Winter Hazards

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

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?

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!

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

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

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

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

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!

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?

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

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

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

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

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....

Now a Pilot

It's amazing how much your flight lessons can get in the way of blogging about flying. My flight instructor had to leave for the summer so there was a mad panic to get me up to snuff and ready for my flight test before I was left stranded with no way to fly for two months (something that's going to happen soon enough with the snow and winter, but I won't think about that right now). But ready I was and I passed. Although, it's rather surprising how the things you knew so well could come apart so easily and the things you thought you didn't know (or couldn't do so well) could finally come together for you at the last possible minute. Now I just have to stop dwelling on my mistakes and move forward.

I can't really describe what it was like to take that first flight as an actual pilot. Actually, I can, it was just like a normal lesson but with a much happier, much more relaxed instructor. I needed 0.5 hours of instrument time before I could actually get my lesson, and my instructor was leaving the next day, so my first flight as a new pilot was with him...in very windy, gusty, and stormy conditions so I learned a lot. And I also thoroughly enjoyed myself since the pressure was off. It's amazing how instructors can lighten up once you've gotten through the test. I'm not sure if they're all like that or not, or if mine was simply more relieved than I can guess (because then that would mean he was much more worried about me not passing than I first thought) but once that test was over he was an entirely different person. Lessons can actually be fun when you're flying with an instructor who actually has a sense of humor!

So, now I am a full fledged private pilot. Although, I don't really feel any better than before. Just a little bit more lonely. I didn't realize how much the security of supervision reassured me in the air. Every bump or cloud or odd weather didn't seem like such a big deal, after all, I never would have been allowed up if there was anything to be concerned about. But now, that final decision is mine, and I'm not really sure how exactly I got the know-how to make it, but someone thinks I have it so I better pretend I know what I'm doing.

Earlier this evening I was making calls, trying to find someone willing to fly with me (new eyes always makes the same landscape more exciting) and not having a great deal of luck. I figured they were a little nervous flying with a new pilot, and they have every right to be a little worried. I was too when my friend took me up for the first time. "And," my husband told me, "most people don't realize how much work goes into getting your licence. It's not like when you're sixteen and continue to stall your vehicle out on a hill or can't quite get into that parking stall." What I didn't tell him was that, it is. Or at least it feels like it is. But at least if you stay up high enough you'll have plenty of time to recover from that stall!

Close Call on the Runway

It was a perfect day for flying yesterday. A little bumpy, but relatively perfect. I went out to the practice area and began reviewing for my test, and then took a little detour over my friend's place in the country to wave hello. I left myself enough time to come in for a few circuits before making my full stop as I was determined to get this landing thing figured out.

I radioed the tower as to my position and my intended runway. Keeping contact with the radio and doing the proper calls, I crossed midfield, joined downwind, then eventually called in on Final to make my landed on runway 06. I was focusing on my glidepoint (the numbers) and working hard to make sure I did everything right. Then I glanced down the runway to make sure I was coming in on a good angle. And yes, my angle was correct. The problem was, another plane was taking off on runway 24, where I was planning on landing.

I put in my full power and veered to the left, seeing that the other plane had rotated and was taking off to their left. We met about 100 FT off the runway, although the other plane was hightailing it as far from the airport as he could. Fortunately, I guess, I did happen to notice his call sign and a little bit of the plane, but it didn't make sense to me. I knew that plane. It was the plane I used to fly at my old flight school, so I questioned the numbers, it didn't really make sense that a plane used for flight training would screw up like that, unless the instructor was an idiot or there was only a student in the plane.

As it was, I radioed the tower and told them I was overshooting due to the other plane taking off on the opposite runway. They did not sound very happy. The other plane had not radioed or given any information as to its intentions, and there was another plane waiting on the apron to load passengers. How exactly did this other plane, this 172 we shall say, think it could just come in and out of the airport without any calls or reports.

After a discussion with someone on the ground when the plane took off, and some thinking on my own, I was pretty sure the plane that just about collided with me was the plane from my old flight school (a school that hates me, also, because I chose to buy my own plane and hire an instructor and fly everyday instead of driving 133 KM to fly once a week, then for complaining when they sent out a sexist comment about women pilots) and I figured the head instructor would like to know that his plane was endangering the lives of other pilots trying to go about their business the proper way. My suspicions were further confirmed when the secretary stated that yes, indeed that plane was in "my neck of the woods" earlier that morning, but when I told her why I wanted to know, she passed me off to the head instructor who wouldn't say more than yes or no to me.

Honestly, I wasn't calling him to give him trouble, I was informing him of the incident, so he could deal with it. All I can say is I'm very happy not to be learning from a school that allows their pilots to come in and out of airports without the slightest thought to the rules of the airways around them. I mean, yes, I'm a student and not up on everything myself, but even I know to take a look around and call in for clearance before taking off at an airport. And then after the way that instructor treated me on the phone, I wished I'd just gone ahead and reported his plane to the tower and the authorities instead of giving him the chance to deal with it "in house". Maybe I still will, we'll see what happens on Monday...

Goodbye to the Fargo? So Soon?

So, not surprisingly, my partner wants to sell the Fargo. He hates it. Or her. I haven't decided if she's got a gender or not, oh, look at that, I gave her one. Either way, he hates her and wants to get rid of her. He refuses to finish his training on her, or, he refuses to finish his training altogether. Now that he's got his licence I think he's a little reluctant to hop back into a plane and take instruction from someone younger than him (that's putting it nicely, I think). So, he is going to buy himself a Maule (a much cooler, faster, more powerful taildragger) and needs to sell the Fargo to do so. Leaving me wondering exactly what I'm going to do.

It's not that I love the Fargo myself, but she's a good enough little plane. Yes, she's small, and you feel rather lame taxiing onto the tarmac in such a dinky little plane, but she's still a plane. She lifts off and flies through the air, and she was rather affordable. I'm not sure if I can afford another plane at the moment. And do I even want to?

I would love a bush plane. Something that I can fly out to my sister-in-law's house and land in the field nearby. Something that can climb at twice the speed of the Fargo. Something that can land in an airport but also land in a remote airstrip by a lake that only a few pilots can get to. But to do that, I need to be able to fly a taildragger, and after my experience with the Falcon, I know I'm very far from that. Not that it isn't possible, just not at the moment.

So, do I keep the Fargo? It can't really get me anywhere. Of if it can, very, very slowly. But, if I ever wanted to get my instructing and open a flight school here, it would be rather handy to have. But I'd have to be able to fly to the school for training, something I don't think would be very fun in the Fargo. On the other hand, it's a training plane and I'm not yet done my training, so I should probably keep it until that point where I'm done. But then I have to buy out my partner. And, I have to say, the Fargo isn't exactly the healthiest of planes. So I'm scared I'm going to buy him out and then have to overhaul the engine. An engine that is rather gutless in the first place. I have to admit, I wish you could buy a "chip" for your plane as you can for your truck, to improve it's power and performance. If I could just get some more horsepower out of the Fargo, I'd be pretty happy, but then, she'd have to be able to carry enough fuel to compensate for the hp.

Who would have thought buying a plane would be so complicated!

Putting the Fargo to Shame

"Nose wheel pilots squat to pee." That's what my friend's father says. He's never said it to me, especially since I squat to pee no matter the plane I fly (sorry, a little potty humor there), but my friend has repeated the quote several times to me. Especially when he discusses the maule he will buy in comparison to the 150. I usually smile and shake my head, because I have no experience flying a taildragger, but I'm sure it is much more complicated and I am excited for my chance to get one. And then his father took me in his plane.

I can't even describe the difference between that airplane (an experimental Falcon with a Lycoming 0-320, low wing, tail dragger) and the 150. Yes, I've always known the Fargo was slow and gutless, but my goodness did I not realize what 50 hp can do. That is a fast, wicked-cool machine. His approach speed is 90mph, he's at circuit height and at 120mph while still over the runway, and not even the speed, but you can feel the power of the engine, the speed of the plane, and it is just super cool.

You walk on the wing to climb in through the hatched ceiling. Then you pull on your military-style shoulder harnesses (which, I was informed, increases your chances of surviving a botched/bad/crash landing by 70%, unless you're in that plane whose approach speeds are high enough to make the survival rate pretty much moot). He put in the "stick" for me so I could feel the controls, and I rested my feet on the rudder pedals. At first, being a homebuilt, I thought, perhaps a little low on luxury but it was definitely cool. Then he began his taxi and the plane seemed to bump and clunk over ever seam and crack in the runway, and I thought, ooh, this is a little rough. But then he took off.

I cannot describe the difference. The Fargo putts along the runway and eventually makes it to 50mph to rotate, and still only climbs at about 70mph. The Falcon was streaming down the runway at 120mph well before the Fargo rotated (I know this because my friend had gone up in the Fargo just moments before). And not only that, but taking off in the Fargo is a simple case of putting it to full power and keeping it down the centerline until rotation. I lost track of the steps to take to get that Falcon airborne, but either way, it was definitely more complicated.

My friend's father let me take the controls once in the air. Well, he basically said, here, try it. So there I was, with my 45 hours flight hours (in a fargo no less) trying to keep this Falcon in the circuit, with a stick and a tailwheel, and speeds the Fargo is incapable of reaching unless in a steep descent. And then I learned what flying was all about. Until this point, technically, I was flying an airplane. But not really. I was driving a gocart around the kind of track where no drivers licence is required. Flying a circuit in the Falcon was like driving nascar at Talladega. In the first case, you're only required to steer as nothing can really go wrong, there's not much skill involved. In the latter, there's only skill. You are actually required to fly, to really keep that plane in the air and on track. You use your feet, and actually have to hold on to the controls and use them with, I thought, a significant level of strength. There's no putting your fingers on the controls and leisurely looking about on a Sunday afternoon, unless you've flown that thing for many, many hours. That is what flying's about, and that's the kind that I want to do. Although, I have no idea how I'm ever going to get to that point, but at least now I know what I'm working towards.

Broke Again, Mechanically and Monetarily

A short while ago, while taking off for a circuit, I looked on my dash and saw my generator light was on. I turned to my instructor and asked, "Is that light supposed to be on?". He scrutinized it for a moment, then replied, "No, it's not." What followed was the typical procedure for determining the draw from the generator (and no, this is probably not the official title for it, remember, I'm a beginner and can't quite remember all the lingo): checking the circuit breakers, turning off and then turning back on anything using electricity, etc. Nothing worked, so, once again, my stop and go became a full stop, thwarted once again by my plane. Under direction from my instructor, I was grounded again until given the ok from an AME.

I called the AME, who came across as a lovely man, helpful and quite good at getting back to me. He informed me that the generator was wrecked and we'd have to find a new one. He said he'd do that for me. I tried a little myself, and I'll tell you, tracking down a generator that's basically been out of production for the past twenty years is no easy task. I managed to do it, but so did my AME, and as I was anxious to get back out practicing, I left it up to him. Even told him to fly it in instead of using ground shipping as that would put me out a good couple of weeks. He was happy to do it.

A week or so later I got the call that I could go flying again. I was excited and immediately cleared my schedule to go. And hopefully this time, after I fueled up, it would start again, as the old generator could only handle one start up. I was crossing my fingers that this one would actually recharge the battery and I would no longer have to push the fargo away from the pumps, feeling like a complete chump.

And it started. It flew. I fueled up and it started again. The only thing better than flying is flying an airplane that actually runs properly and starts when it's supposed to. It finally felt like the Fargo was going to be that airplane.

Then, the other day, I was refueling after a flight, and an Central Mountain Air flight was coming in right behind me. I'd heard often enough that they get rather irritated when they are held up at the pumps, so I quickly jumped into the Fargo to taxi away. Except, the damn thing wouldn't start. I tried to prime it, added throttle, and it didn't want to do anything. Now I was stuck by myself at the pumps, trying to find a way to get this thing out of the way without looking like a complete idiot.

I started my long trek back to the hangar, stopping a few times for a break as my legs were turning to complete rubber. Along the way, I noticed the AME who'd fixed the problem in the first place putting his 180 onto floats. They didn't seem to notice me struggling my way back to the hangar. At least, not until the Fargo was safely stowed in the hangar, and then he happened to see me and came to "chat". And by chat, I mean, ask for a cheque. He did wonder why I was putting the Fargo's battery back on the charger, but didn't push it too far, and I was much too tired and fed up to bother with any discussions about the Fargo's failings at the moment. So, I told him I'd go get my chequebook and meet him at his 180. As it was, he'd checked out the Fargo a few times earlier without any invoice so I had a bottle of scotch to give him also in token of appreciation and thought I'd run and grab it for him, be the nice person I was and give him his little gift before I got mine.

And what a gift it was. He greedily snatched up the scotch and then dug in his truck for my invoice. I nearly fell over when he gave it to me. It was almost three times as much as it should have been. I was charged shop rate for his phone calls to find a generator when I had one lined up. Then I was charged a full days shop rate for putting the generator in, even though they'd finished by lunch time. And the generator I wanted to buy was half the price as the one he managed to find for me, even though they were the exact same thing. I was floored. And not only that, the Fargo was still sitting, broke down once again, in the hangar. Apparently, when you're an AME and you know your client is eager to fly, you can make them pay anything you want as they really have no other option, what with the regulations stating the owner is unable to perform any repairs themselves (unless it was on owner maintenance, I know, but that is a whole other story). I even had to double check the amount, as I couldn't quite believe he had the nerve to charge that much. I've heard of mechanics screwing you over, but for some reason I thought that those who worked on airplanes were of a different kind. I mean, aren't we all in this together? Apparently not. I had a mind to ask for my scotch back, I sure could have used it.

Radio Trouble in the Circuit

So, it's been a while. The Fargo has been out of commission long enough to make me sort of forget about flying for a while. Then my instructor called me and forced me to go. Which was good, because I sort of forgot how much I loved to fly! The problem was, as usual, the Fargo didn't really feel like cooperating.

It was okay at first. My instructor and I went up, reviewed upper air work, did a few circuits to make sure I could still remember what it was I was supposed to do. Which, yes, I remembered what I was supposed to do, I just couldn't really do it. At least, not to what I felt were super pilot standards, standards which I would like to exceed one day. Either way, my instructor felt I should go up on my own the next time. Which I did. For a total of twenty minutes before my radio quit working and I had no idea what the hell I was supposed to do.

I had called in the tower and told them my plan. A few circuits then go out and play in the practice area for a bit, then back for a few more circuits. But I felt like going out to play right away, so I just started heading out from the airport and figured I'd call when I was high enough and far enough away to call in "clear of the circuit". Just then, another plane called in that they wanted to land. The tower said it was fine, except for me. I was supposed to be flying around there but he didn't know exactly where I was so called for my position. That's when my radio quit working. Instead of being able to tell him I was clear and out of the way, all he got was high pitched squealing. The tower operator guessed it was me, but obviously couldn't make sense of the high pitched squeal. Now I was in a predicament. Do I keep flying out of the way, where they didn't expect me to be in the least, or return to my last known position?

So, I turned around, hoping this was the right decision. Don't forget, this was probably my third time flying by myself and the first time attempting to leave the vicinity of the airport. But now, I couldn't see the jet that was landing. Apparently, he called in saying he saw me, a tiny little dot putting along at about 2000 Feet above the ground, but I still had no idea where he was and what he was doing. For that matter, I really had no idea what I was supposed to be doing. I was attempting to remember my procedures for radio failure, but that exam was back in January. . . three months and way too much information had passed in the time since I had learned what to do. I was just going to have to wing it and hope I didn't get in the way of that other plane and make a complete ass of myself (you need to remember, I'm flying a Fargo - the 150 makes me look like a complete dope to begin with, I don't need anything else making it worse, such as cutting off a jet coming in to pick up a patient in the ambulance to air lift them out).

The other plane called in to say he was coming in on final, which meant he would be landing soon. I still could not see him so I kept on my merry way to land as well. About three seconds later he comes flying directly in front of me to land on the runway. I watch him go in - sleak, smooth and fast, while I pop along in my damn Fargo with its crappy radio and severe lack of horsepower and therefore speed. Then, I do remember something from my studying. A little thing called Wake Turbulence: large vortices of wind that follow behind large planes. Vortices that could cause little lame planes like me to tumble and fall, perhaps even lose a wing. Now, there are procedures on how to avoid such wake turbulence, but I'd be damned if they came to me right then and there. Just something about waiting a few minutes. Well, when you're floating along a few hundred feet from the runway, with no radio and now a super jet pilot and whoever else in his plane watching you (not to mention the paramedics and their patient) you don't want to make the wrong move. In all honestly you don't want to make any move. You just want to sit there, a little speck in the air, hovering above the airport until everyone else leaves. Unfortunately, physics and general aviation laws, do not allow you to do that.

So, I tried again. Woo hoo! My radio worked. I must have pushed the button right this time because when I called into the tower, they heard me. All I needed to do then was find a way to avoid the wind vortices and I was home free. Well, free to make another pathetic attempt at landing, but at least I could tell the tower where I was.

Since, don't tell my instructor this, I didn't think I could accurately aim the Fargo on the runway in the specific place that would avoid the wake from the much larger plane before me, I overshot the runway. I had no idea how high to go or exactly what the procedure was, I just went up and out of sight. Then I waited much, much longer than the required 5 minutes for the vortices to pass, and then attempted to come back down, after apologizing to the tower operator for the trouble with the radio in the first place. Then, once I was down (after another bouncing, wincing, squealing landing) and apologized to the Fargo for the strain on its landing gear, I quickly taxied away from the runway, making sure to avoid the larger planes and more experienced pilots who, not only know what they're doing, but actually have radios that work all of the time. Once again, another point for the Fargo for making my learning experience that much more eventful.

Introducing the Fargo

It has been a full two months now since I've been able to consider myself among the lucky few who own an airplane. However, where most people are excited and eager to brag about their new airplane, I have my doubts that this can even be classifed as one. It's about as much an airplane as a pink toy keyboard is a piano. For the sake of a reference point, it is a 1964 Cessna 150 with a Continental O-200 motor that does not like to run smoothly. As a matter of fact, it doesn't particularly like to run at all, and at the moment, is currently sitting torn apart in a hangar waiting for parts. Parts that are impossible to find due to the fact that they've been obsolete or out of production for a good twenty years, give or take a few. To make matters worse, I can't even claim ownership on the entire thing, for I only own half of it, and not even the good half, only the passenger half. (In my defense, I am a complete beginner to aviation and have yet to take my flight test so, as a student pilot, cannot be the pilot in command unless it's under the supervision of an instructor and therefore am automatically demoted to co-pilot/passenger when flying with another pilot).

So, with that little bit of an introduction to me and my plane, I'm going to let you in on what I've learned so far, in the short time since I've joined the ranks of plane-owners.


The most important rule of plane ownership: do not buy a piece of shit.


If it feels like your father's 1968 superbeatle that you crashed several times while learning to drive, it probably runs about the same. . . sporadically.


If, when going through your checklist, you 'hope' that the seatbelts and doors are secure because it took several slamming attempts to make it stay shut, you might not want to buy it because at some point when you're several thousand feet above ground level, the doors will come open and those seatbelts just might not save you.


If you don't want to buy a car from a mechanic because of the long standing joke that mechanic's cars are always broke down, do not turn around and buy your plane from an AME because, unfortunately for you, that joke is not so funny when you're attempting to call in for your clearance and your radio doesn't work due to crappy wiring or your touch 'n go has become a full stop due to the burning smell that has filtered into your cabin.

And finally, if the person with whom you are buying the plane is embarrassed of your slow and dorky 150 so that he nicknamed it "The Fargo", and you liken it to a Pontiac Firefly with wings, you should probably get back on Barnstormers and find someone dumb enough to trade their much-cooler taildragger for your lame-ass Cessna (and those people exist, he was one of them which is how I ended up with the Fargo in the first place). Something that won't get stuck at the end of the runway and hold up the waiting traffic or need to be pushed back from the pumps after fueling because it does not have the ability to start more than once in a day.


And there you have it; my advice on purchasing a plane. Keep in mind this is not exclusive and there's probably things I've forgotten, not to mention I am a newbie and perhaps these are some things all pilots deal with when they buy a plane. Maybe this is simply working out the kinks. I doubt it. But for now, I'm going to go watch real pilots fly real planes on youtube since mine has been grounded.