Flying a Fargo

My Epic Fail

2010-07-23T21:49:00.000-07:00

I went to the airshow the other night and watched talented pilots perform exeptional feats in wicked cool planes. Right then and there I decided that I wanted to get some aerobatics lessons from those pilots, perhaps one day even do a few airshows myself. One, it would just be really cool, and Two, it'd be amazing to be one of the very few women aerobatic pilots on the airshow circuit. I was truly inspired. And that night, while watching a Pitts go straight vertical and hang by its prop, I got the call from my instructor that my commercial flight test was booked for next week. Well, if I can watch someone cut a rope strung across the runway at 25 FT AGL upside down, I can pass a measly commercial test.

Unfortunately, it turns out I can't. Now, you're probably wondering why I've decided I can't pass a test that's supposed to be 7 days from now? Because I can't even pass the test before the test, the one that qualifies you for the test in the first place. Now, instead of my instructor writing up a nice little letter of recommendation for me, he's suggested I instead keep my flying to taking up friends and family, for I'm at least good enough for that, just not good enough to have anyone pay me to do it.

Did you ever watch that movie, Rudy? Rudy is a guy who absolutely loves football, but just isn't good enough to play. He wants it so bad, so finally, during the final game, the coach lets him go in and he scores the final touchdown (I think, but I don't know for sure). His years of work culminated to that one play, but it was enough for him. His years of striving paid off in that moment, because he wasn't even supposed to have that one play...basically he wasn't good enough for that but it was his heart that got him as far as he had. Well, I feel like Rudy, but I don't think I even have the heart. Or I do, but it's just too old, and hell, I thought maybe if I was good enough my age wouldn't matter. But to be shitty and old, well, there ain't enough heart in the world to make up for that.

The thing is, as uplifting as Rudy was, no one wants to be him. We want to be the star quarterback carrying Rudy on our shoulders, because we'll still be in the game the next day while Rudy is back to lugging around the water bottles. That's why movies like that are few and far between, because as much as we know most of us are just average, there's that tiny hope in the back of our minds that we're just a little bit more than that. So when we're faced with the fact that not only are we not average, but we're worse than average, well...what then? I know you're supposed to just get back up on that horse when you've fallen off, but it's really hard to go back up when you know this is as good as it's going to get. Every time I got near that Fargo I was sure there was something better in store for me, I just had to wait it out. But now, there just doesn't seem to be. I mean, how can you honestly justify a bigger and better plane when you can't do anything with it? When you're not even remotely good enough to do anything with it?

I've got to say, this is my first really big failure. And I guess, being thirty, that's probably a pretty good thing. But when you were already thinking you'd screwed up by not doing something like this sooner and that you've missed your chance for something really great, finding out you're subpar feels like an epic failure. I always thought I was the hero of my own story, but it turns out I'm the goofy sidekick that everyone laughs at. Yes, I'm funny and add the token joke to the slower parts, but by the climax, I'm still making jokes while the hero's life has all come together.

So, now, do I choose to be Rudy and happily drag out the Fargo for a local jaunt around the area knowing it's all I'll ever get? At least he loved football...how do you love something that makes you feel so awful?

Unwanted Passenger

2010-06-07T14:12:00.000-07:00

I'm beginning to rethink my plan to stalk the guy who owns the Maule and ask him for a ride. Why? Because if he is even the tiniest bit as weirded out by some stranger asking for a flight in his plane as I was the other day, he'd still be getting the heebie-jeebies from me.

Now, to be fair to myself, I do not smell like stale booze and cigarettes, and it's not questionable whether I've started drinking at 7AM on a Saturday morning. I also am not about 100 lbs overweight, nor do I drive a rusty pickup with holes in it, nor am I unseemingly and sketchy. I like to think of myself as a normal person that would not creep someone out if I walked up to them and started a conversation. This guy, on the otherhand, did creep me out. Actually, it wasn't him as much as the fact that the second I pulled in to unlock the gate this truck that happened to be sitting at the airport at 7AM on a Saturday morning clunked into reverse and began to back-up slowly until it blocked my exit. That was what started probably one of the worst flights I've been on in a long time.

I was going to ask this guy who he was looking for, but apparently it was me. Not me specifically, but any pilot taking up a plane that morning. Or, I guess I should say, any naive pilot stupid enough to allow a complete stranger in their cockpit. Basically, he feigned interest in purchasing the Fargo as his in. He then asked to come look at it, making a point of driving inside the locked gate instead of remaining outside it and then walking through the gate like he should have. Then, once he looked it over thoroughly (and in my opinion should have come to the conclusion that he could hardly fit inside the 150 nevermind think he could fly the thing) he asked me if I was flying it that morning. I am a horrible liar and completely suck at coming up with excuses, and really, what the hell else did it seem like I was going to do? So I replied yes, and when he asked if he could come too, well, rather than do the intelligent thing and tell him I have a strict no-strange-loiterers policy, I told him, "I guess so."

Well, it just got worse from there. He definitely pushed the Fargo to its weight and balance limits, but tried to tell me something about how they're really weighed in at half their true limit as a safety net, or something like that. Honestly, when they manufactured a tiny, two-seater plane with a cockpit the width of a newborn baby, they did not plan on the pilot being a grotesque 300 lb alcoholic smoker. If that was the case, they would have made it with one seat in the middle and a picker that scooped up the pilot lacking the physical prowess to simply climb in. As it was, I was pressed against my door (which has a tendency to fall open at inconvenient times) as far as I could go and still could not get away from his overbearing presence.

As it was, we managed to get off the ground (good thing I only had half-tanks of fuel) to which he proceeded to tell me where to go, when to turn, how to operate my GPS and eventually, took over my controls. Why did I not stop him? I don't know. I'm not usually the type of person who is afraid to stand up for myself, but I was just so completely uncomfortable with the situation I just tried to make it as bearable as possible until I could get back down and away from him. But, I did have to draw the line at taking my controls, and I took them back and told him I was in a hurry so had to go in to land. Unfortunately, even that was not free of his unwanted expertise as he usually comes in to land in a slip and quickly straightens up right when he's going to touch down. Perhaps I should have explained to him that his unwanted presence had thrown the Fargo off-balance enough that flying straight was challenging enough. Then again, I should have told him no when he first asked to come, but it was too late for that.

I thought I was free and clear once we'd landed, but that was when he chose to ask questions about the Fargo under pretense of buying it, even though he had told me he was unemployed, living in a trailer park, and smelled like he couldn't afford enough hot water to shower, nevermind wash his clothes. But, looks can be deceiving, so I answered his questions and then told him I'd let him out the gate. It took nearly 30-minutes to get him out of there, what with him asking me how much I fly, my one-word answers, and his snooping about the other planes in the hangar. But get him out I did but then had to go home and shower and wash my clothes myself as his boozy-cigarette scented remnants were on them from the quick 30-minutes we spent together in the Fargo's tiny cockpit.

What did I learn from this? Never, never take some stranger up in your airplane. Especially one that is willing to jump into any plane he can regardless of who's flying. He didn't even ask if I had a licence, then again, he thought pretty highly of his own flying abilities (even though he could not pass the test) so must have assumed he'd be able to take over if I proved incapable. But now that leaves me incapable of doing the same thing myself! Here I am, completely grossed out by this creep and now having to replace the mouthpiece of my headset and sanitize the interior of the Fargo, and I was going to do the same thing to Mr. Maule. So really, that does not make me much better. Then again, I don't stink. And I have to say, that fact alone could have been what completely grossed me out. Perhaps if I shower, make sure I've got on clean clothes and just a little perfume, asking the owner of the Maule for a ride might not come across as a creepy, stalker kind of thing to do. Then again, adding perfume just opens up a whole other can of worms when asking strange men for favors, so really, maybe I'll just stick to flying myself in the Fargo for a while, and keep a passenger with me at all times.

Damn Technology

2010-06-03T17:11:00.000-07:00

I went for lunch today at the airport. My mother invited me, I had some time off and since the winds were beyond awful, I figured I may as well since I couldn't fly. She'd heard the food at the airport was really good, so I agreed to meet her there.

Now when I say the wind was awful, it was horrible. It was bad enough that it ripped my driver's side door out of my hands, smashing into the vehicle parked beside me when I tried to get out. Fortunately, my vehicle and the other vehicle are both white, and the one I hit was a City truck, so was quite used to being mistreated. Either way, I managed to wipe away my marks with little noticeable damage. Then again, I guess I could have just told you it was insanely windy without incriminating myself, but I am not one to hold anything back so there you go.

So I get blown into the restaurant and what do I see through the window? A helicopter sitting outside by the pumps. I have not been in a helicopter and am anxiously awaiting my chance, but I could not imagine flying one on a day such as this. You know in cartoons when the characters are being blown sideways in the wind, holding onto lampposts and trees to keep from blowing away? That's today. And yet, a helicopter will still fly. Then, not only that, but a little Mooney came in shortly after the helicopter took off. Now, am I doing something wrong to avoid taking to the skies when it's moving at gusts beyond 30 kts? Or is this another example of the inferiority of my flying skils and/or airplane. Because I doubt the Fargo could keep its wings on a day such as this.

Either way, even with the wind outside, I was jealous of the guy walking across the apron after landing his Mooney. Not that I would want one, no, wait, I would as my second airplane, but I was jealous that he was at a skill level that he could take on a day such as this. I was also jealous of the fact that he obviously had to be somewhere (because who would fly in these winds for a little fun, jaunt about the countryside) that he couldn't hold off until the wind died down. So while these pilots were getting on with their day and their, I'm guessing, employed flying gigs, I was eating at the restaurant with my mother, jealous and pouty I wasn't going up there too. Which brings me to the original point of my blog....

Originally, I was going to complain that my stupid computer wouldn't let me renew my microsoft office and therefore I could not get started writing an article about the amazing restaurant at my airport that I was going to perfect and send in for publishing. Instead, I just complained that I couldn't fly in blustery, insanely windy conditions and get paid for it. Well, I guess we all go on tangents once in a while, and I'm usually guiltier than most (and yes, guiltier is a word, it might just be my own, but it's still a word. If you can read it, it's a word). So now I must try again to find a way to download Microsoft Word so soon you can all read my articles somewhere beyond this blog, let's just hope they make much more sense than this one did.

Boys Suck!

2010-05-31T08:40:00.000-07:00

Here's another reason why you boys suck and why I'm stuck trying to figure all this out on my own...

The last time I flew into a nearby airport, I saw a wicked cool Maule parked by one of the hangars. It was pretty much exactly what I wanted and I was drooling over it (well, I won't say drooling but I also won't say what I was as that would be inappropriate). It had tundra tires, was a silver and green color, and was basically bad-assed. Honestly, I'd never seen them up close like that, only pictures, and I loved it! So, I made a point of remembering the call sign so I could track down the owner of the plane.

No, I didn't want to stalk the owner of the Maule, murder him in his sleep and then steal his plane. I just thought maybe I could find out who he was and potentially convince him to take me for a flight (really, if you had a plane like that wouldn't you want to show it off to admiring fans?). But when I ran this idea by someone else, just to see if perhaps it might come across a little insane to track down a stranger and ask for a ride in his plane, his response was: you can't, you're a girl.

That response is not why you boys suck, the fact that he was right is why you suck! If I was a guy, it wouldn't be too big of a deal to walk up to the guy that owns the plane, befriend him, and get a ride in the Maule. My understanding is that's how things have always been done and in the past, many pilots actually learned to fly that way by simply hanging around airports and learning as much as they could from whoever was around. The fact that I'm a girl changes things. Now that guy behind the controls of the Maule is thinking in his head that I'm potentially trying to pick him up, adding an underlying tension to the whole thing. Where in reality, I'm only in love with his plane, he's wondering what his chances of getting into my pants are (this has actually happened before and it really is uncomfortable, and now where I could have had someone else to fly with, he's now awkward and uncomfortable around me).

Basically, I'm blaming you guys for my inability to fly in as many planes as possible with as many pilots as I can. If any contact you had with a woman didn't have to do with their sexual potential, I'd be much happier. Then, when I try to join your conversation I'd be viewed just like everyone else and nothing would have to be awkward. Or if I climbed into the plane beside you, there would be no tension while groping for seatbelts or headsets. I could simply walk up to you, tell you I liked your plane, then go for a ride without any attachments or expectations. Would it make things better for you guys if I simply ungendered myself? (Yes, that is a word, and no, I doubt you'll find it in the dictionary). Basically, I'll start dressing in unisex clothes, give myself a buzz cut, and wear masculine hats so the only question running through your mind when I ask for a flight is if I'm a woman who likes women or a man with delicate features. At least if you're thinking we're both after the same thing, the question whether or not you'll be joining the mile-high club would never enter your head and I never have to feel awkward because of it.

No Girls Allowed!

2010-05-30T10:30:00.000-07:00

At some point or another growing up as kids, some boy would have hung up some sign somewhere with the warning, "No Girls Allowed!" Now, not every boy might have written such a sign and posted it, but most boys would have been involved with this in some way or another. Or there would have been some kind of secret club that girls were not privy to, or some kind of secret handshake. Not that girls didn't do it too, but usually they wanted boys attention so they usually just did it in some form of retaliation at being left out. The problem is, as much as you'd think we've grown out of such childplay, I think it's worse now as adults. And I think it all comes down to the fact that boys, and men, are scared of girls, or think we're some weird kind of species that is different from them in some way or another.

Perhaps not all men are scared of girls, or you'd like to argue against this, but I've seen it with my own eyes on several occasions. I've attempted to join a conversation of men to find everyone standing in silence the moment they realize I'm in earshot. Or entered a room full of men only to watch them scatter, to which I am left wondering exactly what it is I've done wrong. And really, I wouldn't care that much, if you guys find my presence discomfitting, fine, then I can leave. The problem is, that tends to leave me quite alone when pursuing a hobby rather lacking in feminine company. So while you guys are standing around trading tricks of the trade, or joining each other on flights to this or that fishing hole, I'm left by myself, wondering where the hell to go.

But I've decided that being left on my own maybe isn't so bad. At least this way, when I push myself a little, the accomplishment is all mine. It's just a good thing I like to read, so that where I may have been able to jump in with someone else and learn a few tricks of the trade, instead I'll just have to find the right book and learn from someone else's experiences. Besides, I've usually been the type not to let anything stop me from doing what I wanted to do, so why am I letting the fact that I have no one to help me stop me from trying new things flying. Perhaps because there's always the risk of death if I do something wrong or make a big mistake. On the other hand, if I don't do it myself, I'll never learn how. And really, contrary to what most people say, I'm pretty sure the chances of me dying are pretty slim. Major injuries? Perhaps. But you can always recover from an injury.

So, I've come to the realization that I'm on my own with this whole flying thing and I guess I have to stop making excuses and waiting around for someone else to show me what to do. I'm just going to have to go do it myself, learning as I go, and hope that my mistakes remain limited to improper lingo or forgetting batteries in my GPS and not landing in a field that had just been seeded by gun-wielding drug lords or mistaking a swamp for a runway. And I guess, if it comes down to it, my super-awesome instructor is only just a phone call away just waiting to share his knowledge and prowess with me...

2010-05-28T13:28:00.000-07:00

In the time since I made a complete fool of myself to the control tower (see "What the Hell is Beta?" post) I've come to the conclusion that I'm in desperate need of more flight training. Or review. Or both. Either way, my aviation knowledge is definitely lacking and in need of upgrading. And since there does not seem to be any chance of trading in the Fargo any time soon, I may as well make use of her while she's around. The problem is, additional flight training means spending time in a little cockpit with an instructor I can't stand.

I will be the first to admit it, pilots seem to think a little more highly of themselves than most other hobbiests. And really, why not? Can you honestly say you've not watched a youtube video of someone flying their RC plane and thought to yourself, "go fly a real plane and stop playing with toys?" And then after that or some similar thought, did not a little self-satisfied smile creep across your face because you, at least, could fly a real plane and that person is left to remote flying pretend ones? Now, don't get me wrong, I'm not trying to say I'm any better than anyone else, I'm just saying, there's something about being able to lift yourself off the ground and fly through the air that makes you feel part of some elite group that is able to do the impossible. When you leave the safety of the runway and see your passenger's excited and somewhat nervous face, you feel pretty cool. Even without a passenger, you still feel pretty cool. Not many people can look into the air and say, "It's a good day for a flight. I think I'll go." You worked hard to be able to say that, and now you're part of only a handful of people who can. So, being a pilot is a bit of an earned sense of entitlement. The problem is, some people take it too far. People like my flight instructor.

On a side note, I just to quickly explain myself as I'm sure that last paragraph made me seem like a haughty, arrogant, pilot (or, if you'd like, simply read the last post I just made, the one where I was too dumb to tie a rope, that will prove I don't think even a little too highly of myself, I'm apparently not smart enough). Fist of all, I fly the Fargo. That along is enough to keep me humble. And really, I don't fly it all that well either, so that also brings my arrogance down a few notches. Until I'm flying loops in a plane that would make Hannes Arc jealous, I'm going to stay humble. Secondly, I don't fly so I can impress people, I fly because I absolutely, totally love it. I get grumpy when I can't fly, and often, in those grumpy periods or when I'm having difficulties as always seems to be the case, I wish I'd never taken up flying in the first place. What I'm getting at is, I'm not a pilot to show off, I'm a pilot because that's what enables me to fly. But I have a feeling my instructor is a pilot for the sole purpose of impressing others.

It's mean, I know, but I'm pretty sure my flight instructor was not well-liked as a child. He gives off this, repeatedly-shoved-into-lockers-and-had-lunch-money-stolen-every-day-at-school kind of vibe. And I understand, school is hell for most people. The thing is, I don't think he's really moved on. I think he's still trying to prove that he's cool by reciting his flight hours to anyone that will listen. And yes, he has quite a few. Good for him. I have about 1% of his flight time. But I really don't think that makes him a better person. I think that makes him more exerienced, which would probably be helpful to someone like me, but he doesn't share this exerience well. As opposed to trying to help you improve, he uses your lack of experience to hold you back while opening up more opportunities to show off all his knowledge. It is precisely this attitude that is making it hard for me to get more flight training.

Find another instructor, you say? I would. But there aren't any around. The other school refuses to teach in my own plane and I'm not about to pay 150 bucks an hour to rent another useless lame plane when I have my own perfectly lame one racking up hangar rent. So, my option is to teach myself and review the material from my Private Licence, or swallow any ego I might have and climb in next to this instructor and try to weed out any useful tidbits of knowledge I can find amongst his bragging. Well, when I put it that way, the decision becomes quite obvious...I must find a third option. There's got to be one out there.

The Gods Are Against Me!

2010-05-27T13:58:00.000-07:00

Last I checked, I was not illegitimately fathered by Zeus; nor had I engaged in any illicit behavior with Zeus. The problem is, he's a very tricky fellow, and often when he wants something, he gets it. He's come to women in the form of showers of gold, various animals, and in impersonations of other people. So really, who's to know if he hadn't jumped into bed with my mother and fathered me, or, jumped into bed with me in disguise so I don't know the difference? What does this have to do with anything you ask? Well, the other day, when I was fighting through the snow and mud (yes, you heard right, snow, and mud, and puddles actually) to get the Fargo back into it's place in the hangar, I realized that someone is against me, and that someone had to be Hera, Zeus' wife. Why would Hera be against me? Well, that's what the whole beginning of this paragraph. I must have been either a bastard child of Zeus' or some form of adulterous conquest, because those were always the causes of Hera's anger. And she always found out, she is a godess herself afterall. And when she did find out, she always retaliated. Never really against Zeus as much as at the objects of his conquests. Hence, myself being one.

I know, I make no sense. Let me explain a little better; consider Heracles (the Romans changed his name to Hercules, but he was originally Heracles). He was the child of one of Zeus' illicit affairs and Hera made him go crazy and kill his wife and kids, to which he had to atone with the 12 labours, but that's not a pleasant thought so that's often cut out of the stories. She also tested many of the heros to get back at them for being children of her husband. She also tried to kill the women he slept with, whether they wanted to sleep with him or not. My point is, I'm pretty sure she's testing me. Not in the same sense as Heracles or Perseus, I'm not on some quest to kill three-headed lizards or man-eating lions, but every time I try to fly, something makes my life utter misery. So instead of blaming it on my wimpy, feminine strength or lack of mechanical ability, I'm blaming it on the fact that some jealous greek goddess is out to get me. It's just more interesting that way.

So, what did Hera do to me this time? Well, not that much, just sent enough obstacles to make myself question, once again, why I put myself through all off this for a simple little gander around the area. There was a compacted, icy, snow ridge blocking only the part of the hangar containing my plane. And all around it was either cold, thick mud or icy cold puddles in the grass. I had to run through the mud to find a shovel to get it out only to be ankle deep in near-frozen water. But at least, at that point, I had my friend to help me. The problem was what happened when I returned. It was cold, we were wet, and I felt bad making my friend wait for me in the muddy sludge that was supposed to be a hangar. All I had left to do was winch it in anyway, so I told her I was fine so she could return to the cozy warmth of her home.

The rope on the winch broke. Snapped right in half when I was trying to pull in the Fargo by its tail. So, I had to make an attempt to push it in, as it was still half-out of the hangar. I was slipping and sliding in the mud, getting wetter and colder by the minute, and the Fargo wouldn't budge. I tried pushing it, pulling it, coaxing it, talking to it. Nothing worked. The Fargo was hell-bent on remaining where it was. I'm pretty sure had I looked, I would have seen Hera leaning against the back of the hangar, somehow immaculately clean in her white robes, laughing at me and saying, "And you want to fly into the bush? Well, you can't even park it in a hangar, nevermind on a mountain top. I guess you never should have slept with my husband."

Honestly, when you have a goddess against you, is there much point continuing the struggle? I mean, she had the force of Olympus on her side. And I was a wet, cold, weak little human with no sign of divine ancestry that I know of. So I went home. Later I realized that perhaps it wasn't Hera or any other greek god/dess testing me, but simple common sense. It shouldn't have required Athena's wisdom to realize I simply could have tied a knot in the rope. I guess next time I curse the gods for making my life miserable, I should really just curse my parents for not giving me the sense required to tie my own shoes!

What the Hell is Beta?

2010-05-19T11:00:00.000-07:00

For the past 6 months or so I have remained in my own little air zone of comfort; pretty much within 25 nm of the Fargo's parking spot. It's cozy and not the least bit intimidating. I know the people around me. I'm pretty sure the controllers know me and I've made an ass of myself on the radio enough times with them that I just don't care anymore. However, I've been thinking it's time to leave my little 25 nm circle. And so, I did leave it, just the other day, which made me realize I've got a lot of learning/review to do!

It wasn't that I was going very far. Just to the next airport over. But this airport is a little bigger...as in, it's got a tower with a controller inside (not like mine, which has a tower, but it's empty inside. Which is nice. Knowing they can't see you and your ugly landings is rather comforting) and it's got 4 runways instead of two and taxiways. Two taxiways to be more precise, which is what led to my final flub, but I'll get to that later.

So, I decided I should just fly over to that other airport. Enough with flying around, I needed a destination. I didn't really plan anything, there was someone on the other side of the destination expecting me so I didn't need to file a flight plan, and I've driven that way so many times I knew where I was going. If anything, I thought, I'd have my GPS to help me along. Or so I thought.

The batteries died on my GPS as soon as I called airborne. Good thing I had my map. At least I could situate myself and the airport into my line of flight. The problem is, my judge of distance kind of sucks and that runway creeps up a lot faster than you'd think. No later had I called into the tower than I found myself on Left Base ready to turn final. So I panicked, called in final, and then realized I was way, way further than I thought. Either way, I made it, but the controller I'm pretty sure was starting to wonder about me. Since this was after he asked me a questiond previously and I couldn't remember how to say yes and I'd forgotten which was the preferred runway he'd just told me a moment earlier.

If he thought I had no idea what I was doing when I was coming in to land, I confirmed his wonderings once I called down and then had to ask where to go. But calling where to go wasn't probably too big of a deal, the thing was, I had to call where to go, then how to get there. And how did I ask to get there? I asked if I should take taxiway Beta. Yes. Beta.

I parked. Picked up my passenger. Then went to leave, once again asking if the best way to get where I was going was taxiway Beta. He said yes. So, I started to go, then called in that I was entering taxiway Beta and it hit me. Bravo! Taxiway Bravo! What an idiot! There is no Beta in the phonetic alphabet. At least not in the one I learned. Where did that even come from? And I knew I was wrong when I called it, in my head I had just convinced myself that they called taxiways different than anything else. As in, Alpha was the Greek number one so Beta was the Greek number two. I was making things up in my head just to convince myself I knew what I was doing, which obviously, I didn't.

Regardless, I made it out of there. I did call in Bravo once before leaving, just so that the controller knew I wasn't a complete idiot, but I doubt that convinced him. I think from now on, at least until I do some much needed review, I'm going to stay in my little circle of comfort. At least the people in that circle expect me to be completely scatterbrained, but I don't need to let others know that too.

"When in Doubt, Chicken Out"

2010-04-07T08:40:00.000-07:00

There you have it, my new favorite quote. Definitely not one to instill confidence and pride. It's no, "seize life by the horns and beat it down until you come up on top," like most of them are in one way or another. But, from an aviation perspective, it's pretty good. And I'm pretty sure I read it on some aviation website. Oh yes, I did. When I was reading the how-to's on hand propping.

Don't get me wrong, I like inspirational quotes as much as the other. They're posted all over my board. And I'm pretty sure one or two of them helped me get through to my licence when I wanted to quit. But when you're flying, those who tell you to laugh in the face of danger or to throw caution to the wind and take a chance, probably wouldn't then get in a plane with you. Why? Because you'll more than likely kill them, or give them a landing they'll tell stories about for years to come.

I've been waiting a long time to take my friend up in my plane. Not really just to take her flying and show off my awesome skill in my wicked plane (yes, take note of the sarcasm here), but to also have an hour or two of her just to myself. There were no familial obligations at 4000 FT, no tight schedules, no phone calls, just me and my friend in the Fargo. Unfortunately, the Fargo was not happy with me and ran like a sonofabitch, leaving me in a rather difficult predicament. To get her up there in the first place required a great deal of reassuring; you know, the typical, no, we're not going to crash and die, and yes, there are many places to land if we did have trouble, but no, it's really safe. Then, I take off and the plane shakes.

So, here was my dilemma. Pretend there is nothing wrong and try to continue with the flight as best as possible, keeping careful eye on the surrounding fields and roads for a good landing spot at all times. Or tell her, this thing is not running well we have to go in, and eliminate any chance of her ever climbing into the cabin of my little Fargo again.

Usually, when there is something wrong or iffy with the Fargo, I ask a friend, to which he always replies, it will be fine. Lately, the replies have become, go flying you big baby. So, I figured that would be the response he would have given me had I asked him, and tried to go with, it will be fine. I kept an eye on things, listened ever so carefully to the rough chug of the engine, until I finally decided, I can't keep up the ruse, things may not be fine and I don't want her experience with me to be one of an emergency landing into a muddy, sticky field. Hell, who am I kidding? Her husband is a rather large man, her father is extremely overprotective, and both of them have access to guns. . . lots of guns, and I wasn't ready to end my flying career when it had only just begun.

So, I told her we were going in, I went with the quote and chickened out. And, it did turn out to be nothing. Well, not completely nothing, but nothing serious, just a dirty spark plug. But I hate that my flying tends to be a little on the chicken-shit side of things than the rough and tumble bush pilot end. However, I guess this attitude is what will enable me to get to the more rough and tumble end of things because I'll have time left to learn it as opposed to crashing into a ditch because of a stupid decision. And, I have to admit, as boring and irritating as those cautious types are on the ground, I'd much rather be in the air with one of them than a fun, fearless daredevil. Honestly, would you rather fly with Travis Pastrana who's jumped his dirt bike farther than anyone else? Or with the old man down the street who never fails to cross his t's and dot his i's? Not to mention, I couldn't help but notice that my friend sat in the drivers seat of the Fargo for the first time in a long time when taking it up for the test flight. Seems he wasn't in the mood to risk my emergency landing either.

A Whole Lotta Ignorance

2010-02-18T12:59:00.000-08:00

According to my brief internet search, Albert Einstein was quoted saying, "A little knowledge is a dangerous thing." However, I also found a similar quote by Terry Pratchett, stating: "They say a little knowledge is a dangerous thing, but it's not one half so bad as a lot of ignorance.” Whether it was Einstein or Pratchett, or both, I'm still basically screwed.

Why is this? How can such a quote make me think there's no hope for me? Especially since I am neither ignorant, nor dumb. I actually like to think of myself as rather intelligent. Unfortunately, flying takes that all away. And I think, when you get into the cockpit of an airplane, be it a Fargo or a 747, you cannot afford to be either ignorant or dumb. When you're in the air, you'd better be able to put Einstein to shame, or head back into the airport.

My problem is, I have the "little knowledge" that they describe as dangerous. I know enough about aviation and flying and airplanes to have passed the necessary exams and earned my Private Pilot's Licence (from herein known as PPL) but not enough to really know how to fly and more importantly, deal with problems as they arise.

Over the years I have earned enough mechanical knowledge to recognize an engine when I see one. Actually, with the work I've done on the Fargo I can recognize spark plugs, cylinders, various wires and hoses. Unfortunately I do not truly understand how they all work, or, more importantly, how they do not work. So now, I know how things should probably be (like, there most likely shouldn't be puddles of oil accumulating under my airplane or the cab shouldn't smell like smoke) but when they are not as they should, I don't know what to do about it. I just know something is wrong and then get paranoid and worry some more. Basically, to quote someone else (and I'm not looking this up so just assume I'm giving credit to whichever person first said it) I'm making a mountain out of a molehill. Where the airplane could easily just be running rough since it's 40-years old, I'm worried that the propeller is unbalanced and going to fall off.

All airplanes have a run up and walk around. I basically understand that. Screws must be tight. Hinges must be oiled. Safety wire and codder pins must be present. And I also know to check the mixture setting, the mags, the carb heat, suction, etc. The problem is, I don't know what to do if they do not behave exactly as they are supposed to. So is a higher than normal mag drop a big deal? Or am I going to call an AME and make a complete fool of myself and cost myself a few hundred bucks only to have him run the engine hot for a few minutes and clean out the plugs. And, when I ask another pilot if something is a big deal when it isn't running right, and his reply is, it shouldn't be a problem, what do I think then? It shouldn't be a problem? But what if it is? What then? What are the signs that it is a problem? And if it is, and for some reason I manage to clue into the signs, how much time do I have? Time for a proper circuit before landing? Time to find a field and hope for a relatively smooth landing? Or time to regret becoming an atheist because now I have to face nothingness instead of what could have been a relatively good afterlife in heaven?

This is the problem with flying and what makes it scary, at least for me. If I was told, "it shouldn't be a problem," when my truck was running a little rough, I wouldn't worry about it, because if it did become a problem I'd just pull over. Unfortunately, there aren't any shoulders in the sky. No rest stops, pull outs, gas stations with a mechanic. Nothing. Just air. And air doesn't hold you up very well without a propeller.

So, I guess I'm going to have to move away from the "little knowledge" about airplanes into the enough knowledge to stop flying scared, paranoid, or unsafely. Because, as appealing as it is to simply be ignorant and not worry about anything, I rather do enjoy my life and am not in the mood to have it end any time soon because I was clueless even to the basic signs. Furthermore, my ability to fly an airplane has a great deal to do with enjoying my life, so flying frustrated and paranoid because I'm not sure if something is truly wrong or not is just not going to work. Perhaps, instead of looking up quotes on the internet, I should have been looking up reasons why my engine is running wrong in the first place. Then again, I got two different authors for one quote and still am unsure as to the correct one. I guess i'll have to pick up the phone and call the AME afterall. At least that way if he tells me it's not a problem and it is, those I leave behind can sue for damages.

Tailwheel vs Nosewheel

2010-01-21T09:43:00.000-08:00

The other day, in my attempt to sell my beloved Fargo (ha!), I was asked a question by the potential buyer: "Why are you selling?"

Isn't that the obvious question of the day? All he needed to do was look at the thing...it's a Cessna 150. It's tiny and gutless and, I have to admit, he looked absolutely ridiculous when he sat in it. However, I was attempting to make a sale, so I couldn't tell him that. So I told him the other honest answer...I want to buy a tailwheel.

Now, I thought that would have satisfied him. But I don't think we hang out with the same type of pilots. Because the one I hang out with (and yes, one is the key word, although I have been broadening my horizons a little and have worked up the courage to talk to a few others when they're hanging about the hangar, but that is a whole different blog altogether) would have understood that response and would not have needed any further explanation. This guy, however, was not satisfied with my answer and pushed a little further, "But why do you want a tailwheel over a nosewheel?"

Oh. He didn't know. I guess not everyone knows. Especially when, for the most part, we all learn on the 150s (or some variation of them: 152s, 172s, etc). They're all little Cessna Nosewheels. And if I'd never been in a tailwheel, I guess I would not understand either. Then again, maybe not. Because I've been around the airport enough to watch many small aircraft come and go. I've scoured the various airplane classifieds. I've been to other airports, busier airports, and sat fascinated by all the little airplanes scattered all over by their various owners, and I have to say, nothing can turn my head like a tailwheel (and tailwheel they are, for they have small wheels in the back. A taildragger does not have a wheel but a type of skid plate or somesort that is drug along the ground, hence, taildragger). So this is where my question is: why do I want a tailwheel? Take away the fact that my first experience in a small airplane was in a Piper PA-22/20 (a tailwheel) and you're usually partial to your first cool experience. And then, the pilot who helped get me into flying is an avid tailwheel enthusiast so has gotten me rather biased to them, but this guy, this potential buyer, made me question my desires a little. I didn't want to be buying a tailwheel just because I idolize this other pilot and follow his every word. I wanted to be wanting one because I, as a pilot in my own right, wanted one. And was that the case?

I think my answer is yes. For one, they're just cool! I've never been into sleek, fancy sports cars. Actually, the more they're considered fast and expensive, the less I like them. Take the first Transformers movie, for example. I preferred Bumblebee when he was the older (can't remember the year), beat up camaro. He was cool. He was different than every other plastic vehicle crowding the roads these days. He was made of metal. He was old-school. Then, in their most likely very expensive marketing strategy, he became the new-style chevy camaro. And that is where my love affair with Bumblebee died. He became a new, plastic (I know they're not made of plastic, but really, crash a '70s Camaro into a new camaro and which one do you think will survive? Definitely not the new one that will crack and crumble due to it's cheaper, flimsier material), toy-looking car.

You're wondering where I am going with this? Yes, I digress a little, but I return to the tailwheel vs nosewheel question. A tailwheel is the old Bumblebee, rugged, rough around the edges, functional. A nosewheel is the new camaro. Yes, it's nice, probably more comfortable, faster, with more conveniences, but it's just not as cool. Not everyone can pull off an old muscle car without seeming out of place. You've got to have the style and personality to go with it. When is the last time you saw anyone climb out of their supercub in a suit and tie?

But I have gone off on quite a tangent and need to return to the original questino asked by this potential buyer; "Why do I want a tailwheel?"

Obviously, you cannot see where I live from this page on the computer. But there is not a great deal of civilisation around here. And along with that, comes a lack of airports around with good restaurants. It seems the usual theme of flying is going from airport to airport for a good breakfast, or the $100 hamburger. Well. This airport has the best food around. There's only two other ones close by that have any form of restaurants, and one is barely better than a McDonald's, and the other one gets boring quickly. So where am I to go? My only option is the bush, as in, the nearby fields, rivers, mountains and lakes. That's pretty much the only places I can get to on a day trip. A nosewheel, especially the horsepower-deprived 150 that I have, is not exactly ideal for those situations. I doubt it could handle floats, or if it could, it could hardly keep itself in the air as it lacks the power to carry myself and a passenger around most days. If I tried to land in a nearby field I'd most likely be fine, but I wouldn't get back out. Not to mention the fact that 6 months of the year those fields are covered with snow and the rivers and lakes are iced over. I'm sure the Fargo could handle skis, but the idea of landing nose first with that prop so close to a lump of ice is not exactly exciting to me.

So, really, I don't think the plane itself is in question, but the pilot. What kind of pilot are you? If you're happy to fly along at 4000-10,000 FT, going airport to airport for your hamburgers, that's great. The Fargo is for you (although, good luck getting to 10,000 FT, it tends to flatten out at 5000). However, it's not for me. If anything, I'm going to fly and land in my sister's canola field. For that, I need a tailwheel. And along the way, I might try to fly along the river and stop on a gravel bar to catch a fish for my lunch (obviously, this is assuming I have the skill to do that). And if I've got a weekend to kill, I'm going to spend it flying into a secluded lake in the middle of nowhere instead of trying to make my way into a busy airport with it's control towers and landing fees. And, on the off-chance that I do decide to head to a more densely populated area, I can still do that. I may look like country mouse coming to the city with my overly large tundra tires and mud stuck to the underbelly, but that's fine by me. I'll most likely have holes in my jeans too.

Winter Hazards

2009-11-09T07:08:00.000-08:00

Winter seems to have settled itself in our little northern town. It's an inevitable fact that I personally hate. I am not a winter fan in the slightest as there is not much I do in the winter that I actually like. Mostly because anything you do in the winter that's not indoors is cold. No matter how I bundle up. Fortunately, when people stop me and ask if I've had to park my plane for the winter, I can tell them no. Of course, I can't exactly fly at temperatures of -40C, but until that hits, I'm fairly good to go. Or so I thought.

Winter flying has an entirely different set of hazards that have absolutely nothing to do with flying. For instance, back injury. When you're flying a nosewheel like myself, it's not exactly snow-friendly. You can't go and put winter tires on it like your vehicle and it will drive in snow and icy conditions. No. You have to shovel. And depending how much snow or how far your hangar sits from the airport maintained taxiway, you may spend your entire day shoveling and then if you don't have your night rating, find yourself unable to fly when you're done. Unless you have a friend with a skid stear, then you whine, complain, beg, plead, absolutely anything to get him to come down and clear out that snow. After all, the sooner that snow is cleaned up, the sooner you're flying. Besides, most pilots I know will give anything up to fly, including the gym. So shoveling isn't exactly an easy task.

If you've managed to avoid injuring your back while watching your friend clear the snow, you may think you're in the clear. Now all that has to get done is pull the plane out and go. Unfortunately, that is not the case. It's winter and with winter comes ice. With ice comes slips and falls when not wearing spiked footwear. So, when you're pulling your aircraft out of the hanger, pay attention to where exactly you're stepping, because it takes a great deal of effort to pull out a plane onto icy, gravel, so that's a great deal of energy getting transferred skyward when your feet slip out from underneath you and you land on your back. Not only that, but if that aircraft is still moving, however small it is, you might want to get out of the way. Those nosewheels don't feel so great rolling over your foot!

Now that your shoveling is done and your plane has started (hopefully, but since it's been sitting in the cold while you've been paralyzed from your fall) it might take a little work. But, optimism is key and you cross your fingers that the thing starts. And it does, yay! Things warm up and you can now start taxiing to the apron. Until you find yourself barricaded in by a ridge of gravel, ice and snow. It's very similar to that ridge you get at the end of your driveway from the grader cleaning the streets. Unfortunately, unlike driving, you can't simply plow into it and use your speed to force a path. There's that problem of a propeller blade digging right into the rocks. So, you must once again shut down your engines and go back with a shovel. Actually, forget the shovel, an ice pick or a giant metal scraper is something you'll need to break down the frozen, compacted combination of gravel and snow.

Finally, finally you make it out and can go fuel up. Make sure you brought gloves, however, because if you thought that hose got cold in the summer it's an entirely different thing at subzero temperatures. If anything, just make sure any part in contact with the metal is dry. It's the same thing as a pole in winter. You stick your tongue to it, you're leaving your tongue on it. As is any part of your hand that may stick to the nozzle.

And there. You've made it to the apron and hopefully now can prepare to take off. Now, hopefully you're not too tired to remember all the rules about winter flying because all that work you did to get out will be useless when your carb ices up and you have to bury your aircraft in a field. Unless you pick one out ahead of time and send your friend with his skid stear to clear you a runway.

Selfish Mother Nature

2009-11-06T06:36:00.000-08:00

There is one profession that I have sworn I would never want to do, or involve myself with. That is farming. Why you ask? Because with farming you are completely and utterly dependent upon the weather. Obviously I mean grain or crop farming, not the kind of farming that involved any kind of animal because that would be so much worse than regular farming and therefore I have removed that from my point entirely. Farming is one profession in which you are at the mercy of the weather. You can have the best growing season ever, then have winter come too early and destroy it all. Or, you can not even have a growing season due to unusually large rainfall or not enough rainfall. You pray for dry days, then rainy days, then warm days. It would just be too stressful for me and I am not the type that enjoys being dependent on something so completely and utterly uncontrollable. So, instead, what do I do? I take up flying.

Talk about dependent on the weather. At least when you're safely enveloped in a combine it won't kill you. And yes, it's completely unpredictable sometimes but at least not to the point that you're trapped in some remote town, or field, due to an oncoming storm. Honestly, why would someone who cannot stand for being out of control take up something so uncontrollable as flying. I'm sorry, that was wrong. You have a great deal of control when you're flying, or at least you should or you've got an entirely different set of problems on your hands, but you are still completely at the mercy of that beautiful, irritating and irrational mother nature.

As you can might have guessed from my bitter attitude, I made plans today that entirely revolved around flying. I was going to fly to a few airports to which I've never been and then stop and have lunch with a friend before coming home. Now I cannot because it is far too windy and the fargo does not do too well in high, gusty winds, as is the case with most small aircraft. It's not that I cannot go have lunch with my friend, I am still planning on that, it's just that I now will have to drive there, and where is the fun in that? Anybody can hop in their cars and go to a nearby town to visit. Not anyone can fly there. And now I will spend 1.5 hours driving along a busy highway on which I've been countless times instead of spending 1.5 hours in the air flying over places I've never seen. All because of the stupid weather. Maybe I should take up something else, something indoors in which it doesn't matter one little bit how things are faring outside. Something like knitting. Then again I could just get a bigger plane and take on Mother Nature myself. Yes. That is also a possibility.

A Pilot Personality?

2009-10-23T12:50:00.000-07:00

While I was training for my private licence, my instructor informed me that I do not have the typical pilot's personality. What he meant was, I was a scatterbrain: I rarely had my papers in order, I never carried a watch with me (and no, I was not breaking the law by not carrying at timepiece, my instructor always had one not to mention the fact that I had my cell phone), and I usually had a "good-enough" attitude. When asked to do something, like maintain a specific heading, I took that as a general guideline. I mean, this was the Fargo we were talking about. It wasn't specific, so why should I try to be? And I didn't particularly care if my heading indicator went out, I had my compass. And who really needed instruments when you're looking outside anyway? Plus, I live in a remote town, far from any aviation supply place, so yes, I might have gone to Canadian Tire a few times to get screws. They looked the same to me, they fit in the holes, and they kept the cowling on. What's wrong with that? Apparently, plenty, not to mention the fact that pilot's don't think that way.

Lately, however, I've been flying with a few other pilots and I'm starting to think he was wrong, or at least a little confused. I believe he's mostly correct in that most pilot's don't think that way, they can't. They'd most likely never make it through the training required to become an airline pilot. And instructors couldn't think that way either, or their students would never pass the test. Not to mention a great deal of pilots do like their checklists and instruments and follow everything perfectly. But instead of suggesting I do not have a "pilot's personality," he should have said that I do not have the "nosewheel pilot personality." Because I think that is where the difference lies, in the nosewheel pilot versus the tailwheel pilot.

Now, before I go further, please do not take offense. This is simply an observation I've made and when you look a little closer, you'll most likely agree. Not to mention the fact that I am not the only one who's noticed this. My tailwheel instructor described planes like this: the personal jets were for the elite rich, the Cessnas and similar planes were for the business men, and the taildraggers were the redneck plane. And if you look on youtube, you'll find plenty of tailwheel pilots labelling themselves as redneck, so it's not just me.
Let me relate it to something else, because pilots aren't the only ones with this dichotomy. Take the car industry (or car hobbiest industry) for example. There are "car show" guys and "car" guys. The "carshow guys" (and girls, I'm not trying to be sexist here, it's just easier to keep it as one thing) have their vintage vehicle that has been immaculately restored and is perfectly street legal. Police officers smile and sigh when they drive by, quietly and slowly, enjoying their vintage vehicle on a beautiful afternoon. Now, "car" guys are a little different. They don't spend time restoring it to the original, they spend their time and money making it fast, powerful and badassed. And if they happen to have money left over for a paint job, well, great, but if not, the sound of it alone is enough to make up for the rust on the exterior. And while the car show guy may know the cops because they've talked about cars together, the car guy knows the cops because they stop them everytime they drive by for reckless driving, racing, and noise pollution.

In the aviation industry, the nosewheel pilots are your typical "carshow guys" whereas your tailwheel pilots are your "car" guys. Just look at the nosewheel planes. They're nice and luxurious, with leather interiors and full instrument panels.Their engines are built for speed to get from one airport to another quickly and smoothly. They're usually fully certified and in impecable working order. On the other hand, your typical tailwheel probably has the interior ripped out entirely to save on weight for hauling animal carcasses. The engine is powerful to support the overly large tundra tires. And it's quite often put on owner maintenance because when you're flying into the middle of nowhere, it's pretty hard to get aircraft certified parts. It's a simple fact, the nosewheel is citified, the tailwheel is countryfied. One takes you to civilization, the other takes you away from it. And along with that comes the pilots who fly them. You've got your city mouse, going into the big airports and you've got your country mouse, flying into the middle of nowhere to hunt or fish away from the rest of the world. Checklists and procedures don't apply when you're landing on the top of a mountain or on a riverbed.

So, I'm sure there are exceptions out there, nothing is ever absolute. But in terms of pilot personality, there's definitely more than one. And what would the world be like without a little contrasting personalities. The moment you add a motor to anything you're going to have differences of opinions and airplanes are no different. Basically, your nosewheel is your sleek BMW and the tailwheel is your jacked up four-by-four. I just have to decide which vehicle best suits my personality.

Okay, I don't have to decide. I know. My airplane personality is definitely the jacked up 4x4. I'm sure the beamer is nice and luxurious, but I don't care, because it's just not cool to me, only expensive.

Ahh, Texting During Engine Failure!

2009-10-14T08:22:00.000-07:00

I went for a flight the other day. It was cold, miserable and gray, but I hadn't been flying in a few days and was suffering withdrawal. I was simply going to go up, see how the clouds were (they were pretty low) and then come in and perhaps phone someone to go for a flight if the conditions were good. However, when I hopped in the Fargo I wasn't in the mood for a solo flight, so I made a quick call to someone I'd been avoiding taking up. Why? Because he's a wee bit of a know-it-all and I didn't feel like listening to him tell me what to do the entire time. But I thought, I'm comfortable enough now, I'll just take him up for a quick jaunt and tell him where to go if he gets too opinionated.

So, he came down to the airport and we took off...just after he referred to a Cessna 210 as a Beaver and told me where I should expect the incoming plane to be. But I kept my opinions to myself, sensing his discomfort being in the tiny Fargo at the mercy of someone he'd always insisted on telling what to do. And he did seem quite excited, when I asked him if he was ready (something I asked every passenger just before I apply full power to take off) he said, absolutely, and I do believe his voice was free of the fear most of my passengers seem to have.

First things first, we had to dodge the geese that decided at that very moment to head west, right across our path (I yelled first, I guess they didn't hear me). I'm guessing the Fargo is much too quiet to give them any warning as they weren't fazed at all by the incoming propeller. So, I turned quickly and managed to avoid them.

Soon, we were back on track. As my passenger pointed out the sights to me, I kept my eye on the clouds, which were coming in quickly (this was a bit of a high point since that meant the Fargo was actually climbing...one benefit of the early winter) and my oil pressure gauge. The thing was, my oil pressure wasn't quite where it should be. It was just shy of the green but I'd figured it wasn't a big deal. It was cold and the Fargo is rather little, but I figured it would have gone straight into the green on the climb out. Unfortunately, I was wrong.

We flew for a little bit. I levelled out and applied full power, attempting to bring up my oil pressure. Instead, I'm pretty sure I detected the tiniest little drop. Nothing big, it could even have been a figment of my imagination, but I decided to check things anyway. I pulled out my cell phone. My passenger looked at me and demanded to know what I was doing (rightfully so, I've seen the pictures of people getting into accidents from texting and driving and I'm pretty sure the consequences of crashing in a plane due to texting would be much more severe). Not to seem concerned, I just said, oh, nothing, and proceeded to send a text. My husband was at the airport helping my partner in the Fargo with his new, super awesome PA-12, so I figured I'd just send him a little text asking if the oil pressure was okay, and my passenger wouldn't know the difference.

My text was returned quickly stating that the oil pressure being low definitely wasn't okay and did I not check the levels before I'd left? Instead of replying the obvious, yes, I did check it, I simply said, we're going in and turned back to the airport.

My passenger now had his head glued to the oil pressure gauge, as I'd told him what was going on. It was a mightly slow flight those 8.8 miles back to the runway. Now that we were fixated on it, I was sure the needle was dropping at a steady rate and the Fargo was losing power. Not to mention the fact that I was sure they were worried and panicking back at the hangar knowing we were losing oil pressure and needed to get back. I expected to see them standing outside the hangar, their heads tilted skywards, desperately hoping to see us come in safely, ready to come to our rescue the moment I had to drop it in a field. However, my passenger no longer told me what to do. I think being completely at my mercy in a bit of a sketchy situation made him run out of things to say.

So we came in. I debated taking the quickly route and landing in a tailwind on the runway from which we'd just taken off, but I took the chance that the Fargo could make the downwind. It did, but I kept things close and just dropped it down, making sure to still keep my landing rather perfect as I didn't want to hear how to improve later when my passenger recovered from his panic. Although, he did mention that it was a good landing, "you didn't even bounce or anything!" Wow, thanks I guess? Either way, I didn't care too much, I was safe on the ground and now my husband and our friend could stop panicking at the hangar worrying that I wouldn't make it in safely.

But when I looked around, they weren't anywhere to be found, as in, they weren't standing outside the hangar watching us come in. Oh, I thought, maybe they'd watched us come in safely, then went back to their work on the PA-12. So, I taxied to the hangar as quickly as I could.

When I got into the hangar, neither of them even turned their heads, so engrossed they were in the task at hand...getting the PA-12 airborne. The only thing they said to me was to go ahead and leave the Fargo outside as they didn't want to have to move it when they pulled out the 12. Oh. Okay.

So there I was, excited to be alive and survive such an incident, and they were buried in the plane that, although it was cool and exciting and getting its a new motor, it was still on the ground and posing no life-threat to anyone. You'd think they would have been a little concerned, at least if not for my friend at least my husband would have cared a little to know his wife was safely on the ground. I guess next time I'll make sure I run into trouble when the PA-12 is up and running. At least he'll be able to take it and land in the field containing my charred remains and salvage what he could, taking off again like a rocket!

One Super Instructor, and by Super, I mean Superbly Terrible at Making Excuses for His Below Average Night Landing Skill

2009-09-29T22:50:00.000-07:00

My instructor almost ran over the lights along the runway today. I'm sorry, I mean tonight, as it was my first lesson on night flying. I'm pretty sure, as he was telling me how perfectly he was lined up with the centreline, that the wing of my plane was over the edge of the runway. I was cringeing waiting for a wheel to take out a few of the lights. I thought to myself, 'at least if you're going to wreck stuff, wreck the entire thing, because this plane isn't going to be worth the repair bill'. And then, when he finally touched down and clued into the fact that the Fargo's right tire was barely a mere foot from the edge of the runway, he told me it was because of the crosswind and that he hadn't put in enough crosswind control.

See, apparently, the wind was coming from the south, according to him. Now, my directions are not very good. Often, I have to think quite hard and look at my compass to know which way is south or north. But, as far as I'm aware, wind coming from 240 is not south. At least I don't think it is. Not only that, when you're coming in on runway 24 and the wind is at 240, is that not pretty much a headwind? How much crosswind control is required for a direct headwind?

Okay, so my instructor has established the fact that a direct headwind requires crosswind control, but then how much is necessary? If the headwind is at 4 kts, does that require a great deal of crosswind control or a little bit? Is a 4KT headwind going to make you clip the lights along the edge of the runway? Because I could have sworn his misalignment had more to do with the fact that when he was telling me he was lined up with the centreline, the tires basically flew directly over the blue threshold lights on the right side of the runway indicating that indeed he was not lined up with the centerline but with the far right edge. I would think that probably had more to do with not being lined up than the wind. But, what do I know? I am merely a student and he is the all-knowing instructor. And, he did have proof. The windsock was his testament to his lacking any responsibility for his terrible landing. I mean, it must have been as he did say to me, "See that windsock? See the crosswind?" As if this would make it true. And perhaps it did. People see lights in the sky at night and are sure it is a UFO. Or, shadows in the Okanagan Lake and are certain it is a mythical creature from the deep. But I digress...

Where was I? Oh yes, I did look at the windsock and was immediately confused. By crosswind, once again, did he mean the fact that the tail of the windsock was hanging straight down at the ground and the head of it (you know, the open part that the wind blows through, and once again, that is the technical term) was directly parallel with the runway? Because if that's a crosswind, I don't know what the hell I was doing when the wind was blowing perpendicular to the runway. Would that be called a headwind then? So-named due to the fact that blows along the side of my head? I guess I must have had my terms wrong all along.

Oh, wait a minute, it must be a headwind due to the fact that it was stirring the hairs on my head when I got out, as opposed to the so-called crosswind that was blowing when my instructor landed. You know the kind of crosswind I'm talking about, the kind that's completely non-existent apart from in an instructor's head to save face? Because I can tell you, when I landed my plane (after I myself was lined up with the centreline until my instructor with his crooked eyes and imaginary crosswind grabbed the controls from me and forced the fargo onto the edge of the runway despite my counter-pulling to line it back up) and got out, the imaginary crosswind did not stir a hair on my head. So I must remember, for future reference, that a crosswind is the kind of wind that doesn't actually blow but does line the windsock parallel with the runway, and it also has the ability to pull down on the right side of the controls so that the airplane veers dangerously off-course on the flare and subsequent touchdown, therefore making the owner of the plane rather cross about the fact that it was nearly totalled. That must be why it's called a crosswind.

And in that case, I hope I do not encounter too strong of a crosswind again while landing with my instructor, because I'm pretty sure if it was any stronger than it was (and once again, I mean any stronger than 4 KTS because that's what was called in on the LWIS although I'm pretty sure it was much less than that seeing as the sock was hardly moving at all), it would have unbuckled his seat belt and pushed the passenger door right open, thereby knocking my night-landing-impaired instructor right onto his ass. However, in that case, you'd think he will have been rather happy he couldn't line the plane up with the centreline, because landing on the grass would be a lot softer than the tarmac.

Unexpected Nosedive

2009-09-25T13:41:00.000-07:00

Today I learned the importance of the checklist. More specifically, I learned how important it is to respect the items on the checklist and if one is a little iffy, make a point of ensuring it's absolutely okay before taking to the sky.

Let me back track a little. My son, who is two, recently decided he will no longer go to daycare. he screams and cries and pitches a fit when I try to drop him off, so that the lady that runs the daycare cannot handle him. So, I thought to myself, fine. I guess I have a new flying buddy since he was left in daycare specifically so I could do what was necessary to complete my commercial licence. Today was his trial flight.

I need to build time and cross country flights, but wasn't about to take off without knowing exactly how my little terror would behave, so I figured I'd keep the flight local for the first time. Then, if he behaved and allowed me to fly without too many interruptions, I'd try him for something a little longer. And it seemed like it might work. He ran around the hangar and played while I got everything ready, and he sat patiently while I fueled up, something I really didn't think he'd do, but seeing how the weather wasn't the best, I wasn't about to go up without any extra in case I needed to wait or divert to a different airport. So, all in all, on the ground, I was rather impressed. I guess a toddler waiting to fly is like an angel waiting for its wings, you just don't know if they're from heaven or hell until they take to the sky.

So, now we get to the checklist. I had him strapped in a car seat (5-point harness to keep him as immobilized as possible) and he sat anxiously waiting to fly. Even with the Fargo being as small as it is, I could still use my flaps and when I tested my controls, they seemed good enough. Yes, his little boots could reach the controls and when I tried to do a full deflection, I did have to move his legs. But it seemed like it'd be fine. He asked if he could drive, and I said no, and he seemed rather contented with my answer. Looking back now, I have a new personal rule. If in any way any part of the controls are within reach, either by hands or feet, of any person under the age of 5, the flight is over right then and there.

So, as I had not yet made this my personal mantra, we took off. Things were fine. For about a minute. And then, he started fiddling with his headset. Taking it off. Then wanting it back on. Then throwing it on the floor and then yelling at me to get it back. But not to wear it, only to play with it. In nice calm skies, I could probably have handled it a little better, but the air was choppy and turbulent and I didn't want to take my hands off the controls. So I tried to ignore him; a very hard feat since he couldn't hear me without his headset so continued to grab my arm and yank so I would listen to him.

Finally, we seemed to find some kind of rhythm. I managed to find an altitude that was the least turbulent and my son seemed to be falling asleep. I took the opportunity to look around and enjoy the new fall colors, the leaves were changing colors and the crops were lined up in perfect swaths. It was turning out to be a beautiful flight. Until suddenly, my stomach turned on itself and we were diving. In a moment we would be part of the farmer's harvest and I didn't know why I couldn't get out of the dive. Then I looked at my son. His eyes were big with excitement and both his feet were firmly planted on the controls, his legs stretched out as far as they could go. He was using every ounce of strength he had to push. He said something to me, but as I was wearing a headset and he was not, I don't know what it was. Something like, I flying, but I won't know for sure.

I swatted his feets down and yelled, No, and then pulled back on the controls, further intensifying the sinking feeling in my stomach with the change in attitude. Ugh. At least my son also felt it and didn't particularly like the sensation, judging from the look on his face. Not to mention he was rather upset that his mother curtailed his chance at flying when he was obviously quite proud of himself.

We went in after that. He was angry with me. I was worried he was going deaf from not wearing his headset. Nonetheless, my yelling at him didn't stop him from attempting to push open the window nor from pulling on his door handle (good thing the Fargo has a lock on the passenger side, since it doesn't on the driver's and it would have fallen open for sure) or throwing his headset at me.

To make a long story short, if there is any part of the checklist that is iffy, such as, your overactive two-year-old son can prevent full deflection of the controls, take that seriously. Since I've gotten my licence, most flights have been a learning experience for me, and I definitely learned my lesson on this one. Now, to find another daycare...

Pilot Crashed in Maple Ridge

2009-09-21T08:06:00.000-07:00

I've decided I need to get a little more "world aware". So, this morning, instead of wasting time on the usual social networking sites, I figured I'd check out the CBC news website instead. There was little of interest to me, or very little I wanted to be interested in. It seems the news propagates only fear (swine flu epidemic) and negativity (young baby stabbed by father) and I just didn't want to let it pull me down on an already miserable Monday morning. So, I clicked on the BC site, hoping there was a little more positivity in my local province.

Now, a plane crash in itself probably isn't very positive, but it was something that affected me directly, in the fact that the story detailed the crashing of a piston-engined 2-seater aircraft. Hmm, I thought to myself, it's probably something I should read about seeing as that could easily be a story about myself, or, I would read it so I would know exactly how not to make it a story about myself. Unfortunately, the article left much to be desired, as these types of articles usually do. It simply stated that the pilot crashed into a golf-course and sustained some head injuries but survived nonetheless.

Although I was interested in the crash, I didn't want to know simply that the plane crashed and the pilot walked away (well, from my understanding he was carried away as he was semi-conscious when paramedics arrived). I wanted to know what happened and why. Did he simply run out of gas from not checking beforehand? I've heard that is very common and since this is something I have complete control over, I would be able to take from this incident the reminder to always check my fuel before leaving on any flight. Or perhaps deteriorating weather was to blame? Basically, I wanted to know if this was something the pilot could have prevented himself or if it was some kind of a freak accident that came out of the middle of nowhere. Because if he could have stopped it from happening, I feel secure knowing I'll just ensure I take the necessary precautions to prevent something similar from happening to myself. And if it was some freak accident, well, obviously I can't worry about that.

Also, these articles never tell what the pilot was thinking or feeling. Did he panic? Or was he super calm and cool and this was the best he could have done. Does he practice forced landings all the time? What kind of a pilot was he? New? Beginner? Bad? Good? This is what's important to me in any kind of a plane crash article. Why? Because I need to know where I stand and how I might measure up in the same kind of situation. I need to know that perhaps this guy crashed, but he should have checked his fuel, so as long as I do that, I'm safe. Or, I need to know that he crashed because he freaked out in the cockpit and couldn't see properly as he forced his aircraft into a field. Also, I would love to know his detailed pilot report because then I would be able to tell myself that this pilot crashed because he only had a few hours on the plane, and as long as I keep my hours up, I'll be fine. And, I don't know the area he was in. Was there a better field nearby? Or was this the only one he had to go for and he was lucky just to have made it?

When I looked into things further, I learned that the pilot was a 60-year-old male who was flying a homebuilt aircraft that he built in 2000 and has flown all over the country since then. They labeled the cause as engine failure, I think the engine cowling came off. So, I'm not sure you could really label it as a freak accident or not. He was quoted as being very surprised this happened in the first place.

So, what do I take from this? I'm not sure. One, I will check and recheck the screws on my cowling as they tend to come loose and fall out far too often. Two, I will go out and practice some more forced landings, so that when the time comes to put it down, I know that I can do it and hopefully save myself from panicking in the cockpit. Three, I can't really worry about it, can I? Just continue to do what is in my power to prevent accidents and trust that I can handle the situation when it comes. Because if I worry about it, I'll eventually get to the point where I'll be too scare to commit when I am supposed to rotate and become airborne.

Burn Out

2009-09-16T20:39:00.000-07:00

I am sitting at home, in front of my computer, wasting time on the internet when I should be flying. It's dark out and I should be working on my night rating right now. But I'm not. Why? I'm not sure. The desire to fly is not there. Actually, that is not true, I want to fly, I just don't want to train.

When I was working on my private licence, I was desperate to finish. The freedom to fly by myself, whenever I wanted, was enough to push me through the doldrums of flight training. Tired or not, I was running out the door for my flight lesson, because every hour I spent training got me just a little closer to my PPL and the ability to fly unsupervised. Now, however, I've got my PPL so I can fly whenever I want (during the day, hence needing to work on my night rating), with whomever I want (as long as it's one person and not a very large one at that), wherever I want (within the very low powered limits of the Fargo). This makes running out the door for a flight lesson much less motivating. Actually, I can't even seem to motivate myself to pick up the phone and call my instructor to set up a lesson, nevermind make it to one that's already been planned.

I guess you could say, I'm burned out. I pushed myself pretty hard during my private licence, so now, I just want to enjoy myself. Fly for the fun of it. And what's worse, when I go up on my own to play around or take someone for a little sightseeing, I fly better than when I take up an instructor. The moment I know someone's not monitoring my heading and airspeed (not to mention everything else), I seem to keep it steadier than ever. Then I end up feeling completely relaxed and contented by the time I've tied down my plane and walked away from the airport. Something that doesn't seem to happen after a lesson.

I wonder if this is the case with everyone or if it's just because I have my own plane on which I trained and now fly. If I was simply signed up for a commercial program and lessons were the only opportunity to fly, I'd probably appreciate them a great deal more. I used to say that purchasing your own plane and training on it was the best way to get your licence. In fact, I wondered how people without an airplane managed since they couldn't go fly and improve whenever they wanted once they'd gotten that coveted pilot's licence (well, they can, it just costs a great deal more). But now, I'm not so sure. I still think every pilot should have a plane at their disposal to use any time the weather is perfect for a flight (or not so perfect but good enough) and I do actually feel sorry for those who don't. However, having my own plane has allowed me to fly without the supervision of a school and it's really hard to go back to the "student life" again. It's like I've had the best spring break ever (or seeing as it's September I guess summer holiday would work just as well) and have to leave the sun and fun for books and teachers. Who knew getting my commercial licence would make me feel like a kid again.

Frustrated!

2009-09-15T17:36:00.000-07:00

Can you learn to fly without actually taking a lesson? Because I have to say, lessons can definitely take the fun out of it. I'm fully aware how important it is to fly with an instructor, I mean, I really still feel like I have no idea what it is I'm doing and the only way to learn is through an instructor. The problem is, when I'm out by myself (or with a passenger) I don't feel all that bad as a pilot, but when I'm up with an instructor who is constantly correcting every little thing, I get completely discouraged.

Now, I'm making it seem much worse than it is. I think it's not the corrections from the instructor, because they have every right to keep you on track, in fact, it's their job to do so. The problem is the entire dynamics of flying. When you're driving, or really, doing most vehicular tasks, you have to worry about two things at a time, your speed and your direction. Speed and direction is basically managed with your throttle (gas pedal in a vehicle) and RPMs, and your direction is managed with your method of steering. Two things. That's basically it. If you can master that, then you're pretty much good to go. Even if you can't, as long as you can keep yourself on the road, you're not going to have too much trouble.

Airplanes aren't so simple. You do have to worry about speed and direction, but then the whole thing called altitude is thrown into the mix. So now, you must keep your speed, heading (direction, of course) and altitude steady, and even though adding one extra element into the mix doesn't seem like such a big deal, it is. It's not like throwing in an extra vegetable into your salad just for fun. It upsets the entire dish; your salad has become a quiche (if we're still on the cooking metaphor). Now, increasing or decreasing your throttle doesn't only affect your speed, it now affets your altitude. And not only that, but your steering also affects your speed and altitude because now you have to direct yourself side to side and up and down. Not only that, but then you have to be able to keep everything steady without looking outside (if doing your instrument rating), which you've been doing for almost the entire duration of your private licence. And then, to make matters worse, it seems like the moment you focus on one thing, the others fall apart, and that's when the instructor starts yelling.

So, I'm not complaining so to speak, I'm just frustrated with the whole nature of flying, or flight training. You take one thing, an airplane shall we say, that really isn't exact. It tips. It dips. It goes one way then the next. It can go up and down and side to side and it takes a great deal of effort to keep it steady. But then you take aviation and aviation training and everything about it is exact, or the aim to be exact. Maintain your heading within 10 degrees, maintain your altitude within 50, maintain your airspeed within 5 knots (that may not be correct, the Fargo is in mph so I'm not quite sure what it is in knots) but then you go and hit some turbulence and lose everything. It's just rather irritating, especially when you're a "good enough" kind of a girl.

So, in lieu of whining and complaining, if I plan on adding a commercial licence to my list of accomplishments my disorganized, mediocre self is going to have to find an organized, mutitasking perfectionist. I just hope she's in there somewhere. Then again, how often do any of us simply drive along the road. And if I can stay on the road while putting on the song my daughter wants and handing my son his sippy cup while getting to skating practice on time, I must be able to maintain my altitude, heading, and speed.

Hundred Dollar Beef Dip?

2009-08-29T23:08:00.001-07:00

I went for my first $100 hamburger the other day, although, in this case, I chose to have a beef dip, but it was basically the same thing. I'm not even sure if that's a common expression or not, I just heard it somewhere and am going to go with it. The fact that I could easily be calling it the wrong thing, or anything at all, is more proof of my newbie status. But you know what? In a field where hours and experience are desired, I'm going to embrace my newcomer status because it seems to work for me.

Now, back to my initial point. . .

I decided to fly my friend to a nearby airport/city to meet with her mom for lunch. I didn't really want to tell her (because, as a pilot, I wanted to instill as much confidence in my abilities as I possibly could, and she's quite young therefore I didn't want to scare her), but I was freaking out. I wasn't sure if I remembered the procedures, I didn't know where to park, and when I phoned the airport they didn't know what to tell me. It was a much larger airport (but, fortunately, still rather uncontrolled) than I'm used to with Westjet and AirCanada coming in frequently and I was sure I was going to get in someone's way and get in trouble. However, I'd committed to this lunch date and wasn't about to back out on it.

The first thing to go wrong was the GPS didn't work. Now, I had planned the trip out ahead of time on my map, but we all know how much easier it is to use a GPS, and I really wanted to be precise with my ETA so as not to make myself look like an idiot. Thankfully, being a teenager, my passenger was fluent with technology (she taught me to text, use an iPod. . . everything we grown ups suck at) and she played with the GPS and finally got CYQU in as my destination point. And, all this while pointing out major landmarks along the way.

This was about the time when my nerves started to set in. The airport I'm used to has one runway and your choice of 24 or 06. This airport added in an extra runway so I now had four to choose from, that's definitely a little more work when calculating headwinds and tailwinds. Fortunately, the tower wanted to keep me out of the way of the major airlines, and told me to use a "back" runway, the one that didn't pass directly in front of the main viewing area of the airport so if I botched my landing I wouldn't have 300 waiting passengers laughing at me. Unfortunately for my already stressed self, he also said those magic words: "Caution, wake turbulence." Those words don't come up much at my home airport, and if they do, it's easy enough to avoid them as the largest plane that comes in is still a DC-7 (I hope I got that right, if I didn't, I'll find out when I look it up on Wikipedia). In this case, the jet that flew by was some form of 700 line (see, I am truly new to this, but that's ok, I'm learning) and I was coming in on final already so couldn't take my time in downwind or anything. Also, it took off perpendicular to my path, I didn't follow it in, so now I was trying to picture in my head the line of wake turbulence from my training manual and figure out how exactly to adjust my landing, and with the whole settling down and out thing going on, I was pretty much right in it's path. Not to mention I was still flying with a seventeen-year-old with a very promising life ahead of her that I was completely responsible for. Thank goodness the Fargo is very slow, by the time we actually got to the touchdown point, that wake turbulence was long gone.

Now that I was out of the wake turbulence danger, I could fully stress about the next part, landing and taxiing to a parking spot without getting in the way of the "big" planes or breaking any rules. I called in that I was down to the tower and asked for directions to parking then crossed my fingers that it would be easy. He replied, "you can park under the lights on the north side of the runway."

Have I mentioned I really suck with directions? Without looking at my map, I had no idea which side was north. I know, how terrible is that? A pilot who can't find north. I could have figured it out easily enough, but I was nervous and didn't want to hold up traffic by taking 5 minutes to reply to the radio call. So, trying to make it seem like I knew what I was doing, I asked if it would be easier to go straight ahead or backtrack. Once he had me heading in the right direction, I figured it out.

That guy in the control tower took care of me all the way in. He gave me clearances when he noticed I was slowing down, he made sure I was in the right spot, and he didn't seem put out at all by my questions. Furthermore, my worry over irritating the airlines was unfounded as well; they looked out for me and were quite willing to work around me and the Fargo. Now, I'm not saying I'm going to rush into a busy, controlled airport any time soon, but I'm definitely not going to let a (slightly) bigger airport scare me anymore when there's people like that to help out. And there's no cooler feeling than walking past all the passengers waiting to go through security and get onto a plane, to pay to park your very own.

That was one of the best beef dips I've ever had.

Won't Do That Again

2009-08-18T22:23:00.000-07:00

I did something today that made me feel like a complete idiot. I completely terrified my brother when I took him up for his first flight with me. My first indication that it wasn't exactly a good idea should have come when the words, "do you want to see what scared so-and-so?" came out of my mouth. Now, so-and-so happened to be my five-year-old daughter who is scared of almost everything, so I figured it wasn't really a big deal. From the look on my brother's face, it was. Instantly, I felt like a complete loser.

My brother has been holding off flying with me for a long time (or what feels like a long time). I assumed it was just to ensure my ability was at a level in which he felt comfortable, but I did not realize it was because he was scared of smaller planes. I should have known though, because most people seem to be scared of single-engine airplanes, especially with new pilots such as myself. It was my plan to make it a really nice flight for him so he would enjoy it and realize it wasn't so bad, perhaps come up with me again. Then I go and behave like a complete ass.

What I did was to put the plane into ~o G's by nosing down quickly from a climb. Something I've done lots with other pilots and with my instructor. Then, I've done far more intense maneovers in my aerobatic training in Penticton. I think that's why I've become desensitized to the whole thing. Doing something in an airplane as the pilot and knowing what to expect is entirely different than throwing your passenger for a loop with some weird maneover they did not see coming. My brother just yelled and said never to do that again. So much for the fun fearless pilot I wanted to show him I could be.

On my way home I explained all this to my husband, who has flown often enough with me, and with my partner in the Fargo. This is actually where this all came about. My pilot friend would do that to my husband all the time. My husband, now used to it, likes feeling the butterflies in his stomach. I was just trying to make sure I could measure up to my pilot friend, be just as fun, so to say. Well, when I told my husband about it he ensured me that it completely and absolutely terrified him the first time he did it. I was surprised.

"Really?" I asked.

"Yes," he said, "it feels like you're going to fall right out of the sky."

Oops. Not the feeling your new passengers would want, especially when you're trying to convince them that flying is perfectly safe.

So, from now on, I'm going to quit trying to be super fun pilot and just be super safe, reassuring pilot. I'm learning that most people are scared and they need to know that being up in the sky in a tiny little plane (remember, this is the Fargo we're talking about here) is not risking their lives unnecessarily. And I have to remind myself how I felt the first few times I went up in a little plane. And how I felt before I learned that dives and spins and stalls actually aren't that scary. In a way I'm happy to be getting more comfortable with the sensations of the plane, I don't feel like such a newbie. On the other hand, I'm going to have to remind myself always how the person next to me is feeling, and make them feel better, not worse.

Now, to convince my brother to fly with me again...

Dashboard Hula

2009-08-13T19:14:00.000-07:00

So. . . the person with whom I share the Fargo bought himself a new plane. A PA-12. Lucky him. Not that that matters for the sake of this blog, I just figured I'd throw that in there (that's my jealousy coming out, he gets a cool bush plane and I'm still stuck with the Fargo). Because he's got his own plane now, certain things have disappeared from the Fargo. His headsets, for one. His GPS, for another (which I thought was going to screw me up completely, but it's definitely improved my navigational skills while I wait for my new GPS to come from ebay, an entirely different story). But, headsets and a GPS can be bought. What had the biggest effect, or the most noticeable effect, was the fact that he removed his dancing dashboard hula girl. There is now a large, gaping empty spot where she used to bounce and sway with the turns and the turbulence.

The reason there is still an empty spot (but not for long, which I will get into later) is because I haven't quite figured out why she was there in the first place, even though I am affected by her absence. Why did he need his dancing tiki girl in the first place? It wasn't like he'd been to Hawaii and brought her back from the tropics to remind himself of the warmth and lushness of the place. It was a gift when he'd bought his first plane. So, I'd like to know, why it was a gift in the first place, because I know he's not the only one with a dancing girl in a grass skirt and flowered lay upon their dashboard, aviation or not.

When did this tradition come about and for what reason? To my disappointment, I could not find my answer on the internet, a rare occurence indeed. I knew that the penguins in Madagascar 2 had a tiki girl on the dashboard of their plane, and that is a movie where the animators had to first decide she needed to be there and then go to the effort to draw her in. My research also brought up a few other movies that did have a dashboard tiki on their planes, the names just aren't coming to mind right now, although I think one had Danny Glover in it, but I can't be certain.

Apparently their rise in popularity came about in the 50's, so I'm not sure if this was a tradition from the WWII fighter pilots (a group full of traditions and superstitions in regards to planes and flying) or simply from some tourist that went to Hawaii in 1950 and brought one back to show his friends, who then absolutely had to have one, and then things snowballed from there. One thing I do know, is that the dancing hula is not restricted only to airplanes, for when I went to a send off barbeque for two men about to embark on a motorcycle trip around the world, each of them had the exact same hula girl that used to dance in the Fargo right in the front of their packs so they could keep her in sight at all times. The smart thing to have done would have been to ask them why, but they were so busy saying goodbye to all their loved ones I chose to hang in the back and leave them alone. But I do intend on asking them upon their return, once they've finished all the talk of their experiences.

Maybe I'm making a bigger deal of this than it should be. I just don't like to have things or buy into traditions that I'm not completely sure of the reason why (although, I put a Christmas tree up every year and know of no other reason for this than simply to have some place under which to put the presents). Since I was replacing all the things now missing from the Fargo, I was at a loss if I should replace the missing dancer. I'd basically decided not to, since I couldn't find a reason for it in the first place, until my friend showed up at my door with a package. In it, was a little tiki dancer with sticky foam upon which to place her in the Fargo. But not only that, she also came accompanied by none other than bobble head Jesus. I guess my friend thought I might need a little more of a good luck charm than a girl in a grass skirt. So, not completely knowing why, I'll have little tiki and Jesus bobbing around for my flights. If anything, they'll be someone to talk to on a long cross country, and good indicators of the quality of my landings. If they're dancing up a storm on the runway, I know I've come down a little too hard.

Fargo vs Holiday Trailer

2009-08-05T10:56:00.001-07:00

I went camping last weekend, in a tent. Apparently that's the way it used to be done, but around here, people think you're crazy if you're not in a holiday trailer, especially with kids. And I have to say, tenting it was not ideal with a two-year-old and a five-year-old, especially when there is a fire ban and more mosquitos than you could ever imagine. This was my first camping trip in about five years, mostly because I swore I hated camping, but I actually enjoyed it. We went with my sister-in-law and their holiday trailer and I discovered how nice camping can really be in a holiday trailer. I left the weekend thinking it would be really awesome if we could get a holiday trailer of our own but then I realized why we are one of the only people in our neighborhood without one. . . the Fargo.

I don't have a holiday trailer because I have a plane. And I have to admit, as much as I thoroughly enjoyed camping with the family, it was nothing compared to flying. There's nothing like being up in the air, looking down at the ground, knowing you're doing something that relatively few people can do. How many people can actually wake up and say, I think I'll go flying today. Or look up at the sky and think, wow, it's a good day for a flight, I think I'll go. And as much as I hate the Fargo (and I don't really hate her, she just needs some more horsepower), she allows me to do that. I think I'd jump in a little red wagon with wings if it could get me airborne.

So, my sister-in-law can keep her holiday trailer, and hopefully she'll allow us to come and mooch off of it every once in a while, because I'm not about to give up my plane in place of convenience when camping. If it meant I'd have to sell everything just to keep my plane, I think I would. I'd walk to work in forty below if it meant I could fly when the weather warmed up, because nothing beats the feeling of soaring over the rest of the world. Besides, now that my mosquito bites have gone down, tenting it wasn't all that bad.

Loops over Okanagan Lake

2009-08-04T15:14:00.000-07:00

Since the Fargo is up for sale, I need to decide which plane I would like to purchase when the time comes to get a new one. I love the look of the taildraggers, and they're just so much cooler than a nosewheel. But I needed to know if I could fly one, so I decided to take some taildragger training in Penticton this summer.

Lucky for me, the instructor who does the tailwheel training is also the aerobatics instructor. And, it turns out, he has a rather rubber arm when it comes to convincing him to add loops and spins and hammerheads, not to mention many other manoevers of which I've now forgotten the names, into the lessons.

I didn't really think I would be in a position to learn much in the way of aerobatics since I didn't even have my actual licence on hand, just my student licence with a signature on the back indicating I did pass and can now fly on my own. But after a while, doing circuits in a tailwheel when you keep bouncing down the runway gets a little bit much to take. So, we went up and did some upper airwork which resulted in my flying upside down.

There's nothing to describe aerobatics when you're actually in the plane and not just a spectator. It is the coolest, most awesome thing you will ever do in your life. No rollercoaster or amusement ride could ever compare. For instance, while doing a loop, you start off looking ahead and see nothing but blue sky. Then, you look to the side and watch the mountain beside you flip on its head to finally look down at the glistening, shining blue lake below. It's amazing. And did you know that when you fly upside down the engine quits? Yes, the engine quits so you hear nothing but what wind noise you can through the headset. It's an absolutely lifechanging experience. And then, when you learn how to do it on your own and can actually tell people you've done loops and flown upside down, well, if people thought being a pilot was cool then this is just pure awesomeness! Not to mention, when you get out of the plane and realize you've just done something most people could only dream about, you're left with the kind of feeling that never goes away. If all of my training led only to the few loops and manoevers I was able to cram into my few taildragger lessons, I have to say it was worth every minute of it!

Now, if only I could get the hang of a tailwheel....