12 hrs ahead) in a picture format. It displays weather systems moving through the area and describes the resulting weather.
METAR - I have no idea what the letters stand for, I think its a french derivative. This is the hourly weather observations that are given at certain airports equipped with weather stations. It reports winds, visibility, type and intensity of precipitation, cloud layers, temperature, dewpoint, and altimeter setting (atmopsheric pressure).
PAPI/APAPI - Precision Approach Path Indicator/Abbreviated PAPI. These are at set of 4 lights (or two lights in the case of APAPI) that some runways have set up beside a runway which can indicate to an aircraft on approach whether he is on the correct glideslope or not. If 2 of the 4 lights are white and 2 are red, the approach path is on the correct angle, if they're are more red than white - too low. More white than red - too high.
PIC - Pilot in Command. Self Explanatory.
PIREP - Pilot Report. This just what it sounds like, but is usually in regards to weather conditions. Pilots can report weather conditions (to flight service) they experience during their flight. This PIREP is then logged in the system and can be used to advise other pilots of the conditions.
Radio Service - Sort of like Air Traffic Control with the difference that ATC issues instructions and clearances to the pilot, whereas a Radio Service is advisory in nature. A pilot will report his/her intentions, and the Radio Service will then relay that information to other pilots as well as any other information that might be useful to the pilots.
STOL - Short Takeoff and Landing. Generally in reference to aircraft specifically designed for operating out of short runways, or kits that can be installed on aircraft to improve the landing and take-off distances.
TAF - Terminal Aerodrome Forecast. Similiar in format to a METAR giving the same information, except that a TAF gives forecasted weather (up to 6 hrs in advance), not observed weather.
AWOS - Automated Weather Observing System. This is a radio broadcast that repeats every couple minutes with the current weather report for that particular airport. The pilot usually tunes it in to listen to prior to takeoff and while he's approaching the airport to land. The report includes all the weather items included in a METAR (see below)
GFA - Graphic Forecast Area. This is a regional weather chart that depicts current and forecast weather (up to 12 hrs ahead) in a picture format. It displays weather systems moving through the area and describes the resulting weather.
METAR - I have no idea what the letters stand for, I think its a french derivative. This is the hourly weather observations that are given at certain airports equipped with weather stations. It reports winds, visibility, type and intensity of precipitation, cloud layers, temperature, dewpoint, and altimeter setting (atmopsheric pressure).
PAPI/APAPI - Precision Approach Path Indicator/Abbreviated PAPI. These are at set of 4 lights (or two lights in the case of APAPI) that some runways have set up beside a runway which can indicate to an aircraft on approach whether he is on the correct glideslope or not. If 2 of the 4 lights are white and 2 are red, the approach path is on the correct angle, if they're are more red than white - too low. More white than red - too high.
PIC - Pilot in Command. Self Explanatory.
PIREP - Pilot Report. This just what it sounds like, but is usually in regards to weather conditions. Pilots can report weather conditions (to flight service) they experience during their flight. This PIREP is then logged in the system and can be used to advise other pilots of the conditions.
Radio Service - Sort of like Air Traffic Control with the difference that ATC issues instructions and clearances to the pilot, whereas a Radio Service is advisory in nature. A pilot will report his/her intentions, and the Radio Service will then relay that information to other pilots as well as any other information that might be useful to the pilots.
STOL - Short Takeoff and Landing. Generally in reference to aircraft specifically designed for operating out of short runways, or kits that can be installed on aircraft to improve the landing and take-off distances.
TAF - Terminal Aerodrome Forecast. Similiar in format to a METAR giving the same information, except that a TAF gives forecasted weather (up to 6 hrs in advance), not observed weather.
Friday, October 23, 2009
Random Ramblings
So no exciting stories to tell in this post, sorry folks, but I do feel the need to write something. So far October has been one of my busiest months yet for flying, which means lots of money for me, as I partly get paid by the mile. I figure by the 28th I'll have blown by July's record number of trips. Not that its actually busier for the company now than it was in July, but our summer temp pilot went home at the end of September, so now I don't have to share.
I got the latest Aviation Safety Letter, which I always enjoy reading. I got the publication on the way to the airport for my first flight of the morning, so I tucked it into my flight bag for a little in-flight reading if I got a chance. I wonder what would happen if I got in an accident while reading the newsletter... I can imagine the accident report: Cherokee 6 loss of control and subsequent flight into terrain. Aircraft destroyed and pilot, sole occupant, received serious injuries. Findings as to cause: Pilot's attention was diverted while attempting to remain a safe pilot by reading about safety issues in the Aviation Safety Newsletter, which contributed to loss of control of aircraft. Wouldn't that be ironic, if not unlikely.
This quarter's issue was actually quite interesting, there were some good stories, as well as a number of interesting accident synopses. There was the usual student in a Cessna 150 accident, there seems to be one in every report. This time it was a first-time solo student ending up off the runway and dinging the prop. Pretty standard stuff. Some other ones make you shake your head and ask "what was he thinking?", like a Cessna 310 pilot who was demonstrating a single engine approach and landing, who actually shut the engine down. During the approach, he found out too late that the remaining engine operating at full power wasn't enough to reach the airfield, and he crashed in a field 1 mile short of the runway. What was he thinking? Who actually shuts an engine down like that so close to the ground just for the heck of it? The report doesn't seem to indicate that the pilot was an instructor and the passenger a student... so was he just showing off? Real smooth...
There was also a private Beech Bonanza that had a gear up landing due to being distracted by chatting away on the radio all the way down to touchdown. Thats why the "sterile cockpit" rule was invented (aka don't talk while you're landing/taking off). I can understand how sometimes there can be distractions and it would be easy to forget to extend the landing gear, but at the same time I can't understand how it still happens, especially to people who own the airplane they fly, and know they have to pay for stuff they break. Personally for me when I fly the Twin Comanche, I consciously maintain a healthy state of paranoia during my approach, and verify the landing gear is down probably 4 or 5 times before I cross the runway threshold.
Then there's the accidents that are just plain bad luck, or just cases where the pilot accepted the calculated risk and the cards weren't in his favour, like the private Maule who tried landing on a grass strip. He did a low level pass to inspect the field first, and it looked good, but then he flipped over after touchdown. Bummer. Sorry about your luck.
I also feel sorry for the helicopter pilot whose rotor wash blew a sign loose off of a building and sucked it into the tail rotor. He managed to land safely however.
There was also a accident that seemed to ring familiar with an experience I had back when I flew my old C-150. A Piper Super Cub on skiis tried to take off in too deep of snow, and couldn't get enough speed, so he aborted the takeoff, and kicked the passenger out to try again. Not only did he not get off the ground the second time, but he also crashed into a crevasse and overturned. My experience wasn't nearly as extreme, but I can relate to how the pilot must have felt. I landed at a grass strip (on wheels) just north of London to pick up my cousin and take him for a flight. The runway was plenty long enough, 3000 ft, but after I landed I realized that the grass was very thick, probably 6 inches high, it hadn't been mowed in a couple weeks I guess. You get that feeling like, "oh crap hopefully I can get off the ground". We decided to give the takeoff a try with the both of us, but I had set a spot on the runway that was my go/no-go spot, if I wasn't off the ground by then I'd abort. It ended up being no problem at all, it took a longer take-off than normal, but we still got off the ground before my no-go spot, so it all worked out in the end. Unfortunately the ski pilot in the accident report wasn't so lucky. Such is aviation I guess.
In other news, its cold enough now that we're back to putting the engine blanket and wing covers onto the airplane every night so we don't have to scrape frost off in the morning. Its not really a big deal, but for some reason I just hate doing it. When I come in from my last flight of the day I just don't feel like tucking the airplane into bed, I just want to go home and eat dinner. I know, I'm a whiner. At least its a low wing airplane and they're easy to put on.
I got the latest Aviation Safety Letter, which I always enjoy reading. I got the publication on the way to the airport for my first flight of the morning, so I tucked it into my flight bag for a little in-flight reading if I got a chance. I wonder what would happen if I got in an accident while reading the newsletter... I can imagine the accident report: Cherokee 6 loss of control and subsequent flight into terrain. Aircraft destroyed and pilot, sole occupant, received serious injuries. Findings as to cause: Pilot's attention was diverted while attempting to remain a safe pilot by reading about safety issues in the Aviation Safety Newsletter, which contributed to loss of control of aircraft. Wouldn't that be ironic, if not unlikely.
This quarter's issue was actually quite interesting, there were some good stories, as well as a number of interesting accident synopses. There was the usual student in a Cessna 150 accident, there seems to be one in every report. This time it was a first-time solo student ending up off the runway and dinging the prop. Pretty standard stuff. Some other ones make you shake your head and ask "what was he thinking?", like a Cessna 310 pilot who was demonstrating a single engine approach and landing, who actually shut the engine down. During the approach, he found out too late that the remaining engine operating at full power wasn't enough to reach the airfield, and he crashed in a field 1 mile short of the runway. What was he thinking? Who actually shuts an engine down like that so close to the ground just for the heck of it? The report doesn't seem to indicate that the pilot was an instructor and the passenger a student... so was he just showing off? Real smooth...
There was also a private Beech Bonanza that had a gear up landing due to being distracted by chatting away on the radio all the way down to touchdown. Thats why the "sterile cockpit" rule was invented (aka don't talk while you're landing/taking off). I can understand how sometimes there can be distractions and it would be easy to forget to extend the landing gear, but at the same time I can't understand how it still happens, especially to people who own the airplane they fly, and know they have to pay for stuff they break. Personally for me when I fly the Twin Comanche, I consciously maintain a healthy state of paranoia during my approach, and verify the landing gear is down probably 4 or 5 times before I cross the runway threshold.
Then there's the accidents that are just plain bad luck, or just cases where the pilot accepted the calculated risk and the cards weren't in his favour, like the private Maule who tried landing on a grass strip. He did a low level pass to inspect the field first, and it looked good, but then he flipped over after touchdown. Bummer. Sorry about your luck.
I also feel sorry for the helicopter pilot whose rotor wash blew a sign loose off of a building and sucked it into the tail rotor. He managed to land safely however.
There was also a accident that seemed to ring familiar with an experience I had back when I flew my old C-150. A Piper Super Cub on skiis tried to take off in too deep of snow, and couldn't get enough speed, so he aborted the takeoff, and kicked the passenger out to try again. Not only did he not get off the ground the second time, but he also crashed into a crevasse and overturned. My experience wasn't nearly as extreme, but I can relate to how the pilot must have felt. I landed at a grass strip (on wheels) just north of London to pick up my cousin and take him for a flight. The runway was plenty long enough, 3000 ft, but after I landed I realized that the grass was very thick, probably 6 inches high, it hadn't been mowed in a couple weeks I guess. You get that feeling like, "oh crap hopefully I can get off the ground". We decided to give the takeoff a try with the both of us, but I had set a spot on the runway that was my go/no-go spot, if I wasn't off the ground by then I'd abort. It ended up being no problem at all, it took a longer take-off than normal, but we still got off the ground before my no-go spot, so it all worked out in the end. Unfortunately the ski pilot in the accident report wasn't so lucky. Such is aviation I guess.
In other news, its cold enough now that we're back to putting the engine blanket and wing covers onto the airplane every night so we don't have to scrape frost off in the morning. Its not really a big deal, but for some reason I just hate doing it. When I come in from my last flight of the day I just don't feel like tucking the airplane into bed, I just want to go home and eat dinner. I know, I'm a whiner. At least its a low wing airplane and they're easy to put on.
Monday, October 12, 2009
Thanksgiving Shakedown
Fall air is definitely here. I can smell that crispness in the air, and I'm starting to have to bundle up as well. I always bring more sweaters/coats then I have to because you never know how cold it might be 150 miles north, and it wouldn't hurt to have an extra layer of clothes handy if I end up on an unplanned night of camping in the middle of nowhere.
A few days ago I took the Twin Comanche up for some circuits. Its been a few weeks now since the engines have been fired up, and I had a bit of a craving for some twin flying. I just went up for 3 circuits, about a half hour flight which satisfied my fix and gave the engines a good workout. At one point there was a Dash-8 inbound and the radio service advised them that there was a "Cherokee 6" in the circuit. I almost felt like correcting them, but it was my last circuit, and in the big picture my airplane type didn't matter a whole lot in that situation. In the past they've also advised other traffic of a "Twin Comanche" when I've been flying the Cherokee. Its obvious they've made the connection that its the same pilot that flies the two different airplanes, and they key on the sound of my voice I suppose.
Today is the Thanksgiving Monday, and I had a couple flights today, so I didn't get a turkey dinner. Not that I would have if I didn't fly. To be honest its getting a little tiresome living up here being away from friends and family, and not having much to do other than rotate between watching TV, reading, and playing on the computer in my days off. I'm still really enjoying the flying, and I'm going to miss it over the winter, but despite that I'm counting the days on when I'll be home for the winter. I will get my fix of flying over the winter though in the form of IFR training. This winter I REALLY have to finish up my Instrument Rating. If I don't, my INRAT exam will expire and I'll be back to square one with that. I also want to have a shot at a twin-ifr job as well. I have almost 1200 hrs total time now, most of that being PIC time, with almost 200 of that being multi-PIC time as well, so I think I've got a pretty good shot at finding something half decent - hopefully. I'm sure how much good another year of single-engine VFR flying will do career-wise for me. I guess we'll see how it all plays out. Hopefully the industry gets a bit more momentum that it got this last spring.
My first flight today was a couple passengers to the usual destination up the coast. The weather was pretty good with only a broken-scattered layer at around 3500 ft, so enroute it was smooth sailing. When we were loading the airplane my boss mentioned with a bit of a wink in his eye that they didn't seem to have much stuff. Usually passengers load the airplane up stuffed to gross weight to get the most out of what they're paying for the charter. If they don't stuff the airplane, its sometimes a hint that the cargo they do have onboard MIGHT just be helping to pay for the trip in the form of contraband liquor. A couple weeks ago I took one passenger up the coast to the community across the river from the one I was going to today, and this one passenger only took with him 4 boxes and 1 50 lb bag of potatoes. Unfortunately for him, his daughter who was supposed to meet him at the airport didn't show up, so he took off to go hunt her down, and in the meantime, the local police showed up and searched the airplane. Turned out ALL of his boxes were nothing bud bottles of hard liquor. By the time they were finished all he had left that wasn't confiscated was his sack of potatoes. It was hilarious. In that case it was ridiculously obvious that he was trying to smuggle liquor. No one legitimately chartering an airplane only brings 5 small pieces of luggage and themselves with them, it just doesn't make financial sense. One of the officers there mentioned that catching that load before it got distributed meant avoiding lots of headaches. He said that 70% of the violence and trouble they have to deal with up there is a direct result of alchohol.
In the case today, there were two people going up, and they didn't have a ton of stuff, but they did have more than a few pieces, so I didn't think anything of it. Apparently my boss picked up on it though, since he made that comment. When we pulled into the ramp after landing sure enough there was a whole convey of vehicles waiting for us. There was a local police truck, an OPP SUV, and my passengers ride waiting for them. This was only the third time since I've been up here that the police in this town have shown up to search a suspected bootlegger flight, usually the local police don't seem to be that hardcore about searches, not in this community at least. The OPP are pretty hardcore though, you know that if they show up something is going down.
So we unloaded the airplane while all the vehicles surrounded the airplane and they all went to work at opening up the bins and boxes and rustling through the stuff. They also searched the passengers themselves, and I looked over laughed and shook my head when I saw one of the passengers with their foot up on the horizontal stab with her pantlegs pulled up and a bottle of vodka taped to her shins. Where am I. Actually they found quite a bit. By the end of it I counted around 14 bottles of vodka, and another 25 or so bottles of some sort of low-alchohol content cooler-type beverage. Quite the load. I figured the street value of all of that would probably be around $2000. So much for the profits they were hoping for, haha. Usually the cops just confiscate the alchohol and drive away, but this time in addition to the liquor, they also apparently found baggies of weed. Now they were in trouble. Long story short in addition to having the contraband confiscated, they also both got arrested. Well, sucks to be them, lol. Good thing this time we got paid for the flight before we took off. Once all the commotion had finished and the vehicles and people were safely away from the airplane, I started up and I was off heading back home for my next flight.
A few days ago I took the Twin Comanche up for some circuits. Its been a few weeks now since the engines have been fired up, and I had a bit of a craving for some twin flying. I just went up for 3 circuits, about a half hour flight which satisfied my fix and gave the engines a good workout. At one point there was a Dash-8 inbound and the radio service advised them that there was a "Cherokee 6" in the circuit. I almost felt like correcting them, but it was my last circuit, and in the big picture my airplane type didn't matter a whole lot in that situation. In the past they've also advised other traffic of a "Twin Comanche" when I've been flying the Cherokee. Its obvious they've made the connection that its the same pilot that flies the two different airplanes, and they key on the sound of my voice I suppose.
Today is the Thanksgiving Monday, and I had a couple flights today, so I didn't get a turkey dinner. Not that I would have if I didn't fly. To be honest its getting a little tiresome living up here being away from friends and family, and not having much to do other than rotate between watching TV, reading, and playing on the computer in my days off. I'm still really enjoying the flying, and I'm going to miss it over the winter, but despite that I'm counting the days on when I'll be home for the winter. I will get my fix of flying over the winter though in the form of IFR training. This winter I REALLY have to finish up my Instrument Rating. If I don't, my INRAT exam will expire and I'll be back to square one with that. I also want to have a shot at a twin-ifr job as well. I have almost 1200 hrs total time now, most of that being PIC time, with almost 200 of that being multi-PIC time as well, so I think I've got a pretty good shot at finding something half decent - hopefully. I'm sure how much good another year of single-engine VFR flying will do career-wise for me. I guess we'll see how it all plays out. Hopefully the industry gets a bit more momentum that it got this last spring.
My first flight today was a couple passengers to the usual destination up the coast. The weather was pretty good with only a broken-scattered layer at around 3500 ft, so enroute it was smooth sailing. When we were loading the airplane my boss mentioned with a bit of a wink in his eye that they didn't seem to have much stuff. Usually passengers load the airplane up stuffed to gross weight to get the most out of what they're paying for the charter. If they don't stuff the airplane, its sometimes a hint that the cargo they do have onboard MIGHT just be helping to pay for the trip in the form of contraband liquor. A couple weeks ago I took one passenger up the coast to the community across the river from the one I was going to today, and this one passenger only took with him 4 boxes and 1 50 lb bag of potatoes. Unfortunately for him, his daughter who was supposed to meet him at the airport didn't show up, so he took off to go hunt her down, and in the meantime, the local police showed up and searched the airplane. Turned out ALL of his boxes were nothing bud bottles of hard liquor. By the time they were finished all he had left that wasn't confiscated was his sack of potatoes. It was hilarious. In that case it was ridiculously obvious that he was trying to smuggle liquor. No one legitimately chartering an airplane only brings 5 small pieces of luggage and themselves with them, it just doesn't make financial sense. One of the officers there mentioned that catching that load before it got distributed meant avoiding lots of headaches. He said that 70% of the violence and trouble they have to deal with up there is a direct result of alchohol.
In the case today, there were two people going up, and they didn't have a ton of stuff, but they did have more than a few pieces, so I didn't think anything of it. Apparently my boss picked up on it though, since he made that comment. When we pulled into the ramp after landing sure enough there was a whole convey of vehicles waiting for us. There was a local police truck, an OPP SUV, and my passengers ride waiting for them. This was only the third time since I've been up here that the police in this town have shown up to search a suspected bootlegger flight, usually the local police don't seem to be that hardcore about searches, not in this community at least. The OPP are pretty hardcore though, you know that if they show up something is going down.
So we unloaded the airplane while all the vehicles surrounded the airplane and they all went to work at opening up the bins and boxes and rustling through the stuff. They also searched the passengers themselves, and I looked over laughed and shook my head when I saw one of the passengers with their foot up on the horizontal stab with her pantlegs pulled up and a bottle of vodka taped to her shins. Where am I. Actually they found quite a bit. By the end of it I counted around 14 bottles of vodka, and another 25 or so bottles of some sort of low-alchohol content cooler-type beverage. Quite the load. I figured the street value of all of that would probably be around $2000. So much for the profits they were hoping for, haha. Usually the cops just confiscate the alchohol and drive away, but this time in addition to the liquor, they also apparently found baggies of weed. Now they were in trouble. Long story short in addition to having the contraband confiscated, they also both got arrested. Well, sucks to be them, lol. Good thing this time we got paid for the flight before we took off. Once all the commotion had finished and the vehicles and people were safely away from the airplane, I started up and I was off heading back home for my next flight.
Friday, October 2, 2009
Fall Weather Flying
We've had really crappy weather lately. Monday I flew most of the day but we called it quits by late afternoon because the winds were getting too strong. Tues and Wed I sat around and did nothing because we had two full days of high winds and rain. Thursday morning was also not much good for flying due to poor vis and low cloud, so I only got 3 flights in the afternoon done, and most of those were spent bombing along through 3 miles vis at 400 ft.
Today, which is Friday, seemed like it might be pretty good, so we decided to get at it a little earlier to get as many fights as we could in. On the weekend they're also closing the airport where I do 80% of my flying into for runway resurfacing, so there's also the push from that to get as much as we can in today.
So I hauled myself out of bed this morning and did my morning routine: Sit around a for a couple minutes and wait for my brain to start functioning, check my email, check the weather, take a shower, have breakfast. There weren't any Low pressure systems or fronts moving in at all on the map, even though there might be a little bit of low vis, and the METAR was reporting just over 1000 ft overcast and 8 sm visibility. Not a great day for a joyride but enough to get 'er done.
Our first flight was a pax flight, so we got out to the airport and loaded the airplane and I got the preflight done. There was another company van coming after us with my load of passengers, but by the time I was ready they weren't here yet, so I hopped into the Cherokee to get to start it up and get it warmed up. Just as I was shutting down my pax load showed up so it ended up being pretty good timing. They had more luggage with them than what we had pre-loaded, so we had to take some stuff out and rearrange it so it was loaded properly.
As we taxied out for takeoff the AWOS was now reporting 8 sm vis and 600 ft overcast clouds. Worse then when I had checked it when I got up. Conditions were pretty much the same all the way up the coast. I dropped my passengers off, and headed back south with an empty airplane. As soon as I got within range to check the AWOS broadcast I tuned it in to see how the weather was doing. Sure enough it it had dropped even further down, now calling 500 ft overcast and 2 1/2 sm miles visibility. I'd have to get special VFR to get in to land, which is kind of like an IFR clearance to fly in lower weather conditions in the sense that in the type of control zone I was flying into, only one IFR/Special VFR aircraft would be allowed in the zone at one time.
I called up the radio service, advised my intentions and requested my Special VFR clearance. There was going to be a delay, since there was an IFR aircraft landing, and then another one waiting to take off. I had been listenning in on the frequency for a couple minutes beforehand, and was aware of the traffic, so I was expecting a delay, and let them know I'd orbit out of the way to the west of the field for the time being (orbit: basically a "hold" for VFR aircraft, just flying circles around a particular landmark).
"Roger, give me a call when you're 5 miles out."
Before I even made it to 5 miles out the aircraft that was waiting to depart called to cancel their flight and they needed to taxi back to the gate. Not sure why, could have been mechanical problems, or some sort of passenger issue, or maybe one of the pilots decided that had to go to the bathroom, and no they couldn't hold it. Anyways with the landing aircraft down and clear that left me free and clear. So before I even had to start my orbits, I got my clearance to enter the zone and land via Special VFR. Generally once a clearance is issued, any subsequent aircraft aircraft wishing also to obtain a clearance to take-off/enter the zone has to wait their turn... unless they're a medevac flight - they get priority over everybody. So sure enough, 4 miles out and a King Air 100 medevac called for their IFR departure clearance.
So my clearance got cancelled, and I had to orbit afterall. Okie dokie. This was actually a first for me, I've gone into a few different airports using Special VFR lots of times, but I've never yet had to wait. There's no real landmarks up here to orbit around, so I just flew circles between 4 and 5 miles NW of the field via my GPS, and I'll tell you, after 6 or 7 minutes of circling in poor visibility and close to the ground, I was thoroughly disoriented! I had lost all sense of which direction I had been heading, which direction I came from, and I no longer had that mental awareness of where I was relative to the field. It took a deliberate gaze at my GPS screen to "re-aquire" my mental position fix.
Soon enough the radio service was back calling me on the radio to re-issue me my Special VFR clearance. I had chose the NW of the field to orbit because the usual routes out of the the airport are to the North-North-East to head up the coast, or South to head to the usual southerly stop. The runway I intended to land on was also runway 06, which mean I needed to approach the airport from the west to land. The approach to that runway runs right alongside the river, which our little town runs along. In order to set up for my final approach for runway 06 I'd have to overfly the town. Now as you remember the ceilings were quite low. When I made my initial check of the AWOS, it was calling 500 ft, but now 15-20 minutes later after flying closer to the airport and then orbiting for 5-10 minutes it had dropped even lower, down to 300 ft overcast. In reality, at least about 3 miles to the SW of the field, the weather was more like 250 ft overcast and probably 1 1/2 miles visibility.
In that town area there's both an NDB radio tower, and a cellphone tower. I made sure I flew my base leg much further to SW to avoid overflying the town, both so I didn't smack into a radio tower, and because we're not really allowed to buzz town areas at heights lower then 1000 ft, except for the purpose of taking off and landing. I guess technically I was landing, so it would be ok. But 250 ft just seemed a little to low to me. Mainly I didn't want to cause people the inconvenience of no cellphone service. That would be tragic. So would fishing a dead pilot and busted airplane down from a cellphone tower.
Anyways I made sure not to overfly the town, and even though 4 miles away I couldn't see the airport yet, I knew I could just follow the riverbank right in to the runway threshold. So that's what I did. I got a nice tour of the town waterfront as I safely flew by over the water. I also saw my house, and my bosses house on the way by, as they are situated right on the riverbank. I wondered if they saw me as I buzzed by at 200 ft. Finally a little more than a mile out I could make out the runway APAPI lights (a set of two lights that turn red or white and give you and indication of glideslope). They were both red, meaning I was too low. Huh, no kidding. At what I figure to be just about a mile final the runway started to come into view. The winds were light and I managed to put it down just as soft as ever, if I do say so myself.
I taxied in, called the radio service advising "Down and clear", and shut down. The Ops Manager, my trusty dispatcher/boss rolled up with the fuel truck. "How's the weather?"
"Uhh, ya I think we're done for a bit."
Today, which is Friday, seemed like it might be pretty good, so we decided to get at it a little earlier to get as many fights as we could in. On the weekend they're also closing the airport where I do 80% of my flying into for runway resurfacing, so there's also the push from that to get as much as we can in today.
So I hauled myself out of bed this morning and did my morning routine: Sit around a for a couple minutes and wait for my brain to start functioning, check my email, check the weather, take a shower, have breakfast. There weren't any Low pressure systems or fronts moving in at all on the map, even though there might be a little bit of low vis, and the METAR was reporting just over 1000 ft overcast and 8 sm visibility. Not a great day for a joyride but enough to get 'er done.
Our first flight was a pax flight, so we got out to the airport and loaded the airplane and I got the preflight done. There was another company van coming after us with my load of passengers, but by the time I was ready they weren't here yet, so I hopped into the Cherokee to get to start it up and get it warmed up. Just as I was shutting down my pax load showed up so it ended up being pretty good timing. They had more luggage with them than what we had pre-loaded, so we had to take some stuff out and rearrange it so it was loaded properly.
As we taxied out for takeoff the AWOS was now reporting 8 sm vis and 600 ft overcast clouds. Worse then when I had checked it when I got up. Conditions were pretty much the same all the way up the coast. I dropped my passengers off, and headed back south with an empty airplane. As soon as I got within range to check the AWOS broadcast I tuned it in to see how the weather was doing. Sure enough it it had dropped even further down, now calling 500 ft overcast and 2 1/2 sm miles visibility. I'd have to get special VFR to get in to land, which is kind of like an IFR clearance to fly in lower weather conditions in the sense that in the type of control zone I was flying into, only one IFR/Special VFR aircraft would be allowed in the zone at one time.
I called up the radio service, advised my intentions and requested my Special VFR clearance. There was going to be a delay, since there was an IFR aircraft landing, and then another one waiting to take off. I had been listenning in on the frequency for a couple minutes beforehand, and was aware of the traffic, so I was expecting a delay, and let them know I'd orbit out of the way to the west of the field for the time being (orbit: basically a "hold" for VFR aircraft, just flying circles around a particular landmark).
"Roger, give me a call when you're 5 miles out."
Before I even made it to 5 miles out the aircraft that was waiting to depart called to cancel their flight and they needed to taxi back to the gate. Not sure why, could have been mechanical problems, or some sort of passenger issue, or maybe one of the pilots decided that had to go to the bathroom, and no they couldn't hold it. Anyways with the landing aircraft down and clear that left me free and clear. So before I even had to start my orbits, I got my clearance to enter the zone and land via Special VFR. Generally once a clearance is issued, any subsequent aircraft aircraft wishing also to obtain a clearance to take-off/enter the zone has to wait their turn... unless they're a medevac flight - they get priority over everybody. So sure enough, 4 miles out and a King Air 100 medevac called for their IFR departure clearance.
So my clearance got cancelled, and I had to orbit afterall. Okie dokie. This was actually a first for me, I've gone into a few different airports using Special VFR lots of times, but I've never yet had to wait. There's no real landmarks up here to orbit around, so I just flew circles between 4 and 5 miles NW of the field via my GPS, and I'll tell you, after 6 or 7 minutes of circling in poor visibility and close to the ground, I was thoroughly disoriented! I had lost all sense of which direction I had been heading, which direction I came from, and I no longer had that mental awareness of where I was relative to the field. It took a deliberate gaze at my GPS screen to "re-aquire" my mental position fix.
Soon enough the radio service was back calling me on the radio to re-issue me my Special VFR clearance. I had chose the NW of the field to orbit because the usual routes out of the the airport are to the North-North-East to head up the coast, or South to head to the usual southerly stop. The runway I intended to land on was also runway 06, which mean I needed to approach the airport from the west to land. The approach to that runway runs right alongside the river, which our little town runs along. In order to set up for my final approach for runway 06 I'd have to overfly the town. Now as you remember the ceilings were quite low. When I made my initial check of the AWOS, it was calling 500 ft, but now 15-20 minutes later after flying closer to the airport and then orbiting for 5-10 minutes it had dropped even lower, down to 300 ft overcast. In reality, at least about 3 miles to the SW of the field, the weather was more like 250 ft overcast and probably 1 1/2 miles visibility.
In that town area there's both an NDB radio tower, and a cellphone tower. I made sure I flew my base leg much further to SW to avoid overflying the town, both so I didn't smack into a radio tower, and because we're not really allowed to buzz town areas at heights lower then 1000 ft, except for the purpose of taking off and landing. I guess technically I was landing, so it would be ok. But 250 ft just seemed a little to low to me. Mainly I didn't want to cause people the inconvenience of no cellphone service. That would be tragic. So would fishing a dead pilot and busted airplane down from a cellphone tower.
Anyways I made sure not to overfly the town, and even though 4 miles away I couldn't see the airport yet, I knew I could just follow the riverbank right in to the runway threshold. So that's what I did. I got a nice tour of the town waterfront as I safely flew by over the water. I also saw my house, and my bosses house on the way by, as they are situated right on the riverbank. I wondered if they saw me as I buzzed by at 200 ft. Finally a little more than a mile out I could make out the runway APAPI lights (a set of two lights that turn red or white and give you and indication of glideslope). They were both red, meaning I was too low. Huh, no kidding. At what I figure to be just about a mile final the runway started to come into view. The winds were light and I managed to put it down just as soft as ever, if I do say so myself.
I taxied in, called the radio service advising "Down and clear", and shut down. The Ops Manager, my trusty dispatcher/boss rolled up with the fuel truck. "How's the weather?"
"Uhh, ya I think we're done for a bit."
Saturday, September 26, 2009
Making a Break for It
I had three flights today. I was going to have only 2, but the other pilot took the day off, so I got the one flight he was going to do. I'm not complaining, bring it on.
The day started out quite nice, somewhat warm, for the time of year at least, and only a harmless overcast layer which had all but broken up by my second flight. My third flight up the coast was an entirely different story however. All seemed well until about 20 miles south of my destination, where I could see a long line of dark clouds on the horizon. Wow that moved in fast, there was nothing like that visible on my last run, less than 2 hours ago. As I got closer things started to look worse and worse; there was a solid line of heavy rain moving in. I couldn't yet tell if it was still north of the field, or if the field was already drowned in it. My wondering was answered when the town came into view, ahead of line of heavy showers. The heavy stuff hadn't yet made it to where I was landing, but I was already starting to fly through spats of rain, the kind where the raindrops make a big splat on the window.
I turned final with the line only a couple miles off my right wing. It was apparent I was definitely going to get wet unloading the plane. Oh well, last flight of the day anyways, no big deal. FLASH! A big bolt of lightning struck the ground out my left window about a mile to the south of the field. Well that was... unexpected... but there wasn't much I could do at that point because I was already on final. I landed, and taxied in, and then the heavens just opened up. It POURED.
I only had my zip-up hoodie sweatshirt with me, so I put that on with the hopes that it would provide some sort of rain shield. We unloaded the airplane as fast as we could, but it didn't do much good, I was completely soaked through and standing in a 1 inch puddle before we even got the truck backed up.
There was also rumbling thunder and lightning flashing every few seconds while we were unloading, it was quite the storm actually, and I wondered how long I'd be stuck here, soaking wet, waiting for it to move off.
As our luck would have it though, the rain stopped just as soon as we finished unloading the airplane. The driver remarked in disdain that of course the rain would stop as soon as we were done unloading. I chuckled, but it was good news for me. I might be able to get out of here afterall. Once I was ready to go, I took a look to the north in the direction of where the storm came from, it didn't look like there was any more coming at least in the next couple minutes. I also looked to the south towards the stuff that had just passed us, and also in the direction I needed to go. As bad as the rain we got on the ground was, it looked like we even missed the worst of it, and there was an opening of sunlight that I could see, so I decided to give it a shot.
I took off and made a break for the patch of hope. On both my left and right were two storm cells with so much rain, it couldn't have been more then 1 or 2 miles visibility inside. I could also see the occasional lightning strike flash inside as well. I'm definitely staying out of those, but between them was a brilliant glimmer of bright blue sky. What I wouldn't do for a stormscope right now! The company bought a second Cherokee 6 back in June, which still isn't ready to go yet (waiting for the engine, but it should be any day now), but its equipped with a stormscope. Its a WX-8, which is a slightly different model than the one I have in my Twin Comanche (a WX-10), so I've been itching to try it out, and today would have been perfect. I doubt that there will be any more summer storms by the time the new Cherokee is online though.
Five minutes later I was out of the worst it, so I could relax, and another 5 minutes after that I was back in the sun, as if it had always been a beautiful day! I filed a PIREP of the weather conditions with the radio service when I approached home. It wasn't a busy day today, so I was likely the first/only aircraft to have encountered the conditions, and of course there aren't any weather stations other than the airport I'm based out of. In a way I actually enjoy that part of my job up here. Flying down south there are weather stations all over the place, so before you take off you can know with a fair degree of accuracy the weather that you're going to encounter along the way, but up here, except for our GFA charts (a regional weather map, which depicts likely conditions), which are often vague, or downright wrong, there's nothing. So when we take off for a trip to the north its very much flying into unknown conditions. Quite exciting, and it gives me that little taste of "frontier bush pilot". I'd love to do some of the winter ski trips into the bush with the Cessna 206, but I haven't had the opportunity yet, since I've only been up here since April, which was when the bush trips were just finishing up.
The day started out quite nice, somewhat warm, for the time of year at least, and only a harmless overcast layer which had all but broken up by my second flight. My third flight up the coast was an entirely different story however. All seemed well until about 20 miles south of my destination, where I could see a long line of dark clouds on the horizon. Wow that moved in fast, there was nothing like that visible on my last run, less than 2 hours ago. As I got closer things started to look worse and worse; there was a solid line of heavy rain moving in. I couldn't yet tell if it was still north of the field, or if the field was already drowned in it. My wondering was answered when the town came into view, ahead of line of heavy showers. The heavy stuff hadn't yet made it to where I was landing, but I was already starting to fly through spats of rain, the kind where the raindrops make a big splat on the window.
I turned final with the line only a couple miles off my right wing. It was apparent I was definitely going to get wet unloading the plane. Oh well, last flight of the day anyways, no big deal. FLASH! A big bolt of lightning struck the ground out my left window about a mile to the south of the field. Well that was... unexpected... but there wasn't much I could do at that point because I was already on final. I landed, and taxied in, and then the heavens just opened up. It POURED.
I only had my zip-up hoodie sweatshirt with me, so I put that on with the hopes that it would provide some sort of rain shield. We unloaded the airplane as fast as we could, but it didn't do much good, I was completely soaked through and standing in a 1 inch puddle before we even got the truck backed up.
There was also rumbling thunder and lightning flashing every few seconds while we were unloading, it was quite the storm actually, and I wondered how long I'd be stuck here, soaking wet, waiting for it to move off.
As our luck would have it though, the rain stopped just as soon as we finished unloading the airplane. The driver remarked in disdain that of course the rain would stop as soon as we were done unloading. I chuckled, but it was good news for me. I might be able to get out of here afterall. Once I was ready to go, I took a look to the north in the direction of where the storm came from, it didn't look like there was any more coming at least in the next couple minutes. I also looked to the south towards the stuff that had just passed us, and also in the direction I needed to go. As bad as the rain we got on the ground was, it looked like we even missed the worst of it, and there was an opening of sunlight that I could see, so I decided to give it a shot.
I took off and made a break for the patch of hope. On both my left and right were two storm cells with so much rain, it couldn't have been more then 1 or 2 miles visibility inside. I could also see the occasional lightning strike flash inside as well. I'm definitely staying out of those, but between them was a brilliant glimmer of bright blue sky. What I wouldn't do for a stormscope right now! The company bought a second Cherokee 6 back in June, which still isn't ready to go yet (waiting for the engine, but it should be any day now), but its equipped with a stormscope. Its a WX-8, which is a slightly different model than the one I have in my Twin Comanche (a WX-10), so I've been itching to try it out, and today would have been perfect. I doubt that there will be any more summer storms by the time the new Cherokee is online though.
Five minutes later I was out of the worst it, so I could relax, and another 5 minutes after that I was back in the sun, as if it had always been a beautiful day! I filed a PIREP of the weather conditions with the radio service when I approached home. It wasn't a busy day today, so I was likely the first/only aircraft to have encountered the conditions, and of course there aren't any weather stations other than the airport I'm based out of. In a way I actually enjoy that part of my job up here. Flying down south there are weather stations all over the place, so before you take off you can know with a fair degree of accuracy the weather that you're going to encounter along the way, but up here, except for our GFA charts (a regional weather map, which depicts likely conditions), which are often vague, or downright wrong, there's nothing. So when we take off for a trip to the north its very much flying into unknown conditions. Quite exciting, and it gives me that little taste of "frontier bush pilot". I'd love to do some of the winter ski trips into the bush with the Cessna 206, but I haven't had the opportunity yet, since I've only been up here since April, which was when the bush trips were just finishing up.
Saturday, September 19, 2009
Bad Day for Passengers
Things are still going strong coming into the second half of September, which has been totally unexpected. I was under the impression at the beginning of the month that the busy time would be wrapping up, but apparently thats not the case.
Yesterday was cold, wet and miserable however. There was a strange layer of mist blanketing the entire route of flight, giving a vertical visibility of 1000-1500 ft and forward vis of around 3-5 miles. The temperature on the ground stayed between 4-6 degrees C for the better part of the day, but a high pressure system was forecast to move in from the north and push the bad weather away. On my first flight I took off with two passengers onboard and initially climbed to 1000 ft into a headwind. It was pretty turbulent as well as wet and rainy underneath the cloud layer, but I could see the sun and just a tint of blue sky above me, so it looked like this mist/cloud layer was pretty thin. One of my passengers was really not enjoying the ride, she was very nervous, tapping her knee and wringing her hands. The longer we flew the more nervous she got, eventually to the point where she was shivering out of nervousness. I figured for the sake of my passengers I'd pop up another thousand feet or so to get on top of the cloud layer, where we'd see the sun and hopefully the turbulence would taper off a bit as well.
Once at 2000 however I looked up again but it still looked the same, I could still just barely see a bit of blue sky and the sun piercing through the mist, but now I was flying on instruments as the ground had long disappeared. The layer didn't look like it was this thick, but oh well, it can't be more then another few hundred feet before pop out the top. At 3000 ft nothing had changed. We were still in the layer of mist - it was such a strange phenomenon. Here I was 2000 ft higher than I was initially yet looking up still looked exactly the same. It looked like just a thin layer of mist above me. I considered continuing the climb even further, but the temperature was very close to zero degrees as it was, so I didn't want to get any higher and start picking up ice, and we were flying into a headwind, so I didn't want to fight too strong of winds either, so I conceded defeat and started a descent back down to where I could see the ground. Conditions were the same all the way up the coast, so we spent the remainder of the flight bouncing around in the rain and mist at 1000 ft.
Once we landed and unloaded my passengers, I had 5 more waiting ready to come back with me. We got all loaded up and ready to start up when one of the ladies on board said, "No, I can't do it". Can't do it? She was a little larger so I assumed the leg room wasn't enough or something and asked if she wanted to sit in the front where there's a little more leg room. Her friend explained that she was too nervous because of the weather. Oh, not much I could do about that. I could see how it was a bit of an indimidating day to fly - like I said it was cold, rainy, and the winds were quite gusty. In the end we departed with only 3 of the 5 passengers back southbound. The way back was bumpy, but eneventful and quick as we caught a stiff tailwind for the return leg.
My second trip was the same thing. I decided not to experiment with the cloud layer this time however and just stayed at 1000. A Navajo from the other local carrier that departed about the same time I did for the same destination decided to try to get on top however. They advised they were climbing to 3500 ft. I wondered if I missed the cloud tops by a mere couple hundred feet, since I only climbed to 3000. A few minutes later they radioed an advisory that they were now at 4500 ft and level. They had been fooled by the illusion as well, and ended up having to go higher.
The pilots for that carrier are regulars in the area like me, so we're on pretty familiar terms and usually all recognize each other's voices, so I keyed the mic, "Did you manage to find the top of that mist?"
"Ya we popped out at about 4200 ft."
I remarked that I tried that on my last flight but gave up at 3000.
"Hey Chad have you been to **** already today?"
"Yep."
"What are the winds like?"
I tried to remember exactly how the windsock looked. I tend to have a short-term memory and forget entirely what the conditions were at the airport on my last visit, but I managed to pull the mental image of the windsock out of the back of my brain.
"Ahh, gusting about 12-15 knots, pretty much 90 degrees [to the runway direction]."
"Alllll-riiiiighhht."
I smiled to myself. I guess I'm not the only one who likes crosswind landings - they keep life interesting.
By the time I was southbound again for the second time the High Pressure system was starting to work its magic you could see it starting to clear up in the north, but it was still pretty turbulent. About 10 minutes from landing one of my passengers tapped me on the shoulder and asked if I had a tissue. "Sorry no I don't." I turned around to see their young son leaning into a sick bag that his mother was holding for him. Poor guy. Not a good day for my passengers apparently. One terrified flyer, another one that cancelled out of panic, and now a sick kid. I haven't yet had an adult puke in the airplane, but that would make my 3rd child, all probably under 5 that haven't been able to hold it in on the bumpy days. All in a day's work of a pilot I guess.
Yesterday was cold, wet and miserable however. There was a strange layer of mist blanketing the entire route of flight, giving a vertical visibility of 1000-1500 ft and forward vis of around 3-5 miles. The temperature on the ground stayed between 4-6 degrees C for the better part of the day, but a high pressure system was forecast to move in from the north and push the bad weather away. On my first flight I took off with two passengers onboard and initially climbed to 1000 ft into a headwind. It was pretty turbulent as well as wet and rainy underneath the cloud layer, but I could see the sun and just a tint of blue sky above me, so it looked like this mist/cloud layer was pretty thin. One of my passengers was really not enjoying the ride, she was very nervous, tapping her knee and wringing her hands. The longer we flew the more nervous she got, eventually to the point where she was shivering out of nervousness. I figured for the sake of my passengers I'd pop up another thousand feet or so to get on top of the cloud layer, where we'd see the sun and hopefully the turbulence would taper off a bit as well.
Once at 2000 however I looked up again but it still looked the same, I could still just barely see a bit of blue sky and the sun piercing through the mist, but now I was flying on instruments as the ground had long disappeared. The layer didn't look like it was this thick, but oh well, it can't be more then another few hundred feet before pop out the top. At 3000 ft nothing had changed. We were still in the layer of mist - it was such a strange phenomenon. Here I was 2000 ft higher than I was initially yet looking up still looked exactly the same. It looked like just a thin layer of mist above me. I considered continuing the climb even further, but the temperature was very close to zero degrees as it was, so I didn't want to get any higher and start picking up ice, and we were flying into a headwind, so I didn't want to fight too strong of winds either, so I conceded defeat and started a descent back down to where I could see the ground. Conditions were the same all the way up the coast, so we spent the remainder of the flight bouncing around in the rain and mist at 1000 ft.
Once we landed and unloaded my passengers, I had 5 more waiting ready to come back with me. We got all loaded up and ready to start up when one of the ladies on board said, "No, I can't do it". Can't do it? She was a little larger so I assumed the leg room wasn't enough or something and asked if she wanted to sit in the front where there's a little more leg room. Her friend explained that she was too nervous because of the weather. Oh, not much I could do about that. I could see how it was a bit of an indimidating day to fly - like I said it was cold, rainy, and the winds were quite gusty. In the end we departed with only 3 of the 5 passengers back southbound. The way back was bumpy, but eneventful and quick as we caught a stiff tailwind for the return leg.
My second trip was the same thing. I decided not to experiment with the cloud layer this time however and just stayed at 1000. A Navajo from the other local carrier that departed about the same time I did for the same destination decided to try to get on top however. They advised they were climbing to 3500 ft. I wondered if I missed the cloud tops by a mere couple hundred feet, since I only climbed to 3000. A few minutes later they radioed an advisory that they were now at 4500 ft and level. They had been fooled by the illusion as well, and ended up having to go higher.
The pilots for that carrier are regulars in the area like me, so we're on pretty familiar terms and usually all recognize each other's voices, so I keyed the mic, "Did you manage to find the top of that mist?"
"Ya we popped out at about 4200 ft."
I remarked that I tried that on my last flight but gave up at 3000.
"Hey Chad have you been to **** already today?"
"Yep."
"What are the winds like?"
I tried to remember exactly how the windsock looked. I tend to have a short-term memory and forget entirely what the conditions were at the airport on my last visit, but I managed to pull the mental image of the windsock out of the back of my brain.
"Ahh, gusting about 12-15 knots, pretty much 90 degrees [to the runway direction]."
"Alllll-riiiiighhht."
I smiled to myself. I guess I'm not the only one who likes crosswind landings - they keep life interesting.
By the time I was southbound again for the second time the High Pressure system was starting to work its magic you could see it starting to clear up in the north, but it was still pretty turbulent. About 10 minutes from landing one of my passengers tapped me on the shoulder and asked if I had a tissue. "Sorry no I don't." I turned around to see their young son leaning into a sick bag that his mother was holding for him. Poor guy. Not a good day for my passengers apparently. One terrified flyer, another one that cancelled out of panic, and now a sick kid. I haven't yet had an adult puke in the airplane, but that would make my 3rd child, all probably under 5 that haven't been able to hold it in on the bumpy days. All in a day's work of a pilot I guess.
Tuesday, September 8, 2009
London and Back Again
Just got back from a visit back down in London. I was lucky enough to get to go home on a long weekend, when all of my friends were free/home as well, and it was awesome weather.
We took off Friday morning in the Twin Comanche, first bound for North Bay, as I was dropping a friend off there for the weekend so she could visit her friends as well. I've decided that I don't like North Bay. Its such a huge airport (that I'm not really familiar with), and there's no control tower to tell you what to do. There's only a radio service, which means its up to you to find out where you need to go and how to get there to take-off or park after you've landed. Its strange taxi-ing around such a huge airport without the reasurring clearances issued by the controllers. It makes me feel like I'm doing something wrong.
After I dropped my friend off I started back up again and picked my way through the taxi-ways back to the active runway.
I had a great weekend. Went camping for a night, then canoeing, spent a day at the beach playing volleyball, played some tennis with my Dad, and helped out with some farm chores. All in all a pretty full weekend. Good times. Today it was time to head back up and back to work. I was planning to leave around 9:30 in the morning but London was fogged in, and didn't get away until around noon to head back up to North Bay again for the first stop. It was a relaxing flight. I only had about a 5 knot headwind, and it was pretty smooth above the clouds at 7500 ft. I had the airplane cruising on autopilot and managed to read a couple chapters of one of the books I borrowed.
When we got back we gathered all our stuff and parked the airplane and by that time the fuel truck showed up with the Ops Manager and the other pilot - we each had one freight flight up the coast, so off I go to the races.
The flight up the coast was fairly uneventful, the flight on the way back started to get interesting about 20 miles from the field. I was just about to key the mic and call the radio service to advise I was 20 miles and about 9 minutes out when a big Hawker freight plane beat me to it. He also called inbound and although he was still behind me estimated the field about 45 seconds before me. The other pilot in the C-206 was also about 3 miles behind me, so we were all planning on landing within the span of about 2 minutes. Could get interesting. We were all instructed to report 10 miles out, and there were a few minutes until that point where none of us were entirely sure how it was all going to pan out. I watched the mileage to go tick down on the GPS and tried to find the Hawker coming up behind me. He stayed at a higher altitude then me so I wasn't worried of a risk of collision, but more so whether he was going to pass me in time to make his descent and land before I started my approach. We all planned to the use the runway that allowed a straight in approach.
At 10 miles back I called the radio service again and advised my position and also made the suggestion that if the C-206 behind me had me visual I could slow down a bit to give the Hawker more time to get in front of me. So that was the plan. By the time I spotted the Hawker I realized even with me slowed WAY down it still didn't give him enough time to pass me, so I advised that I'd join the circuit on a left base instead of final. I watched as I crept closer and closer to the airport dragging the airplane along at 90 mph while the Hawker rumbled along its approach on final parallel to my flight path. I could slowed down further, but I also didn't want to push my luck with the C-206 following behind me. Even adding a base leg into my circuit left me fairly close behind the Hawker. As I was turning short final he was just starting to clear the runway. The Hawker is a big airplane, bigger then a Dash-8-100, so I was concerned a little bit about the possible wake turbulence. I made a mental note of where the Hawker touched down, and made sure to keep my approach higher and land beyond it. I must have just grazed the wake turbulence area on short final because for a quick second the airplane waggled and shuddered before smoothing out again. I touched down without incident and rolled to the end of the runway to quickly clear for the last of the three of us landing.
We took off Friday morning in the Twin Comanche, first bound for North Bay, as I was dropping a friend off there for the weekend so she could visit her friends as well. I've decided that I don't like North Bay. Its such a huge airport (that I'm not really familiar with), and there's no control tower to tell you what to do. There's only a radio service, which means its up to you to find out where you need to go and how to get there to take-off or park after you've landed. Its strange taxi-ing around such a huge airport without the reasurring clearances issued by the controllers. It makes me feel like I'm doing something wrong.
After I dropped my friend off I started back up again and picked my way through the taxi-ways back to the active runway.
I had a great weekend. Went camping for a night, then canoeing, spent a day at the beach playing volleyball, played some tennis with my Dad, and helped out with some farm chores. All in all a pretty full weekend. Good times. Today it was time to head back up and back to work. I was planning to leave around 9:30 in the morning but London was fogged in, and didn't get away until around noon to head back up to North Bay again for the first stop. It was a relaxing flight. I only had about a 5 knot headwind, and it was pretty smooth above the clouds at 7500 ft. I had the airplane cruising on autopilot and managed to read a couple chapters of one of the books I borrowed.
When we got back we gathered all our stuff and parked the airplane and by that time the fuel truck showed up with the Ops Manager and the other pilot - we each had one freight flight up the coast, so off I go to the races.
The flight up the coast was fairly uneventful, the flight on the way back started to get interesting about 20 miles from the field. I was just about to key the mic and call the radio service to advise I was 20 miles and about 9 minutes out when a big Hawker freight plane beat me to it. He also called inbound and although he was still behind me estimated the field about 45 seconds before me. The other pilot in the C-206 was also about 3 miles behind me, so we were all planning on landing within the span of about 2 minutes. Could get interesting. We were all instructed to report 10 miles out, and there were a few minutes until that point where none of us were entirely sure how it was all going to pan out. I watched the mileage to go tick down on the GPS and tried to find the Hawker coming up behind me. He stayed at a higher altitude then me so I wasn't worried of a risk of collision, but more so whether he was going to pass me in time to make his descent and land before I started my approach. We all planned to the use the runway that allowed a straight in approach.
At 10 miles back I called the radio service again and advised my position and also made the suggestion that if the C-206 behind me had me visual I could slow down a bit to give the Hawker more time to get in front of me. So that was the plan. By the time I spotted the Hawker I realized even with me slowed WAY down it still didn't give him enough time to pass me, so I advised that I'd join the circuit on a left base instead of final. I watched as I crept closer and closer to the airport dragging the airplane along at 90 mph while the Hawker rumbled along its approach on final parallel to my flight path. I could slowed down further, but I also didn't want to push my luck with the C-206 following behind me. Even adding a base leg into my circuit left me fairly close behind the Hawker. As I was turning short final he was just starting to clear the runway. The Hawker is a big airplane, bigger then a Dash-8-100, so I was concerned a little bit about the possible wake turbulence. I made a mental note of where the Hawker touched down, and made sure to keep my approach higher and land beyond it. I must have just grazed the wake turbulence area on short final because for a quick second the airplane waggled and shuddered before smoothing out again. I touched down without incident and rolled to the end of the runway to quickly clear for the last of the three of us landing.
Wednesday, September 2, 2009
Who wouldn't wanna be me?
Last night I found myself in an empty airplane on the last flight of the day westbound into a beautifully clear sky with the sun setting in front of me. I was in a good mood and was rocking out on my MP3 player to Keith Urban's "Who wouldn't wanna be me" song as I was flying and watching the sun set.
I always like to lock my gaze on the sun and witness the exact moment that the last sliver of the sun disappears below the horizon. I know I shouldn't look directly at the sun, but at least I was still wearing sunglasses. I usually forget to take them off when the evening light starts to fade, and inevitably end up wondering why the cockpit lighting doesn't seem to be as bright as I think it should be. That's when I remember that I'm still wearing sunglasses.
Well just as soon as the sun went down, I remember reading Alan Cockrell's post on his blog http://alancockrell.blogspot.com/ about having the sun and moon on his "yo-yo string" and being able to make the sun or moon come back into the sky after it had already set by climbing. I imagined how that would be cool to see. I assumed you could only see that flying a jet aircraft that has the power to quickly climb into altitudes well above what little piston aircraft can do... or could you? Could my little Cherokee haul the sun back up to this side of the horizon? Nah... there's no way. I almost didn't try it. Then in a split second, now or never decision I pushed the mixture, prop, and power levers in and pulled back into the best climb the little Cherokee could muster. When I had finished converting my kinetic energy into altitude I pushed the nose back down into a more reasonable attitude and looked to where the sun had set. NO WAY! Sure enough, a mere 1000 ft climb had summoned about a quarter of that orange glowing disk back into the atmosphere. I broke out laughing hysterically in disbelief. What a sight!
Fantastic. Who wouldn't wanna be me?
I always like to lock my gaze on the sun and witness the exact moment that the last sliver of the sun disappears below the horizon. I know I shouldn't look directly at the sun, but at least I was still wearing sunglasses. I usually forget to take them off when the evening light starts to fade, and inevitably end up wondering why the cockpit lighting doesn't seem to be as bright as I think it should be. That's when I remember that I'm still wearing sunglasses.
Well just as soon as the sun went down, I remember reading Alan Cockrell's post on his blog http://alancockrell.blogspot.com/ about having the sun and moon on his "yo-yo string" and being able to make the sun or moon come back into the sky after it had already set by climbing. I imagined how that would be cool to see. I assumed you could only see that flying a jet aircraft that has the power to quickly climb into altitudes well above what little piston aircraft can do... or could you? Could my little Cherokee haul the sun back up to this side of the horizon? Nah... there's no way. I almost didn't try it. Then in a split second, now or never decision I pushed the mixture, prop, and power levers in and pulled back into the best climb the little Cherokee could muster. When I had finished converting my kinetic energy into altitude I pushed the nose back down into a more reasonable attitude and looked to where the sun had set. NO WAY! Sure enough, a mere 1000 ft climb had summoned about a quarter of that orange glowing disk back into the atmosphere. I broke out laughing hysterically in disbelief. What a sight!
Fantastic. Who wouldn't wanna be me?
Friday, August 28, 2009
Random Untold Stories
So in the past few months I've had a bunch of other interesting experiences/stories that I haven't yet blogged about mainly due to the reason that they're not big enough events to dedicate an entire blog entry to. They're still fun to mention though, so this blog entry is dedicated to all the short little random stories I have, explained in no particular order, with no particular continuity, nor with any particular point.
I transported a coffin up the coast once, complete with a body inside. The coffin arrived at the airport early however on the back of a pickup truck, and we couldn't take it until later in the morning. So the driver of the pickup ended up cruising around town doing his errands for 3 hrs with a casket and dead person riding around in the back. Yep, we're up north. When we unloaded it from the airplane we muscled it out of the airplane and loaded into the back of another pickup truck, and off they went.
I've also hauled gravestones on a different occasion, earlier in the summer. Those things are HEAVY!
A couple days ago I did another sightseeing flight, which is about 4 for me this summer. I like doing them, because my passengers have all been very appreciative which makes my day. I also haven't done so many that it becomes "just another flight" however. My latest tourists were a couple guys from North Bay, I think a father and middle aged son. They thanked me after we landed and said it was great. I also heard from our dispatcher afterwords (who gave them a ride back from the airport) that they also had lots great things to say about my aviating, how they could tell I was a really good pilot and the landing was very smooth. Complements like that always make my day and give me warm fuzzies. There was another older tourist lady I took up earlier in the summer, just by herself. It was a bumpy day, but she didn't care because she said she was determined to go for a "bush plane ride". She was so thrilled and thankful, and when we landed she told me her life was now complete.
Today during my landing flare the nose cargo compartment door became unlatched and flew open and up. There was nothing in the compartment to fall out, so no harm done, but is awfully distracting when it happens. That's the 3rd time its happened in the last 2 months. The Last time was also during my flare just before touchdown, the other time was during my landing rollout after I touched down. Last inspection the AME's looked at it and ordered a new latch for it, and also in the meantime made an adjustment on the latching mechinism in the hopes that it would help. We're due for inspection in another couple days, so hopefully the new latch is in and it'll get changed out. Its kind of embarrasing when it happens and I have passengers onboard.
I've finally passed the 1000 hr mark. As of my writing this I'm at 1014 hrs total time. Pretty exciting.
I've encounterd some interesting things on the runways up here. One time a pack of some sort of canines crossed the runway just as I was coming in to land, so I just added a bit of power for a second to extend my touchdown point. After I touched down however, there was a large flock of seagulls milling about on the runway in front of me. So after making the effort to lengthen my landing I found myself having to brake quite heavily. All turned out ok. A few weeks ago there was someone on an ATV trucking down the side of the runway. Technically he wasn't on the runway, he was just on the other side of the row of lights, so I didn't see any harm in landing. He was trucking along at probably 40 km/hr in the same direction I was landing, and we bothed looked at each other as I cruised past him on my rollout after landing. It was an odd feeling. It felt exactly like that scene from Indiana Jones and the Last Cruisade where the Nazi pilot flies into the tunnel, rips off his wings, and goes sliding past Indy and his father as they're driving through the tunnel. Except lucky for me I still had my wings and landing gear.
I finally received my spiffy new Canadian Aviation Document pilots license. The new passport style booklets. They look much more professional then a tattered piece of blue paper, but the ratings on my license are no longer spelled out in english, but have been given a acronym code. "SMEL" doesn't sound nearly as impressive as "All single pilot non-high performance single and multi-engine land airplanes". Oh well.
I'm sure there are others that I have since forgotten about, but I'm gonna start making notes now and when I remember/aquire more mini-stories I'll compile another post like this.
I transported a coffin up the coast once, complete with a body inside. The coffin arrived at the airport early however on the back of a pickup truck, and we couldn't take it until later in the morning. So the driver of the pickup ended up cruising around town doing his errands for 3 hrs with a casket and dead person riding around in the back. Yep, we're up north. When we unloaded it from the airplane we muscled it out of the airplane and loaded into the back of another pickup truck, and off they went.
I've also hauled gravestones on a different occasion, earlier in the summer. Those things are HEAVY!
A couple days ago I did another sightseeing flight, which is about 4 for me this summer. I like doing them, because my passengers have all been very appreciative which makes my day. I also haven't done so many that it becomes "just another flight" however. My latest tourists were a couple guys from North Bay, I think a father and middle aged son. They thanked me after we landed and said it was great. I also heard from our dispatcher afterwords (who gave them a ride back from the airport) that they also had lots great things to say about my aviating, how they could tell I was a really good pilot and the landing was very smooth. Complements like that always make my day and give me warm fuzzies. There was another older tourist lady I took up earlier in the summer, just by herself. It was a bumpy day, but she didn't care because she said she was determined to go for a "bush plane ride". She was so thrilled and thankful, and when we landed she told me her life was now complete.
Today during my landing flare the nose cargo compartment door became unlatched and flew open and up. There was nothing in the compartment to fall out, so no harm done, but is awfully distracting when it happens. That's the 3rd time its happened in the last 2 months. The Last time was also during my flare just before touchdown, the other time was during my landing rollout after I touched down. Last inspection the AME's looked at it and ordered a new latch for it, and also in the meantime made an adjustment on the latching mechinism in the hopes that it would help. We're due for inspection in another couple days, so hopefully the new latch is in and it'll get changed out. Its kind of embarrasing when it happens and I have passengers onboard.
I've finally passed the 1000 hr mark. As of my writing this I'm at 1014 hrs total time. Pretty exciting.
I've encounterd some interesting things on the runways up here. One time a pack of some sort of canines crossed the runway just as I was coming in to land, so I just added a bit of power for a second to extend my touchdown point. After I touched down however, there was a large flock of seagulls milling about on the runway in front of me. So after making the effort to lengthen my landing I found myself having to brake quite heavily. All turned out ok. A few weeks ago there was someone on an ATV trucking down the side of the runway. Technically he wasn't on the runway, he was just on the other side of the row of lights, so I didn't see any harm in landing. He was trucking along at probably 40 km/hr in the same direction I was landing, and we bothed looked at each other as I cruised past him on my rollout after landing. It was an odd feeling. It felt exactly like that scene from Indiana Jones and the Last Cruisade where the Nazi pilot flies into the tunnel, rips off his wings, and goes sliding past Indy and his father as they're driving through the tunnel. Except lucky for me I still had my wings and landing gear.
I finally received my spiffy new Canadian Aviation Document pilots license. The new passport style booklets. They look much more professional then a tattered piece of blue paper, but the ratings on my license are no longer spelled out in english, but have been given a acronym code. "SMEL" doesn't sound nearly as impressive as "All single pilot non-high performance single and multi-engine land airplanes". Oh well.
I'm sure there are others that I have since forgotten about, but I'm gonna start making notes now and when I remember/aquire more mini-stories I'll compile another post like this.
Monday, August 24, 2009
A floatplane that struck a sandbar while landing in the river.Friday, August 21, 2009
You're in Luck
We had a bunch of freight flights today from off the train that we were supposed to take up, but the train doesn't come in until the afternoon, and we had some thunderstorms roll in.
So this morning I just had the one, a passenger flight to the east. I got my orders to head out to the airport, get the plane ready and my one passenger was going to meet me there. Usually passengers wait for us just on the groundside of the airport gate, which is in line of sight of where we park the Cherokee. After getting out there, fueling up and doing my preflight I still couldn't see anyone there, so I took the truck out and parked it just outside the gate in a conspicuous spot. As I was waiting there a man approached me asking about our rates.
I let him know our prices but told him I was just waiting to go on a flight, and the weather was already starting to look iffy.
Apparently he and his girlfriend had intended to fly on the sched service, but the plane was full and he was stuck waiting around on standby. It was the last flight until monday, and he had to be back to work by then, so the situation was starting to get stressful. Turned out he wanted to go to the same place I was taking the passenger I was waiting for. "Well, I'm actually waiting to take somewhere there right now. If you wanna hang around for a bit until she gets here you might be able to split the flight with her." His face just lit up. When my passenger showed up she was thrilled to split the cost of the charter. She had booked a charter with us for the same reason that the guy and his girlfriend couldn't get on the sched run - a wedding was the cause of the unusual amount of travellers.
It made my day to see the stress melt off of the man's face. He was so relieved and thankful, he was calling me an angel in disguise. Long story short, I made a couple people's day, which made my day.
So this morning I just had the one, a passenger flight to the east. I got my orders to head out to the airport, get the plane ready and my one passenger was going to meet me there. Usually passengers wait for us just on the groundside of the airport gate, which is in line of sight of where we park the Cherokee. After getting out there, fueling up and doing my preflight I still couldn't see anyone there, so I took the truck out and parked it just outside the gate in a conspicuous spot. As I was waiting there a man approached me asking about our rates.
I let him know our prices but told him I was just waiting to go on a flight, and the weather was already starting to look iffy.
Apparently he and his girlfriend had intended to fly on the sched service, but the plane was full and he was stuck waiting around on standby. It was the last flight until monday, and he had to be back to work by then, so the situation was starting to get stressful. Turned out he wanted to go to the same place I was taking the passenger I was waiting for. "Well, I'm actually waiting to take somewhere there right now. If you wanna hang around for a bit until she gets here you might be able to split the flight with her." His face just lit up. When my passenger showed up she was thrilled to split the cost of the charter. She had booked a charter with us for the same reason that the guy and his girlfriend couldn't get on the sched run - a wedding was the cause of the unusual amount of travellers.
It made my day to see the stress melt off of the man's face. He was so relieved and thankful, he was calling me an angel in disguise. Long story short, I made a couple people's day, which made my day.
Thursday, August 13, 2009
Stuff Happens
Not a whole lot of excitment going on around here. Staying fairly busy with the flying however. There was one bit of excitment a couple days ago though. There was a private Cessna 206 floatplane that tried to land on the river, hit a submerged sandbar, and flipped over. I heard about it about a half hour after it happenned, and we all went out to gawk at it. You couldn't see much, it was several hundred metres away out in the middle of the river, resting upside down half in the water, half beached on a small island. There was only the pilot onboard I believe, an older gentleman, and he's ok from what I hear.
The airplane is totalled. They have since dragged it out to our place to keep it until they do something with it. One wing is ripped off, the tail is hanging off the back of the airplane, not much left holding it on, one of the floats is bent upwards, and one blade of the prop has been bent right down right at the route. Its quite the sorry sight. I'll get some pictures up when I decide to stop being lazy.
An interesting twist is that the other pilot was down at the maintenance base for the day with our 206 for its 50 hr inspection, and the crashed pilot's buddy showed up there looking for him. They were both headed north for a fishing trip, and the buddy decided to stop at the maintenance base (which is also a floatplane base, its situated on the edge of a small lake), but the doomed 206 float pilot didn't stop with him but continued on. Interesting to get two perspectives of the same event unfolding. Almost like the movie Vantage Point, or at least what I think that movie would be like, as I haven't seen it.
Apparently a floatplane crashed up here last year as well, or maybe two years ago, I'm not quite sure. Funny to think that stuff like this happens every now and then - its just the nature of the industry (particularly the private sector). No matter how much we try to tame it, stuff happens.
The airplane is totalled. They have since dragged it out to our place to keep it until they do something with it. One wing is ripped off, the tail is hanging off the back of the airplane, not much left holding it on, one of the floats is bent upwards, and one blade of the prop has been bent right down right at the route. Its quite the sorry sight. I'll get some pictures up when I decide to stop being lazy.
An interesting twist is that the other pilot was down at the maintenance base for the day with our 206 for its 50 hr inspection, and the crashed pilot's buddy showed up there looking for him. They were both headed north for a fishing trip, and the buddy decided to stop at the maintenance base (which is also a floatplane base, its situated on the edge of a small lake), but the doomed 206 float pilot didn't stop with him but continued on. Interesting to get two perspectives of the same event unfolding. Almost like the movie Vantage Point, or at least what I think that movie would be like, as I haven't seen it.
Apparently a floatplane crashed up here last year as well, or maybe two years ago, I'm not quite sure. Funny to think that stuff like this happens every now and then - its just the nature of the industry (particularly the private sector). No matter how much we try to tame it, stuff happens.
Sunday, August 2, 2009
The Perfect Storm
Yes, I just watched that movie - for the first time. I never got around to seeing it back in the day, but finally while I was down south for maintenance I picked it up for $2.99. And you guys thought I was going to blog about me flying into a storm.
For those who haven't seen the movie "The Perfect Storm", its a story about a small crew of swordfish fishermen off the coast of Massachusetts who get caught in the hurricane of the century and everybody dies. No really. I thought despite being in a nautical setting, its still a great study on human factors, and what influences our judgement and decision making. It also reminded me of the show on Discovery Channel called "Deadliest Catch", which is a reality show following several different crab fishers off what I believe is the Alaskan coast.
For those who haven't seen the move, and those who haven't seen the movie in the last 10 years, I'll provide a quick summary.
The movie opens with all the swordboats (swordfish boats) returning to port and offloading their catches. Our star crew, and ill-fated subjects of the movie, return with little to show for their season's work - a developing trend apparently. The boat owner threatens the captain of the boat (George Clooney) with being replaced if he can't find a way to do better. The entire crew is dissappointed as well considering their cut of the profits is affected by the poor catch.
Despite it being October, near the end of the fishing season, the Captain decides to head back out for one more trip before winter, to try and salvage his job, reputation, and paycheque. There's some foreshadowing that they're going to run into some trouble (like we didn't already know from the title of the movie).
Out on the water after several days of fishing, once again it appears that they're going to come up short. They decide to head even further out to the known hot spot. Back in Boston, a meteorologist is tracking a developing hurricane thats heading north towards our intrepid fishermen. Back with our fishermen, who at this point have made it to the hot spot, are making the catches they were hoping for. Things are looking up. However they are warned via radio, and also by weather charts faxed directly to the Captain onboard, that they're being cut off from shore by the hurricane. They make the decision that they can stay offshore, hang out for a few days once they're done fishing and wait for the storm to pass before heading back inland. They have all their fish packed in ice, so they won't spoil. So far so good. The trouble begins when their ice machine breaks down. Without the constant production of ice, they can't keep their fish from spoiling. This present this with a critical decision - continue to hang around out at sea, wait for the storm to pass and all their fish to spoil, then head home, broke and failures again... or run the gauntlet straight through the hurricane. This is where the excellent study of human factors comes into play. Obviously the safest course of action is to wait for the storm to pass, however there are several factors that influence their decision otherwise. The first is the paycheque. If they wait out the storm, they'll come back with spoiled fish worth nothing. Secondly they're motivated, the Captain especially, by the fact that this is their last chance to make a successful fishing trip. If its not, the Captain will be fired, his reputation and pride spoiled.
Thirdly their lack of understanding of the magnitude of the storm prevents them from seeing the danger. The Captain never really looks at the weather charts faxed to him, and warnings issued by another fishing boat is ignored. Why? I think certainly a contributing factor is the "I've seen worse" syndrome - the falso belief that he can handle anything, because he has in the past. I also think his first reaction to the warnings is the defensive reaction of refusing help, because of the perception that accepting help would reflect poorly on his alrady fragile reputation.
So the decision has been made - through the storm they go. They endure massive waves and wind, constantly being swamped, and having their windows broken by flailing equipment, yet they continue on. Finally the exhausted crew fighting endlessly with a battered boat, make the decision to turn back around. Fatefully, its too little, too late. They're too far into the storm, and they can't make it out. A huge wave finally capsizes them, sinks the boat, and they all drown.
What influenced their decision to continue for so long? I think most of the factors that influenced their decision to try for it in the first place continued to play a part, but additionally, the fact that making a 180 in rough waters is a dangerous maneuver also contributed to them staying the course for so long. I also think that in general as humans once we make a decision, its difficult for us to re-evaluate our decision and change our mind. We're generally stubborn, and rather then honestly re-evaluating the situation and making a new and different decision based on the newly available data, we'd rather justify the original decision instead. That is until its clear beyond any doubt that we made the wrong one, which was the case of the Captain in the movie. Rather then re-evaluting the decision to plunge through the storm, he stuck to his guns, until it was too late. Finding the line that separates "too-late" and "still enough time to turn around" is an incredibly difficult task. The closer you approach the line, the more difficult it is to see, and the more dangerous the situation becomes. On the other hand there are always influencing factors that motivate us to creep closer and closer to that line.
This can apply with any type of activity with risk involved - aviating, seafaring, driving, even working with power tools or at heights. There are factors that motivate us towards taking the risk, yet the goal is to remain in the safe zone. This movie is such a great example because in seafaring the decisions made and the progression from safety to disaster occur slowly over the course of several days, so it is easier to disect. That progression in aviation can occur in a matter of a couple of hours or less. In driving it can occur in a matter of seconds. Understanding our motivation and the factors that influence us is key in staying on the right side of that line.
For those who haven't seen the movie "The Perfect Storm", its a story about a small crew of swordfish fishermen off the coast of Massachusetts who get caught in the hurricane of the century and everybody dies. No really. I thought despite being in a nautical setting, its still a great study on human factors, and what influences our judgement and decision making. It also reminded me of the show on Discovery Channel called "Deadliest Catch", which is a reality show following several different crab fishers off what I believe is the Alaskan coast.
For those who haven't seen the move, and those who haven't seen the movie in the last 10 years, I'll provide a quick summary.
The movie opens with all the swordboats (swordfish boats) returning to port and offloading their catches. Our star crew, and ill-fated subjects of the movie, return with little to show for their season's work - a developing trend apparently. The boat owner threatens the captain of the boat (George Clooney) with being replaced if he can't find a way to do better. The entire crew is dissappointed as well considering their cut of the profits is affected by the poor catch.
Despite it being October, near the end of the fishing season, the Captain decides to head back out for one more trip before winter, to try and salvage his job, reputation, and paycheque. There's some foreshadowing that they're going to run into some trouble (like we didn't already know from the title of the movie).
Out on the water after several days of fishing, once again it appears that they're going to come up short. They decide to head even further out to the known hot spot. Back in Boston, a meteorologist is tracking a developing hurricane thats heading north towards our intrepid fishermen. Back with our fishermen, who at this point have made it to the hot spot, are making the catches they were hoping for. Things are looking up. However they are warned via radio, and also by weather charts faxed directly to the Captain onboard, that they're being cut off from shore by the hurricane. They make the decision that they can stay offshore, hang out for a few days once they're done fishing and wait for the storm to pass before heading back inland. They have all their fish packed in ice, so they won't spoil. So far so good. The trouble begins when their ice machine breaks down. Without the constant production of ice, they can't keep their fish from spoiling. This present this with a critical decision - continue to hang around out at sea, wait for the storm to pass and all their fish to spoil, then head home, broke and failures again... or run the gauntlet straight through the hurricane. This is where the excellent study of human factors comes into play. Obviously the safest course of action is to wait for the storm to pass, however there are several factors that influence their decision otherwise. The first is the paycheque. If they wait out the storm, they'll come back with spoiled fish worth nothing. Secondly they're motivated, the Captain especially, by the fact that this is their last chance to make a successful fishing trip. If its not, the Captain will be fired, his reputation and pride spoiled.
Thirdly their lack of understanding of the magnitude of the storm prevents them from seeing the danger. The Captain never really looks at the weather charts faxed to him, and warnings issued by another fishing boat is ignored. Why? I think certainly a contributing factor is the "I've seen worse" syndrome - the falso belief that he can handle anything, because he has in the past. I also think his first reaction to the warnings is the defensive reaction of refusing help, because of the perception that accepting help would reflect poorly on his alrady fragile reputation.
So the decision has been made - through the storm they go. They endure massive waves and wind, constantly being swamped, and having their windows broken by flailing equipment, yet they continue on. Finally the exhausted crew fighting endlessly with a battered boat, make the decision to turn back around. Fatefully, its too little, too late. They're too far into the storm, and they can't make it out. A huge wave finally capsizes them, sinks the boat, and they all drown.
What influenced their decision to continue for so long? I think most of the factors that influenced their decision to try for it in the first place continued to play a part, but additionally, the fact that making a 180 in rough waters is a dangerous maneuver also contributed to them staying the course for so long. I also think that in general as humans once we make a decision, its difficult for us to re-evaluate our decision and change our mind. We're generally stubborn, and rather then honestly re-evaluating the situation and making a new and different decision based on the newly available data, we'd rather justify the original decision instead. That is until its clear beyond any doubt that we made the wrong one, which was the case of the Captain in the movie. Rather then re-evaluting the decision to plunge through the storm, he stuck to his guns, until it was too late. Finding the line that separates "too-late" and "still enough time to turn around" is an incredibly difficult task. The closer you approach the line, the more difficult it is to see, and the more dangerous the situation becomes. On the other hand there are always influencing factors that motivate us to creep closer and closer to that line.
This can apply with any type of activity with risk involved - aviating, seafaring, driving, even working with power tools or at heights. There are factors that motivate us towards taking the risk, yet the goal is to remain in the safe zone. This movie is such a great example because in seafaring the decisions made and the progression from safety to disaster occur slowly over the course of several days, so it is easier to disect. That progression in aviation can occur in a matter of a couple of hours or less. In driving it can occur in a matter of seconds. Understanding our motivation and the factors that influence us is key in staying on the right side of that line.
Tuesday, July 28, 2009
C-206
So I finally got checked out on the Cessna 206 yesterday. Its been a while since I've flown a high-wing... 3 years now I think. We went up intending to do a few circuits dual before some solo practice, but after the first one he told me to go drop him off on the ramp and sent me back up for a few more by myself.
The 206 is much more responsive in the roll axis then both the Cherokee (which is lethargic by any comparison) as well as my Twinkie. Due to the large rudder it also has lots of yaw authority. Conversely it seems to have a much heavier elevator pull/push.
I think of the comparison like this: The Cherokee is more airplane-like, whereas the 206 feels more like a flying-machine contraption with the wing struts, wheels visibly hanging down, and taxi characteristics. I forgot how wobbly Cessna's are on the ground - there's lots of spring in those steel leaf landing gear compared to the rock solid taxi-ing characteristics of the low-wing Pipers. Every bump causes a side-to-side rocking motion during taxi.
Our 206 is equipped with the Robinson STOL kit, which includes wing fences and drooping ailerons to assist the main flaps. Takeoff performance is incredible; by the time you've finished advancing the throttle the airplane is almost ready to come off the ground when its empty. Climbout happens in a strange almost nose-down attitude until the flaps are retracted.
There's something about the construction of the 206 compared to the Cherokee that says it was meant to be a workhorse. Its solid. The Cherokee feels more like it was built to be a private plane that has been pressed into Commerical service. I can't provide any real evidence, its just the vibe that I get. There's also no argument when it comes to which is a better bush plane.
All in all the 206 is an interesting bird to fly, but I think I prefer the Cherokee for my day-to-day flights. Its about 5-10 knots faster, easier to load, easier to enter and exit, easier to fuel, and much more stable on the ground.
The 206 is much more responsive in the roll axis then both the Cherokee (which is lethargic by any comparison) as well as my Twinkie. Due to the large rudder it also has lots of yaw authority. Conversely it seems to have a much heavier elevator pull/push.
I think of the comparison like this: The Cherokee is more airplane-like, whereas the 206 feels more like a flying-machine contraption with the wing struts, wheels visibly hanging down, and taxi characteristics. I forgot how wobbly Cessna's are on the ground - there's lots of spring in those steel leaf landing gear compared to the rock solid taxi-ing characteristics of the low-wing Pipers. Every bump causes a side-to-side rocking motion during taxi.
Our 206 is equipped with the Robinson STOL kit, which includes wing fences and drooping ailerons to assist the main flaps. Takeoff performance is incredible; by the time you've finished advancing the throttle the airplane is almost ready to come off the ground when its empty. Climbout happens in a strange almost nose-down attitude until the flaps are retracted.
There's something about the construction of the 206 compared to the Cherokee that says it was meant to be a workhorse. Its solid. The Cherokee feels more like it was built to be a private plane that has been pressed into Commerical service. I can't provide any real evidence, its just the vibe that I get. There's also no argument when it comes to which is a better bush plane.
All in all the 206 is an interesting bird to fly, but I think I prefer the Cherokee for my day-to-day flights. Its about 5-10 knots faster, easier to load, easier to enter and exit, easier to fuel, and much more stable on the ground.
Friday, July 17, 2009
Mission: Incomplete
Yesterday was spent wasting my life away sitting at home waiting for the weather to lift. But today was looking a little better, so around 9 AM I got a knock on my door. It was the Chief. He wanted me to check the weather and then come by and let me know what I thought.
Sweet, flying today - maybe. Well I checked the GFA, there was a low pressure system sitting over top of us, but move east, and the METAR reports were calling good vis but marginal ceilings hovering between 500-700 ft. So I had breakfast, got my stuff ready, and just before I headed out the door I checked the METAR one last time. This time it was calling 1600 ft cloud. Whoo hoo! Much better.
Out to the airport, and off we go. I departed and climbed up to 1000. But as we went further north, I had to drop down to 800, then 600, then 400 ft. We cruised along at 400 ft for a bit, and then it started to get even worse. Hmm... to turn around or not to turn around? As long as I could see where I was going we'll be alright. But soon enough I was down to 300 ft agl, the lowest I can legally fly with pax onboard, with the visibility quickly getting worse as well. I peered ahead and couldn't see much in front of me, and if we went much lower it would start to get dangerous. We only made it 30 miles. I nudged in the power and started a climbing left turn to start backtracking. Instantly I was in cloud, but I'd rather be in cloud for a couple minutes at an altitude that I know is safe rather then make a turn close to the ground trying to stay visual in poor conditions. After I made my 180 turn, I started a creeping descent back down out of the clouds. Heading back south the conditions quickly got better.
I called up the radio service again and told them I was coming back. I passed by a helicopter trying to go the same place I was. I wonder if he'll have better luck. I filed a PIREP and landed. Thats the first time I've had to turn around since I started working here. I wonder in the back of my head if a better pilot could have done better. Ahh well. I left a msg for company to pick us back up at the airport, they didn't get it apparently, but after waiting around for about 20 minutes the owner pulled up in the fuel truck with the other pilot. They're heading South to swap airplanes from maintenance. Hopefully he makes it further south then I made it north.
I noticed the helicoper that passed me when I was heading back is also back now. I went over to see if he made it any further, he was certainly gone a fair amount longer then I was. Turns out he ran into the same stuff, but tried to go around it a couple different ways before turning around, and it got even worse then it was when I turned around. I don't feel so bad now. If a chopper can't get through, there's no way an airplane can. We also got chatting, and funny thing, he used to work for us about 20 years ago. It seems like every second pilot I talk to is like, "Ya I used to work for you guys XX years ago!". I should hardly be surprised anymore.
So, now I'm back at the house, waiting for weather to clear up. Dag-nabbit.
Sweet, flying today - maybe. Well I checked the GFA, there was a low pressure system sitting over top of us, but move east, and the METAR reports were calling good vis but marginal ceilings hovering between 500-700 ft. So I had breakfast, got my stuff ready, and just before I headed out the door I checked the METAR one last time. This time it was calling 1600 ft cloud. Whoo hoo! Much better.
Out to the airport, and off we go. I departed and climbed up to 1000. But as we went further north, I had to drop down to 800, then 600, then 400 ft. We cruised along at 400 ft for a bit, and then it started to get even worse. Hmm... to turn around or not to turn around? As long as I could see where I was going we'll be alright. But soon enough I was down to 300 ft agl, the lowest I can legally fly with pax onboard, with the visibility quickly getting worse as well. I peered ahead and couldn't see much in front of me, and if we went much lower it would start to get dangerous. We only made it 30 miles. I nudged in the power and started a climbing left turn to start backtracking. Instantly I was in cloud, but I'd rather be in cloud for a couple minutes at an altitude that I know is safe rather then make a turn close to the ground trying to stay visual in poor conditions. After I made my 180 turn, I started a creeping descent back down out of the clouds. Heading back south the conditions quickly got better.
I called up the radio service again and told them I was coming back. I passed by a helicopter trying to go the same place I was. I wonder if he'll have better luck. I filed a PIREP and landed. Thats the first time I've had to turn around since I started working here. I wonder in the back of my head if a better pilot could have done better. Ahh well. I left a msg for company to pick us back up at the airport, they didn't get it apparently, but after waiting around for about 20 minutes the owner pulled up in the fuel truck with the other pilot. They're heading South to swap airplanes from maintenance. Hopefully he makes it further south then I made it north.
I noticed the helicoper that passed me when I was heading back is also back now. I went over to see if he made it any further, he was certainly gone a fair amount longer then I was. Turns out he ran into the same stuff, but tried to go around it a couple different ways before turning around, and it got even worse then it was when I turned around. I don't feel so bad now. If a chopper can't get through, there's no way an airplane can. We also got chatting, and funny thing, he used to work for us about 20 years ago. It seems like every second pilot I talk to is like, "Ya I used to work for you guys XX years ago!". I should hardly be surprised anymore.
So, now I'm back at the house, waiting for weather to clear up. Dag-nabbit.
Friday, July 10, 2009
How High
There are a lot of factors in play when it comes to choosing our altitude. I often get asked how high we’ll be flying, and I always have to hold back the "well it depends on..." and launch into all the different factors that come into play when choosing how high we're going to fly. I don't think my passengers usually want the answer in the amount of detail I'd like to give. That's what a blog is for. So here we go.
Every airplane has a favourite altitude – the altitude where it performs most efficiently. The higher we get the thinner the air gets, which carries with it both a pro and a con. The pro is that since there’s less air, there’s also less resistance, meaning it takes less power to move through the air then it would at a lower altitude. Less air also unfortunately means the engines can’t produce as much power, which is where the trade-off is. An airplane's most efficient altitude is where we burn the least amount of fuel and go the fastest. This is accomplished by finding that trade-off of drag vs power produced. We can go even further to say that this depends on the power setting we want to cruise at. If we want to fly for maximum range, then we'll have to cruise at a lower power setting. In that case since we’re not asking a whole lot of the engine, it makes sense to climb up high to the thin air where both power and drag are reduced. The higher power setting we want to cruise at, generally the lower we have to fly. Lets say we want to fly at max cruise, which is usually 75% of the maximum rated horsepower. Our most efficient altitude will be somewhere near to the height at which we have the throttles fire-walled with the engine only producing that 75% power of its full power horsepower at sea level. Usually for most normally aspirated (non-turbocharged) airplanes that’s around 6000-8000 ft. In the Twin Comanche (which I happen to be flying in while I write this) it is 8000 ft. Any higher than that and the engine power stands a good chance of falling off below 75%. Any lower however and the thicker air will be holding us back in the form of extra drag. So engine power vs drag is our first consideration when choosing the best cruising altitude.
For this reason turbocharged airplanes have the ability to fly both faster and much higher. A turbocharger compresses the air before it enters the engine, which eliminates (to a point) the disadvantage of a power decrease at higher altitudes. This allows an aircraft to fly in the higher altitudes where the air is thinner, resulting in a higher cruise speed while still be able to produce the same level of power as it would much lower. How high exactly depends on how much boost the turbocharger has, or how much it is able to compress the air. For a turbocharged airplane the most efficient altitude occurs at the highest altitude where the turbocharger is able to produce the desired power setting. Below that altitude and the turbocharged engine can produce more power then is required, but above that the turbocharger’s ability starts to decline and engine power decreases.
Our second biggest consideration is what are the winds doing? Wind strength usually increases with altitude. So if we’re fighting a headwind, we have to decide if the stronger winds aloft are going to cancel out any advantage we’re gaining by flying high. If we’re in a tailwind, the winds aloft may very well give us a bigger push then we’d achieve by flying at our airplanes most efficient altitude. Considering that it’s usually a good practice to fly higher in a tailwind, and lower in a headwind.
Weather is also a factor, especially if we’re flying VFR. VFR airplanes aren’t supposed to fly through clouds, some sometimes that can limit us to flying lower underneath, or in some cases overtop. Weather considerations for IFR airplanes can include icing, which may mean that airplane has to stay lower in the warmer air where airframe icing is not occurring.
Other factors include obeying the Cruising Altitude Order, which is a rule that governs certain altitudes airplanes flying in certain directions cruise at. VFR aircraft flying westbound should always cruise at even thousands plus five hundred feet. For example 4500, 6500, 8500, etc. VFR aircraft flying eastbound should cruise at odd thousands plus five hundred feet – 5500, 7500, 9500, etc. For IFR traffic it’s the same except without the “plus 500 ft”. This in theory is supposed to reduce the risk of a mid-air collision. I think it works fairly well.
Turbulence also comes into play sometimes as well, especially when carrying passengers. Usually convective turbulence caused by the sun heating the earth on sunny days is stronger at the lower altitudes. So sometimes for your passengers’ sakes, it may be worth it to cruise a little higher in the smooth air, even if it means catching a stronger headwind or giving up some engine power. A smooth flight that’s slightly longer is usually more enjoyable then a short flight bouncing around. Especially if it means you don’t have to clean up puke afterwards.
How far the destination is can also be a factor, especially when flying at aircraft with marginal performance. Sometimes staying lower then the altitude where you’ll fly the fastest can be better in the long run if its just a short hop. Spending 20-30 minutes climbing at a slow airspeed and burning obscene amounts of fuel may not make much sense when it’s only a 40-minute flight. That being said, during the descent it is possible to convert much of that altitude back into airspeed, but its never possible to gain back all of the spent time and energy.
Finally, and this generally only applies to single engine airplanes, safety in the form of gliding distance should also be considered. If we’re flying over bodies of water or unfriendly terrain its wise to consider choosing an altitude high enough to leave us with options should an engine fail and we become a glider.
This all being said, all this may be great theory, and though it may be possible to sit down, check the weather reports and aircraft performance charts and compute the absolute best altitude to fly at, it rarely makes sense or is practical to spend the time doing that. Usually after having flown an airplane for a reasonable amount of time, one gets to know the airplane enough to form a pretty good idea of its most efficient altitude and time it will take to climb to it. The difference on all but the longest flight may mean only +/- 5%. Winds can make a big difference, but if you don’t have the chance to check the upper winds, going on the rule of thumb of flying high in a tailwind and low in a headwind usually works reasonably well. Everything else can pretty well be figured out on-the-fly (pun not intended).
Well, been flying for an hour and forty minutes so far, one hour fifty to go… lousy headwind…
Every airplane has a favourite altitude – the altitude where it performs most efficiently. The higher we get the thinner the air gets, which carries with it both a pro and a con. The pro is that since there’s less air, there’s also less resistance, meaning it takes less power to move through the air then it would at a lower altitude. Less air also unfortunately means the engines can’t produce as much power, which is where the trade-off is. An airplane's most efficient altitude is where we burn the least amount of fuel and go the fastest. This is accomplished by finding that trade-off of drag vs power produced. We can go even further to say that this depends on the power setting we want to cruise at. If we want to fly for maximum range, then we'll have to cruise at a lower power setting. In that case since we’re not asking a whole lot of the engine, it makes sense to climb up high to the thin air where both power and drag are reduced. The higher power setting we want to cruise at, generally the lower we have to fly. Lets say we want to fly at max cruise, which is usually 75% of the maximum rated horsepower. Our most efficient altitude will be somewhere near to the height at which we have the throttles fire-walled with the engine only producing that 75% power of its full power horsepower at sea level. Usually for most normally aspirated (non-turbocharged) airplanes that’s around 6000-8000 ft. In the Twin Comanche (which I happen to be flying in while I write this) it is 8000 ft. Any higher than that and the engine power stands a good chance of falling off below 75%. Any lower however and the thicker air will be holding us back in the form of extra drag. So engine power vs drag is our first consideration when choosing the best cruising altitude.
For this reason turbocharged airplanes have the ability to fly both faster and much higher. A turbocharger compresses the air before it enters the engine, which eliminates (to a point) the disadvantage of a power decrease at higher altitudes. This allows an aircraft to fly in the higher altitudes where the air is thinner, resulting in a higher cruise speed while still be able to produce the same level of power as it would much lower. How high exactly depends on how much boost the turbocharger has, or how much it is able to compress the air. For a turbocharged airplane the most efficient altitude occurs at the highest altitude where the turbocharger is able to produce the desired power setting. Below that altitude and the turbocharged engine can produce more power then is required, but above that the turbocharger’s ability starts to decline and engine power decreases.
Our second biggest consideration is what are the winds doing? Wind strength usually increases with altitude. So if we’re fighting a headwind, we have to decide if the stronger winds aloft are going to cancel out any advantage we’re gaining by flying high. If we’re in a tailwind, the winds aloft may very well give us a bigger push then we’d achieve by flying at our airplanes most efficient altitude. Considering that it’s usually a good practice to fly higher in a tailwind, and lower in a headwind.
Weather is also a factor, especially if we’re flying VFR. VFR airplanes aren’t supposed to fly through clouds, some sometimes that can limit us to flying lower underneath, or in some cases overtop. Weather considerations for IFR airplanes can include icing, which may mean that airplane has to stay lower in the warmer air where airframe icing is not occurring.
Other factors include obeying the Cruising Altitude Order, which is a rule that governs certain altitudes airplanes flying in certain directions cruise at. VFR aircraft flying westbound should always cruise at even thousands plus five hundred feet. For example 4500, 6500, 8500, etc. VFR aircraft flying eastbound should cruise at odd thousands plus five hundred feet – 5500, 7500, 9500, etc. For IFR traffic it’s the same except without the “plus 500 ft”. This in theory is supposed to reduce the risk of a mid-air collision. I think it works fairly well.
Turbulence also comes into play sometimes as well, especially when carrying passengers. Usually convective turbulence caused by the sun heating the earth on sunny days is stronger at the lower altitudes. So sometimes for your passengers’ sakes, it may be worth it to cruise a little higher in the smooth air, even if it means catching a stronger headwind or giving up some engine power. A smooth flight that’s slightly longer is usually more enjoyable then a short flight bouncing around. Especially if it means you don’t have to clean up puke afterwards.
How far the destination is can also be a factor, especially when flying at aircraft with marginal performance. Sometimes staying lower then the altitude where you’ll fly the fastest can be better in the long run if its just a short hop. Spending 20-30 minutes climbing at a slow airspeed and burning obscene amounts of fuel may not make much sense when it’s only a 40-minute flight. That being said, during the descent it is possible to convert much of that altitude back into airspeed, but its never possible to gain back all of the spent time and energy.
Finally, and this generally only applies to single engine airplanes, safety in the form of gliding distance should also be considered. If we’re flying over bodies of water or unfriendly terrain its wise to consider choosing an altitude high enough to leave us with options should an engine fail and we become a glider.
This all being said, all this may be great theory, and though it may be possible to sit down, check the weather reports and aircraft performance charts and compute the absolute best altitude to fly at, it rarely makes sense or is practical to spend the time doing that. Usually after having flown an airplane for a reasonable amount of time, one gets to know the airplane enough to form a pretty good idea of its most efficient altitude and time it will take to climb to it. The difference on all but the longest flight may mean only +/- 5%. Winds can make a big difference, but if you don’t have the chance to check the upper winds, going on the rule of thumb of flying high in a tailwind and low in a headwind usually works reasonably well. Everything else can pretty well be figured out on-the-fly (pun not intended).
Well, been flying for an hour and forty minutes so far, one hour fifty to go… lousy headwind…
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