getezra.net

Calling Departure

Sun, 04 Mar 2012 08:56:00 -0800

“Hold the runway centerline,” I heard my instructor Ross say, as I was nudged by a crosswind in my final approach to landing. In response, I kicked in left rudder, held the nose up to stay airborne for a few extra moments, and then ungracefully and too quickly tipped the rudder right to regain a parallel track. I added a bit more back-pressure to the control yoke to ensure that the main wheels would tap the ground and roll before the front wheel would. And, they did. But I was right of the centerline, and rolling further right. I had to "keep flying the plane" despite being on the ground (an admonition I, and I suspect other flight students had heard from instructors--meaning that even though you had safely made it to the ground, there was still very important work to be done; the plane still needed your attention and action), and I pushed the left rudder pedal forward, turning the plane to the left and to the runway center. I knew that the Control Tower ATC professional--Gary, I believe it was on that Saturday morning--was watching, and would've probably given me a 5 or 6 out of 10.

Everyone grades landings. I had additional graders--the occupants of a small plane that had not long ago landed on a parallel runway. They would have to wait for me to land; for the controler to see which taxiway intersection I would use to exit the runway, and to receive clearance from ATC before crossing my runway and taxiing to the hangar. They had great seats and not much else to do other than watch me land--and the pilots should have been watching me, for their own safety.

That landing was my least-graceful of the day. Initially, I wasn't sure whether to attribute the poor performance to the wind, the slightly amped desire to pull off a nice landing for the audience, or some other factor. I had had an audience for my best landing--at North-Texas Regional Airport--but there I know I was much more focused on flying than I would be two hours later at Wiley Post. So, it's hard to admit, but I'll go ahead and do it: I was distracted by the notion that there was a plane with at least a few occupants eagerly watching my every maneuver. It was a pure "choke." Research has shown (see any Psych 101 textbook) that when someone who isn't an expert at a task feels increased pressure to perform, (s)he will perform more poorly. When it's an expert, the expert tends to do better. I am quite assuredly not an expert at landing an airplane.

Your trusted partner is no longer another human being but instead a small airplane built in Kansas.

Ross’s instruction--to hold the centerline--had been imagined. It popped into my head, and thus clearly has been drilled in nicely, but Ross hadn't spoken a word: That landing was the final touchdown of my "long cross-country solo flight" in preparation for the Private Pilot License practical exam. Emphasis on “solo.” It’s been said that there is no more clear dividing line in a pilot’s career than pre-solo and post-solo; between having an instuctor in the plane with you during a flight (even if she never touches the controls the whole time), and the various “this is really happening,” “okay, here we go,” “no turning back,” “shit that was scary” moments, when it’s just you. Your trusted partner is no longer another human being but instead a small airplane built in Kansas. You’re climbing to 5,500 feet, trying to stay centered over the departing runway, keeping a close eye on your airspeed, expecting a call from the control tower, starting your turn to capture your intended course, being told to turn to an initial course of 70 degrees

and to pass the tall buildings downtown before turning to 151 degrees, and oh, while you do that, continue to monitor your rate of climb and engine indicators and continue to scan for traffic, and go ahead and contact Oke City Departure for further instructions (before you bust through 2,500’, or you’ll be in big trouble for potentially putting yourself and lots of passengers in various airliners in danger by entering Will Rogers World Airport’s airspace without meeting the legal requirement of establishing two-way radio communication with the Departure controlers, who keep an eye on and direct traffic in Will Rogers’s airspace).

Okay. Sounds much worse than it is, really. But, you really don’t want to get in the way of a Southwest 737 less than 3 minutes into your flight, and very quickly it becomes apparent that you could either pass those tall downtown buildings to the South and West, or to the North and East. North and East makes the most sense, but there’s that field of radio antennae and cell towers in the way of that route. Remembering that what “makes sense” isn’t what matters here, you decide to contact the Departure controllers, aware that they had probably already told you the answer to your putative question. Knowing that the Departure controllers are really nice people, and even if they aren’t, that it’s both the correct decision and one that the controlers want you to make, you formulate your request before starting your transmission.

But then another thought pops into your head: probably two dozen airline pilots--men and women whom you in many ways idolize--who will hear the pilot of that little Cessna asking for clarification when the answer probably should have been obvious. Mucking up their airwaves and probably totally incompetent, at that.

Those pressures that the FAA is so keen on teaching and testing these days--the pressures that lead pilots to make poor decisions based on pride, machismo (yep, “Macho” is literally one of the “dangerous attitudes” that the FAA has decided it needs to curb), feelings of invincibility, pressure from others people or to stay on schedule, and more--are real, and don’t just affect stubborn cowboys or the very young or extremely foolish. Before I started flying, I really believed that I would have a big advantage in this area; I generally make considered, cautious and prudent decisions (I think), and I am certainly aware of the fact that I am vincible (er, not invincible). But just a few months into my flying career and on only my fifth solo flight, I have felt pressures that have pushed me towards bad decisions on more than a few occasions. And I’ve been surprised how strongly those pressures have affected me. This will certainly not be an area where I take anything for granted, or let my guard down because I believe I’m a thoughtful person.

I take the position that I can’t correct for dangerous pressures without recognizing them in the first place, so I hope that that first line of defense is sensitive enough, and that in the second instance, that I will build up that muscle that’ll let me overcome those pressures more and more easily. My instructor (one of Oklahoma Aviation's Certificated Flight Instructors), just barely legal to drink, defies the stereotype of the young, loose cannon. He is a great example to follow, and throughout my education has pointed out some not-so-obvious dimensions along which it’s easy to make a poor decision. He becomes genuinely, visibly and vocally joyed when I make a “better safe than sorry” decision like rejecting--rather than trying to save--a landing when things don’t feel right. So, this morning it’s “[o]ke City Departure, Skyhawk Niner Seven One Zero Alfa, Request.” … “9710A go ahead,” and “[p]lease instruct, do you request I pass North or South of the Devon tower?” I get my answer, increase my angle of climb to ensure that I will be safe from the antennae even though I’ll be passing the buildings to the North and East.

Flying at relatively low altitudes affords one some really magical vantage points. You’re close enough to make out the buildings and geographical features that you know from the ground, but you're high enough that everything is in miniature. Things aren’t just breathtakingly beautiful--you’re in a state of suspended, mindful escape. It’s like being on vacation, but by virtue of an incredibly vivid and exhiliarating picture, remaining keenly aware of not just the beauty of your everyday surroundings, but also just what you’re vacationing from.

After making a lazy turn around those downtown buildings (one of which, I am very aware, is where I work) I intercept my 151 degree course to North Texas Regional Airport. I fly right over the still-quiet (it’s early) Will Rogers World Airport, and not much later, the University of Oklahoma and, hey, that football field where my wife and I saw the Sooners play, back in October.

It was time to dial in the autopilot and maybe get some XM radio going. I reached for the autopilot controls, but … they weren’t there. They weren’t anywhere. Oops, wrong plane.

(To be continued in Part 2)

getezra.net

Calling Departure

Ultimate shipper showdown: FedEx vs. UPS vs. USPS (and DHL)

web 3.0 foolishness

Letting sleeping sites lie

Talked to Joe from Fairplay, random gas station spotting. They make great electric vehicles, exciting new battery tek

Excellent xkcd ...

Hiking in the uintas yesterday with pupp and human friends

altitude from aSmartHUD+3D, a great little iPhone app

What lucky duck got an iPhone 4 a day early? That's my hand; but I'm not even getting one for myself for a looooong while

iphone art

Over 50 MPG. Toyota Camry Hybrid. < 3

World's hottest hot sauce at "F'n Hot" in Park City. Burnnn.

Ask me anything

I KNOW you have a microphone or headset

Perfect name; but I can't believe the end product is comfortable

LinkedIn: What've you done for me lately?

Inversion

Plink

Holiday spirit

On the lawn at the Super 8