A while back Laurie asked me to take one of her coworker's grandkids up for a birthday flight. Today was the day. The birthday boy, Skyler, was turning 5. His grandma and 8 year old brother, Teron, joined him for the flight. And as first flights in a small airplane go, Skyler's couldn't have been on a more beautiful day. No clouds, light winds, an azure blue autumn sky and unlimited visibility--it just doesn't get much better than that.
Everybody showed up at the hangar about 2. Skyler's mom, dad, aunt and youngest brother all showed up to see him off on his big adventure. While Laurie belted everybody in I answered parents' questions while finishing the preflight. If they were nervous, they really didn't show it. I think dad wished he could have come along.
Skyler sat next to me in the copilot seat. He wasn't much bigger than my flight bag and the headphones practically swallowed his head. The instrument panel completely obscured his view out the front, but he had a decent view out the side window. He sat looking straight ahead with his hands in his lap. I thought this was a sign of nerves at first, but before long he was asking lots of questions. Talking is good. When passengers go quiet, that's usually when I start checking to make sure the sick sacks are handy.
Before takeoff, I gave the standard safety briefing to grandma. This was her first flight in a small plane, too. A discussion of all the things that might go wrong and how to handle them is not usually how I like to introduce people to general aviation, but regulations require it. Plus, if things really did get hinky, she'd have to help take charge of the boys. I found myself prefacing every briefing item with something like, "Don't worry about this, but regulations require me to brief you ..." As I talked I used the expression in her eyes to gauge how successful I was at convincing her all would be fine. She seemed to trust that all would be well, but I could tell I had introduced a thought or two she hadn't considered.
As we taxied out the boys ogled all the planes on the ramp, calling out to each other, "Look at that one." I love that stuff. That's one of the many things that makes getting the license worth it--being able to make a kid's world bigger and watching their eyes widen as they take it all in.
I usually keep first flights relatively short in case nerves or tummies get upset. We we're just going to fly over Allerton Park and come back. It would be about a 20 minute flight. That's usually a good time frame for the parents or loved ones waiting for you to come back, too.
As we took off, Skyler was looking straight ahead, hands in his lap. I pointed out the side window and said, "Check it out, we're flying." He looked briefly out the side window and said, "Yep." I think the relatively giant headphones made looking around a little tough for the guy. They certainly didn't keep him from talking, though. Between he and his brother I had to use the pilot isolate switch a couple of times to make sure I could hear ATC.
As we flew over Monticello, we saw the glider club had some equipment out. I called on Monticello CTAF and let them know we were going to be doing some sight seeing. Somebody called back and said a couple of gliders were up over the airport, but we never saw them. We stayed out of the way to the west over Allerton. After a couple of laps around the Sun Singer we decided to head over Mahomet. Turns out that's where Skyler's family and his grandma live. We spotted Grandma's place. Skyler said he saw his. As long as he thought so, I was happy. I called approach and let them know we were ready to head back to the airport.
About 10 miles out ATC called traffic, a Diamond Star, opposite direction about 600 feet above. They were talking to him too and let him know where I was. While I was looking up for him, movement at about my altitude and 12 o'clock caught my eye. It was another airplane and it wasn't the one I was looking for. We must've spotted each other about the same time as his jink to the right perfectly mirrored mine. I stabbed the mic button and told approach I had traffic, but it wasn't a Diamond and it wasn't 600 feet above me.
They quickly responded that my new friend wasn't squawking anything and asked me what the aircraft type was. Based on the fleeting, but uncomfortably intimate, look I got, it was an Arrow. ATC asked what color, I said, "It looked to be green and yellow with some white," and then in an effort to lighten the mood a little, added, "And he was wearing a nice shirt, too." The controller was laughing when he responded and handed me off to tower.
I just hope the jag in the Arrow got a little closer to God as a result of this and will be more careful in the future. That's the only downside to flying on a really nice day. It brings out all the guys who don't fly on anything but the best days and that's not flying enough to stay proficient. Thankfully he didn't alarm my passengers and God saw to it that I saw him in time, so I guess all's well that ends well.
I tried to make the landing as smooth as possible and, I think, succeeded. At least grandma said it was a good one. I dropped my passengers off at Flightstar, said goodbye and put the plane back in the hangar. Despite the interloper near the end of the flight, it was good one. And, judging by the grins on Skyler and Teron's faces, it was for them, too.
Sunday, October 28, 2007
Sunday, October 21, 2007
KCMI to KIJX to KCMI - 1.5 hours
Last flight we checked out the Beardstown, IL airport under the assumption I would drop Laurie off there for her women's retreat weekend. After talking it over with the folks who would be picking her up we decided a better plan would be to drop her off at Jacksonville, IL a little to south.
Weather had been sketchy the days previous to the flight and was still on the iffy side the day of. Skies were still overcast and it was a little blustery on the ground. Provided the ceiling was high enough and no major precipitation was in the area, I was comfortable with making the decision to fly. The only other factor to think about was temps aloft. It's right about this time of year that pilots sometimes find themselves surprised by ice in the clouds.
About 4:00 that afternoon I checked weather one more time before heading to the airport. Radar looked free of any precipitation and the METARs for airports along the route told roughly the same story--few clouds at 4,000, more at around 4,800 and solid overcast at 6,000. I opted to file for 4,000 on the way out and 5,000 on the way back. It's a short trip so it was kind of pointless to burn alot of gas getting to higher altitudes. Especially the altitudes necessary to get above the clouds. According to area forecasts that was about 8,000.
When we got to the hangar I noticed four F-18s (it was impossible to miss them actually) on the University ramp. When the line guys arrived to gas me up I asked where the jets came from and why they were here. He said they'd come from a couple of bases in the south to do a flyover during the national anthem at the Michigan vs. Illinois game. Considering it was going to be a nationally televised game, I guess it made sense. I bet the pilots were all alumni of either of the two schools. I think both have pretty strong Navy ROTC programs.
As we lined up on 22 for takeoff, winds were about 270@12. The temps were cooler than they had been in recent flights too. You could really feel the difference in engine performance. There was an even stronger sense of acceleration on the takeoff roll. On the climb out, Departure told me to maintain runway heading for a bit because of some IFR traffic landing at Monticello to the west. I opted to use the delay to shorten our time to climb up to 4,000. This is where the effect of the cooler temps could really be noticed. I was holding a solid 800 - 1000 feet per minute climb all the way up. She was climbing like a homesick angel. Kind of exhilarating after those hot, humid days of summer when you were lucky to see anything over 500 fpm.
Eventually we got our turn on course and were on our way. The wind vector on the PFD showed winds right in our face at about 28 knots. It was going to take a little longer than planned to get there. I'd estimated that it would be a 45 min. flight, but looking at the ETA generated by the GPS it was probably going to be more like an hour or a little less. So, I turned the plane over to George (the autopilot) and settled in to enjoy the flight. At 4,000, well below the overcast, visibility was excellent. And since it was about dusk, lights were coming on in the towns that passed us below. That's always a neat time to fly.
By the time we began our approach into IJX, it was dark. I canceled my IFR flight plan with Springfield Approach. Before clearing me off frequency, the helpful controller had already pulled up my return flight plan and told me to give him a call airborne or on the ground outlet they have in Jacksonville when I was ready to head back.
Winds at Jacksonville were straight out of the west giving me the option of either 22 or 31. I opted for 31 because the crosswind was 10 degrees less. Considering this was my first time landing at Jacksonville, and it was night, the less crosswind correction on final meant more to me than the shorter taxi to the ramp we would've had landing on 22.
Because the winds were a little gusty, I carried about 5 extra knots on final. Consequently our landing roll out was a little longer. Oh yeah--I noticed on the chart for the airport it indicated the possibility of deer being on the airport, so I was also on the lookout for Bambi as we rolled down the runway.
We pulled up to the ramp where Laurie's ride was waiting. I unloaded, kissed her goodbye and climbed right back into the plane. It was about a 10 minute stop which made me apprehensive about hot starts. This time I decided maybe it was cool enough and I hadn't been sitting long enough for the fuel in the injector feeds to vaporize. I decided to try a normal start with the boost pump on, but without the prime. Voila! She fired right up. Let's hope that holds true in the future.
I was excited about the flight back because I'd be cruising at a higher altitude which meant slightly higher true airspeeds. This combined with the strong winds that would now be working with me instead of against me gave me hope of a quick flight home. I was not disappointed. As I turned on course during climb out, I glanced down at the ground speed. I was already doing 143 knots. It was indeed going to be a quick flight.
Leveling out at 5,000 I set the power so I had 2500 prop rpms. Using a best power mixture setting this resulted in about 25" manifold pressure and 79% in the power indicator. But more importantly, it resulted in a 151 knot true airspeed and . . . wait for it . . . 180 knot ground speed. I was cooking along at over 200 mph over the ground. Like pilot author Stephen Coonts says in the Cannibal Queen, and I paraphrase, "Tailwinds are like a smile from a beautiful woman. You don't get them that often but when you do it makes your day like nothing else."
I was moving along so fast that Springfield Approach had handed me off to Champaign and I was only 10 minutes into the flight. "Woo hoo!", was about all that was going through my head. Just a little west of Monticello, Approach had me descend to 4,000. I kept the power on as I descended pushing the TAS up to 162 knots and the ground speed to 193. The little devil in me was whispering, "C'mon go for 200", but the airplane owner in me was going "For what purpose other than to unnecessarily strain the airframe?" I listened to the owner angel. I probably would've still been in the green on the airspeed indicator but hitting some turbulence at that speed probably wouldn't be very good. I contented myself with 193.
Even setting up for the downwind for 32R at Champaign, with the indicated airspeed showing just 110 knots I was still showing a 130+ knot ground speed. Turning onto final, ground speed went way down. Winds were reported at 280@12 but they felt stronger. Gusty too. I had to make a couple of pretty significant power changes to stay on glideslope. Taxing back it felt like I had to use more directional control that I should with 12 knots of wind to keep from weather vaning into the wind. I'm guessing winds were more like 15 to 18. I checked the elapsed flight time. 36 minutes. Not bad. Not bad at all.
As I taxied back to the hangar I went by the F-18s sitting on the ramp. In the daylight they looked fast, sleek, cool. But as I passed by them in the dark, I couldn't get over how ominous they looked in their dark, non-reflective ghost gray paint. I had much the same sensation once on a night flight over California's central valley. I was flying over Lemoore NAS and the Hornet drivers were flying circuits. Practicing night landing I guess. It was a full moon and I was in a tiny Cessna 150 at 5,000 feet. As I passed over I would occasionally catch glimpses of the F-18s flying under me. They looked like circling sharks.
Both then and now, I thought about how it must suck to have one of those things hunting you in the dark. For some reason it also made me think of the great empires of history past. But that's a blog for another forum.
Weather had been sketchy the days previous to the flight and was still on the iffy side the day of. Skies were still overcast and it was a little blustery on the ground. Provided the ceiling was high enough and no major precipitation was in the area, I was comfortable with making the decision to fly. The only other factor to think about was temps aloft. It's right about this time of year that pilots sometimes find themselves surprised by ice in the clouds.
About 4:00 that afternoon I checked weather one more time before heading to the airport. Radar looked free of any precipitation and the METARs for airports along the route told roughly the same story--few clouds at 4,000, more at around 4,800 and solid overcast at 6,000. I opted to file for 4,000 on the way out and 5,000 on the way back. It's a short trip so it was kind of pointless to burn alot of gas getting to higher altitudes. Especially the altitudes necessary to get above the clouds. According to area forecasts that was about 8,000.
When we got to the hangar I noticed four F-18s (it was impossible to miss them actually) on the University ramp. When the line guys arrived to gas me up I asked where the jets came from and why they were here. He said they'd come from a couple of bases in the south to do a flyover during the national anthem at the Michigan vs. Illinois game. Considering it was going to be a nationally televised game, I guess it made sense. I bet the pilots were all alumni of either of the two schools. I think both have pretty strong Navy ROTC programs.
As we lined up on 22 for takeoff, winds were about 270@12. The temps were cooler than they had been in recent flights too. You could really feel the difference in engine performance. There was an even stronger sense of acceleration on the takeoff roll. On the climb out, Departure told me to maintain runway heading for a bit because of some IFR traffic landing at Monticello to the west. I opted to use the delay to shorten our time to climb up to 4,000. This is where the effect of the cooler temps could really be noticed. I was holding a solid 800 - 1000 feet per minute climb all the way up. She was climbing like a homesick angel. Kind of exhilarating after those hot, humid days of summer when you were lucky to see anything over 500 fpm.
Eventually we got our turn on course and were on our way. The wind vector on the PFD showed winds right in our face at about 28 knots. It was going to take a little longer than planned to get there. I'd estimated that it would be a 45 min. flight, but looking at the ETA generated by the GPS it was probably going to be more like an hour or a little less. So, I turned the plane over to George (the autopilot) and settled in to enjoy the flight. At 4,000, well below the overcast, visibility was excellent. And since it was about dusk, lights were coming on in the towns that passed us below. That's always a neat time to fly.
By the time we began our approach into IJX, it was dark. I canceled my IFR flight plan with Springfield Approach. Before clearing me off frequency, the helpful controller had already pulled up my return flight plan and told me to give him a call airborne or on the ground outlet they have in Jacksonville when I was ready to head back.
Winds at Jacksonville were straight out of the west giving me the option of either 22 or 31. I opted for 31 because the crosswind was 10 degrees less. Considering this was my first time landing at Jacksonville, and it was night, the less crosswind correction on final meant more to me than the shorter taxi to the ramp we would've had landing on 22.
Because the winds were a little gusty, I carried about 5 extra knots on final. Consequently our landing roll out was a little longer. Oh yeah--I noticed on the chart for the airport it indicated the possibility of deer being on the airport, so I was also on the lookout for Bambi as we rolled down the runway.
We pulled up to the ramp where Laurie's ride was waiting. I unloaded, kissed her goodbye and climbed right back into the plane. It was about a 10 minute stop which made me apprehensive about hot starts. This time I decided maybe it was cool enough and I hadn't been sitting long enough for the fuel in the injector feeds to vaporize. I decided to try a normal start with the boost pump on, but without the prime. Voila! She fired right up. Let's hope that holds true in the future.
I was excited about the flight back because I'd be cruising at a higher altitude which meant slightly higher true airspeeds. This combined with the strong winds that would now be working with me instead of against me gave me hope of a quick flight home. I was not disappointed. As I turned on course during climb out, I glanced down at the ground speed. I was already doing 143 knots. It was indeed going to be a quick flight.
Leveling out at 5,000 I set the power so I had 2500 prop rpms. Using a best power mixture setting this resulted in about 25" manifold pressure and 79% in the power indicator. But more importantly, it resulted in a 151 knot true airspeed and . . . wait for it . . . 180 knot ground speed. I was cooking along at over 200 mph over the ground. Like pilot author Stephen Coonts says in the Cannibal Queen, and I paraphrase, "Tailwinds are like a smile from a beautiful woman. You don't get them that often but when you do it makes your day like nothing else."
I was moving along so fast that Springfield Approach had handed me off to Champaign and I was only 10 minutes into the flight. "Woo hoo!", was about all that was going through my head. Just a little west of Monticello, Approach had me descend to 4,000. I kept the power on as I descended pushing the TAS up to 162 knots and the ground speed to 193. The little devil in me was whispering, "C'mon go for 200", but the airplane owner in me was going "For what purpose other than to unnecessarily strain the airframe?" I listened to the owner angel. I probably would've still been in the green on the airspeed indicator but hitting some turbulence at that speed probably wouldn't be very good. I contented myself with 193.
Even setting up for the downwind for 32R at Champaign, with the indicated airspeed showing just 110 knots I was still showing a 130+ knot ground speed. Turning onto final, ground speed went way down. Winds were reported at 280@12 but they felt stronger. Gusty too. I had to make a couple of pretty significant power changes to stay on glideslope. Taxing back it felt like I had to use more directional control that I should with 12 knots of wind to keep from weather vaning into the wind. I'm guessing winds were more like 15 to 18. I checked the elapsed flight time. 36 minutes. Not bad. Not bad at all.
As I taxied back to the hangar I went by the F-18s sitting on the ramp. In the daylight they looked fast, sleek, cool. But as I passed by them in the dark, I couldn't get over how ominous they looked in their dark, non-reflective ghost gray paint. I had much the same sensation once on a night flight over California's central valley. I was flying over Lemoore NAS and the Hornet drivers were flying circuits. Practicing night landing I guess. It was a full moon and I was in a tiny Cessna 150 at 5,000 feet. As I passed over I would occasionally catch glimpses of the F-18s flying under me. They looked like circling sharks.
Both then and now, I thought about how it must suck to have one of those things hunting you in the dark. For some reason it also made me think of the great empires of history past. But that's a blog for another forum.
Sunday, October 14, 2007
KCMI to K06 to KCMI - 1.6 hours
Today's flight was to Beardstown, IL. It was a typical Sunday drive for me and the world's most beautiful passenger. The weather was fantabulous. On the way there we flew over my . . . oh, why Beardstown? Laurie (world's most beautiful passenger) is attending a women's retreat near there next weekend and asked me to fly her. We thought we'd avail ourselves of today's fantastic weather and check it out. Now you have the backstory.
So, as I was saying, our route took us right over Monticello. From the little bumps we were experiencing I fully expected to see a glider or two. While we did catch a glimpse of the tow plane parked on the taxiway and one glider outside the hangar, we didn't see any airborne. The route also took us just to the north of Decatur and Springfield. As we were flying pretty low (4,500), I thought for sure we'd see some traffic around there too, but no.
As we approached Beardstown I got to thinking about what Airnav had said about the runway ("some cracks"). I decided we'd do a low approach and survey the surface before we actually landed. We entered a left downwind for runway 18 and put in a notch of flaps. I set up for a final approach that would fly us down the west side of the runway. This way I could get a good look at the surface condition.
On final I descended to about 300' AGL (above ground level) and checked it out. As we paralleled the runway a glance at the turn/slip indicator on the PFD showed me flying in a slight slip. A look at the artificial horizon confirmed my suspicions. I was about 5 degrees nose high, hence the slight ball deflection. I gave it a little right rudder and went back to scanning the runway (Note to self: always be conscious of the ball when just 300 ft. from terra firma). From what I could tell the runway looked way better than advertised. I called the CTAF (Common Traffic Advisory Frequency) and let anyone within earshot know that we were going to make the next pattern full stop and entered the downwind.
Touchdown was nice and the runway was smooth as butter. Apparently improvements had been made since the last Airnav survey. Considering Beardstown was a tiny 4,000' x 60' strip in the middle of nowhere, I'm guessing it wasn't high on their list of priorities.
As we taxied back to the ramp, which was barren but for one lonely airplane and a guy on a cell phone, Laurie suggested we just turn around and head back. We really only came to see if it was a good drop off spot for next weekend anyway. I dutifully taxied us back to the approach end of the runway and pointed N218DF's nose back into the wind. 30 seconds later we were airborne and on our way back to Champaign.
We were light on fuel so I stayed low and slow on the way back. It was nice. I like doing that now and again. It reminds me of the days buzzing around at 100 knots in a little Cessna 152 as a student. You can see so much more detail at 3,500 feet. Illinois really is a beautiful place. You just have to have the right perspective.
As we passed north of Decatur we caught a whiff of what smelled like stale french fries. Yes, even 20 miles north at 3,500 Decatur was able to make its presence known. I can see that being handy if I have a complete avionics blackout. I'll always be able to get to Decatur. Just follow my nose.
Coming back over Monticello I called and let anyone in a glider who might be too busy looking for indications of lift in their variometers to look for traffic that I was coming through. I heard a faint, but garbled reply. Nothing else was said after that. No traffic was visible for miles. My guess is that someone was telling me they'd sewed it up for the day. It looked like that was the case anyway as I flew over the airport. Everything appeared to be put away.
As we set up for a 4 mile final to runway 14L at Champaign, I decided to try a flaps up landing. This is a procedure that I was taught during transition training. It's used in the event I have an electrical malfunction (primarily alternator failure) that requires me to conserve as much battery power as possible. It is in no way dangerous. Just slightly abnormal. Instead of flying the approach at 75 knots and full flaps I'm zooming down final at 85 knots in a slightly nose high attitude. That's the "abnormal" part. You have a slightly different picture out the front and the ground is going by a little faster as you touchdown. On a big, fat, long runway like 14L at Champaign, it's a piece of cake. There might be slightly more pucker factor if you have to do it someplace like, well, Beardstown.
I like flying them because, in a Cirrus anyway, the higher ground speed and nose high attitude makes you feel like you're flying a jet. I greased it on, but I was probably a couple knots hot. It certainly didn't take as long as it normally did to reach the turnoff at Bravo taxiway.
We shut down in front of the hangar and stepped out of the plane to a beautiful sunset and gentle breeze. They don't end much more picture book than that. Laurie snapped a picture of N218DF basking in the glow. That's the main picture that will serve as the anchor image for the blog. She's a beaut' ain't she?
So, as I was saying, our route took us right over Monticello. From the little bumps we were experiencing I fully expected to see a glider or two. While we did catch a glimpse of the tow plane parked on the taxiway and one glider outside the hangar, we didn't see any airborne. The route also took us just to the north of Decatur and Springfield. As we were flying pretty low (4,500), I thought for sure we'd see some traffic around there too, but no.
As we approached Beardstown I got to thinking about what Airnav had said about the runway ("some cracks"). I decided we'd do a low approach and survey the surface before we actually landed. We entered a left downwind for runway 18 and put in a notch of flaps. I set up for a final approach that would fly us down the west side of the runway. This way I could get a good look at the surface condition.
On final I descended to about 300' AGL (above ground level) and checked it out. As we paralleled the runway a glance at the turn/slip indicator on the PFD showed me flying in a slight slip. A look at the artificial horizon confirmed my suspicions. I was about 5 degrees nose high, hence the slight ball deflection. I gave it a little right rudder and went back to scanning the runway (Note to self: always be conscious of the ball when just 300 ft. from terra firma). From what I could tell the runway looked way better than advertised. I called the CTAF (Common Traffic Advisory Frequency) and let anyone within earshot know that we were going to make the next pattern full stop and entered the downwind.
Touchdown was nice and the runway was smooth as butter. Apparently improvements had been made since the last Airnav survey. Considering Beardstown was a tiny 4,000' x 60' strip in the middle of nowhere, I'm guessing it wasn't high on their list of priorities.
As we taxied back to the ramp, which was barren but for one lonely airplane and a guy on a cell phone, Laurie suggested we just turn around and head back. We really only came to see if it was a good drop off spot for next weekend anyway. I dutifully taxied us back to the approach end of the runway and pointed N218DF's nose back into the wind. 30 seconds later we were airborne and on our way back to Champaign.
We were light on fuel so I stayed low and slow on the way back. It was nice. I like doing that now and again. It reminds me of the days buzzing around at 100 knots in a little Cessna 152 as a student. You can see so much more detail at 3,500 feet. Illinois really is a beautiful place. You just have to have the right perspective.
As we passed north of Decatur we caught a whiff of what smelled like stale french fries. Yes, even 20 miles north at 3,500 Decatur was able to make its presence known. I can see that being handy if I have a complete avionics blackout. I'll always be able to get to Decatur. Just follow my nose.
Coming back over Monticello I called and let anyone in a glider who might be too busy looking for indications of lift in their variometers to look for traffic that I was coming through. I heard a faint, but garbled reply. Nothing else was said after that. No traffic was visible for miles. My guess is that someone was telling me they'd sewed it up for the day. It looked like that was the case anyway as I flew over the airport. Everything appeared to be put away.
As we set up for a 4 mile final to runway 14L at Champaign, I decided to try a flaps up landing. This is a procedure that I was taught during transition training. It's used in the event I have an electrical malfunction (primarily alternator failure) that requires me to conserve as much battery power as possible. It is in no way dangerous. Just slightly abnormal. Instead of flying the approach at 75 knots and full flaps I'm zooming down final at 85 knots in a slightly nose high attitude. That's the "abnormal" part. You have a slightly different picture out the front and the ground is going by a little faster as you touchdown. On a big, fat, long runway like 14L at Champaign, it's a piece of cake. There might be slightly more pucker factor if you have to do it someplace like, well, Beardstown.
I like flying them because, in a Cirrus anyway, the higher ground speed and nose high attitude makes you feel like you're flying a jet. I greased it on, but I was probably a couple knots hot. It certainly didn't take as long as it normally did to reach the turnoff at Bravo taxiway.
We shut down in front of the hangar and stepped out of the plane to a beautiful sunset and gentle breeze. They don't end much more picture book than that. Laurie snapped a picture of N218DF basking in the glow. That's the main picture that will serve as the anchor image for the blog. She's a beaut' ain't she?
Saturday, October 6, 2007
KCMI to K24 to KCMI--3.4 hours
I left Champaign about 4:15. Winds were about 150 @ 7. The purpose of this trip was to fly down to Jamestown, KY and pick up my grandparents. I was to bring them back for my little cousin Lars' baptism. The weather along my route was supposed to be scattered layers of clouds between 4,000 and 7,000 feet, so I filed for 5,000. Figured I'd split the difference. Radar also showed a smattering of what appeared to be isolated thunderstorms building to the northeast of Louisville. I'd have to keep an eye on the Nexrad to make sure they didn't start popping up any closer.
At Champaign the clouds were on the high end, but the further I went the lower they got. Eventually, about Terre Haute, I was punching in and out of the bottoms of some fairly good sized cumulus. That's always fun. At 5,000 feet you really don't get a sensation of how fast you're going over the ground. But fly through a cloud and you're quickly reminded you're scootin'.
Just before I popped into one cloud I got a glimpse of my plane's shadow perfectly silhouetted on the fluffy white. I kicked myself, again, for not having my camera. Another wasted Kodak moment came as I skirted a buildup that, on Nexrad anyway, was indicating it might be a thunderstorm. When it finally came into view it wasn't nearly as intimidating as the radar was letting on. And my stormscope stayed dark. I still wasn't going to fly through it. Even in its relatively diminished state, the big cloud was probably a good 6,000 feet tall. And lightning or no, big cumulus clouds can still rock your butt. But from the safety of about 5 miles away, with the setting sun lighting up its western face it looked more beautiful than threatening.
After passing the brute, I punched through a few more poofies and into clear skies on the other side. About 60 NW of K24, I canceled IFR with Indy Center but asked for flight following for a little further. A check of the K24 AWOS indicated near perfect conditions on the ground at Jamestown. Winds were calm, skies were clear and the temperature was a very pleasant 75 degrees or so.
I made a left midfield entry to the downwind for runway 17. Mainly so I could fly over the ramp and verify grandma and grandpa were waiting. I saw their car, so that was good. After greasing one on, even if I do say so myself, I pulled up to the ramp to find the car gone and no grandparents. They had apparently been waiting at the airport since 5. It was 6:15. At 80+, they really don't like to wait around for much. Turns out they'd left their house before dad could give them my new arrival time. Plus, my grandmother has a very morbid imagination and had, I knew, assumed the worst. She was probably bugging aunt Kievel to drive them to a phone so should could call and learn of her grandson's demise.
The heck of it is, I FLEW RIGHT OVER THE TOP OF THEM. I thought for sure they had seen me. Turns out they had, but grandpa said, "That's not him. He's too high." (sigh) I called dad, told them they'd driven off just as I got there. He said to sit tight. They'd be back as soon as grandma had confirmed I wasn't dead yet.
When they did return, I hurriedly loaded them into the plane. The entire time grandma was asking, "Are you sure we have enough gas to get back? I've heard at least three news stories about planes going down . . . " "Grandma, we're fine. Please get in the plane." Grandpa just sat in the backseat shaking his head.
My troubles didn't end there. I had to perform a very difficult hot start which took at least two or three attempts before the engine finally caught. Of all the passengers for it to happen with, it had to be my grandmother who was already doubtful about our fuel situation. Surprisingly, she didn't say anything except to ask if it needed to cool down a little before we tried to start it again.
As I lined up on 35 the sun was just sinking behind the horizon. We took off into clear skies. Climbing out of Jamestown I picked up my clearance from Indy Center. A nice tailwind and "best economy" power setting at 6,500 feet ensured I'd have 17 gal left when we landed at Champaign. "See grandma? We're going to make it."
The rest of the trip was pretty uneventful. Winds were a little more brisk at Champaign and I could tell on downwind for runway 14L we were getting pushed along at a pretty good clip. I knew I'd have to crank in a little extra bank on base to keep the pattern nice and tight. It was a pretty weird sensation turning from base to final. The conveyor belt of lights that had been moving pretty quickly below the plane slowed to a near crawl all in a matter of about 5 seconds as I put the nose back into the wind. It made for a mild sense of vertigo.
The landing wasn't my best. I bounced it. I guess they can't all be greasers. The funny thing was, mid-bounce grandma patted my arm and said, "That was a very nice flight Larry." I thought, "Thanks grandma, but it's not exactly over yet." The 2nd landing was better, punctuated with that very satisfying "chirp, chirp".
As I pulled up to Flightstar to unload the grandparents, Laurie was there waiting to help. I was very glad to see her. That's actually the scariest part of flying with my grandparents--getting them in and out of the plane. Thankfully, nobody tumbled off a wing.
After I put away the plane and dad retrieved Mode and Eli, Laurie and I went home. The whole way back I was kicking myself about bouncing the landing. Nothing sticks in a pilot's craw more than a less than perfect landing. You could have conducted the rest of the flight flawlessly and by the book, but you bounce a landing and it ruins the whole thing. Laurie has seen obsess about this kind of thing before and is always quick to remind me to get over it. While it may not have been a good landing to me, the passengers didn't complain or scream out in terror. So just live with it. I suppose. Still, if I'd just . . .
At Champaign the clouds were on the high end, but the further I went the lower they got. Eventually, about Terre Haute, I was punching in and out of the bottoms of some fairly good sized cumulus. That's always fun. At 5,000 feet you really don't get a sensation of how fast you're going over the ground. But fly through a cloud and you're quickly reminded you're scootin'.
Just before I popped into one cloud I got a glimpse of my plane's shadow perfectly silhouetted on the fluffy white. I kicked myself, again, for not having my camera. Another wasted Kodak moment came as I skirted a buildup that, on Nexrad anyway, was indicating it might be a thunderstorm. When it finally came into view it wasn't nearly as intimidating as the radar was letting on. And my stormscope stayed dark. I still wasn't going to fly through it. Even in its relatively diminished state, the big cloud was probably a good 6,000 feet tall. And lightning or no, big cumulus clouds can still rock your butt. But from the safety of about 5 miles away, with the setting sun lighting up its western face it looked more beautiful than threatening.
After passing the brute, I punched through a few more poofies and into clear skies on the other side. About 60 NW of K24, I canceled IFR with Indy Center but asked for flight following for a little further. A check of the K24 AWOS indicated near perfect conditions on the ground at Jamestown. Winds were calm, skies were clear and the temperature was a very pleasant 75 degrees or so.
I made a left midfield entry to the downwind for runway 17. Mainly so I could fly over the ramp and verify grandma and grandpa were waiting. I saw their car, so that was good. After greasing one on, even if I do say so myself, I pulled up to the ramp to find the car gone and no grandparents. They had apparently been waiting at the airport since 5. It was 6:15. At 80+, they really don't like to wait around for much. Turns out they'd left their house before dad could give them my new arrival time. Plus, my grandmother has a very morbid imagination and had, I knew, assumed the worst. She was probably bugging aunt Kievel to drive them to a phone so should could call and learn of her grandson's demise.
The heck of it is, I FLEW RIGHT OVER THE TOP OF THEM. I thought for sure they had seen me. Turns out they had, but grandpa said, "That's not him. He's too high." (sigh) I called dad, told them they'd driven off just as I got there. He said to sit tight. They'd be back as soon as grandma had confirmed I wasn't dead yet.
When they did return, I hurriedly loaded them into the plane. The entire time grandma was asking, "Are you sure we have enough gas to get back? I've heard at least three news stories about planes going down . . . " "Grandma, we're fine. Please get in the plane." Grandpa just sat in the backseat shaking his head.
My troubles didn't end there. I had to perform a very difficult hot start which took at least two or three attempts before the engine finally caught. Of all the passengers for it to happen with, it had to be my grandmother who was already doubtful about our fuel situation. Surprisingly, she didn't say anything except to ask if it needed to cool down a little before we tried to start it again.
As I lined up on 35 the sun was just sinking behind the horizon. We took off into clear skies. Climbing out of Jamestown I picked up my clearance from Indy Center. A nice tailwind and "best economy" power setting at 6,500 feet ensured I'd have 17 gal left when we landed at Champaign. "See grandma? We're going to make it."
The rest of the trip was pretty uneventful. Winds were a little more brisk at Champaign and I could tell on downwind for runway 14L we were getting pushed along at a pretty good clip. I knew I'd have to crank in a little extra bank on base to keep the pattern nice and tight. It was a pretty weird sensation turning from base to final. The conveyor belt of lights that had been moving pretty quickly below the plane slowed to a near crawl all in a matter of about 5 seconds as I put the nose back into the wind. It made for a mild sense of vertigo.
The landing wasn't my best. I bounced it. I guess they can't all be greasers. The funny thing was, mid-bounce grandma patted my arm and said, "That was a very nice flight Larry." I thought, "Thanks grandma, but it's not exactly over yet." The 2nd landing was better, punctuated with that very satisfying "chirp, chirp".
As I pulled up to Flightstar to unload the grandparents, Laurie was there waiting to help. I was very glad to see her. That's actually the scariest part of flying with my grandparents--getting them in and out of the plane. Thankfully, nobody tumbled off a wing.
After I put away the plane and dad retrieved Mode and Eli, Laurie and I went home. The whole way back I was kicking myself about bouncing the landing. Nothing sticks in a pilot's craw more than a less than perfect landing. You could have conducted the rest of the flight flawlessly and by the book, but you bounce a landing and it ruins the whole thing. Laurie has seen obsess about this kind of thing before and is always quick to remind me to get over it. While it may not have been a good landing to me, the passengers didn't complain or scream out in terror. So just live with it. I suppose. Still, if I'd just . . .
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
