Manners and etiquette British Vs. Canadian

Cultural stereotypes abound here. Anyone will tell you that the British are hung up on doing things the correct way. We are masters of etiquette, which may as well be another word for “doing-things-a-certain-way-for-the-sheer-hell-of-it-to-make-other-people-feel-uncomfortable-if-they-don’t-do-it-that-way”

Canadians of course are renowned for their never ending politeness (unless you try to beat them at Hockey!). As both a Brit and a Canadian, this means I am forever trying to do the right thing and apologise constantly for getting it wrong. This infinite loops continues.

Okay, so where the hell are you going with this WMAP? I hear you asking. Well really it’s a bit of a jokey way of describing the situation at the end of my last flight. Being both British and Canadian meant I felt compelled to wait until we had landed and parked up before politely excusing myself from Bob’s post flight debrief in order to duck behind the plane and barf. Strange, Emily Post is startlingly quiet on the etiquette of post flight chundering.

Of course I was abjectly apologetic afterwards.

Send Lawyers, Guns and Money

As the song goes.

We have two of the above, am seriously contemplating the need for the third.

Buying a home should not be this hard, especially when you already live in it.

Frustration of a different kind.

I’m no stranger to frustration. My entire flying career to date has been littered with this. Mostly because I hate the irrational fears that overtake my mind and prevent me from doing what I need to do.

For the longest of longest times my flights consisted of a constant battle to push through the fear and get on do what I needed to do. Every time I flew solo I had to force myself to get in that plane and takeoff on my own. Every decision had the little spark of fear driving it on. Was I cancelling because the weather was marginal or was there a thread of fear driving that decision?

Lately though, this has been tapering off a bit. I happily did a solo flight knowing that the crosswind was a good 8 knots and maybe even forecast to get worse. I had a plan. I was confident I could execute it, so I hopped in my plane and set off without a second glance.

The next flight was a dual one, I happily set off in conditions that were gusty and not ideal by anyone’s definition. As I contemplated the 45 knot low level jet stream on the GFA, I joked with RTH “Hey I could enter slow flight and go backwards up there!” I wanted to fly in those conditions. I wanted to “push the envelope.” I wanted to add to my set of “I’ve flown in that” numbers. Consequently I was looking forward to experiencing it. There were a few bumps and jolts that caused me to revert back to my usual sweary self but the panic in the pit of my stomach was gone. Ok so it was replaced by a slightly different feeling (more on that in another post!)

Then we came to the power on stalls. I’ve never been a fan. I wasn’t exactly looking forward to them but I wasn’t scared either. This is a big improvement for sure.

Unfortunately this can’t be said of my actual recovery technique. I won’t bore you with the details but the one thing you absolutely should not when recovering from this type of stall was the one thing I couldn’t stop myself doing. Intellectually I knew what I needed to do. I just couldn’t make my limbs do it.

Bob in his infinite patience tried and tried and tried. Even resorting to taking control and letting me see the difference when you do it correctly. I just couldn’t get it.

Frustration oozed from every fibre of my being. But not my usual kind. Not the rising panic, not the “OMG this is so hard and I’m never going to be a pilot” kind.  No this was more like trying to thread a reluctant needle. You have everything you need in your hands, you’ve just got to get the steps right and with a little bit of coordination, eventually it’ll click.

I will admit, I was p!ssed off at myself. I know I can do this. I’ve just got to think of some ways to get my limbs to cooperate. I’m working on it.

But I’m left with a little bit of a dilemma. I’m determined to get these right. I want and need to do this. My next lesson should be a solo one and while I love my solo lessons (Wow, I never thought I’d be writing that!) I’m not able to do those power on stalls solo at the moment lest I do something stupid (like spin the damn thing). I can’t help wondering if I should do another dual lesson to beat these demons or if I’m just being impatient and it’ll come eventually and the wait will be good for me.

I need vodka

Embroiled in what should be a relatively simple purchase of the condo we have lived in for the last six years.

Need alcohol.

That is all.

A winter’s tale

I’ve had three flights in a row now, despite the weather’s best efforts. Here’s a random assortment of pictures taken from the apron over the past few weeks

FFUF all tied up and nowhere to go

GGNJ with engine cover, waiting on her pilot

A winter's apron

When the apron is like this you have to use a mixture of taxiing techniques, correcting for the wind as usual but control column full back when going over the slush.

GSAR in the background being preflighted. A Porter taxiing back.

The Piper Aztec being pulled out of the hanger

Well done, sir

While us little Cessna drivers were standing on the ground, cursing the 45 knot wind, D was up in the air passing his multi-engine flight test.

D seems to be acquiring additional ratings at an alarming rate. I’m not jealous at all, honest!

Seriously though, congrats on a well-deserved pass!!

Finally catching a break

It seems I might finally be catching a break with the weather, the forecast for this weekend being a little on the marginal side. Still there was hope that Saturday might be conducive to some flight time, so I dutifully trundled down to the airport for a “chocks off” time of 14:30Z.

The TAF was still looking a little on the marginal side for upper airwork and at 12:00Z Flight services agreed with that assessment.  Desperate to fly, I consoled myself with the fact that at least I could get some steep turn and forced approach practice in.

BY 14:00Z the picture had changed somewhat; another call, another weather specialist (this one a bit scarier, I’m getting to recognise their voices!) The ceilings had lifted but there was still transient cloud blowing down from the north, I managed to in him down to admitting that it I stayed south of Claremont I’d probably be OK, I just needed to keep an eye out. I wasn’t too concerned. Cloud coming in from the North means that the conditions in front will deteriorate before the conditions behind me, so the chances of me not being able to get back were minimal. The option of limping home along the shoreline would remain viable for long enough.

I went out and did what I needed to, dodging the odd cloud here and there. I will admit that there is a little voice inside me that wants to fly through a cloud, just to see what it’s like! Strong as the urge is, that particular itch doesn’t need to be scratched when I’m solo!

By the time I got back the ceilings had worsened, Bob’s other solo student had managed to find a hole to work in but it was closing up by the time he got back.  As far as I could tell the situation was not improving.

Which means, for once, I actually caught the best of the weather. That makes a nice change. I’m hoping that winter is on its last legs now and that spring isn’t too far away.

Spring will bring back the opportunity to do some cross country flying and that excites me a lot at the moment!

High Stakes

In the Canada Vs USA hockey game

We don’t want him back.

VIP service.

The owner was kicking around the hanger when I got down there for my flight. It always makes me a little nervous when he’s around, watching me do my preflight, I dunno, I guess it’s a little intimidating maybe, and I’ve mentioned before I make my finest mistakes when he’s in earshot.

Today he was in a helpful mood, kindly pointing my plane out to me as I walked straight past it in the hanger. He also mentioned that he’d just topped off the oil and secured the cap for me.

After a short briefing with Bob I let him know that I was ready to go; knowing that we’d need to do a bit of plane shuffling to get me out. Well he must have been in a generous mood because he told me “go get yourself settled on the plane, we’ll pull you out. No point in getting cold*”

I was a little embarrassed as dispatch hauled me through the hanger, normally I’m more than happy to participate in the aircraft Tetris needed in the winter, but no, it seems I was in for the VIP treatment.  Even more so when the owner insisted that they clean off my windshield before they let me go.

Hey, a girl could get used to this kind of service!  

* At the time I assumed he meant me, looking back he probably meant the engine!

In a flap.

Yep I did something stupid today. I guess it couldn’t have been massively dangerous as both myself and the plane made it back intact. Even Bob shrugged it off as “well you noticed eventually, didn’t you?”

Bit of background first, when practicing forced approaches in winter, we don’t pull the power all the way back, mainly because the cooling that ensues followed by the sudden application of power when you overshoot, may mean the loss of the word “practice” from your forced approach.  Winter ops call for about 1100rpm and 10 degrees of flaps to simulate the lack of engine. This is usually fine.

Today I did my first forced approach ok but was slightly unhappy with the way I had to make some “S” turns on final. I decided (a little half-heartedly I guess) to give it another try, different field this time. I pulled back the power, dropped the flaps and set up to my field. 

My speed control had been a little all-over the place for the first attempt, so I concentrated on fixing that. I lost sight of my field.  I decided to “cheat” a little and head to another, then realised that I wasn’t really doing myself any favours. I was just dicking around up there with no real purpose. I aborted the attempt and climbed back up to a safe altitude, banking at the same time to remain south of Claremont.

The plane felt weird, heavy almost. Hard work for sure but I nursed her back up to 2500 feet. At this point I decided to call it a day, I’d achieved what I wanted to and made my radio call to exit the practice area. Set up for the cruise back to City, I did my quick scan of the instruments and gauges adding in a check of the fuel systems as well.

And then I noticed it.

Yep, I still have 10 degrees of flaps down.

Bugger!

Guess that would explain the funky handling then.

I blame winter, this wouldn’t have happened if it wasn’t winter!

Briefing/debriefing.

It’s always kind of weird when I’m soloing without a currency flight with Bob beforehand. It’s getting weirder as well, to be honest when the first part of our briefing consists of him asking me “So, what’s the plane for today’s flight then?” The balance of power has really shifted since I started; gradually everything is becoming my responsibility now.

I talked him through my plan of action: Steep turns as part of HASEL check, slow flight, power off stalls, forced approach and back. Bob seemed happy with that. He then started to question me about various emergency scenarios, a little like a game show I guess. “I’ll take ‘how not to crash my plane’ for $200 please!”

Once we’d established that I understood that a low fuel annunciator light might not necessarily  mean low fuel  and that I was aware of what instruments would go if the vacuum system packed in, Bob released  me to the practice area , sans instructor!

Afterwards, we met for a short debrief. This is where the trust factor really comes in. I could lie and tell him just how wonderful I am and that everything was immaculately performed to the smallest of tolerances, or I could be truthful and tell Bob exactly what went on, complete with the “I did something really stupid out there” that came with today’s flight.

So I chatted about what I’d done and how it went, Bob listening intently.  He’s happy with me, not just with the flying but with my ability to analyse what’s going well and what I need to work on. Consequently even though my next flight will be a dual one, I’ve had a lot of input as to what I want to cover.

Know your plane

A good lesson today, in both the importance of a good preflight inspection and having some knowledge of your plane.

One of the disadvantages of not doing a checkout with Bob before flying off on my own is that I don’t have anyone to discuss the latest foibles of the plane with.

Please understand that all the planes I fly are meticulously maintained. Sure there might be some cosmetic issues but I’ve never had a piece of equipment fail on me yet, the owner does not take shortcuts when it comes to looking after the mechanical aspects of these planes. 

Even so, each plane has its own  little quirks and idiosyncrasies .JPM has an annoying rattle/whine at times, SAR used to like to nose up quite dramatically but seems to have been cured of that little problem after the last bout of work it had done.

Today JES decided to cause me a little mischief on the way to my run up and beyond. The left fuel gauge decided to oscillate wildly between full and empty. The needle bouncing around like it was on a pogo stick.

Luckily I knew two things, which made this an annoyance rather than a serious issue. First off all I knew that the tank was full to brimming and that the cap was secure. I knew this because not 10 minutes earlier I’d been up on the wing, checking the fuel and securing the cap. I also knew that because the tank was totally full, the float sensors get a little screwed up and don’t always read accurately. That and the fact that the right tank was also full, but with a behaving gauge meant that I was happy to continue the flight.

I will admit it irritated me a little, although intellectually I knew that everything was fine, my attention was more focussed than it need to be on the bouncing needle, it was a good reminder that the next time I’m grumbling about having to search the hanger for enough milk crates to do a decent visual inspection of the fuel , it really is very important.

Not cross with the wind

I knew the winds were going to be a little funky this flight. Reasonably strong and pretty much from the North. I wasn’t unduly concerned, with Bob on board I’ve landed a 10 knot crosswind before, so I figured I’d be able to manage the forecast 7 or 8 knots.

I’ve always had a running battle with the North wind, geographically it kicks up some  localised bumps and jolts over the city and practice area and it makes your approach a little more problematic than, say a South wind.

Sure enough it made the flight a little more challenging, a little harder work but it wasn’t as frustrating as it has been in the past. I knew what the wind was doing, I knew that it was the wind trying to push me out over the lake and so I knew what to do about it.

The trip from Pickering to Claremont seemed to take forever because of the headwind but at least the trip back was quicker!

On approach to the city I was conscious of the fact that it’d be very easy to get caught out and let the wind shove me towards the Hern stacks. I concentrated hard on threading the plane between them and the new high-rises that have sprung up.  Generally though the approach was going well.

Now for the landing, the hardest part of any crosswind situation. I already had a plan in mind; I’d discussed it with Bob before I took off in response to his “what’s your take on the wind?” question.

“I’ve already done a 10knot crosswind before.” I said.  “It took me a couple of overshoots to get the feel of the wind, but I got it down eventually. Anyways I’ll take a couple of bashes at it and if not then I’ll request 33.” I was strangely confident that I’d manage.

So here I was, set up for a straight in approach for 26. ATC had offered me 33 as an option when I made initial contact. With some not quite standard radio work (the frequency was quiet) I told ATC that “we’d* give 26 a go”

So I did, I set up for a nice angle of approach, I’m becoming a bit of a fan of the “a little high and then deploy full flaps” method. It seems a little safer than low and dragging it in under power method that I previously seemed to use.

The landing started off really well. It got away from me a little bit at the end, still not sure what exactly happened but I’m studying the footage. It was nothing major, I just ended up a little long and a little more away from the centreline than I’d like. The really important thing is that when I felt it starting to go a little squirly, I didn’t panic. I got it back to a reasonable point and made a totally passable landing.

All in all I’m very happy, I have another set of numbers to add to my “ I flew in that, and it all went ok” bag of tricks.

Add one 8 knot crosswind, straight across the runway.

*I’m not 100% sure why I said “we”. Maybe I like to think of JES and I as a team! 

No drama

As mentioned before, I was in a good mood for today’s flight. Well rested and fully aware of what I needed to do. Rarely, for this time of year, I was within solo currency for the flight school and so no need for Bob to be on board at all. Mentally I knew exactly what was required:  Get to the school early, fill out the necessary paperwork, sign the solo renter’s paperwork, fill in the flight sheet and do my walkround.

All completed in the nice warm hanger (thank you dispatch!), I even managed to locate enough milk crates to create my own little step system in order to visually check the fuel tanks (both brimmed).  All this completed before Bob had even arrived.  

A quick chat to serve as a preflight briefing and another call to flight services to confirm the weather conditions and I was off out to the practice area.

No drama, no handwringing, no chickening out.

Exactly how it should be. 

Well oiled

And not the normal kind you’d expect from a Friday night out.

I made the most of work’s mid-term break and clawed back some lieu time owed.  Work’s been stressful for all kinds of reasons; I’m juggling a lot of different projects with a distinct lack of enthusiasm of the moment.

I met up with an old work colleague and friend A and we spent the afternoon relaxing at a local spa. It was heaven.  A couple of hours taking advantage of the various water therapy pools and steam rooms followed by an hours massage.

It was obviously just what I needed. I don’t relax easily, I find it hard to switch off but this was bliss, I think I may well have dozed off on the table. Finally the mental and physical aches washing away.

I ventured home, slept well and consequently was in a good frame of mind for Saturday’s flight. 

It’s oh so quiet.

Presumably because of the slightly marginal forecast, there wasn’t much in the way of traffic out at Claremont, which was probably a good thing because my radio calls were a little on the unpolished side. There wasn’t even much traffic in the control zone. I was cleared enroute ridiculously early.

I was fairly quiet as well, mainly because to start with I was fairly nervous about heading out there, worried about the clouds and ice and other related stuff.  I did my usual mental trick of “just take it out to Bluffers and then come back” line of persuasion but on the way out I broke my silence to say out loud “will you just breathe for god’s sake?”

So I did , slowly and carefully.

It’s a good technique; it allows me to take stock of my situation. I’m at 2000ft, the engine is purring sweetly, the gauges staying stable with normal indications. Fuel situation is good and I’ve scoped out potential sites in case the engine decides to quit.

Even on top of my panic, somehow I’ve still been flying the plane and making the decisions I need to.  I realise this and suddenly it feels like a huge weighted has been lifted from me.

I don’t need to turn back

I’m flying a plane

I’m flying a freaking plane!

I love it up here.

It’s just me and the plane and the whole world stretching below me.

Words fail me, so I don’t bother. It’s so peaceful and quiet and beautiful. Who needs words?

Flattery will get you everywhere.

My last flight was good overall, I nailed those steep turns and made the field easily on my forced approach. What wasn’t so good was the hand-wringing angst that accompanied my solo flight.

I told Bob that I wasn’t mentally prepared for the flight ….. I wasn’t

I told Bob that I was worried about judging the cloud base ….. I was

The truth is, I was back to my old habits. I thought I’d grown out of this “should I, shouldn’t I?” game every time we planned for me to solo.

Bob was up with another student by the time I landed. We spoke later on the phone. As usual I was completely honest about what I’d done and how I’d done it. No point in lying to Bob, but honestly I didn’t have much to comment on negatively. I’d hammered out those steep turns until I was happy with them.  I’d made the field and shown good time management by getting the plane back in time for the next student.

I felt the need to apologise for the grief I’d given him before I soloed off. We both agreed that it was probably just nerves from the fact that I hadn’t flown in a while, that I’d get over it.  Still I don’t like to be that way, I don’t do needy, it’s really not me. Then Bob said “you know WMAP, you have great judgement. I have students who have naturally  good piloting skills but you I trust to go out there and be safe. It’ll be ok.”

Now that kind of flattery I can take. The trick to any compliment is to make it believable. If Bob’d turned round and told me that I have amazing stick-and-rudder skills and that I’m going to breeze through my flight test without a second glance, well I would have instantly spotted it for the hot air that it was. But this, this I may actually be able to invest in.  I’m cautious up there, I’ll always err on the safe side. I’ve never tried to do anything stupid. I regard being allowed to fly solo as a privilege to be cherished and not an opportunity to mess around and do stuff that you know your instructor wouldn’t let you.

That one sentence from Bob was probably enough to reinvigorate my belief in myself. Given the choice, I’ll take being a safe pilot over a “natural” one any day.

Edgy.

This could describe so many aspects of today’s flight. It could describe me, I mentioned that I was woefully unprepared mentally for this flight and so I was on edge.

Edgy could also describe my flying in that it certainly wasn’t smooth or polished but it all turned out OK, I guess.

Confidence-wise I’d taken a little step backwards, I was uncertain about the weather conditions, spooked by the fact that I might have to dodge low ceilings in order to find a space in the sky to work in. I’ve gotten over my fear of cloud, I’ve been in situations where I’ve dodged around it, under it and even a time where I simply had to turn around and come back because of it, but winter cloud brings other concerns and the thought of ice accumulation brings me out in a cold panic-sweat.  I was on edge for sure.

My circuit flying was pretty crap as well, I forgot I was meant to be in the circuit to start with and then just didn’t get back in the groove. Not helped by 360 turns for spacing or long final approaches due to traffic.

It all turned out fine though, despite some little quirks. I’m back to fiddling unnecessarily with power settings and the like and my flying wasn’t as smooth as it has been but nothing I would even quantify as a mistake.

The fact is, and I need to constantly remind myself of this, I make good decisions when I’m in the air. I evaluate and respond well to situations.  Today had some great examples of this. On the way out , there was a little lingering cloud hanging around the airport, so on my way out I levelled off my climb just a little bit at 1400ft until I got passed it and then resumed back up to 2000ft, just until I could be sure that it wasn’t an issue.

Coming back I got the ATIS and then went to switch to Tower, as I pulled out the squelch on the radio, I was greeted by a horrific screeching sound. It sounded like the heterodyne you get when two people are trying to talk at the same time.  I wasn’t sure if the radio was broken.  Well, Ok then. I know that at least one of my radios is working; I just got the ATIS on it. I dialled in Tower on the other one, still the same noise, well let’s try it anyway and see what happens. If not then we’ll start an orbit and decide what to do from there.

I made my call, it clearly went through as they got back to me fairly quickly. Strangely enough I didn’t feel the relief I expected to when they replied, which means I obviously wasn’t too concerned in the first place.

See I can cope with this stuff, I am safe, competent and on the right side of cautious. I just need to remind myself of this. Constantly

Forced

Bob knows me all too well. I was a having a bit of a moment in the circuit with him. Nothing dangerous, just rusty and quite frankly to be expected after a month of inactivity.  Oddly enough my landings weren’t the worst thing going on and normally you’d expect them to be the first thing to deteriorate. I didn’t even feel the adrenaline rush of “uh-oh here comes the runway, rushing up towards me bloody quickly” which normally means I feel the urge to bailout and overshoot.  That really is weird.

Anyways on the second circuit Bob called for a full stop. He could tell I wasn’t comfortable. On the way back in he jumped on the radio and told ATC that this was going to be an instructor drop off, thus removing the opportunity for me to protest.

Same as we pulled up on the apron, Bob gathers his things and asks me something along the lines of "so are you good to go then?"

I shake my head.

He opens the door and gets out anyway, leaving me with very few options.  

I briefly contemplate shutting down the engine. I don’t

I consider calling ATC on my way to the run up area and asking to come back. I don’t

I think about amending my request from “local east” to “circuits”. I don’t

Once again Bob has forced me to confront my fears and head off in to the wild blue (or slightly grey!) yonder. I’m actually grateful.

Having being forced to get up there, I force myself to do the airwork I need to. I hammer away at those steep turns. Over and over again until I’m happy with them. Forcing myself to keep track of where I was geographically, fighting the disorientation so that I always knew where I was.  It’s coming so much more easily now.

Finally I forced myself to do a forced approach. A proper one. I have no field picked out before I pull back the power.  I trim for 65knots, take stock of my surroundings and even manage to find a key point. As I head towards it, I realise that I’m low so I scoot inside it. I’ll be turning the equivalent of a fairly tight base but this is doable. I make the field easily.

Finally, with a glance at my watch, I reluctantly force myself to bring her back again.

Too far ahead.

Every pilot will tell you that the trick to successful flying is to stay ahead of the plane. There’s an old saying that tells us “never put the plane somewhere your mind wasn’t 5 minutes ago”.

I’m going to tell you that it is, in fact, possible to be too far ahead of the plane.  Today’s flight, for example, the plan being that I’d do the obligatory couple of circuits to regain my currency and then head off to the practice area.

Well my circuits were bad because, quite simply, my brain was already out at the practice area.  As we took off and climbed like the proverbial rocket, I made my crosswind turn nice and early as ATC had requested me to.  I kept up the best rate of climb and both Bob and I marvelled at the performance of the plane in this cool weather.

“Watch your altitude,” Bob advised. I looked at him, then my altimeter, then him again. Momentarily confused, sure I’m just passing through 1300ft, what’s the issue?

“Oh Crap I’m staying in the circuit, aren’t I? D’oh!!!!”  Quickly I lose the excess height.

Mentally I was already heading off to Claremont, planning out my flight to the east. Oops! As I said before it is possible to be too far ahead. I was a whole flight in front of myself!

My name is WMAP and I’m a flight-aholic

It has been one month since my last flight.

Yes, seriously it has been that long since the weather cooperated enough for me to consider getting airborne.   You may be able to tell from my blog posts that I’m getting just a little tired of the cold, snow and cloud. 

Starting on about Wednesday each week I dutifully start stalking the long term forecast, scoping out which day of the weekend looks the most promising (or least terrible) for flying.  As we get closer to the day I start stalking TAFS and GFAs to get a handle on the likely hood of me getting into a plane. 

 Frustratingly the weather likes to toy with me. Right up until the night before the forecasts like to look marginal, usually with lowish ceilings. Mentally I’ve been finding this hard to deal with. As I mentioned, I really am addicted to this and after literally weeks of having my hopes raised and dashed, raised and dashed, I was starting to get a little disillusioned with the whole process. I couldn’t seem to catch a break and there didn’t seem to be an end in sight.

To be honest, I got so tired of the constant am I? aren’t I ? aspects to this. My flying morning routine became a litany of “going through the motions”, get up, check weather, phone Flight Services, text Bob, procrastinate over the decision before inevitably deciding not to go.

This week didn’t look to be any different, the forecasts showing marginal ceilings, no good for upper airwork that really I’d already resigned myself to the groundhog day described above. To protect my sanity, I'd pretty much convinced myself that we'd either call a no-go or at the most I'd get to fling it around a few circuits.

And that is how I found myself woefully unprepared mentally for the flight I was actually about to embark on.