Flight journal: Flight 62 (last of 1996)
Posted: Tue Oct 07, 2008 6:27 pmFlight 62[LAST FLIGHT OF 1996]
12-03-96
1979 c-172N
TEB- local
1.7 dual (0.5 night)"
1 landing
"Diversion, pilotage, dead reckoning, night TP, short to/lndg, go-around"
Fair; wind light NE
This is another stage check, with H. in the right seat. We're off to a late start, and the sun is melting on the horizon as I fly, as per H.'s orders, a beeline to Allentown. We are not actually goig that far, I know... he will soon divert me.
"Okay, take me to Sussex", he says at last.
I suddenly find it more difficult than usual to plot a course while flying... the failing light is not helping matters. H. grills me with questions about what I am doing; this doesn't help, either.
What I am doing, it seems, is floundering- I am having a hell of a time just choosing a rough heading to start with. I feel that I've already blown it... I am miserable, and soon I am doubly so, because the airport I see ahead after turning, now cloaked in twilight, is not Sussex but tiny Newton. Still nervous and doubtful, I half-heartedly start to plot my exact position, frustrated by the lowering light.
The ground is now wearing shades of early darkness now, and I am about to tell H. I give up when I spot a green-and-white beacon at my 2 o'clock. Sussex...? No, I quickly realize it's Greeenwood Lake- some twenty miles SE of my intended target. H. sugests I make an approach for a touch-and-go.
Sighing, I pass over the field, spiral down to what looks like a good turning point for base... it all looks pretty good until I turn to final, at which point I can see I'm all out of whack. I go around, somehow managing to do that successfully. ::)
The return to TEB is uneventful- that leg is actually easier to navigate at night- and my landing there is as good as any I've made before, despite my gnawing fear that I've totally blown the stage check.
My jaw almost hits the floor when H. tells me I am free to contiunue my training! He seems to think I did "okay".
I almost try to change his mind, but manage to hold my tongue. It was just a bad flight, I reassure myself. It got dark on you, you're a tad rusty... hell, you're ready for solo cross-countries, relax!
Despite this inner pep talk, my mouth opens by itself and blurts out "I don't know... that approach to Greenwood Lake was the worst I've ever made..."
This is in fact the second time I've told him this; first time was during the aborted approach.
H. shrugs.
"But you went around; that was the right thing..."
He's puzzled that I seem willing to go back a lesson or two.
C., upon hearing my account of this hamfisted episode, takes H.'s side, much to my surprise.
Maybe it's because he remembers that I made it solo to MSV and back without getting killed... or maybe everyone at this school is eager to get me out of their hair...
"But", he adds, "before your next cross-country, I want you tp go local, and make sure you're ready!"
That sounds like a very good idea.
Next: nav challenges
12-03-96
1979 c-172N
TEB- local
1.7 dual (0.5 night)"
1 landing
"Diversion, pilotage, dead reckoning, night TP, short to/lndg, go-around"
Fair; wind light NE
This is another stage check, with H. in the right seat. We're off to a late start, and the sun is melting on the horizon as I fly, as per H.'s orders, a beeline to Allentown. We are not actually goig that far, I know... he will soon divert me.
"Okay, take me to Sussex", he says at last.
I suddenly find it more difficult than usual to plot a course while flying... the failing light is not helping matters. H. grills me with questions about what I am doing; this doesn't help, either.
What I am doing, it seems, is floundering- I am having a hell of a time just choosing a rough heading to start with. I feel that I've already blown it... I am miserable, and soon I am doubly so, because the airport I see ahead after turning, now cloaked in twilight, is not Sussex but tiny Newton. Still nervous and doubtful, I half-heartedly start to plot my exact position, frustrated by the lowering light.
The ground is now wearing shades of early darkness now, and I am about to tell H. I give up when I spot a green-and-white beacon at my 2 o'clock. Sussex...? No, I quickly realize it's Greeenwood Lake- some twenty miles SE of my intended target. H. sugests I make an approach for a touch-and-go.
Sighing, I pass over the field, spiral down to what looks like a good turning point for base... it all looks pretty good until I turn to final, at which point I can see I'm all out of whack. I go around, somehow managing to do that successfully. ::)
The return to TEB is uneventful- that leg is actually easier to navigate at night- and my landing there is as good as any I've made before, despite my gnawing fear that I've totally blown the stage check.
My jaw almost hits the floor when H. tells me I am free to contiunue my training! He seems to think I did "okay".
I almost try to change his mind, but manage to hold my tongue. It was just a bad flight, I reassure myself. It got dark on you, you're a tad rusty... hell, you're ready for solo cross-countries, relax!
Despite this inner pep talk, my mouth opens by itself and blurts out "I don't know... that approach to Greenwood Lake was the worst I've ever made..."
This is in fact the second time I've told him this; first time was during the aborted approach.
H. shrugs.
"But you went around; that was the right thing..."
He's puzzled that I seem willing to go back a lesson or two.
C., upon hearing my account of this hamfisted episode, takes H.'s side, much to my surprise.
Maybe it's because he remembers that I made it solo to MSV and back without getting killed... or maybe everyone at this school is eager to get me out of their hair...
"But", he adds, "before your next cross-country, I want you tp go local, and make sure you're ready!"
That sounds like a very good idea.
Next: nav challenges