Feeling the numbers

Now that I’ve made decisions about what I definitely won’t fly in, I’ve got to start figuring out what I will head out in.

Highlights from today’s conversation the Flight Services included “winds predicted to be 270@15G20” and “ceilings at 3500ft with light (VFR) showers – rain”

That is a sucky forecast because of its middle-of-the-road-ness. It is doable. It might not be fun-sightseeing-take-your-friends-on-a-pleasure-flight kind of conditions but it’s not inherently dangerous or anything. The ceilings are high enough that you can do the airwork stuff; the winds are on the high side of desirable but almost straight down the runway.

It all comes down to not having a handle on what the numbers on a bit of paper actually feel like. Of course I will never get that feel if I don’t fly in those conditions.  Quite frankly if it were left up to me I would only fly with 10000ft ceilings and zero wind  and no significant weather predicted for the entire day (of course zero wind actually has some issues, especially when landing). I believe these conditions exist approximately once every millennium or so.

I’m over cautious, I know this. I think eventually it will turn out to be a good thing but at the moment its hampering me a little bit, making me agonise over what should be flyable conditions, if a touch on the challenging side.

Anyways, probably against my better judgement, Bob and everyone else ganged up against me and persuaded me to give it a go. Bob employing his usual tactic of “we’ll just do some circuits and see how you go” and J from dispatch trying the more subtle subliminal method of hiding behind the computer monitor and popping up at random to say “gooooo flyyyyying”

I am actually really glad that I did. I have more numbers to add to my list of “I’ve flown solo in that and I did Ok” repertoire.

So far it includes

·         A 12 knot cross wind

·         Ceilings below 3000ft

·         Rain showers

·         15G20 20 degrees off the runway

·         Rapidly dropping cloud base (enough so that I turned back)

I can understand that the more I can add to that list the better, but it’s a fine line between “pushing the envelope” as Bob calls it and doing something stupid.

Numbers are no good on their own. You need to feel them.

Low maintenance.

I have no idea how this has happened but I appear to have become … well, a low maintenance student, I guess.

I’ve blogged before how it’s kind of weird when I just jump in the plane and fly, no “tester” circuits with Bob beforehand. It’s even weirder when he schedules a student at the same time as my solo flights so that he’s up there with someone else. But now I’ve reached the epitome of low maintenance. Bob had made his way home before I’d even landed!

For those of you familiar with the solo student supervision requirements for the PPL, don’t think I was being short changed or anything here. We’d done over an hour’s worth of ground briefing for various bits and pieces, and we both knew what I needed to do on this flight. So Bob saw me off and then really didn’t need to hang around. He left me a text message to call him after I’d landed and we debriefed from there. To be honest Bob probably gets all the info he needs from reading this blog.

For those of you who are not so familiar with all the nuances of getting your PPL, here’s how it works. Initially you fly with an instructor, many people choose to have the same instructor each time, some don’t. I’ll talk about the pros and cons of each approach in another post. Before each flight you brief with your instructor about what you are both trying to achieve. Yes, it may be as simple as “today we will try straight and level flight”. You then go and fly the lesson and afterwards you debrief; on what went well, what didn’t and what the plan is for next time.

Even during this phase your instructor gradually passes over the reins of responsibility to you. You start off doing the walkround together for example. After a few lessons your instructor will say to you “Ok go start your walkround, I’ll be out in a few minutes” and will observe from afar. Eventually you will be expected to do the walkround on your own, without prompting. You become slightly “lower maintenance” from an instruction point of view because your instructor can time it so that they are debriefing one student while you are preflighting your lesson.

After a while you reach the stage where your instructor decides that you can possibly manage this flying thing on your own for a short period of time, AKA “your first solo.” Basically they get out and watch with bitten nails as you attempt to bring the plane down in one piece.

For a while after that you gradually build up your solo time, usually your instructor will fly with you for a few circuits, to check that you still remember what all the bits do and then will get you to drop them off on the apron and send you up for some circuits on your own.

After this you go back to flying with your instructor but you’ve broken the leash of your local airport. The idea now is to get you used to flying to other places on your own.  As a student pilot you need to build up solo time. You need a certain number of hours of it before you can get your license, but you can’t just turn up and grab a plane. Any solo time has to be logged under the supervision of your instructor, as ultimately they have the responsibility as to whether you fly or not. Depending on how far on in your training you are, this may mean that they spend half an hour briefing you before you fly. It may mean that they jump in the plane with you for a couple of circuits before releasing you or it may mean that you have a pre agreed plan in place and they leave a note at the flight school for someone to sign you out, conditions permitting.

For career instructors (not so much Bob) or people actually trying to earn a living from this, it is important to get the logistics of this right.  You don’t get paid for the time your student is clocking up solo time, so ideally you want another student booked for instruction while you’ve signed out your solo student.

Even during this phase though, your instructor is still nudging you to make those command decisions yourself. It might be that at the start you both sit down together and look at the weather and make a joint decision as to whether you are going to fly. Eventually it becomes more of a “looked at the weather? Yep? Good to go or not?” conversation, with the emphasis being on how you came to the decision more than the decision itself. It may be that you start off with a very definite set of instructions “I want you to practice X then Y then Z” Ultimately it becomes “so what’s your plan for today’s flight then?”

It’s only since I started putting this down as a blog post that I’ve realised how much I’ve migrated from the “it starts out as...” to the “eventually...” end of the spectrum.

I really have become a low maintenance student and I’m really not sure how I got here!

 

It’s all about the socks

Aviatrix (whose blog I follow) has some interesting ideas about improving your landings. Basically it comes down to buying new socks. She is; however, very quick to point out that this absolutely doesn’t work for students.

Boooo! That’s a real shame because I could use something to blame last lessons three-attempts-to-find-the-fricken-runway on.

I’ve already said that it wasn’t exactly a great flight and those aborted attempts at finishing the flight were just the icing on the cake.  I set up the first time, joining the downwind at perfect circuit altitude, turned base, made my radio call and set up on the most slanted final you have ever seen, it was already getting ugly.

On final I trimmed for a decent speed but as soon as I was over that runway it just felt fast. Fast and screwy, I wasn’t lined up properly and the runway was disappearing beneath me at a, quite frankly, alarming rate.

Not good, let’s try again shall we? Power in , resist the urge to fling up the flaps and around we go.

Second time around, pay more attention to my approach speed this time, obviously I let it get away from me last time. I take a look at the wind sock on final, maybe there was more of a crosswind than I thought. I look at it but bizarrely can’t quite seem to make sense of what it is telling me. I set up for landing , flaaaaaaare and BOOM! We’re airborne again.

DAMN! Bounced! No time to think, Overshoot.

On the climb out I chastise myself, I’m already irritated by my general performance and not being able to land is just, well, stupid. I run through my options in my head. This morning, when I thought the winds were going to be from the north, I had a plan. I’d try a couple of attempts on 08 and then request 33 if it was all going wrong.

Problem is now there isn’t a more “into wind” runway. I’m stuck with this one. I really need to land. Try again.

Set up for final, nail that 65 knots. Don’t turn too early, traffic being overshot by ATC in front of you. No problem, I want the full stop, spacing is fine. I’m too high, 20 degrees of flap, then 30 and a slip. Look at the wind sock, ailerons into the wind; now play with that rudder until you are straight. Keeping the rudder in, I slip her down to the runway, sweet as anything. Still a little long but easily down by Foxtrot. The stall horning just squeaking as one wheel touches down then the other.

Relieved I taxi her in and shut down, noticing with some amusement that despite a near empty apron; dispatch have sent someone out to marshal me in!

Bob’s already left at this point, as requested I call him to debrief. I instantly confess my less than stellar landings (plural!).

“Hmm”, he commented “that tail wind catch you out then? I noticed the windsock on my way out of here.”

Suddenly the light bulb lit up in my head. That’s why the windsock didn’t seem to make any sense. That’s why I seemed to have no time on final. That’s why the runway was disappearing at a rapid rate. That’s why I bounced my landing; I always bounce if I carry too much speed.

The only thing more irritating than the fact that it took my three landings to figure this out , is the way that Bob knew what I’d done wrong without being at the fricken airport, let alone in the sodding plane.

Instructor ESP or what?

Aviatrix is right though, landings are all about the socks. Windsocks.

Fearless

Yesterday was, to be honest, a complete clusterf#ck of a flight. Really nothing much of what I attempted went right and yet I’m actually sitting here reasonably happy with how things went.

“Huh?” I hear you asking. What can she mean?

Yes it’s true that my steep turns were either not steep or were all over the place altitude wise. My forced approaches useless as time again I just lost sight of the damn field and failed miserably

But, and this is the big one. My attitude was so different. Rather than being panicky or scared and doing something stupid, I was just, well irritated really. Rather than being too scared to attempt anything out there, I gave it a shot but was wise enough to realise when it just wasn’t working out and it was time to call it a day.

On the way back ATC gave me the usual hard time about needing the right downwind for 08, telling me to that they were probably going to need me to orbit. And then dithering about whether they wanted me north or south of the stacks. Eventually they very helpfully cleared me “<mumble> ..th of the stacks.” Leading me to ask “say again, was that north or south of the stacks?” They promptly ignored me and thus got a slightly more forceful “City tower this is GSAR, say again was that north or south of the stacks?”

I got a slightly more forceful reply, I ignored the snotty undertones and gave them my most clear and precise readback voice, the inherent undertone here being “I’m not the one with the enunciation problem, pal”

Of course then I blew my cool, calm, “I’m a professional” façade by taking three sodding attempts to get it on the runway.

Really though it’s all good, sh!t goes wrong up there and I deal with it. Not quite fearless , but getting close.

Flaps are my friend

My landings are pretty good at the moment, sure I wouldn’t describe them as perfect (I have impossibly high standards), but I’m happy that I’m in control of them rather than the plane just randomly impacting the tarmac.

One of the things that has helped is my use of flaps. I have no idea why it has taken me so long to come to this revelation but flaps are your friend.  I’ve realised that 30 degree flaps are really really useful in keeping a good approach angle. Gone are the days of bringing it in stupidly low and dragging it in under power.  Maybe the obstacle and short landing practice has solidified my use of them, or maybe it was a throw away comment made on the internet (not directed at me incidentally) “Mr. Cessna put 30 degrees of flaps on his plane for a reason, why aren’t you using them?”

I know there are arguments for not using a lot of flap in a crosswind but since I’ve made a conscious effort to utilise as much flaps as possible, I’ve found my approach angle and rate of descent are just, better. Generally this makes for a much safer approach as I’m not likely to skim the water, have more altitude to play with for longer on final and it keeps me out of wake turbulence range.

Today, there was a sailboat kicking around the inner buoys on final approach, didn’t bother me as my approach was steep enough that I had no issues clearing it whatsoever.

Yep flaps are indeed my friend. Incidentally D was telling me that the older model 172s he flies have 40 degrees of flaps available. He says at 40 degrees the plane basically takes up the aerodynamic properties of a parachute!

30 does me just fine, I’m not greedy.

 

Just one more

Initially I thought the weirdest thing about learning to fly was being on the other end of the student/teacher relationship. I am always acutely aware of the little tricks teachers use to manipulate students into doing exactly what they want them to. Bob, for example is a big fan of the “just one more” principle. We take something which I hate doing, like stalls for example, and we just “try one”. Then when I manage that one, it’s “let’s try one more.” Repeat as often as necessary.

Same thing If I’m not too sure about the flying conditions and going solo, “we’ll go up and do a couple of circuits and see how you go,” knowing full well that once I’m flying I’ll end up dropping him off and heading out there on my own.

So what am I complaining about? These seem like perfectly valid techniques, right?

Yep, totally. The troubling thing is that I’ve started using them on myself now! Last lesson , where the conditions were “sporty” and due to get sportier, I was unsure about heading out on my own.

I took off. I swear I could hear Bob’s voice saying “well you’ve got her up now, why don’t you just head out to Bluffers?”

Then it was “well you’re at Bluffers now, look there’s Pickering; how about making it that far?”

Followed by “well you may as well head to Claremont now”

“Why not try a steep turn, just one to the left”

“Great, now how about to the right?”

“There’s a nice field, try a forced approach, you can always overshoot at any time”

Before I know it, I’ve done exactly that, some steep turns and a forced approach, all the time hearing the voice in my head telling me to just try one more thing. Informing me that I’m up here now, what difference is heading back early actually going to have?

Teacher, teach thyself?

I once was lost

I’m not sure if what happened last flight was a good or a bad thing. I got a little, lost is a little over the top, let’s just say disoriented; for a moment on a couple of occasions.

Firstly heading out to Claremont I trundled along the shoreline and correctly identified Bluffers Park and Frenchman’s Bay. At the latter I made my position call to let people now that I was turning north and started following Brock Road.  Except that Brock Road seems to end rather suddenly.

This isn’t Brock road is it? Sure enough a quick glance at my chart shows this road touching the transformer station whereas Brock road is further east. I take a quick scan and quickly identify where Claremont actually is. Then I realise that I don’t actually have to make it as far as Claremont if I want to work SW of it.

I do some steep turns, pretty pleased with the quality of them actually. Even more pleased by the way I roll out of the left hand one exactly 180 degrees from where I started. Without reference to the Heading Indicator. Just by “feel” I guess. Less successful on the right hand one as I felt the nose starting to dip and just rolled out before I even got close to a spiral.

The next moment came after my forced approach. I bailed on it a little earlier than maybe I would have with Bob. I knew that I would have made the field, so didn’t see the point in going down any lower, plus it was starting to get a little “sporty” that close to the ground.

I shoved in the throttle and for some reason resorted back to my old bad habit of flinging up the flaps (but don’t tell Bob!). JPM is a little feisty in the cooler weather and immediately took up the attitude of a moon-bound rocket. All sky and no ground in the windshield. Momentarily I realised that I really didn’t have a clue as to which way I was pointing. For some reason I don’t recall I either didn’t look at or trust my Heading Indicator.  I had no idea where Claremont was. Once I was at a reasonably safe altitude I stopped the climb and lowered the nose slightly. Still no Claremont. This is where I realise that in dull light conditions, with my polarised sunglasses on; I can’t actually read the compass. Hmm, may need to do something about that.

Obviously some part of me has retained at least a vestigial notion of where I am in time and space, as I instinctively glance over my shoulder and spot the big pointy thing. CN Tower behind and to the left means that Claremont should be ahead and to the right.

Sure enough there she is.

While I’m happy that I can sort myself out of little moments like that, mostly by following Bob’s advice to “look for the big things first.” I am a little worried that I can still get lost out at the practice area, when theoretically I’m three flights away from my big cross country jaunt.