wednesday may 6^th 2010 (calgary, alberta)

“… New Zealand has been very good to us. We would have a hard time leaving if it wasn’t so bleeding cold!” I wrote that on May 16^th 2009. One year ago.

I wonder how often people have muttered, thought, said, screamed; “How naïve!” after reading a slaplog. I just did.

So a lot has changed in a year. After a dicey passage on the cusp of a changing season, we escaped Australia and made it to Indonesia. We pulled into Benoa Harbor with full intentions of leaving within just a few days. We would squeak out a late season passage to Thailand via Singapore and Malaysia. It was our mindset. It was our goal. We’re good that way. It didn’t happen.

We fell in love with Bali and out of love with our anemic cash reserve. We did what seemed like the sensible thing at the time and took a pass on the gnarly late season passage to Singapore. It would be 6 months before the next good sailing season settled in so we had some waiting to do. We would use the opportunity to spend more time in Bali than we had originally thought possible and even go back to Canada to make some money. Worrying about money is boring right? Maybe even more boring than making money, or so we thought.

How naïve!

If opposites attract then Jaime and I are living examples. Weirdness may be our common trait, our glue. Other than that we’re pretty much as polarized as it gets, but we were unified in this; our complete and utter shock at how difficult this reintegration back into the mix actually was. We joked about it. We laughed over our dollar Bintangs at the Bali yacht club, about how easy it would be to pinch out 6 months. We’ll return as conquering heroes, see our peeps and shake babies. The hardest part will be figuring out how to get all the cash we would make back to the boat. It’s settled then. Another round!

Fast forward a month or so and we find ourselves in Calgary working for the man. [Note to the man: thanks for the jobs, we really appreciate them.]

wednesday may 26^th 2010 (calgary, alberta)

“There’s no reason to become alarmed, and we hope you’ll enjoy the rest of your flight. By the way, is there anyone on board who knows how to fly a plane?”

We’ve all seen some version of this scenario on TV; the white knuckled nominee sweats profusely and lines up the aircraft for an emergency landing. He’s unassisted but for a few instructions relayed from the ground through a headset.

Who hasn’t secretly wished for the chance to do that? I have since I saw it on Airplane for the first time when I was five years old.

The Boeing 737 is the best selling jet airliner in history and cruises at well over 900 kilometres per hour. Its wingspan could accommodate our Slapdash and two more lined up end to end with enough room left over for the dinghy. One of these 132 passenger medium range jets takes off or lands somewhere in the world every five seconds and on average there are over twelve hundred of them airborne at any given time.

Taking off was easy. A slow roll turns into drag strip acceleration and hash marks blur together into a solid line. You pull back on the yoke and are sucked back into your seat. You see nothing but blue sky through the windscreen as you take her up higher and higher. Exhilarating. We flew over the city and towards the badlands which gave me a chance to get a feel for the flight controls. Keeping the aircraft lined up with the little pink lines on the primary flight display during a course change took my full concentration. We circled back somewhere over Drumheller and before long found ourselves in the final stages of flight.

We approached from the South and bore down on YYC’s runway 16-34. My equally inexperienced co-pilot Jeff set the course and lowered the landing gear. He also managed the flaps and airspeed so that my I could stare down those little pink lines. My palms were sweating as the ground rushed towards us. I had to wait 28 years since I saw that movie, but I was about to find out of I could land one of these big jets on my own.

This all took place inside of a 16 million dollar full motion commercial flight simulator. Forty-five minutes earlier we crossed a small bridge which had lowered into place and allowed access to the big box from a mezzanine. This crazy device is built to duplicate all relevant aspects of the 737 and is capable of replicating the spectrums of sight, sound, and motion. Just how realistic are these machines? Most commercial pilots receive their aircraft orientation and recurrent training in them. They are recognized, certified and inspected by the national aviation authority against regulated criteria. The flight deck was exact, even the flight attendant call button and intercom worked. The bridge retracted and we were sealed inside. Images project onto mirrors which fill the cockpit windows with a panorama of runway, airport, weather, and even ground crew. Sitting at the gate you are buffeted by the occasional gust of wind and feel the cockpit rock gently. When we were taxiing out onto the runway you could hear and feel the ‘thup-thup’ of tires rolling over little bumps in the concrete. Details like this added incredible realism to the experience. The moment the simulation began you were in full control of the aircraft and instantly forgot that you are actually 20 feet off the ground in a box the size of a cube van being supported by 5 big hydraulic cylinders. In fact that’s the last thing on your mind because all of your senses are being willingly tricked as you concentrate on following these little pink lines safely down to the ground.

The freedom of our flight ends with the realism of landing. Earth greeted us with a solid ‘thump!’ as our rear landing gear made contact with the runway. I was a little left of center but still within the acceptable limits. After coasting along for a while with only our back wheels on the ground I was reminded to lower the nose, which I did. Another jolt. We were now on the ground and barrelling towards the end of the runway. At this point you no longer use the yoke; on the ground the aircraft is controlled using the pedals at your feet. I ate up about 12,000 of the available 12,675 feet of runway before finally finding the brakes and bringing her to a stop. Not exactly a landing suited for an aircraft carrier but we were in one piece and safely on the ground.

So, can I fly this plane and land it? Surely you can’t be serious. I am serious… and don’t call me Shirley.