Thursday, November 24, 2011

Amarillo

More from my study of essence...I hesitate to call it poetry.




Amarillo


Amarillo.

Life in a country song.

Hurry to the airplane, weather coming.

The wind shifts as we taxi east.

Now west from Amarillo, still on the ground.

Fuel, movement, noise, essence put to good use.

Break ground and ride the bull.

Eight seconds, still we ride the bull. Up, down,left, right, all at once. Close mouth to save tongue.

Eight more.

Yet another eight.

The bull lets go, we are tossed straight up.

We climb and climb and climb, gaining essence without bound.

Such is the power of the Blue Norther.

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Tuesday, November 1, 2011

Low and Slow

I was returning from my weekly commute to our other campus. The Archer is in for its annual, so I was in the Cherokee Six, hauling around five empty seats.

Now I'm coming home, tired from teaching and the 5 miles of walking to and from campus, headed directly into the Sun. I enter on downwind and reach down to the flap lever. It doesn't feel right. The flaps are going down but not staying down.

I start to fuss with the button, to see if they'll stay down if I pull a little to the left, or if I pull a little to the right, thinking that they had worked on departure...and all the time I'm descending.

"OK, you're low, quit fooling around, diagnose the problem on the ground." I said this out loud.

I did a no-flap landing (adding 10 to Vref, just a guess, no way to compute it while flying that low).

After I landed I got the button unstuck.

No accident today.



And this is one of the few times I can remember when the freight dog excuse "But it was working when I took off!" has actually been true.

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Thursday, November 11, 2010

Duck, Duck, Goose

My student Dan is hustling to finish his Private before he has to move, so we've been flying every day. This has required a little creativity on my part since my University workload seems so much heavier this semester.

Yesterday afternoon was turning into yesterday evening after an unusually moist morning. The ceiling was on the low side, but not too low to stay in the pattern. Turning downwind for the first time I saw about 40 geese flying just a couple of hundred feet above, headed north. I swear, they were heading north! I mentioned this to the tower, but the radio call included "Oh! There's another flock! And another! And another!" The birds actually winter in the nearby marshes.

Another airplane was out flying a practice ILS, and the tower duly warned them about the birds, and I felt like a good citizen. And, sure enough, every pattern brought a new bird sighting.

"Birds, 10 o'clock," I would say. On the first few patterns Dan acknowledged, but soon he was no longer seeing them. Experience really does make a difference.

And the birds were getting lower. A flock of 25 or so passed below us, and in the gathering twilight they were getting harder and harder to see. Dan didn't see the large flock even though they were very close.

I started to think how lucky we were not be flying at night with so many birds in the pattern. Lucky? With the clouds and the glare, it was already night, even though the regulations say that we had an hour of "daytime" left.

So we called it a day.

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Tuesday, November 9, 2010

Too Good?


The pattern in Pocatello was all ours, which was good. Strong south winds meant that runway 17 was in use, and that traffic patterns were pretty distorted. I was flying with a student, and we had calculated the crosswind component; it was waaay beyond his current skill level. The tailwind meant a quick downwind leg, but he was keeping up.

A Mooney taxied for departure on 17 to stay in the pattern. Now there would be two of us in the pattern, which is not usually a problem. Then a Skyhawk taxied for departure. I recognized the pilot's voice: a good friend who is also one of the most skilled pilots I know. He asked to depart runway 21; the crosswind was not pushing his skill level. But notice that the departure paths for 17 and 21 intersect...

"Oh, no," I thought, "this could get interesting."

The tower had us fly runway heading off 17 to make room for the Skyhawk departure just as the Mooney using 17 called "Ready." When the tower cleared the Skyhawk for takeoff, the Mooney thought that he was cleared. The tower stopped him quickly, but the frequency was tied up while everyone straightened this out.

And now we were flying toward high terrain. I wished I had brought my Garmin so my student could watch the "Terrain" window pop up with the big red X's denoting where we were going to hit the mountains.

The tower cleared us to start a left crosswind as soon as the 21 departure was airborne. Whoops! We didn't have enough of a wind correction, and our square crosswind leg was really a diagonal to the midfield point on the downwind. This put us directly over the departing traffic, and I asked my student to fly behind it.

Worse, the departing Skyhawk was headed northeast, right through our downwind. So we got to do a 360 to let it out.

Once the Skyhawk was high enough, ATC cleared the Mooney to go. Now we had three airplanes pointed at the same piece of sky. The Mooney's pattern was distorted by the wind, too, and he ended up following us too closely and had to go around.



When things get interesting it's worth examining the chain of events that got us there. You can't really blame the Skyhawk pilot; when he called and requested 21 he had no way to know that there were airplanes in the pattern for 17.

You can blame me a little bit for not flying a square crosswind; that would have saved us the 360.

You can blame the Mooney a little for mishearing the radio call, and poor planning in the pattern, but the wind was an extenuating factor.

But you can blame the tower a lot. With two airplanes in the pattern for 17 the proper reply to anyone requesting 21 is "Unable."

Now somebody might insist on using 21 for length reasons, but then there will be a delay. This reminds me of a story from many years ago. I was in the jumpseat of an Airbus 320 departing Boston. It was the FO's leg. "We're 4000 pounds too heavy for runway 4L," he declared. There were 15 airplanes taxiing to 4L and 15 more on final to 4R.

"What do you want to do?" the Captain asked.

"We need to use 15R." Runway 15R crosses both 4L and 4R.

"OK," the Captain replied, maybe rolling his eyes just a little bit. And we taxied to 15R. We weren't going anywhere with all of that crossing traffic, and the FO was jumping out of his seat, shaking his fist at the tower, and yelling "It's not that busy here!" The Captain just smiled. By the time we were cleared for takeoff, we had burned so much fuel that we would have been light enough for 4L.

Back in Pocatello we had another option: if the Skhawk had done a left downwind departure before turning north the runway 17 traffic would have been able to continue in right closed traffic.

But nobody thought of that at the time.

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Friday, April 10, 2009

I Can See Clearly Now


One of my favorite teaching techniques is not in the syllabus, but lots of instructors do it: find some aviation-related event a reasonable distance away, load up an airplane with students, and fly there. The students get a little extra practice with cross-country flying, they get to fly near maximum gross weight, they get to fly with an aft (but legal: I have them check) center of gravity, and we always have a good time.

One of my students asked about attending Dr. Michael Crognale's seminar on vision and flight, and suggested flying there. He liked the idea of taking someone else along, and plans were made.

The plans did not include the thunderstorm sitting along the route of flight. This was going to make things interesting.

We met and went over the weather. Destination and departure were forecast to be good VFR for the rest of the night, with showers in the vicinity. There was no weather forming behind the storm, and I ran my finger over a route that would miss the storm but get us there.

In my mind, this is "real world application of Aeronautical Decision Making." But this is a mouthful of educational jargon, which is usually a sign of trouble.

But that's when I did the smart thing. "Some airlines have a rule," I said, "that the most uncomfortable pilot makes the decision. Who's the most uncomfortable about this weather?"

This takes discipline: if I had been alone I would have flown. But the teaching point was more important than the flight.

"Call me chicken, but I don't like it," one said. "You've always said not to trust the forecast too much, just like on our cross-country." His long dual cross-country had involved a weather diversion, which was fine by me. Otherwise I would have had to make something up to force a diversion.

"Do you want to drive?"

"Yes."

So we drove. In his car.




The seminar was fascinating, and I highly recommend it. A few years ago I was involved in an image processing research project, so I thought I knew a lot about vision, but Crognale was knowledgeable and entertaining at the same time. He included a lot of fun demonstrations of the effects of accomodation on what we can perceive.

One take-away point was about cockpit lighting. Everyone's eyes react differently to color, and red lights really bother some pilots. His recommendation is to shorten the wavelength of the cockpit lighting as little as possible to make you comfortable; that is, try orange, then yellow, etc. But in any case, never use blue-green lighting; that destroys the most night vision, because of the response curve of the rods. Even white is better than blue-green.

I stopped carrying a red light a long time ago, and use a trick I learned reading Fate is the Hunter. I hold the flashlght between my fingers, and just let a small slit of light through. A lot of the light has to go through the webbing between my fingers, which means that the light I use is yellow-orange, an acceptable wavelength.

His explanation for the prevalence of blue-green cockpit lighting was as a spin-off from the requirements of military pilots wearing night vision goggles, but I'm not so sure. The King Airs I flew had blue-green cockpit lighting, and their design long predates NVGs. The King Air lighting always bothered me. I could turn off one of the panel floods, the worst offender, but there was still plenty of blue in the cockpit. And, I could never turn the lights down as far as I liked.

I was also reminded about a conversation I had with my eye doctor a few years ago. Referring to IFR charts, I said that I had trouble reading small print in dim light.

"Then don't do it!" he exclaimed. But I had no choice.

What I have yet to try is reading one of the charts I keep in my iPhone at night. These are mostly white, with some brown tints, but I'm afraid that the phone will be too bright and ruin my night vision. Oh, hey, this is an excuse to go flying some night soon!

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Monday, October 13, 2008

CO conspirator

Man, has it been a tough week.

Friday's front page screamed "Pair Found Dead." But I don't usually read the newspaper until evening, so didn't notice that the pair was one of my friends and his wife; worse, it was a murder-suicide, although those close to the case on the medical side opine that the "murder" was euthenasia. My friend was devoted to his wife, and I'm sure felt that he could not live without her. I am, of course, in shock,

Saturday brought some relief, but Sunday's front page screamed about another shooting, this time a random one. The wife of a former president of the university, standing in a friend's driveway, waiting to go on vacation. Killed by a crazed stranger, who later killed himself.

And today when I got to my office I learned that another friend's wife had died suddenly over the weekend.

So I really needed to fly this afternoon. It snowed over the weekend. Planes on the ramp still had snow, but I had called ahead to have the 172 pulled into the hangar and preheated. We pulled the clean airplane out of the hangar, and I talked about the danger of airframe ice and tailplane stalls with my student while we waited for fuel. The wait took a long time, but I really needed to fly, so I was patient.

We started up and taxied out. The runup was uneventful. The wind was dead calm. Someone else had the airplane reserved in 45 minutes, so we just stayed in the pattern.

The mountains were snow covered with bare spots showing. The snow-covered ground and the overcast clouds and the mountains had the same texture, making the area look more like Mars than Idaho. My student was smooth on the controls and sure on the radio, and I just watched this alien world go by. That's what I needed right now.

He flared too hard and we popped up out of ground effect. Oops. I recovered, set us straight, and gave him the controls for another try. Much better. This is progress!

But something was bugging me. "Do you smell exhaust?" I asked.

"A little."

A little. Exhaust means Carbon Monoxide, which is nothing to mess with, but I really needed to be flying. I played with the vents and heater controls while he flew another good pattern, with the same conclusion. Was the exhaust smell going away?

We took off again, the exhaust smell stronger than before. Then I remembered that someone had left a CO detector in the jockey box. I pulled it out: "DARK SPOT MEANS DANGER," it said, and the spot was dark. I scraped at it with my thumbnail, with no effect. We landed and called it quits. I telephoned maintenance from the airplane as soon as we landed, making sure that nobody would fly the airplane until the exhaust system was checked out.




No matter how badly you want to fly, some days you just have to say no. Especially when all of the funeral homes in town are booked up anyway.

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