Quick Jet Intro

A student called me this afternoon, bursting with excitement. He's always bursting with excitement when it comes to flying.

"I've got a chance to ride up front in a jet tomorrow," he said, "What should I look for?" I could hear that he was grinning from ear to ear.

Wow, what a question! Most of his flying has been in two-seaters; that's a big leap. Those of us who have made it know how far behind the airplane he's going to be.

Here's what I came up with:

• Listen to how ATC and professional pilots are clear but concise, and use standard phraseology.
• Watch the groundspeed readout from the FMS (I think it has a UNS-1 system). Convert the speed to miles-per-minute. This is important for everybody: planning a 50 mile descent at 360 knots is hard; planning a 50 mile descent at 6 miles/min is a lot easier.
• Study the arrival chart to get an idea of courses, speeds, and altitudes in the terminal area.

And, two more things:

• Make sure to get a good look at the Grand Canyon!
• Tell the captain that his instructor (me!) is available for copilot duties!

Did I miss anything?

Silence of the ECAMs

Unlike last year, this year's fishing trip featured sun and clear skies. I got my medical on Wednesday, but by that time all of the club airplanes were reserved. Luckily my friend Art would be passing nearby in his 210 and kindly offered (1) to stop and get me and (2) to let me do all of the flying.

We did not need the 210's ability to climb, and had a pleasant flight to Ennis, MT (KEKS). Well, pleasant except for the fact that I hadn't flown a 210 in about 5 years and was appropriately behind the airplane.

Ennis is in the Madison Valley, which, to me, is the ideal Western valley. The world-renowned Madison River flows out of Yellowstone Park and through the valley. Every year we complain about the new construction, but in fact the valley is quite empty.

The fishing, friendship, and weather were wonderful, but this morning it had to end so Art and I drove the rental car back to Ennis. The airport sits among wheat fields on a bench above the valley with dramatic mountains rising just to the East. It is often perfectly quiet, or perhaps the most noise you hear is a 172 from Bozeman practicing touch-and-goes. I enjoy this noise.

But this morning was different. A midsize jet from one of the fractional-ownership operations was on the ramp, Auxilliary Power Unit (APU) screeching loudly. I checked on flightaware, and their departure was still an hour away.

The fractionals, like the airlines, depend on standard operating procedures (SOPs) to make their operations safe and smooth. Their pilots often find themselves flying with strangers, but despite this, both of them have to have the same plan and have to react the same way. They have (or are reputed to have, although some recent events lead me to question this) well-defined Pilot-Flying and Pilot-Not-Flying roles which have been negotiated in training, so there is no confusion when something goes wrong while flying an approach to minimums.

I'll bet a noise-abatement fine at Santa Monica that this company's SOPs call for APU start long before departure. There could be a lot of reasons for this, including cooling the cabin and, more important, charging up the battery to reduce the chances of a hot start. But please, guys, have a little judgment: your APU, which is in fact louder than your airplane, was ruining the beauty of the Madison Valley for everyone.

The fractional crews always seem a little overwhelmed at mountain airports, anyway. Their mindset is tower-controlled fields in urban areas. They wander around the ramp looking for a Blackberry signal and ignoring the other pilots and airplanes. I watched the captain walk by a beautiful Super Cub without a glance!

(On our way in, another fractional warned us over UNICOM of the monster crosswind, voice dripping with fear, audibly holding himself back from telling us not to try to land there. I landed with about 1/3 control deflection, not a hairy situation at all.)

I got a briefing and filed a flight plan while Art topped the tanks. The midsize jet started to taxi to depart runway 16, unaware of the 172 in the pattern for runway 34. Luckily, the Skyhawk departed the area, and the midsize jet left to the south before turning north over the valley. Go figure.

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We departed straight out, pulling the prop back as soon as it was safe (a 210 at 2700 RPM is among the loudest airplanes known). Clear of terrain and pointed in the right direction I lowered the nose for a 500fpm climb at about 130KIAS, so we got out of your hair soon after you heard us.

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I took advantage of having another pilot on board to do an instrument approach, which preserved my currency. I don't get to fly with a Garmin 530 very often, but it came back pretty quickly. My scan is rusty, so I'll need more practice, but I'm sure that will be fun.

Aircraft Owner Again (Please Cross Fingers)

I sold my Taylorcraft BC-12D about two years ago, and it is finally time to buy another aircraft.  While there are still a few details to check out, I am buying a Standard Jantar SZD-48 with two partners...that's right, a glider.  A single seat glider, at that.

The current owner has not flown it in several years, but it is in annual and we got Tim, who has some experience in type, to fly it for us on Sunday.  Here is his takeoff.  He had a great two hour flight, which is pretty short for him.  The owner has agreed to our price.

My previous aircraft were a Mooney (with a partner) and the T-craft, which I owned by myself.  I wasn't flying the T-craft much, and it needed some expensive engine work, so I sold it to a guy who put in a new engine and is having a great time flying it.  I still keep in touch with the guy who bought the Mooney, too;  he still has it, although he bought it in 1987.

The irony is that a year ago I was flying turboprops, complaining that I was so busy flying that I had no time for flying.  I was disappointed when the company decided that they did not need a part-time pilot anymore, but I am enjoying the combination of fun personal flying, glider flying, and basic instruction so much that soaring feels more like a step up than a step down.  

Yesterday, a bizjet crew was hanging around while I flew with a student.  They were sprawled on the couch, looking logy, jumping every time the cell phone rang.  (One of them used the same generic ring tone that I use, so I jumped, too.)  They had come from someplace pretty far away back East, and the track of their flight home, which would have been 4 hours or so in the turboprop, was a straight line.  I am sure that they had fun, but I am also sure that a 4 hour glider flight (which I have yet to do) would be more fun.  Those 4-hours-in-the-flight-levels-on-autopilot flights were my least favorite.

Once, I longed to be in their shoes, longed to the extent that I spent a small fortune keeping a first class medical certificate (required for a charter jet captain).  Now I long to fly, period.  The only fuel I need is brain fuel; I need a lot of that.  The phone is off; the radio is on 123.3, comparing my view of the sky with what the other glider pilots see.  Nobody questions my lunch expenses, or my rental car expenses, or my fuel order, or my manifest.  The only question is "Did you have fun?"  I like that one.