Flight Journal: flight 52, part 1
Posted: Tue Jun 17, 2008 8:34 pmFlight 52
08-17-96
TEB-4N1-TEB
1.5 solo
"short t.o & lndg, radio nav, MCA, stalls, steep turns"
vis8
3500 SCT
wind var
78F
C172 N1223F
Today is momentous...
I am to solo for at least a full hour, landing at 4N1.
Part of my plan is to visit the pilot shop there, and purchase a lapboard.
It is just one part of this flight destined to fail...
My other brilliant scheme is to set up my cheap camera inside the plane somehow, in order to take photos in flight which will clearly show me alone at the controls, with the view out the windshield beyond. It seems very important to do this.
While waiting for the bus, I buy a shutter-release cable, then realize I've cut into the funds I'd set aside for a lapboard. I shrug and hurry to catch the bus.
Enroute to the field, I am dismayed by the splendid array of cumuli beginning to crowd the sky. They seem awfully low, and I begin to feel I'm making this trip in vain- my current student limits are at least 7 miles and 5000 broken.
The last report I heard (2 hrs ago) was that TEB was 6 and 3000 SCT. Is this stuff broken, I wonder, or scattered? Walking from the bus stop to the office, I decide it's scattered. What's more, it's not lowering... proof of this is an airliner turning over the field enroute to EWR at, I'm sure, about 3000. The giant craft is well below the clouds. I am encouraged.
The wind is negligible. I could handle a crosswind, but... it's been awhile.
As I enter the building, I begin to feel a slight unease. Part of me is reluctant to embark on this long-awaited journey.
This half of me feels detached and removed from the situation, and he feels that way because he's afraid. He's unsure of our abilities and our preparedness.
He tries his best to gain control as C. signs me off for my trip. I try my best to ignore him, hoping nobody notices my internal struggle...
although I'm sure C., and anyone else who knows what I am about to do, is assuming that I am nervous.
Preflight is always a familiar, soothing exercise, mostly because it is done with one's feet on the ground (except for climbing up to check the fuel). It settles me down a little bit. and the plane is airworthy, as far as I can tell.
I pause to consider how to rig the camera, then decide to wait until I'm ready to depart 4N1, lest anyone from the school here see me fiddling with it here on the ramp at TEB.
-That's right; forget the damn camera... you have more important stuff to think about!
It's that other side of me... that insistent, whining voice...
"Relax, willya? We'll discuss this later," I reply firmly.
Startup, freqs, ATIS, callup, runup, call to ground... I'm told to hold short of 24 on Bravo. Good. I'll be on my way shortly. Pre-takeoff checklist, one item at a time...at the end of my last lesson, I'd started deplaning with the master still on, and C. had said: "Gotta use that checklist; that'll kill you some day..." He was right. I must remember that.
Yesterday I'd found a copy of Ernest Gann's Fate is the Hunter in a used-book store; hadn't read much Gann as I could recall, and it was hard to put down. Remarkable tales of courage, fear, accomplishment, error, and tragedy... and now I'm inspired to not neglect any detail. He tells many tales of remarkably dangerous situations that arise from small oversights, and I feel like I've learned a lot from the few chapters I've read.
But my bashful inner self also remembers these hair-raising stories, and he reminds me of the book's true theme: that despite the most scrupulous preparation and application of hard-won skill, Death patrols the skies at all times, and may stoop on any pilot, at any time, often without apparent reason.
"1223 Foxtrot; clear for takeoff; runway 24. Traffic left base- use best speed..."
I repeat the message and swing 23F out onto the centerline. The vast runway looms ahead, and I'm pressured on two sides at this moment, here on the cusp of flight...
Another aircraft is about to turn final for this runway, and meanwhile my inner nemesis is still whining...
-You're crazy, you know that? How dare you just presume you can succeed?!
"Simple", I reply, as I ease the throttle forward, "I've done this about 100 times already without mishap.
I know this plane, and I'm on top of things. So shut up."
Nearing flying speed on the takeoff roll, 23F shudders. The nosewheel is acting up. I ease back the yoke a hair.
She's rolling smoothly now, itching to fly.
"See?"
-Sure, but you're not prepared for this trip, you know that! What if we get lost?
I rotate, short-field style, and keep the airspeed nailed on 60, tracking the centerline with ease,
as there is little wind.
"Well, I've been studying, and I took time to draw a line on the chart,and I have the VOR tuned, idented, and ready
to sense my chosen radial..."
I turn west, then a bit north, waiting for intercept. Buildings and highways sprawl below, and beyond that, hills.
We are only at 1000 feet although climbing, and we are speeding away from the only safe place to land within our present
gliding distance.
-you DO see the oil pressure, don't you?
The needle on the oil pressure gauge is not... quite... fully in the center of the green arc.
"Sure. That's quite normal for this plane... it's probably the gauge. Five quarts is enough, and that's what we have. I checked. The engine sounds fine, so relax..."
But half of me is still a little anxious as I glance at the oil filler door, ahead of me on top of the cowling. It's only a few feet away, but if I needed to put more oil in there, it might as well be on the Moon.
But of course, if the pressure does really drop, more oil will likely be no help at all. So we'll see what happens.
The CDI moves a bit towards center, so I turn towards it.
"This is easy."
-Nothing looks right out here today... where the hell are we? What is the point of this, anyway...
I smile. At the whirling prop, at the softly glowing puff clouds just above the plane; at the summer landscape scrolling past.
I even smile inwardly, at my small, nervous, lesser half.
"Look, stupid- even if we do get lost, we have over 4 hrs' fuel, and no matter what, New York is there to the southeast, and the hills are there to the northwest. With those landmarks, I can find my way to a number of airports I've landed at before, and a few I haven't.
"As far as reasons go, I have a few. Want to hear them?"
-Eh, I just wanna go home... the more I look at this chart, the less oriented I get...
"Relax... here comes the radial. We're out of the class D now, and-"
"CessnaOneTwoTwoThreeFox; altitudeconfirmedat 1,400- squawkVFR; radarserviceterminated."
I reply "Squawk VFR; Two Three Fox", and reset the transponder.
"Right; as I was saying... today we fly because... because we have come a long way together, working very very hard to acquire this specialized knowledge and skill, and we have spent a lot of money on it.
"Next reason: I don't know about you, but I intend to keep doing this for a long time, maybe fly professionally someday; and if you don't want to come along for the ride, that's your problem."
-Fly professionally? At your age, what kind of professional flying do you think you'll get to do by the time you're
qualified... if ever?
"Good point. We'll see. But if that doesn't work out, I still have the best reason of all:
Because I love this. I love everything about it. So shut up. I don't have to take this crap from you..."
-Yes you do, comes the reply; quietly now. You need me...without me, you probably would have died doing this a long time ago.
Think about it...
I do.
"You're right", I admit.
-You're lost.
"What?"
Next: first solo landing at Greenwood Lake
08-17-96
TEB-4N1-TEB
1.5 solo
"short t.o & lndg, radio nav, MCA, stalls, steep turns"
vis8
3500 SCT
wind var
78F
C172 N1223F
Today is momentous...
I am to solo for at least a full hour, landing at 4N1.
Part of my plan is to visit the pilot shop there, and purchase a lapboard.
It is just one part of this flight destined to fail...
My other brilliant scheme is to set up my cheap camera inside the plane somehow, in order to take photos in flight which will clearly show me alone at the controls, with the view out the windshield beyond. It seems very important to do this.
While waiting for the bus, I buy a shutter-release cable, then realize I've cut into the funds I'd set aside for a lapboard. I shrug and hurry to catch the bus.
Enroute to the field, I am dismayed by the splendid array of cumuli beginning to crowd the sky. They seem awfully low, and I begin to feel I'm making this trip in vain- my current student limits are at least 7 miles and 5000 broken.
The last report I heard (2 hrs ago) was that TEB was 6 and 3000 SCT. Is this stuff broken, I wonder, or scattered? Walking from the bus stop to the office, I decide it's scattered. What's more, it's not lowering... proof of this is an airliner turning over the field enroute to EWR at, I'm sure, about 3000. The giant craft is well below the clouds. I am encouraged.
The wind is negligible. I could handle a crosswind, but... it's been awhile.
As I enter the building, I begin to feel a slight unease. Part of me is reluctant to embark on this long-awaited journey.
This half of me feels detached and removed from the situation, and he feels that way because he's afraid. He's unsure of our abilities and our preparedness.
He tries his best to gain control as C. signs me off for my trip. I try my best to ignore him, hoping nobody notices my internal struggle...
although I'm sure C., and anyone else who knows what I am about to do, is assuming that I am nervous.
Preflight is always a familiar, soothing exercise, mostly because it is done with one's feet on the ground (except for climbing up to check the fuel). It settles me down a little bit. and the plane is airworthy, as far as I can tell.
I pause to consider how to rig the camera, then decide to wait until I'm ready to depart 4N1, lest anyone from the school here see me fiddling with it here on the ramp at TEB.
-That's right; forget the damn camera... you have more important stuff to think about!
It's that other side of me... that insistent, whining voice...
"Relax, willya? We'll discuss this later," I reply firmly.
Startup, freqs, ATIS, callup, runup, call to ground... I'm told to hold short of 24 on Bravo. Good. I'll be on my way shortly. Pre-takeoff checklist, one item at a time...at the end of my last lesson, I'd started deplaning with the master still on, and C. had said: "Gotta use that checklist; that'll kill you some day..." He was right. I must remember that.
Yesterday I'd found a copy of Ernest Gann's Fate is the Hunter in a used-book store; hadn't read much Gann as I could recall, and it was hard to put down. Remarkable tales of courage, fear, accomplishment, error, and tragedy... and now I'm inspired to not neglect any detail. He tells many tales of remarkably dangerous situations that arise from small oversights, and I feel like I've learned a lot from the few chapters I've read.
But my bashful inner self also remembers these hair-raising stories, and he reminds me of the book's true theme: that despite the most scrupulous preparation and application of hard-won skill, Death patrols the skies at all times, and may stoop on any pilot, at any time, often without apparent reason.
"1223 Foxtrot; clear for takeoff; runway 24. Traffic left base- use best speed..."
I repeat the message and swing 23F out onto the centerline. The vast runway looms ahead, and I'm pressured on two sides at this moment, here on the cusp of flight...
Another aircraft is about to turn final for this runway, and meanwhile my inner nemesis is still whining...
-You're crazy, you know that? How dare you just presume you can succeed?!
"Simple", I reply, as I ease the throttle forward, "I've done this about 100 times already without mishap.
I know this plane, and I'm on top of things. So shut up."
Nearing flying speed on the takeoff roll, 23F shudders. The nosewheel is acting up. I ease back the yoke a hair.
She's rolling smoothly now, itching to fly.
"See?"
-Sure, but you're not prepared for this trip, you know that! What if we get lost?
I rotate, short-field style, and keep the airspeed nailed on 60, tracking the centerline with ease,
as there is little wind.
"Well, I've been studying, and I took time to draw a line on the chart,and I have the VOR tuned, idented, and ready
to sense my chosen radial..."
I turn west, then a bit north, waiting for intercept. Buildings and highways sprawl below, and beyond that, hills.
We are only at 1000 feet although climbing, and we are speeding away from the only safe place to land within our present
gliding distance.
-you DO see the oil pressure, don't you?
The needle on the oil pressure gauge is not... quite... fully in the center of the green arc.
"Sure. That's quite normal for this plane... it's probably the gauge. Five quarts is enough, and that's what we have. I checked. The engine sounds fine, so relax..."
But half of me is still a little anxious as I glance at the oil filler door, ahead of me on top of the cowling. It's only a few feet away, but if I needed to put more oil in there, it might as well be on the Moon.
But of course, if the pressure does really drop, more oil will likely be no help at all. So we'll see what happens.
The CDI moves a bit towards center, so I turn towards it.
"This is easy."
-Nothing looks right out here today... where the hell are we? What is the point of this, anyway...
I smile. At the whirling prop, at the softly glowing puff clouds just above the plane; at the summer landscape scrolling past.
I even smile inwardly, at my small, nervous, lesser half.
"Look, stupid- even if we do get lost, we have over 4 hrs' fuel, and no matter what, New York is there to the southeast, and the hills are there to the northwest. With those landmarks, I can find my way to a number of airports I've landed at before, and a few I haven't.
"As far as reasons go, I have a few. Want to hear them?"
-Eh, I just wanna go home... the more I look at this chart, the less oriented I get...
"Relax... here comes the radial. We're out of the class D now, and-"
"CessnaOneTwoTwoThreeFox; altitudeconfirmedat 1,400- squawkVFR; radarserviceterminated."
I reply "Squawk VFR; Two Three Fox", and reset the transponder.
"Right; as I was saying... today we fly because... because we have come a long way together, working very very hard to acquire this specialized knowledge and skill, and we have spent a lot of money on it.
"Next reason: I don't know about you, but I intend to keep doing this for a long time, maybe fly professionally someday; and if you don't want to come along for the ride, that's your problem."
-Fly professionally? At your age, what kind of professional flying do you think you'll get to do by the time you're
qualified... if ever?
"Good point. We'll see. But if that doesn't work out, I still have the best reason of all:
Because I love this. I love everything about it. So shut up. I don't have to take this crap from you..."
-Yes you do, comes the reply; quietly now. You need me...without me, you probably would have died doing this a long time ago.
Think about it...
I do.
"You're right", I admit.
-You're lost.
"What?"
Next: first solo landing at Greenwood Lake
