Heavy weather is the nemesis of the VFR pilot. When I finish my private pilot's license, I will be authorized to fly under Visual Flight Rules (VFR), meaning that the visibility and cloud cover must meet certain parameters or I am forbidden to fly. This is because flying in poor visibility can be disorienting, and without special training and a good amount of experience, pilots can become disoriented very quickly in Instrument Meteorological Conditions (IMC.)
VFR into IMC flight is not just a leading cause of accidents in the general aviation community, it is a leading cause of fatal accidents in the general aviation community. As such it is imperative for pilots to check, cross-check, and double-check the weather before flying. And even if you do, the weather can catch you off-guard.
So it happened that the other day, my instructor and I were debating whether to leave the ground. I was scheduled for a solo flight, but winds aloft were gusting at 20 knots or so and winds on the ground were pushing 10 to 15 knots, which in a Cessna 152 is significant. We checked the weather and saw a storm cell South of us that was moving Northwest, and it looked as though it would track away from us. Wanting to take advantage of the challenging wind conditions to practice ground-reference maneuvers, we took off and flew North, finding a field to practice turns around a point on.
As we descended to 800 feet and began our turns around a point, I noticed the wind stiffening. It felt like we were in a kite; as I turned around the southern point of the circle the wind rudely shoved us North, and as I turned around the northern point of the circle the we skidded and weathervaned with the wind. It was definitely a struggle to keep the maneuver going within the Practical Test Standards, but I somehow managed to keep the plane more or less within the tolerances.
As we transitioned from left turns to right turns, Bryan looked towards the airport and said, "We better turn back." I looked out the window towards the field, and all I could see was a wall of clouds towering into the sky. There was visible rain pouring out the bottom of the clouds, and it was clearly moving toward us.
This was a decision point. The storm was still south of the field, but it was obviously moving over the airport. We could race the clouds back to Winter Haven and hope for the best, or we could stay aloft and wait out the storm, or we could divert to another field, probably Kissimmee. The storm was closing fast and we decided to head for Winter Haven, only two miles away.
That two miles took a loooong time to fly in our tiny 152. We made an abbreviated traffic pattern, entering on a left base for runway 5. I was descending through 800 feet and I knew this was going to be close; the rain was on the other side of a lake that sits off the end of runway 5.
As we turned base to final, it hit the fan--literally. The rain began slamming into our tiny plane, and I went from seeing the runway numbers and being lined up on approach to having zero visibility in strong wind and driving rain. Bryan took the controls and we managed to wrestle the plane to the ground, smacking into the pavement in one of the less graceful landings I've encountered and skidding fast down the runway toward the turnout.
We made the turnout and taxied to parking in the torrential rains. The wind was blowing rain almost horizontally. We tied the plane down and ran back to the FBO, soaked but alive.
Almost as fast as it hit us, it was gone. We walked into the FBO and I paid for the airtime, and in the five minutes it took me to do that it went back to being sunny and clear outside. The storm pushed through and left a wake of peaceful and calm weather behind it.
At the time, I felt lucky to have cheated the weather...not scared, not worried, but simply lucky. We had made a few bad choices and could well have paid the price for it, but luck was on our side. If I has gone solo that day, I probably wouldn't have been so lucky, and while I might have made it, I also might have been another student who encountered the deadly power of VFR into IMC and met an unfortunate and early demise. I could well have been a smoking hole in the ground.
The more I think about it the more I learn from it. Here are the takeaway lessons:
(1) If there is any doubt at all about the weather, don't go.
(2) Even if that storm cell looks like it might miss you, don't take the chance...wait it out.
(3) If you are stupid enough to get aloft in these conditions, don't race the weather back to the field. If we had diverted we probably would have been able to make a more controlled, safer landing in Kissimmee.
(4) While it is important to learn to fly in suboptimal conditions, it's important to learn good judgment so you can avoid those conditions in the first place.
Every pilot makes mistakes, and every pilot should learn from them. I'm glad things went the way they did, and I'm glad that I have the chance to learn and grow from this eventful 0.4 hour flight.
Tuesday, August 17, 2010
Sunday, August 8, 2010
The First Solo
On June 8th of this year, after months and months of training and several consecutive weeks of landing practice, I achieved my first real landmark in flight training: I soloed!
For weeks and weeks before the solo, Bryan and I were shooting landings. We'd take off, stay in the pattern for an hour and just land, land, land. My landings were hit or miss, truthfully, and a lot of them were not the kind of landings I'm proud of. The plane tended too smack roughly into the earth, or to balloon, or to skip happily down the runway without really landing before we'd firewall the power and go around.
The game changer came when we flew from Winter Haven to Bartow, which has a much wider and much longer runway than Winter Haven. The change in "sight picture" from a smaller to a larger runway did something to my psyche, and all of a sudden I could glide the airplane in to a nice landing. The wheels would squeak, the plane would settle, and suddenly I "got it" for landings. We returned to Winter Haven for some more practice, and I felt good about how things were going...my landings weren't perfect, but they were improving and consistently good enough that Bryan felt I could solo.
Before the solo I went up with a crusty old codger for a stage check, to have a different instructor eyeball me before approving me for solo flight. We did some basic maneuvers, a simulated engine failure, and some spins, which were very interesting indeed. After the flight I was approved, and when June 8 rolled around, The Day was here.
I arrived at the airport and Bryan and I took to the skies in one of the school's C-150's. We did a few turns around the traffic pattern, and except for one moment where I let my airspeed drop, things went well. After several touch-and-gos, we stopped, got off the runway, and Bryan exited the airplane.
"You'll do fine. Just be safe, take your time, and try not to screw up...shoot me at least three landings."
My nerves were on fire as I taxied the plane back to the hold-short lines on Runway 5. I took some deep breaths and went through an extensive engine runup, reading the checklist aloud to myself and double-checking all systems. The traffic pattern was empty, so I broadcasted my intentions on the radio, pulled onto the runway, and...
...took off.
The plane was much lighter without my instructor's weight in the right seat. I was elated as the 150 slowly inched its way up into the sky, and I smiled to myself as I went through the traffic pattern. Crosswind leg; watch airspeed, pitch for VY; Watch altitude; Downwind leg, keep a safe distance from the airfield, listen for other traffic, watch your airspeed, begin descent; Base, watch airspeed, remember carb heat, watch your altitude and your sink rate; and before I knew it the wheels were squeaking on the pavement and I was taxiing back to the hold-short lines.
I made four landings that day, and three of them were landings I'm proud of--one was maybe not so good. But the important thing to ME was, I soloed! I finally felt that the months and months of training had paid off. My confidence soared, and I began to feel that maybe someday soon I would have my pilot's license.
Bryan and I shake hands in front of N5307Q, the Cessna 150 I've been learning in.
For weeks and weeks before the solo, Bryan and I were shooting landings. We'd take off, stay in the pattern for an hour and just land, land, land. My landings were hit or miss, truthfully, and a lot of them were not the kind of landings I'm proud of. The plane tended too smack roughly into the earth, or to balloon, or to skip happily down the runway without really landing before we'd firewall the power and go around.
The game changer came when we flew from Winter Haven to Bartow, which has a much wider and much longer runway than Winter Haven. The change in "sight picture" from a smaller to a larger runway did something to my psyche, and all of a sudden I could glide the airplane in to a nice landing. The wheels would squeak, the plane would settle, and suddenly I "got it" for landings. We returned to Winter Haven for some more practice, and I felt good about how things were going...my landings weren't perfect, but they were improving and consistently good enough that Bryan felt I could solo.
Before the solo I went up with a crusty old codger for a stage check, to have a different instructor eyeball me before approving me for solo flight. We did some basic maneuvers, a simulated engine failure, and some spins, which were very interesting indeed. After the flight I was approved, and when June 8 rolled around, The Day was here.
I arrived at the airport and Bryan and I took to the skies in one of the school's C-150's. We did a few turns around the traffic pattern, and except for one moment where I let my airspeed drop, things went well. After several touch-and-gos, we stopped, got off the runway, and Bryan exited the airplane.
"You'll do fine. Just be safe, take your time, and try not to screw up...shoot me at least three landings."
My nerves were on fire as I taxied the plane back to the hold-short lines on Runway 5. I took some deep breaths and went through an extensive engine runup, reading the checklist aloud to myself and double-checking all systems. The traffic pattern was empty, so I broadcasted my intentions on the radio, pulled onto the runway, and...
...took off.
The plane was much lighter without my instructor's weight in the right seat. I was elated as the 150 slowly inched its way up into the sky, and I smiled to myself as I went through the traffic pattern. Crosswind leg; watch airspeed, pitch for VY; Watch altitude; Downwind leg, keep a safe distance from the airfield, listen for other traffic, watch your airspeed, begin descent; Base, watch airspeed, remember carb heat, watch your altitude and your sink rate; and before I knew it the wheels were squeaking on the pavement and I was taxiing back to the hold-short lines.
I made four landings that day, and three of them were landings I'm proud of--one was maybe not so good. But the important thing to ME was, I soloed! I finally felt that the months and months of training had paid off. My confidence soared, and I began to feel that maybe someday soon I would have my pilot's license.
Bryan and I shake hands in front of N5307Q, the Cessna 150 I've been learning in.
Alton Brown on Flying
Apart from flying, one of my favorite hobbies is making food. And one of my favorite food-makers is the chef extraordinaire and science geek Alton Brown.
I never knew that Brown was a pilot until I saw him flying in one of his episodes.He was talking about some sort of food and circling a pond in his Cessna 206, and I was delighted: my favorite celebrity chef is a pilot!
I did some research and found an article from AOPA Flight Training in which Brown discusses his training and how, for him, aviation is a tool more than an experience of the joy of flight.
Even though I am on the other end of the spectrum, flying more for the sheer thrill of it than for any utility I can hope to get out of it in the near future, I find common ground with Mr. Brown in the desire to master the art of flight. After all, doing a half-ass job simply is not an option in aviation, and the Gods of the Sky tend to weed out those who do not focus on flying well.
I never knew that Brown was a pilot until I saw him flying in one of his episodes.He was talking about some sort of food and circling a pond in his Cessna 206, and I was delighted: my favorite celebrity chef is a pilot!
I did some research and found an article from AOPA Flight Training in which Brown discusses his training and how, for him, aviation is a tool more than an experience of the joy of flight.
Even though I am on the other end of the spectrum, flying more for the sheer thrill of it than for any utility I can hope to get out of it in the near future, I find common ground with Mr. Brown in the desire to master the art of flight. After all, doing a half-ass job simply is not an option in aviation, and the Gods of the Sky tend to weed out those who do not focus on flying well.
Thursday, August 5, 2010
Long time no blog
I have been severely neglectful of this blog for the last several months. Between working hard to earn the money to fly and actually flying, I’ve put zero effort into this thing. I aim to change that now.
Since I’ve been gone, a lot has happened. I got to solo on June 8th for the first time, which was exhilarating.
I got to fly my first solo cross-country from Winter Haven to Ocala and back. ..click the map to see the route.
I dove into night flying, which is a completely different experience from say flying. Beautiful and dangerous, and a lot of fun to experience.
I took my long cross-country, flying from Winter Haven to Ocala and then to Lakeland and back.
And, just yesterday, I took my FAA writen exam for Airplane, Single-Engine Land.
With all that accomplished, I am so close to the checkride that I can practically feel it. Before I get there, I’ll fill you in on all the action you’ve missed in the meantime. More to come, aviation enthusiasts; more to come!
Thursday, May 13, 2010
Pre-Solo
Despite my neglect of the blog, I have been making some progress on getting my private pilot's ticket. This week I've flown three times, and I've had some exciting new experiences: my first interaction with ATC at a towered airport, my longest short cross-country to date, and my first interaction with a VOR. Also notable was my first encounter with the dreaded Spin Monster.
My first interaction with ATC came yesterday, when Bryan and I flew across the county to Lakeland Linder. It's a short flight, maybe 15 minutes, but that's five minutes longer than the flights I've taken to the practice area or to Bartow. Bryan reviewed communication procedures with me before we called the tower.
Contrary to my expectations, I found communicating with the control tower easier than listening to the CTAF at Winter Haven. The Tower controls all within their airspace, and it relieves a lot of the workload associated with the CTAF. You still have to look for other traffic and keep yourself alert, but the bottom line is that the tower--at least in my limited experience--made things easier. And despite the terror that many students feel, I found the tower controllers to be brisk and courteous.
We did a few tough-and-go's from Lakeland before departing the Class D airspace and heading back to Winter Haven to finish up our lesson for the day. On the way home, we introduced the VOR, a device I'm loosely familiar with from my flight-sim experience and ground schooling.
After our lesson, Bryan told me he wanted me to solo. To do that, I have to get a stage check--where a second CFI flies with me and reviews my skills--and I have to get some paperwork with my medical certificate sorted out. Apparently I got a medical without a student pilot certificate, but I've seen an AME since then and sorted it all out.
:::::
Today, I had the stage check. It was a little intimidating. My normal CFI, who is a pretty laid-back guy, sent me up with another CFI from the school just to verify with a second set of eyes that I am solo-capable. The second CFI was an old crusty geezer who's been flying since the dawn of time. Intimidated as I was by his gruffness and experience, it was nice to know that there would be a seasoned pilot in the right seat.
We flew North from the airport to the practice area, where we did some basic maneuvers: slow flight (needs practice), power-off stalls (needs practice), power-on stalls (needs practice), and turns to a heading (acceptable).
After checking those maneuvers with me, the CFI asked me about spins.
"I've done the reading on them, but Bryan and I have not practiced spins yet."
"No? Well, lemme show ya. My airplane." The instructor grabbed the yoke, pulled the power, applied carb heat and swung us up in a climbing arc to the left. "Grab the controls, feel what I do." He stalled the plane, and with an alarming swing the plane began to spin wildly around the left wingtip. Suddenly the ground, emerald green in the Florida sun, was looming in the windhsield and spinning wildly. "Just like you read," he told me calmly, "neutral aileron, full opposite rudder, nose down. Get your power back and stabilize yourself." The plane popped neatly out of the spin, and we climbed back to altitude. My heart was racing: that was terrifying. It was frightful. It was...strangely enjoyable.
We climbed back to altitude, and the old CFI took the wheel again and put us into a spin. "Your airplane," he told me as we nosed over into the spin. I grabbed the yoke, neutralized the ailerons, stomped the rudder, and was relieved when the plane again popped out of the spin. "Good job. That's your intro to spins. Don't ever try to practice them without someone else. You'll kill yourself."
I have no plans to intentionally spin anytime soon, though it was nice to see one in training to know how to get out of it later.
After the spin, we returned to the field and practiced some touch-and-go's. The CFI pulled power on me twice in the traffic pattern to practice engine-out landings. The first one went fairly well, and we set it down on the runway and in one piece before departing again.
The second one I completely botched: I put flaps in, then took them out, and if it had been a real emergency chances are I could have killed us. But I learned from my mistake: no flaps for an engine out until you have made your landing spot! Nevertheless, I felt foolish for my error and I hope I never make that mistake again. We took off again, then came back for a landing on which the CFI killed the engine on me again to see what I'd do. It went better, and we taxied to the terminal and parked.
On the whole, I passed my Stage Check. The CFI told me to work on my stalls and my slow flight, and he advised me to work on my landings to make them smoother. He also told me to tighten my traffic pattern, but despite my shortcomings he felt I was ready to solo.
Now, I have a written exam to complete, and if I do well, the school will let me solo on my next flight. Exciting times!
My first interaction with ATC came yesterday, when Bryan and I flew across the county to Lakeland Linder. It's a short flight, maybe 15 minutes, but that's five minutes longer than the flights I've taken to the practice area or to Bartow. Bryan reviewed communication procedures with me before we called the tower.
Contrary to my expectations, I found communicating with the control tower easier than listening to the CTAF at Winter Haven. The Tower controls all within their airspace, and it relieves a lot of the workload associated with the CTAF. You still have to look for other traffic and keep yourself alert, but the bottom line is that the tower--at least in my limited experience--made things easier. And despite the terror that many students feel, I found the tower controllers to be brisk and courteous.
We did a few tough-and-go's from Lakeland before departing the Class D airspace and heading back to Winter Haven to finish up our lesson for the day. On the way home, we introduced the VOR, a device I'm loosely familiar with from my flight-sim experience and ground schooling.
After our lesson, Bryan told me he wanted me to solo. To do that, I have to get a stage check--where a second CFI flies with me and reviews my skills--and I have to get some paperwork with my medical certificate sorted out. Apparently I got a medical without a student pilot certificate, but I've seen an AME since then and sorted it all out.
:::::
Today, I had the stage check. It was a little intimidating. My normal CFI, who is a pretty laid-back guy, sent me up with another CFI from the school just to verify with a second set of eyes that I am solo-capable. The second CFI was an old crusty geezer who's been flying since the dawn of time. Intimidated as I was by his gruffness and experience, it was nice to know that there would be a seasoned pilot in the right seat.
We flew North from the airport to the practice area, where we did some basic maneuvers: slow flight (needs practice), power-off stalls (needs practice), power-on stalls (needs practice), and turns to a heading (acceptable).
After checking those maneuvers with me, the CFI asked me about spins.
"I've done the reading on them, but Bryan and I have not practiced spins yet."
"No? Well, lemme show ya. My airplane." The instructor grabbed the yoke, pulled the power, applied carb heat and swung us up in a climbing arc to the left. "Grab the controls, feel what I do." He stalled the plane, and with an alarming swing the plane began to spin wildly around the left wingtip. Suddenly the ground, emerald green in the Florida sun, was looming in the windhsield and spinning wildly. "Just like you read," he told me calmly, "neutral aileron, full opposite rudder, nose down. Get your power back and stabilize yourself." The plane popped neatly out of the spin, and we climbed back to altitude. My heart was racing: that was terrifying. It was frightful. It was...strangely enjoyable.
We climbed back to altitude, and the old CFI took the wheel again and put us into a spin. "Your airplane," he told me as we nosed over into the spin. I grabbed the yoke, neutralized the ailerons, stomped the rudder, and was relieved when the plane again popped out of the spin. "Good job. That's your intro to spins. Don't ever try to practice them without someone else. You'll kill yourself."
I have no plans to intentionally spin anytime soon, though it was nice to see one in training to know how to get out of it later.
After the spin, we returned to the field and practiced some touch-and-go's. The CFI pulled power on me twice in the traffic pattern to practice engine-out landings. The first one went fairly well, and we set it down on the runway and in one piece before departing again.
The second one I completely botched: I put flaps in, then took them out, and if it had been a real emergency chances are I could have killed us. But I learned from my mistake: no flaps for an engine out until you have made your landing spot! Nevertheless, I felt foolish for my error and I hope I never make that mistake again. We took off again, then came back for a landing on which the CFI killed the engine on me again to see what I'd do. It went better, and we taxied to the terminal and parked.
On the whole, I passed my Stage Check. The CFI told me to work on my stalls and my slow flight, and he advised me to work on my landings to make them smoother. He also told me to tighten my traffic pattern, but despite my shortcomings he felt I was ready to solo.
Now, I have a written exam to complete, and if I do well, the school will let me solo on my next flight. Exciting times!
Saturday, May 8, 2010
Clouds:
"A cloud does not know why it moves in just such a direction and at such a speed; it feels an impulsion, this is the place to go now. But the sky knows the reasons and the patterns behind all clouds, and you will know too, when you lift yourself high enough to see beyond horizons. "
~Richard Bach, "Illusions: the adventures of a reluctant messiah."
Friday, April 23, 2010
Landings: At Last
Today was a day of breakthroughs. A lot of the pilots I have talked to have told me that there comes a moment in time when suddenly, landings just "click." You grasp the mechanics of landing and suddenly you can put the plane on the ground, no problem. I was eagerly awaiting the click, as I'd been having massive difficulty with the landing process from power management to the deadly flare. It seemed that every landing was too slow, too low, or too fast. I had a scary tailstrike which struck fear into my heart.
On my last lesson, my instructor was tired of watching me struggle, so he took me out to the practice area and worked on rudder control with a series of exercises. He then had me fly the plane back to the airport using only rudder, and then we did a series of landings where we split responsibility of duties. He would do power while I did pitch, and then vice-versa. Those exercises solidified landing in my head, and I ended the day by squeaking out a fairly good landing.
Today, we preflighted the plane and Bryan briefed me. He told me that we'd go for a change of scenery and fly to Bartow, a mere seven miles from the Winter Haven airport. There we would do some touch-and-go's and then head back to Winter Haven for simulated power failures.
Normally, Bartow is a controlled airport, but it was after 5PM and the controller had gone home for the day, so the tower frequency on the radio became a CTAF. We called our position and entered the pattern at a 45-degree standard entry, then circled around to land. The runway at Bartow is much wider than the runway at Winter Haven, and the different sight picture helped me immensely.
I pulled the power, pushed the flaps, executed a passable flare, and squeaked down for the best landing I've made to date. It may not have been a perfect 10, but in MY book, it felt amazing: no bounce, no porpoise, no balloon, just a perfect greaser of a landing. I smiled ear to ear as I pulled the flaps up, pushed the carb heat to COLD and advanced the throttle. The plane soared into the sky and I executed five more successful landings (there was a bit of a crosswind, so they weren't perfect by any means, but they were my best landings yet) before we left Bartow for Winter Haven.
On our return to Winter Haven we entered the pattern, did one touch-and-go, and then Bryan demonstrated a perfect simulated engine failure. He pulled the throttle, pitched for our Cessna 150's best-glide speed of 70mph, and circled the plane in for a perfect landing. We took off again, and I made an attempt at the same procedure, which was scary but which went fairly well.
At the end of the day, I logged 9 landings and 1.2 hours of time. It was the first time I'd flown to another airport, and the first time I made what I felt to be good landings. I felt really good about myself coming home tonight, and I'm excited for the next time I get to go up!
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