FJES is a lucky plane!

As I got down to the flight school, the previous students was just signing the plane back in. I said “Hi!” and we exchanged pleasantries. I noticed he was a tad soggy; turns out he’d literally just soloed in JES. He had that elated yet stunned look that I recognise all too well!

I gave him a hearty “congratulations”, well deserved indeed. Told him that I too had soloed in that plane. We both confessed how fond of her we were. Both of us and taken our first flight in her too, I joked that he’d have to fight me for her.

I tried to ask him more details about how the flight had gone but he was suffering from the “I-know-I’ve-just-done-something-uber-cool-but-I-don’t-have-the-words-to-describe-it-right-now” syndrome that tends to limit your vocab a touch.

I hope he takes a good few moments to think about it tonight. You never ever forget that first solo flight. And for me, well it just cements further my ever growing fondness for JES. We’ve taken some cool flights together recently and she’s done right by me. I’m beginning to understand her little quirks. On takeoff she doesn’t like to climb out straight away, you need to keep her nose down just a touch to gain some speed before you hit that best rate climb. She stalls quite gently with full flaps and power off. She’s a bit sensitive on the  trim in general; when you overshoot you need to trim the nose back down reasonably quickly or she fights back a little.  It takes time to find her sweet spot!

I really like that plane.

 

This runway ain’t big enough for the both of us

Last lesson wasn’t great, as well as struggling with weird winds and hazy horizons, I just didn’t feel “on my game”. ATC; however didn’t appear to be having any such problems, they were on fine form.

Fine form as in “lets spin WMAP around until she’s dizzy” kind of way.  No biggie really, I’m kind of used to it now to be honest. I don’t lose my bearings as often now*. I may not have helped the situation by failing to hit the tarmac 50% of the time. **

However I’m not entirely sure why ATC thought it would be a good idea to try and stick a last minute take off in between a slow-to-exit-the-runway Dash 8 and an already-on-a-tight-short-final Cessna AKA me! Needless to say it didn’t work and I found myself on seriously short final staring down at the back end of a Dash 8 on the threshold.

Well this ain’t gonna work is it? It was obvious that I was going to have to overshoot at some point, but I was a little hesitant, I had visions of overshooting right into the climb out path of the Dash 8. I waited just a little longer to see if a) ATC would actually notice and b) if they had any special instructions.

I honestly don’t know if they were playing chicken with me or what, I literally just reached for the throttle as ATC came on to tell me “JPM pull up and go around, make a turn to your right”

Obviously I did with no ill effects but I can’t help but muse over the following thought. If I’m slow or a little off the mark  and cause a Porter to overshoot , it gets CADOR’d but no one bats a flippin eyelid if they send me out on an overshoot followed by a 2.5 mile final if they are a bit slow. Does that seem right to you?

 

* yes I know it sounds crazy but yes you can get disoriented in the circuit.

** in the interests of clarity here, I overshot, rather than crashed off the side!

Talking to myself.

High workload flight today. Strong and gusty crosswinds, the flight deliberately designed to be challenging. As far as Bob is concerned I’ve shown that I can do standard circuits solo no problem, so now we need to start pushing the boundaries.

And push them we did, I got a thorough workout, both physical and mental. Crosswinds take physical effort in manipulating the controls and mental effort to keep your concentration up. Also they take a lot of swear words! Although this could just be me.

I was talking a lot during that flight, as well as the “woah”s and other exclamation type noises, I believe that I may have taught Bob some new swear words! Seriously though I kept up a constant stream of non-stop talking. Some of it profanity based, some of it cursing myself out for not keeping ahead of my altitude or airspeed but interestingly enough none of it really aimed at Bob.

Yep I spent the entire flight pretty much talking to myself. Believe it or not, it helps. It helps me keep track of what is going on, musing aloud about what I need to do, about how to fix the situations I find myself in. I’m not really asking Bob for help per se, but I’m letting him know what’s going on both inside the plane and inside my head.

Seems to be working, but I could probably do with toning the language down a tad.

Heads or tails

Well today’s lesson was a bit of a gong show. I was definitely not on speaking terms with the tarmac. The original plan was to do some dual circuits, check that I’d got a decent handle on the plane and then Bob’d hop on out and I’d get some solo time.

That isn’t what happened at all. I was mildly optimistic that it’d be OK, the winds were light and variable but I knew enough to be able to tell Bob confidently that I just needed to power back earlier and get full flaps down sooner rather than later.

My first warning sign should have been when I got my taxi clearance to 08 when the ATIS was calling 26 the active. I took off on 08 reasonably well, good enough that I had time to joke with Bob when ATC called me “number 1” (for the runway). “see even they know I’m awesome!”

My approach was all wrong, I did what I thought I needed to but I was drifting well off my planned approach line and not in the direction I expected. Bob informed me “you’ve got a tail wind.” He warned me to be careful, “it’s going to swap to a headwind soon, maybe expect some windshear.”

It didn’t end well; I was sideways on approach I overshot. I cursed myself out. The problem with the winds screwing up your approach is that you can’t see them; it’s not always immediately obvious as to what is going on. The plane just doesn’t do what you want. It’s frustrating.

The winds were just horrible, I should have been comforted by the fact that Bob felt the need to inform ATC that the winds aloft didn’t match the surface winds. It was cold comfort, I wasn’t at my best and it became immediately apparent that Bob wasn’t getting out. The unspoken fear being that I could get it up and fly it around but getting back on the ground was a little dicey to say the least. I forced myself to do 2 more circuits than I really wanted to, in the hope of salvaging some decent landings. It’s embarrassing for everyone concerned when you’ve asked ATC to turn your touch and go into a full stop and then proceed to overshoot when it becomes blatantly obvious that I don't have a hope in hell of getting it down in time.

On my final circuit ATC took major pity on me, having already informed me that I should expect a 2.5 mile final but I should wait for them to call my base turn. I waited, they sent me out over the bay. I powered back a little so that I didn’t end up in Hamilton. I got clearance to turn base at my discretion. I called my turn. ATC told me “you can widen it out a bit if you like, there’s no one behind you.” I can just imagine what he was thinking “take the extra space sweetie, we could all  use you getting it down at some point today.”

I got it down. Missed Foxtrot though, they gave me permission to backtrack off, I could almost hear the sighs of relief from the tower.

 

What goes up (again)….

….must come down. This applies to so many things flying related. I’ve rapidly come to realise that taking off is by far the easiest part of flying. Planes fundamentally want to fly. Once you get past a certain point it takes an enormous amount of effort to stop the damn thing from taking off. I beginning to believe that you could probably take a reasonably intelligent chimp and train them to do a passable takeoff. Hell I manage it!

Landings are another matter though. They bite when you get it wrong. And mine have had a little too much tooth to them recently. Which brings us to other things that “must come down.” My mood and a little bit of my confidence. I’ve been on a bit of a high recently, everything coming together nicely. Navigation starting to fall into place; a burning desire to make it out to the practice area on my own, a belief that I could actually fly a plane on my own for an hour or so.

I still believe I can do that but I have very little faith that I’ll actually be able to get the damn thing on the ground afterwards though. And that is a very big problem. I’m not stupid; I know that there is no question of me being allowed to go out there if I can’t bring my flight to a satisfactory conclusion. I can’t help but feel that at this stage of my training I should be able to land the sodding thing. I know that Bob has said that the conditions have been challenging the last couple of flights, but really how challenging were they? I wasn’t on my A game last lesson, is he just offering a salve to my ego?

The old saying goes “take offs are optional but landings are mandatory.” If I can’t manage the latter then maybe I should reconsider even attempting the former. I need to be able to cope in those conditions, challenging or not.

Perhaps the problem is that I’ve become fixated on a goal, desperate to make that solo to the practice area. I need to relax again, remember how to enjoy the journey rather than fixating on the destination.

I hope I remember how to do that soon.

 

 

Human factors

As part of your PPL, you have to do at least 40 hours of ground school, covering a certain range of topics. The most neglected of these is “Human Factors.” Inevitably it is the last class on the syllabus, thus ensuring that everyone is well and truly exhausted by the time they get round to it*. In my (admittedly limited) experience, this is where the token female flight instructor is wheeled out, so that the macho guys don’t have to deal with the “touchy feely” stuff.

Which is a stupid attitude, how many accidents are attributed to “pilot error”? As wonderful as the human brain is, it is the most unpredictable thing in the aircraft. The plane itself always obeys the laws of physics it’s just that sometimes the brain hasn’t quite figured out what the implications of those laws are.

So why am I bringing this up? Because I have a suspicion that this last lesson, I shouldn’t really have been flying. It’s easy to make that call when you are sick. Colds, flu, coughs etc. all good reasons not to fly but what other factors come into play?

This week has been a real doozy at work. I had a large event on the Friday, outdoors from 08:30 to 16:30 in temperatures pushing the mid 30s**. I was on my feet, back and forwards carrying stuff and just generally busy. By the end of the day I was hot and tired. Excessively so. I thought a cool shower and a good night’s sleep would sort it out. I was wrong.

Looking back the signs were all there, marginal weather so not making the call until the morning. I didn’t even bother to set the alarm. When the text from Bob came through saying “I’m planning for an ETA of 08:30” I came perilously close to saying “I’m not” and rolling back over to sleep.

I didn’t though, I got up muscles slightly stiff and sore and while not “fatigued” per se, just generally low energy, which is unusual for me, the thought of flying normally energises me.

In the plane admittedly the winds were incredibly challenging in a freakily unexpected kind of way (more on that in another post) but I think I’ve experienced worse. I’m sure I’ve reacted better that’s for sure. While I did kind of OK for the challenging conditions, I absolutely know I could have done better. I just ended up frustrated with the plane, the conditions and myself.

In general not the best learning environment for flying but a valuable lesson learned, and as my conference season ramps up; one that I need to remember.

* 18:30 – 21:30 twice a week for 7 weeks on top of a fulltime 9-5 job takes its toll. You cover so much in each session that your mind is reeling by the end

** With the Humidex we were probably looking closer to 40

 

Weather.

Yep it’s time for the next instalment of seemingly-innocuous-things-that-scare-the-living-bejeezus-out-of-WMAP.

Previous contenders include “talking on the radio” and “getting lost.”

You may also realise that I seemed to have fended off these demons. By my own admission, my radio work is OK and I managed to recover from being at least temporarily disoriented in the practice area last lesson. So now my psyche has moved on to its next big thing. Weather.

Now being afraid of the weather upsets me just a little. One of the things I love about my adopted land is the weather. We get lots of it. Big weather and my home has a panoramic view of it. I love watching the clouds roll in, the squall lines hit, the snow fall and the wind whip up the water. All of this is beautiful when viewed from a balcony with either a glass of wine or mug of tea in hand, I suspect though, that the view from an aeroplane is not quite so rosy.

So weather scares me, there are some truly horrifying statistics about how long your average PPL can expect to survive if they accidentally wander into IMC. Let’s just say we are talking minutes here.

Bizarrely enough, I’m reasonably confident that if I ever did fly into some unexpected cloud or crud I at least have a plan. My concerns actually stem from a fear of over-reacting.

I’m fairly certain that if I found myself in cloud or reduced visibility that my plan would work. It’s pretty much threefold:

1)      Climb – impacting the sky tends to hurt less than impacting the ground. Ok so I might bust someone’s airspace but again an airspace violation stings less than a crash. Actually busting someone’s airspace might have unintended but good consequences, I’ll probably get someone’s attention on the radar screen.

 

2)      Communicate – talk to someone, anyone. It could be the nearest tower facility; luckily the plethora of controlled airspace around the practice area means I have plenty to choose from and doing #1 should help me get in range. It could be Flight Services (this reminds me – need to add the frequencies to my kneeboard). It could even be another plane on the practice area frequency; they at least might be able to tell me what the weather is doing in the locality.

3)      Ask for help – Unlike some people I have absolutely no problem doing this. I know that ATC will be able to tell me a heading to stick to and get me to somewhere with a runway. Even if I get totally confused and disoriented, they’ll be able to talk me into the approach and I’ll land it from there.

Worst case scenario involves a precautionary landing in a field somewhere and I’ve practiced enough of those to have a fair idea of what I’m doing , Claremont and the local vicinity has many fields to pick from as well.

That paragraph above though is the one that causes me the most anxiety. When does it become so bad that you need to find a field? Although I appreciate that bringing it down in a field is preferable to impacting into the side of a building somewhere, I still can’t help but feel that it would be an interesting phone call to say the least. “Hey Bob, I’m in a field somewhere!”

What if I do that and the cloud was only a transient fixture and flying 2 minutes north would see me in clear air? How the hell do you explain that? Is that why so many pilots press on for “just a few more minutes” and end up a smoking crater?

Non pilots do not realise just how tricky it is to keep straight and level with no visual reference outside. Your senses lie to you. I’ve experienced it personally twice now. Once as a passenger; on the flight back from Las Vegas, it was night I couldn’t see out of the window and I swear we were in a gentle right hand bank the entire flight. Once as a pilot, we were doing recovery from unusual attitudes. My senses swore that we were nose up when in reality I was in a descending turn.

Like with everything experience is the best teacher, maybe I need to be with Bob in some marginal conditions to figure out where my own limits lie.

I just don’t want to be the idiot student who put it in a field because of a solitary cloud.