Recently we went on a family vacation to Arizona. Ahead of our departure I looked up flight schools (fixed base operators of FBO in pilot speak) in the Phoenix area and there are plenty. Unlike my seven state tour of earlier this summer, I knew I would not be crossing any state boundaries, and all I wanted was to land a plane. I didn't even want to get checked out. Just grab an instructor and head for the sky.
On Tuesday I started calling the FBOs on my list hoping to find an open spot on their schedule for me to fill. We were staying at the Squaw Peak Hilton, making Scottsdale the most convenient airport.
I called Alliance Flight Schools during business hours and got their answering machine. Weird.
But then Alliance called me back, and I scheduled a flight for 9:AM Thursday morning with Mike.
I was just pulling out of the resort on Thursday when my phone rang. I hit the button on the steering wheel (I love Bluetooth). Mike was sick and had to cancel. Bummer.
I switched to the aerobatic school in Chandler. Flying inverted is always fun, and I want tail-wheel time. But try as I might, I could not find a phone number on their website using the tiny browser on my phone. Turns out it is right there on the upper right. In an image. So my phone cannot find it to help me dial. I wonder if these guys ever tried to use their own website while I send them an email.
Mark Bolstad from Alliance calls and says he is available Friday at 2:PM -- I book it. The aerobatic school emails me back. Too late.
My briefing with Mark is pretty simple. We are flying a Cessna 172, a model with which I am very familiar. I want to land at least once. I want to fly around. Mark knows the airspace, he will keep us out of trouble. Plus he can play with my new Garmin 796 while I fly.
We take off and fly to the west of Squaw Peak, and then turn right and fly east bound between the south side of Squaw Peak and the north side of Camelback Mountain. We look at the resorts at the base of the mountain, and make some turns around an abandoned swimming pool that Mark refers to as a "Skate Board Resort."
Track of the flight
We fly further east out past the Talking Stick Resort an around a redrock peak. Mark pushes me close to the mountain to stay out of Falcon Field's airspace.
I ask Mark about Fountian Hills, and he points to the north. We fly north. Mark points down to the west at a golf course where his girlfriend works. As we arrive at the lake we find the fountain is turned off, but we circle anyway. Mark says he grew up here, and is parents live on the northwest side of town. We go circle their house.
We head further north to Carefree, and fly a big circle looking at the houses perched on the mountain. As we cross around the east side we spot a new home being built wedged into the rocks. It looks small at the base of a pile of BIG boulders. I think if I were the owner, and saw it from the plane, I would question the wisdom of building there.
We turned pointed the plane back south east towards the Scottsdale airport, picked up the current weather conditions and called up the tower. Mark took care of this and the playing with GPS.
No matter how good the flying was, every pilot is always judged by the final 3 feet before touchdown. Drop too fast on those last three feet and hit hard or bounce and everybody in the plane knows what kind of pilot you are. My first landing was pretty good. I was proud of if.
We circled around for a second go at it. Mark wanted to see if the little plane on the 3D vision display touched down at the same time we did. My second landing was spectacular. No bump or collision with the ground. Just the soft scrubbing of the tires on the ground as we rolled out. I was a thing of beauty. And Mark reported the GPS matched exactly our wheels touching the runway.
Adding Arizona, my 21st state.
He also said he wished he could teach his students to land like that. I revealed my knowledge of good landings. There are three secrets to a good landing, and no one pilot knows all three of them -- including me.
To prove my point, the third time around we arrived with a solid thud and we called it a day. 1.1 hours and one more state off my list.
I love convergence. When what was once a wrist watch becomes a stopwatch, I consider that a good thing -- getting two functions where there was just one. When a pocket knife also becomes a screwdriver and a pair of pliers, its functionality multiplies, when a phone becomes a clock, email, flashlight, browser, magazine, game console... It becomes indispensable. When my game console lets me watch video on demand, my use and enjoyment of the console increases.
I've written about this before. Remember oh-so-long-ago when our PDA was a separate device from our phone? (Hooray for Handspring!) I wanted a single device.
Well I think I found an area where convergence does not pay off. Behold my Garmin GPSCOM 190.
For decades iCom and Sporty's sold handheld VHF aviation communication radios that also included rudimentary navigation assistance with a VOR receiver and an OBS display. They seem to be standard equipment in any experienced IFR pilot's flight bag. And these things pretty much last forever. The aviation industry is nowhere near ready to move off either VHF communication, or VOR navigation (I suspect those may be fighting words to GPS direct adherents). These two systems have been in place for decades, and have decades more to go. Buying a handheld nav-com is just what IFR pilots do.
Not me. I see the advent of GPS, and instead buy a GPSCOM. Same idea, right? Half com / half nav -- same device only for the 21st century. This was a good device, and for the $1,000 I paid for it, it should be a great device. It provides a way to store routes, create user waypoints; it has airport information and data on frequencies which can be set on the communication radio. It had no way to display terrain; the low resolution screen is chunky. As time has gone on, the physical limitations of the hardware and been crushed by the new features available on newer devices (imagine trying to load your current PC environment into the same hardware you ran Windows98 on ten years ago).
Much like the GPS in your car, with new roads being built, off-ramps getting relocated, and new housing developments being spread on to the landscape like cake frosting, things in the sky are not static. New VOR’s are added, airports are closed, waypoints come and go, frequencies change, and even runway numbers are updated. Each of those changes would have required a database update in my GPS, and a couple years back Garmin stopped providing those updates and stopped supporting the GPSCOM 190.
The rechargeable Ni-Cad battery pack no longer holds a charge and now leaks battery guts. So I am left with a device that would still work for situational awareness, and would work as a backup communication device (which I had to use once!) but is no longer serviceable. No batteries, no data updates. Just an expensive piece of electronics.
So what did I learn about convergence?
Make sure the technologies being converged have similar development trajectories. Watch and a Stopwatch? Check. Knife, screwdriver, pliers? Check. Cell phone, pda? Eh, close enough.
Long life, stable electronics (think flashlight) should have standard batteries, not custom single application packs.
Took some time to go flying today. It was rotten weather, low clouds, windy, gusty, raining with limited visibility. It wasn’t supposed to be. When I checked earlier the clouds were middleish (I don’t think that is really a word). There should have been plenty of space between the ground and the clouds to fly. But once I left the immediate area of the airport, the weather set in.
I headed east, out towards Snohomish and Monroe, but it just got worse. I turned and headed north towards Lake Stevens and Arlington. But there was no improvement over there either. At Camano Island I decided to head back. I turned back towards Paine Field for touch and goes.
I kept the power set at 23 squared – 23 inches of manifold pressure and 2300 RPMs. Typical cruise settings like this will get about 135 mph out of the plane. I pointed it back into the wind from the South East and was only making 85 knots over Port Gardner Bay as the plane clawed back into the headwind. I ended up just practicing my cross-wind landings. I made three landings while other planes made their circuits, and the tower steered me clear of their paths.
And then the strangest thing happened. Another plane from my same flight school called in. The shaken voice reported north of the field with limited visibility, and needing help getting back. The tower controller responded immediately, and the other plane did not respond. Again the tower called. And again. And again. Still no response from the other plane.
I was redirected to another runway where I touched down for the last time that day -- left wing low, partial flaps, some right rudder to slip and counteract the left turn. One wheel on the ground. Hold the wing low. Roll the aileron in as the speed bleeds off. Both main’s on the runway, hold up the nose, rudder for the wind, full aileron to the left. Not a bad crosswind landing for as rusty as I am.
I tied the plane down and went inside. The controllers were still trying to reach the other plane. No response. Inside I talked to the flight school dispatcher and the owner. They called the tower.
I could imagine a student inside the plane, disoriented, panicked, lost, losing ground reference, bouncing around in the wind. Finally calling for help, but it being too late, ultimately losing control of the airplane as it went down.
But not today. The tower reported the student had switched frequencies and gone to one of the center controllers who had guided the plane home, where it had just touched down. Good rescue from the disembodied voices that watch over the skies.
But what did I learn from that? If you call for help on a frequency, stay there for at least a minute and listen for a response. And the second thing was just a reconfirming of a lesson I have not fully integrated. I hate being powerless to help -- knowing there is someone out there who needs help, but I am not the right one to give it.
While running my chainsaw, I noticed the chain was getting tight on the bar, and not operating free. As I examined it closer, I found the bar was not being oiled. It turned out that my oil pump had stopped working. Here's how to replace it.
Get out your tools. The 034 comes with a rudimentary tool kit that has almost everything you will need. A flat head screwdriver, a number x torx, a 5/8th socket, you will also need a small flat head screwdriver, and a pair of needle nose pliers.
The next four steps are pretty routine. If you have never removed these parts, this guide is not for you.
Remove the cover from bar, and remove the bar and chain.
Remove the air intake cover from the back of the saw (quarter turn on the locking knob and pull up).
Disconnect the spark-plug wire (pull straight from plug).
Remove the top cover (flat head screwdriver to loosen the screw on the top).
Remove the flat head screw that holds the metal chain guide plate on, and remove the plate too.
Drain the oil from the bar oil tank by removing the cap, unhooking the retaining chain, and pouring the oil into another container.
Remove the two torx screws holding the plastic cover around the flywheel, and lift the cover off.
Pry the lower cover up from near the bottom -- carefully. It has a post on it that presses into a hole, so it you pry off to the side, you risk breaking this post.
Using a small flat head screwdriver, remove the snap-clip that holds the sprocket drive in place.
Lift off the washer and sprocket.
Lift off the flywheel.
Remove the strap that stops the flywheel.
Remove the spark plug.
Now comes the tricky part. To remove the clutch wheel, you have to stop the piston from going up and down. Stihl makes a special tool that is inserted through the spark plug hole and blocks the piston from moving. We are going to use a clean (emphasis on clean) rope. Thread a bunch of the rope down into the cylinder to fill it.
The clutch has left-hand threads, so turning it clockwise will cause the piston to block against the wad of rope in the cylinder and then loosen the clutch.
The assembly that sits below and has a loop around the crankshaft is the oil pump. Remove the nylon worm-drive gear from the center by turning it clockwise.
On the bottom of the saw, turn the oil feed all the way in.
Remove the two torx screws from ring on the oil pump that goes around the crank shaft.
The pump is pressed down into a ring recessed into the crank case. You have to pry it out.
The pump comes with a new oil line so remove the old one -- and you are going to destroy it getting it out. Start by locating the brass grommet that fits inside the end of oil line where the oil is supposed to be coming out. I had to dig at mine pretty aggressively to get enough of it exposed to grab it with a pair of needle nose pliers and pull it out.
Pull the oil line and the oil pump out. Yay.
A chainsaw is a pretty dirty environment. Spend some time cleaning things up before you start putting it back together. The grommet that creates the seal between the pump and the reservoir is really a flange on the end of the oil pickup tube. I suggest removing it as well and cleaning it out with some compressed air.
Reassembly:
Clean out the grove in the crank case where the oil pump presses in. This is important because if you don't the oil pump may not seal and pick up oil from the reservoir.
Feed feed the new oil line into it's passage way.
Put the two torx screws in to hold the oil pump in place. Tighten them incrementally, alternating to minimize binding, but making sure the oil pump is securely seated.
Put the thrust washer back against the crank case.
Put the bushing on the crank shaft.
Thread the worm gear back onto the crankshaft.
My pump came with what looks like a long spring for a pen. That spring is to keep the oil line from kinking. Slide it inside the oil line. Press the new brass bushing into the end of the oil line to the line in place.
Thread the the clutch on to the crankshaft (remember it is left-hand threads).
Slide the roller bearing onto the crank shaft.
Slide the flywheel onto the crankshaft over the roller bearing.
Put the sprocket back on.
Put the thrust washer back on.
Put the snap clip back on.
Put the strap that stops the flywheel back on (make sure the break is disengaged).
The rest of the reassembly is just reversing the remaining steps.
Before putting the bar back on, clean the chain grove in the bar. Also, take a look at where the oil line feeds the oil through the small hole in bar and clean it out too.
It is nice to know I have helped others in some small ways. I took great joy in the comment from the Juanita Williams who was able to repair her husbands truck. I am excited every time someone says thanks. I figure maybe one in 10 folks comment, so the 40 odd notes of appreciation means somewhere I have helped 400 people.
But today's note elevates the post to a new high... "The instructions that came with my after market mirror consisted of ... the web address of your blog"
Last week, I was on a business trip to CT. I knew I also needed to spend the weekend on the east coast, so I decided to get checked-out for an airplane rental and take the plane on a quick tour of New England. As a result of casual conversation in the office, I decided to get checked out at Blue Sky Flight at Bridgeport's Sikorsky Memorial Airport in a Grumman AA-5.
It was from this airport the US cranked out F4U Corsairs, the planes featured in the 70's TV show Baa Baa Black Sheep. On my first visit to the airport there was one mounted as a popsicle near the passenger terminal's south entrance. The plane was removed a while back for restoration.
Blue Sky is on the north side of the airport, next to a little dive bar called the Windsock Inn. I stumbled onto the Windsock a couple years back, and try to go grab dinner there on each of my trips just to experience the local color and home cooked meal.
I made am appointment for 6 PM Tuesday night, and met my flight instructor for the week, Sheila Murchan. Getting checked out for a new plane at a new flight school can be kind of a pain. It is not like renting a car where having a license for a state 3,000 miles away and being over 25 years old is good enough. Nope, every flight school needs to confirm that the FAA approved Designated Pilot Examiner, and the list of flight instructors that came before them measure up to their standards. And every rental facility's standards are different.
How different? Here are some examples:
I was holding the airplane's check list in my left hand, progressing down the checklist using my thumb to mark my progress. I reached across with my right hand to hit a switch and was reprimanded for not using my left had since it was closer.
To control my speed during taxi, I reduced the RPMs below 1,000 rather than applying the breaks.
On a simulated engine failure, I flew an arching right turn onto the runway rather than turning immediately over the runway and slipping for altitude...
Oddly there was no handbook test to assure my familiarity with the aircraft systems and specifications.
Sheila knows the intricacies of the Grumman AA-5, and I had to fly it to her standards to get her permission to rent it, but I'm not convinced that any of her training on general flying is any better than what Rev, Lewis, Sean, Mike, Chuck, Patty, Howard, Bob (you get the idea) had taught me before.
Other than area orientation and the specifics of the AA-5 such as climb-out and approach speeds, I was frustrated by much of the training. Yet I know Sheila's goal is to keep me and the airplane safe, so I listened and perform the flight according to her standards.
After 2.4 hours of flying in circles, I was approved to fly N11840 on my own. Wednesday night I picked up the charts and manuals needed to navigate the New England area.
Friday evening back at the hotel, I found a large table on the edge of the lobby where I studied the charts and manuals to familiarize myself with airports, frequencies, towers, altitudes, landmarks and headings.
Saturday morning, I updated my flight log for the current winds aloft, and called flight service to get a weather briefing and file my flight plan. Flight service is this great free service provided by the federal government. Pilots can call these guys any time, day or night, and get a 10 to 30 minute weather briefing on any arbitrary flight route in the US. For free. As often as we want. And we are encouraged to do so by regulation. But being a limited government guy, I wonder what part of the constitution empowers me to expect my neighbors, friends, and relatives to pay for this service for me. Heck, I wonder what part of the constitution authorizes the Air Force. But I digress.
The weather forecast is for intermittent low clouds in the morning, and improving as the day goes on. Good enough for me. The airport is clear, and I'm out for a joy ride. If things go bad, I can turn around and come back.
Summertime in New England is marked by the three Hs. Hot, Humid, Hazy. Today will be no exception. Even where the sky is clear, forward visibility is limited to about 20 miles.
The intermittent low clouds started showing up about 10 minutes out of Bridgeport. I considered climbing to stay above them, but I had no assurance I would be able to find a hole to get back under then at my destination, so instead I descended to 2,000 feet and skittered along below them.
Being unfamiliar with an area, it takes a while to be come proficient with identifying landmarks, and eastern CT is markedly void of landmarks I could recognize. Navigation then becomes a process of heading, speed, and time.
As the time for the airport's appearance neared, so did the Providence class C airspace. Class C airspace typically surrounds smaller commercial airports, or places served by the spokes of the hub-and-spoke transportation system. Their controlled airspace usually only extends out ten miles, but they often like some warning and ask for contact within 20.
I switched frequencies, and called up Providence Approach. They informed me there was parachute jumping in progress at my destination airport, and that it was 4 miles to my south east. I was glad they told me. I was still expecting to see it to the north east, and I had no desire to collide with a falling body. I circled to the north of the field until the radio reported the parachutes were open, and then entered into the pattern. About the same time the jump plane also entered the pattern on the opposite side of the field.
I was so busy looking for the parachutes and the jump plane, I ended up high on final and had to go around. By my second pass things were less busy, and I landed, taxied back, and departed. One new state down.
The plane climbed out quickly, and I turned north. I was becoming accustomed to finding landmarks as the distance between me and Boston's class B airspace rapidly decreased. Class B surrounds BIG airports, is usually about 30 miles in diameter, and shaped like an inverted wedding cake, with a smaller inner tier near the ground and progressively larger layers extending up to 10,000 feet. Boston matches this pattern pretty well.
I dial up Boston Approach on the radio to negotiate a path to the west of downtown, just below their airspace, and just above one of the smaller outlying community airports. The controller assigns me a squawk code, notifies me of approaching traffic and clears me to operate through the Class B. This is a sign of an experienced controller. He knows where I am, where I am going, and how I plan to get there. And he gives me some of his airspace to make my life easier. Thank you Mr Boston Approach Controller.
I got a nice straight in approach into Lawrence MA, where I landed, taxied back, and departed. Done. Two states down.
I followed a heading north paralleling the shoreline of the Atlantic Ocean up to Sanford Maine. This was the section I was most concerned about weather wise. When I had checked the weather in the morning, Sanford was reporting 400 overcast with clearing as the day progressed. By the time I arrived there was no significant sky-cover. I made a left base entry I to the pattern, and landed long. I taxied to the other end of the runway where I parked the plane. At Southern Maine Aviation I got a new baseball cap, and had the fuel tanks refilled. And ate a cookie. Three down, and the first time I had set foot in Maine.
The plane climbed quickly to 4,500 feet. The AA-5 is a spritely little plane. At 90 kts it climbs at right around 1,000 feet per minute. This particular plane has been upgraded with a LoPresti Speed Merchants cowling and wheel pants to reduce drag, so It cruises level at a comfortable 140 kts. The distance between Sanford Maine and Keene, New Hampshire is quickly scrubbed away.
The plane descended across the airport and entered into a left down wind 45 for entry into the pattern. I rolled out onto the taxi way, zig-zagging over the crossing runway to the fuel pump. Here I found another AA-5 being refueled. It took very little effort to get one of the occupants to take my picture. Four states, and my first visit to New Hampshire.
The flight from Keene to Bennington VT drew me further inland from the coast. There were plenty of lakes, rivers and roads to mark my path. I was receiving flight following, and the controller had me swing south a little to avoid a parachute jump zone. I crossed over some wind generators on a small ridge of what might be called mountains, and maneuvered to land. At Bennington, there is a 300 foot tall monument that looks about like the Washington Monument, but for some reason it pokes up into the sky right where I am turning from downwind to base. I'm guessing the airport location committee and the monument location committee had no common members.
There is a bit of a cross wind here, but just one runway, so I roll in a bit of crab into the wind, and the transition to a left wing low slip. I floated a bit, but the plane still set down on one wheel with plenty of space to stop. I found a place to park, and the airport manager came out to greet me. "The EAA is giving away burgers and hot dogs on the other side of those hangars," he say as he chocks the left main wheel. I walk across the ramp at my third new state of the day only discover the grill has been put away, so no burgers for me, just a soda. I have a picture taken, I take a couple pictures, and check off landing in my fifth state.
Back in the sky, I follow the ridge line to my left and Hudson River to my right in what seems like the longest 40 minute flight ever. The terrain reverts back to the featureless ground that eliminates landmarks to gage forward progress. Dutchess County Airport comes into view, I contact the tower and make a right base entry for landing. Again I float long. And I land in my sixth state of the day.
The final leg back to Bridgeport is boring, the pattern is full when I get there, and I end up third for landing, with takes me far out over the Long Island Sound before turning onto final. This is my seventh landing of the day, back to where I began.
A tour of New England, set foot in three new states, landed in six new states, and experienced a good little plane to boot.
My friend Matt has decided to take up flying. He has done so before, but this time he is doing so with a vengeance. This time he has decided to not only get his pilot's license, but at the same time, build his own airplane.
The idea of building your own plane sounds much crazier than it is in real life. Most folks building their own plane will also be flying their own plane, and are therefore significantly motivated to do it well. Matthew has decided to build a Van's RV-9A. After the initial test flight, homebuilt aircraft have accident rates on par with certified general aviation aircraft.
Van's is one of the largest kit plane manufacturer in the world. I met the founder, Richard VanGrunsven at a Washington Pilot's Association Christmas party several years back. He was the guest speaker at a relatively intimate dinner, where we all got to visit with him after his presentation. Mr. VanGrunsven seems to have several monikers, Richard, Dick, and Van - which is the source of the company name, "Van's"
Van's Aircraft is located in the town of Aurora Oregon, about 20 miles south of Portland. Matt had come from Houston for a week of vacation, and talked me into flying him from Paine down to Aurora to tour the factory, get a demo ride, and buy his first kit of pieces.
The flight in my plane takes about an hour and a half, and the tours are at 9:00 AM and 2:00 PM. So Matt and I decided to meet at Regal for a 7:00 AM for the flight. We were air-borne at 7:06 AM.
The weather on the flight down was boring - absolutely nothing to report. Clear sky, distant wispy cirrus clouds, smooth air. Snore… Once at our cruising altitude, I turned the plane over to Matt and got out my cell phone to take pictures. And post to facebook.
We landed a little after 8:30, secured the plane and made the short walk across the ramp to the Van's factory. The main entrance to Van's is more like the side entry to a hall way. To the left is what may have been an office, and is now the "gift shop" (more on that later), and about 15 feet to the right is the main counter. The hall serves as a visitor's lobby. Mr. VanGrunsven embodies the cheap Dutchman. I'm a quarter Dutch, so I am allowed to malign my own heritage.
Matt checked in for the tour, and I acknowledged we were about 20 minutes early. The receptionist suggested we check out the gift shop behind us. Matt and I dutifully complied and meandered over to inspect their wares. I really should have whipped out the camera. What first caught my eye was a remote control version of and RV-6A hanging from the ceiling. Big, and red and white, with two large exhaust pipes out the bottom, it is eye-catching. on the shelves to our left were four or five stacks of logoed clothing, polo shirts, hats, and t-shirts.
There was some other stuff too, like books and assembly videos. But mostly stuff. And then what tickled me was a shelf with stacks of throttle and fuel-mixture cables just kind of piled up on it at eye level. "Gifts," I thought "from the gift shop." And then I had the funny image of someone swinging by the Van’s plant to buy their sweet-heart a gift of a throttle cable. True love.
We were in the gift shop only a few moments when we were called back by our tour-guide, Ken. Now if I were selling something as expensive and passion-fueled as airplanes, I would find a tour guide as close as possible to the Barbie and Ken characters from Toy Story 3, and train her or him on the things that make the RV line unique. Find someone happy, out going, friendly, effusive, passionate, and engaging. Ken from Van's is not that character.
Ken is knowledgeable, and has excellent experiences with the Van's line, and has built and owned several of their kits. He has worked there since the time when the pieces were cut from patterns by hand. He has plenty of time flying RV's indicating a long and successful flying career. But how does a guy work for one of the largest kit-plane manufacturer in the world and gives demo rides in a company provided airplane, not smile at least a little?
During the tour Ken's knowledge of the product line and subtle differences was quickly apparent as we discussed wing loading and techniques for attaching wings to the fuselage (bolt inside, bolt outside, spar carry through, or quick release pins) and seating arrangements of the different models. He pointed out center sections, quick build assemblies, pre-cut, drilled, and stamped parts, the technical abilities of the machines cutting them and the advances over the years in Van's ability to make more precise and consistent parts.
We talked to the operator of the machine cutting the parts, and here's a guy who's job it is to watch a machine cut a piece of flat aluminum stock into something that will later become an airplane part, and he is EXCITED to tell me about it. But not Ken. Move along. These are not the 'droids you are looking for. Meanwhile the guy operating the machine notices my CrazyHorse hat and makes a comment about it. But not Ken.
Matt eventually gets Ken out to the collection of assembled airplanes, where Matt selects the one like he is planning to build for his demo ride. Ken first moves a plane blocking that one, so he can extract the 9A from the hangar. They cautiously go through preflight and strap in, mount headsets, and fire up the plane.
In short order Ken, Matt, and a shiny RV-9A are leaping into the clear blue sky for Matt's demo ride. I go find some coffee, arrange some stuff in my plane, explore around a bit. Soon the shiny RV is turning base to final and settling in for a smooth landing. Ken's skills as a pilot are apparent as the RV slides onto the runway.
Matt hops out of the plane, clearly excited, and says something to the effect of "Are you ready for your demo ride?" I looked at Ken and could tell he was still not excited to be flying.
"I don’t want to deceive anybody about my lack of intent to buy an airplane." And Ken makes no effort to change my mind.
Matt ordered his first set of pieces that will become his airplane. I picked out a $15.00 polo shirt and a $10.00 hat. That’s the least expensive polo shirt I've bought in years!
Matt and I debate lunch in Oregon or lunch in Washington. It is only 10:30. We decide to eat back home and climb into my plane.
After a pleasant lunch on the patio at La Palmera, I am back home with my family.
Recently there were sonic booms over the Puget Sound region.
These sonic booms were set off by a pair of F-15 fighter jets that were scrambled to intercept a small seaplane that had violated a Temporary Flight Restriction (TFR) around the President of the United States. He was in town fund raising for our embattled Senator, Patty Murray.
There is crazy amount of disinformation around events like these. As a certified pilot with 15 years of experience with the system, I’d like to address some of these items.
Speed:
Sonic Booms occur when an object travels faster than the speed of sound, and is produced continuously along it the path it travels. In the article by ABC news it is reported “The sonic booms created by the fighter jet engines...” The booms are NOT caused by the engine, unless you consider the engine is what pushes the entire airframe through the air.
The speed of sound varies based on the density of the media the sound waves are traveling in. Since air gets less dense at higher altitudes, the speed of sound is lower as you go up. Roughly it is around 770 mph down at sea level.
There are speed limits in the sky over the continental United States. Generally an aircraft may not exceed 250 kts (287 mph) below 10,000 feet. Above 10,000 ft, an aircraft may not exceed the speed of sound – without a waiver. The military has a waiver.
At high altitude, the F-15 will go about 2.5 times the speed of sound or around 1,600 mph, at low altitude it only goes 1.2 times or around 900 mph. If the plane is loaded with weapons such as external bombs or fuel tanks, the airspeed is further reduced due to drag.
The F-15s came from Portland because those are the nearest armed fighters. All of the fighter wings that were based nearer have been removed. There are transport jets (C-5, C-141, and C-17) and heavy helicopters (CH-47) in Tacoma, Electronic Jammers (EA-6B, EA-18G, P-3) and on Whidbey Island, and Bombers (B-52H) in Spokane. But the nearest armed fighters are in Portland.
Restricted areas
How big is the TFR? The restricted space is 30 miles in radius. Imagine a circle that extends from south of Tacoma to Everett and from the east slopes of the Olympic Mountains to the west slopes of the Cascades. Aircraft may only be operated in that ring if they are working with Air Traffic Control (ATC) and entering or leaving the area.
There is also an inner ring that is only ten miles in radius. Only law enforcement aircraft are allowed in there.
The President ALWAYS has a 30 mile ring around him when he is on the ground. It is slightly smaller when he is in flight.
Does the President need all that space? I don’t know. For a typical small airplane that only goes about 120, it is a 15 minute buffer from incursion to center of the TFR. But for a faster plane like an airliner, it could be a quarter of that.
Pilots talking to Air Traffic Control and Flight Plans
Since flight on Visual Flight Rules (VFR) flights require NO prior authorization from the government, there is NO ATC talking to the pilot to stop them. Quite literally, if I had enough fuel, I could take off from Copalis beach on the pacific coast in Washington state, and fly all the way to Homestead General Airport in southern Florida, and NEVER talk to ATC.
The purpose of a Flight Plan on a VFR flight is to help search and rescue know where to look for the wreckage. Really. If I file a VFR flight plan, after taking off, I call a special frequency for that area, and ask them to open my flight plan. Upon arriving at the other end, I call another special frequency to close it. If I fail to close it, they assume that I did not arrive at my destination. And they will call out the search and rescue teams that will then search along my intended course looking for the plane. Remember when Steve Fossett disappeared? No flight plan. They are not required. It took a year to find the wreckage and that was by a hiker on accident.
The pilot should have checked for a Notice to Airman (or NOTAM) prior to the flight. Since the President is always surrounded by a TFR, and it has been known for days that he would be in town, and the pilot is REQUIRED to check for NOTAMs prior to his flight, he should have known.
I was sitting there on my way back from St Mary's, Georgia to Kissimmee, Florida, going 116 miles per hour. I was thinking, "Can't this thing go any faster?" and I was reminded of "Everything's Amazing and Nobody's Happy." I had just checked off two items from my States-I-have-Landed-an-Airplane-in list yet the plane feels agonizingly slow. Just how slow? Only 101 knots. Yawn.
No way.
The weekend before, I celebrated my birthday with my family. Each of my kids had provided very thoughtful gifts. Items better than the usual shirt, or tie, or Star Wars boxer-shorts. At the end of the gifts Sandra handed me a box. A shirt box.
"Here's the shirt," I thought.
But it didn't quite feel right. I pulled off the bow and took the lid off the box which revealed the contents carefully covered in tissue paper. I uncovered a gift certificate from Stallion 51 for an hour of flight time in a P-51 Mustang! And not just a certificate - but below that were airline tickets from Seattle to Orlando. And below that a rental car reservation. And below that a hotel. My head was trying to make sense of it all. She didn't really do this did she? What date is on the airline tickets? What date is on the gift certificate? April 2. Is that a weekend? Wait, that is really soon. WAIT, THAT'S THIS WEEK! The airline tickets are for Wednesday! Don't I have to work on Thursday?
"I called your office and I got you the time off," I heard her voice from outside my thoughts.
"No way." It was all I could come up with. "No way!" I said out loud. To appreciate the significance of the P-51, take some time and read about the development and contribution to the Allied victory in WWII. These things are legendary and widely credited for turning the momentum of the war as the top of the food chain fighter plane. Most of the remaining P-51s sit in museums now. There are about 160 of them still flying 65 years later. And I was going to fly one of them. "NO WAY!"
Florida
I took the red-eye Wednesday night and arrived in Orlando on Thursday morning. I spent the day orienting myself to the area, finding the route from my hotel to the Kissimmee airport, locating Stallion 51, and touching the airplanes. The Mustang is a visceral airplane. It just looks fast. The way it sits on its high front landing struts, the smooth flowing lines, the long nose, the bottom scoop - it all blends together creating a visual image that is sensual. The pilots of this plane have an emotional connection to these aircraft.
And Stallion 51 is immaculate. The floor is polished gray epoxy paint and free of any oil or fluids. There are no drip pans and there is not a spot or a piece of debris anywhere on the hangar floor. The same is true for the planes. No chips in the paint. No scratches in the shined aluminum panels. Not even finger prints. No signs of oil or grease anywhere on the airframes.
My first view of the hotel left me a bit concerned. It was located behind two vacant restaurants on what, at first glance, appeared to be a dirt road. Uh oh. Sandra probably didn't realize what she was getting. But I decided to give it a shot. It turned out to be a clean and comfortable place. As an added bonus, it was just below the departure end of the runway.
Also located at the airport is the Warbird Museum, which flies the advanced trainer aircraft of WWII. So on Friday morning, I awoke with a flight of AT-6 Texans going over my hotel room. Their big radial engines acting as my alarm clock. I wonder if I can get that sound on my alarm clock at home.
My turn in the Mustang is not until 1 PM. But by 10:30, I can't wait any longer. I decide to take my cup of Starbucks and drink it in the lobby of Stallion 51. Julia, an elegant lady with a charming British accent, courteously welcomes me. I wander through the merchandise and talk to the others that are arriving. Rob is there with his wife and kids. He's a veterinarian from further south in Florida. His wife got him his ride as a birthday present, too. Steve is one of Stallion 51's pilots. Prior to becoming a P-51 instructor, his call sign was "Mad Dog," but now he is called "Lucky Dog." He’ll be flying with Rob the Vet (Get it? - the vet and a guy named Dog?).
Charlie Johnson came in to meet with Lee Lauderback. Lee is the owner of Stallion-51 and has more flight time in P-51 than anyone else in the world. They will be flying together. Charlie was the head of Cessna Aircraft. I talk to Greg the Crew Chief who watches over the planes. He laughs when I ask how often they polish the floor. It is a common question.
I walk to the next hangar over and discover a couple of AT-6 Texans, and an L-39 Albatross. Rob is there with his family looking, too. By now the three Mustangs have been pulled out into the sun and our equipment and check lists are being loaded. My fence clutching has been elevated to a new level.
Now it is 12:30, still 30 minutes until I am scheduled to be there, Rob and I are back in the sun standing between the three very shiny P-51's. A man comes out and calls for Rob and me. He introduces himself as John and informs us that because we missed our briefing, we cannot fly today.
I told him the paper work says to be there at 1:00 PM and that Rob and I have both been there since 10:30 AM. And where has he been anyway?
The briefing
John smiled and took me upstairs for my briefing - he is my instructor for the flight. John Posson is small, articulate, and confident. He asks me about my ratings hours, tail-wheel time and if I have any aerobatics experience. John is an air show pilot. He flies left wing of a four-jet L-39 demonstration team.
We discuss the things that make the Mustang special with special focus on the "laminar flow wing." This is wing is different that a "normal" wing which is relatively flat across the bottom, arched across the top and the thickest part being about one fifth to one fourth of the way back from the leading edge. A laminar flow wing, on the other hand, is nearly symmetrical on the top and bottom and the thickest part is nearer the center. This creates a more slippery wing and allows the plane to go faster. But what you gain in high speed you surrender in low speed. When the airplane gets slow and the angle of attack gets too high, the once laminar flow separates quickly and the wing stops flying abruptly. And usually one wing drops aggressively. Translation, one moment you are flying straight and level and the next you are flying with one wing pointed at the ground and the other pointed at the sky – without much warning.
We discuss how the Roll-Royce Merlin engine’s one thousand four hundred and ninety horsepower will want to twist the airplane around. To compensate for that, the vertical stabilizer, or rudder, is mounted about a degree and a half out of line with the airframe. So, at high speed, the rudder will pull it one way and at low speed the engine will pull it the other. The airplane has trim on all three axis to compensate. John discusses the importance of using the trim to manage this plane.
He tells me about how noisy the cockpits are and how we will be wearing ear plugs under the helmets with earphones in them. He gives me instructions on operating the intercom and the radio.
He talks about control input. How little or hard one must work the controls to get a response. He cautions me against full control inputs, observing that the only time we will use them is when we are doing aileron rolls. He points out the airplane was built as a weapon and rather than "flying" it you "aim" it.
We discuss the flight profile. He'll taxi out, take off, do the formation flying, break us off, then I will take the plane into the practice area and do the bulk of the flying from there. I'll fly back to the rendezvous point and he will pull us into formation with the lead plane.
We talk about how there were no two-seat Mustangs made. The planes we will fly have been modified by removing the rear fuel tank and putting in the second set of controls where the fuselage is a bit narrower than the original cockpit. So he'll have a bit more room than me, and I'll be wedged in.
He sends me to the restroom for one last break before strapping in.
We meet back at the planes. Charlie and Lee with be flying lead in "The Little Witch,' John and I will be right wing in "Crazy Horse 2" and Rob and Lucky-Dog will be left wing in "Crazy Horse."
I climb into my seat while John holds up the straps to the parachute. Ha – parachute. This is the third time I’ve flown aerobatics and every time I get a nearly identical conversation. It is short, curt, and has become to me, comical. Usually somewhere in the process of strapping into the parachute harness, the instructor will ask, "Have you jumped out of a plane before?"
I give a one word answer, "Yes."
A slight head nod, "Good." End of conversation.
John talks about how, if the engine fails, we are going to fly the airplane all the way to ground. If we are over a runway, we will extend the gear and land. If we are over a field, we will leave the gear up and slide the airplane to a stop.
John discusses the protocol of emergency egress and releasing the canopy. He points out the $75,000 handle: Pull it and the canopy comes off. We will only pull it if there is no way to fly the plane. Either the plane will be on fire or we are involved in a mid-air. And I will only pull it if he is unable to pull it. Once the canopy is released, I am to release my seatbelt and dive over the right side of the plane. The discussion is all for naught, as we return safely.
Finally, I am buckled into the five-point harness that holds me to the seat. John straps in. He is meticulous with the check list. He verbally covers every item in staccato rapid fire sequence. I try to keep up.
The start
We wait for the crew chief to give the signal to start the planes.
It is finally time to hit the starter. The propeller on the Mustang is geared, so it turns at about half the speed of the engine. As the plane starts, the blades move very slowly. And then a puff of blue smoke appears from one of the six exhaust stacks on the left side, followed quickly by a second puff from the other side, and then the engine catches, the blue smoke is pushed away, the propeller blades vanish in a blur, and the big Merlin lets out that beautiful growl. It’s alive!
The whole airplane rumbles. You can feel it vibrate. Earlier in the briefing, I was told, "It is a big, nasty tail-dragger and I want to feel it talking to me." The growling engine is singing a love song. Olivia Newton John just fell to a distant rung on the ladder.
We are second of three Mustangs taxing out and, as we approach the runway, a B-25 Mitchell is landing. We have been transported back in time 65 years but I doubt any of these planes, including the Mitchell, were this well polished during WWII.
At the edge of the runway, John continues down the check list, setting the brakes and bringing up the throttle. The plane struggles against the brakes. This is going to be fun.
Lift-off
The tower clears us as "Mustang Flight" for take-off. Charlie and Lee roll out to the centerline; we roll to the far side of the runway on the left side; and Rob and Lucky Dog pull next to us on the right side. The first Mustang starts its take-off roll. We count five seconds and start our roll behind them. Our tail lifts off the ground as we accelerate. The plane ahead lifts off and the wheels tuck up into its wings. We lift off and tuck our wheels away too.
The P-51 accelerates quickly. Soon we are at 180 knots and accelerating in a climb. John rolls the plane to the right side of Charlie and Lee in the lead plane and they bank right towards our path. John tucks Crazy Horse 2 just behind the right wing of Little Witch. I’ve never been this close to another plane in flight.
Charlie banks Little Witch to the left and we stay just behind the wing, as Crazy Horse lines up on the left side. I’m looking down our wing, straight across at the third plane at the end our wing tip. We hold together in level flight.
John lets our plane drift out to the right about three or four wing-span distances or so away from Charlie and turns the controls over to me. I try to keep the plane lined up. John is coaching, I’m trying to react and follow his instructions - more power, less power, move right, climb, more power. Too high, push over; move right… but I just can't do it. Formation flight is HARD – harder than I would have ever imagined. But it doesn't matter. I’m in the cockpit of a Mustang, stick in my right hand, throttle in my left hand, and my feet firmly on the rudders. I'm in command of a P-51 Mustang!
Yankin' and Bankin'!
Lee assigns each of us airspace and we all break off. I bank right to head west. The airplane is stable and solid. John's words "you aim it" come back to me. We do a couple of "S" turns as I get more comfortable with the plane. As the plane pulls around, we are greeted with some pleasing g-forces.
Stalls
In the practice area, John has me slow the plane down and extend the flaps. At about 90 knots, John talks me through a couple of stalls so I can experience the buffet that precedes the stall. We stall slow, buffet – wham! Left wing drops. I push the nose back to the horizon and regain control. We accelerate and yank the stick back hard, buffet – wham! Right wing drops and I am fighting to keep the wings level while I push the nose back to the horizon. We bank to the left and pull back hard again, buffet – wham! Right wing drops and I’m turning right on a knife edge, fighting the wing back up. OK, I get it. When you feel the buffet, let off the stick or you end up going a different direction.
Wing-over
We accelerate and pull up vertical. When the plane is climbing up, I ease in a bit of rudder and roll the plane to near zero gravity vertical turn kicking the nose over to the right until it is pointed straight back down and pull it back out.
John coaches me a bit and demonstrates another wing-over. I do it again and we float much longer during the zero-g phase. Cool.
Aileron Rolls
I level the wings, point the nose down and accelerate. At 220 knots, I pull the nose up about 15 degrees and push the stick all the way against my left leg. The plane rolls smoothly onto its side - left wing pointing at the ground, right wing pointing at the sky. I step on the right rudder a bit to kick the nose up as we continue to roll inverted. I let off the rudder and push the stick forward and I can feel myself come out of my seat and hang against the shoulder harness as my left wing starts its arc back into the sky, and the right wing points to the ground. I step on the left rudder pedal while the plane returns to wings level. WOW!
Other airplanes I have rolled have very aggressive nose drop when they are on the knife edge. Not the Mustang. There is enough power pushing down that big flat side of the plane and enough rudder to kick the tail down that the plane just keep flying. I do it again.
Four Point Rolls
John does a four point roll. I've never done one, I try a four point roll, stopping the rotation every 90 degrees. Knife edge. Inverted. Knife edge. Wings level. This plane makes it easy.
Playing
I love the stability of the P-51 when it is on edge; I've flown nothing like it before. I want to do more four point rolls. We scream across the sky at 7000 ft in 90 degree increments. John compliments me and says, "That was pretty good. Let's see if you can do it 50 feet off the deck."
The FAA requires aerobatics be completed above 1,500 feet, unless you have a special aerobatic waiver, known as a "low level waiver." These come in increments from 1,500 feet, down to the surface. I'm confident John has one for his air show flying. And I know they are hard to get. I know John is kidding around with me.
I rolled the Mustang to 135 degrees – about 45 degrees away from completely inverted, and start to pull into a diving-arching-inverted turn headed for the ground. John says, "I was joking."
"I know," I reply. "Me too."
Loops
John suggests a loop. I line up on a road below us to use as a reference. We dive for 260 knots, and pull back hard. Four and a half times the force of gravity presses me down into my seat. I tighten my torso muscles and leg muscles and grunt in hope of not blacking out. I look left and right as we approach vertical to keep the wings about the same distance above the horizon. Tipping my head back I look out the top to the ground behind me locating the road below. Fully inverted in the loop I look left and right again to adjust the wings. At the top of the loop, the g’s are coming off. I like this point in the loop because you know you are upside-down and you should be hanging from the seat harness but the g’s are still pressing you into the seat. I stay lined up on the road as we start the inverted dive back down and I continue to hold the stick back, while waiting to feel the buffet. As our speed builds, so does the pressure on the stick. As we continue down to the vertical, I am still looking out the top of the canopy searching the ground below for the horizon. Our speed builds and the g-forces accumulate to force me back into my seat. More squeezing and grunting as the horizon and the nose of the plane converge back together. WOO HOO!!!
Barrel Rolls
From there John demonstrates a barrel roll. This is a surprisingly gentle maneuver where we accelerate up to 220 and start a gentle climb while lifting one wing and holding an arching rolling trajectory, maintaining one positive g. Then I do the same. Cool.
Cuban Eight, or um, where are we?
John says we should do it again. I ask for a Cuban-Eight instead. As we approach the top of the loop, I lose track of the road, and one of wings dropped below the other. We veered around in the sky as I came down on the 45 degree down line, but I have no idea which way I am headed and I cannot find the road. I push the stick forward to stop the loop in an inverted 45 degree dive and, with an odd twisting aileron roll, the Mustang returns to upright pointed about 90 degrees off our original heading. "What was that?" John asks with a chuckle.
No idea. "That was on purpose." I reply. Yeah, right. I line up for a second pass which is more successful.
Hanging in the straps
I ask about how long the plane can stay inverted. The problem with inverted flight is the engine. Under normal conditions, the oil is pumped from the bottom of the oil reservoir into the engine to lubricate all the moving parts. But inverted, there is no oil in the bottom of the reservoir because it all falls to the top (which is now on the bottom). The Mustang is not to be flown for more that 10 seconds inverted before returning to normal flight. I ask and get approval for four or five seconds. Over we go, and I hang in the harness. And smile. A lot. I’m still smiling.
Inverted Cuban Eights
We then move on to inverted Cuban eights. Climb at 45 degrees until the plane slows to 90 knots, half of an aileron roll to inverted, pull out the bottom of the loop, climb back up at 45 degrees to 90 knots and pull again. BIG GRIN.
Credit where credit is due
John asks if I want to say anything to my wife on the video. Sandra gets a big thumbs-up and a huge thank you.
Time to head back
I knew the time was coming but it always comes too soon. It’s time to head back. Lee's voice comes over the radio and call for a rejoin. He'll be northbound over the freeway at 6,000 just north of the southern most brush fire. We head between the columns of smoke at 7,000 searching below us. I'm struck again at how big the sky is. There is a plane out there, I know where to look and neither John nor I can spot it. How did the WWII pilots ever find each other to shoot the enemy down? Then off my left side there is a flash of light headed away and behind us. John calls "Tally-Ho" and turns the plane hard right into a diving turn. As we level out, we are closing fast on Little Witch’s right side. Charlie and Lee bank towards us and John tucks the Mustang back into formation.
It just keeps getting better
John asks how I am feeling. What? How am I feeling? You gotta be kidding me! I feel AWESOME! Apparently some folk get a bit queasy after all the yanking and banking John is making sure I can take some more.
After a brief exchange over the radio, we pull up into a climb in formation and continue to pull until we are inverted into a loop. Awesome! I am in a Mustang, inverted, in a loop, in formation. This is amazing!
At the bottom of the loop, we start a gentle roll to the left and do a formation barrel roll. This just keeps getting better!
He does this to humble me
Rob and Lucky Dog report in. Altitude assignments are exchanged and soon they are tucking Crazy Horse back into the left wing side of the formation. While cruising towards the airport we drift out wide of the formation and John turns the controls over to me again. "Stay right here," he says, "and use your rudder to move away from him." I drift back. "More power. More than that. More. He’s getting away. Nose Down. You are too high. Less power, you are getting ahead of him. My airplane."
Dang, this is hard. And John makes it seem so easy as he pulls back in.
Overhead 360 to landing
Little Witch pulls out of formation and Rob and Lucky Dog take the lead. Little Witch drops back to third position in echelon formation. We are cleared for a left overhead 360 landing. We stay in formation northbound around 200 knots. Passing to the east of the airport, we make an arching left turn back to line up with the southbound runway. As we cross the end of the runway, Rob and Lucky Dog make a left turn breaking out of formation. We start our count. One thousand one, one thousand two, one thousand three, one thousand four, one thousand five. I break left. The hard banking turn eats our airspeed and, as I cross through 150 knots, John extends the gear and starts the flaps down. I pull off power as I track Crazy Horse passing my wingtip on final. I roll left in behind them and John puts out some more flaps. There is a bit of a crosswind pushing us to the right. I try to get the wing down and step on the rudder. I trim the plane. I work to keep the left wing down. I drift a little further to the right. The main landing gear touch down and then we float back up. I put the mains back on the runway again. And again. As the tail starts to settle, John takes the airplane back, and puts the tail wheel firmly on the ground. I can feel him dancing on the pedals to keep the airplane aligned with the runway.
We exit the runway and slide the canopy open. I am sweaty and sticky. It was a great flight.
Back in reality.
The next day I took a 172 to Georgia. I checked off another state from my list. And 116 mph just seems slow. I’m still grinning. But it just feels slow.
Update.
In the comments there is a reference to a video from John Posson, shot by a high def camera. I decided to add it as a embedded here.
I just finished a week of vacation with my family. We had a camping trip cut short by bees, followed by a leaky kitchen faucet that I had to replace, and then a bicycle ride on the burke-gillman trail that involved more sibling bickering than riding. So for my last day of vacation, I wanted to take myself out for an airplane ride.
When I awoke this morning the view from my window was of fog. Dang. That’s not what the weather man forecast. Having grown up in the Pacific Northwest, I know that late summer and early fall is a common time to be greeted my morning fog, and that is usually is short lived. So I grabbed my flying gear and headed for the airport, via Starbucks.
At the airport I found blue sky and a couple of flight instructors participating in a well honed skill of sitting on the couch. Their earlier students canceled due to the fog. It seems every FBO has a well worn couch. And having spent over a decade hanging out at the airport, I understand why. Pilots always seem to be waiting for someone or something: A passenger, a student, a cargo, or maybe just a break in the weather. These were waiting for students.
I was waiting for my coffee to be gone. I downed the rest of my coffee and walked out to the plane. After a preflight, getting taxi clearance, and take-off clearance, I pushed the throttle forward and accelerated north towards lift off speed.
I think I have mentioned before that Paine Field is the highest point on the west side of the Puget Sound. At 600 and some odd feet, today it was above the fog that blanketed the water to the west and north. Lifting off the runway brought into view the tops of the fog bank that covered the water and reached up onto the shore. I climbed over the fog that was spread across Port Gardner Bay as I set my course north to the shoreline where the bay arced back out. About 8 miles from the airport I dropped back down and flew 500 feet above the fluffy white fog. To my left was a field of cotton white, and to my right the terrain pushed its way through, exposing coat of evergreen trees that covered the hills.
I continued north and veered inland to avoid the airspace controlled by Naval Air Station Whidbey, and found the Skagit River valley to follow further inland. The valley took me east to the town of Concrete. The airport at Concrete is aligned east-west with the valley, and is a nice place to introduce mountain flying. The valley floor is about 200 feet above sea-level and two miles to the south the hills begin their climb to 5000 feet. To the north a dam holds back Lake Shannon, which is bounded by more steep hills. To the east a mountain rises 5500 feet. It looks intimidating, but there is plenty of space to maneuver.
I over-flew the airport to determine the flow of the winds, spotted a small red biplane landing to the west, so I circled in behind it and landed. I hopped out of the plane and walked to the hangar where the biplane was now parking.
The biplane was decorated to resemble a World War I era fighter, including a mock machine gun mounted to the top wing. The owner was a kind elderly gentleman named Ward, who seemed to own 3 other older planes. Ward and I discussed his planes and he asked about mine. As we walked over to my plane he lit up. In his youth, he had flown a plane like mine out to Michigan and on to Ohio. Ward regaled me with his adventure as he and his flight instructor traveled to Ohio. At the end of the tale, I offered him a ride up the valley and he eagerly accepted.
We departed west into the wind, and soon turned back east and followed the Skagit River as it wrapped south around the mountain and then back east. I gave the controls to Ward, and at the junction of the Skagit and Sauk River we turned south again and followed the Suak towards Darrington, and split again as we encountered the Suattle River. There Ward turned the plane back towards the west and let me have the controls back.
The valley floor below had several open fields, yet the walls of the valley rise so abruptly that it seems you are able to both fly over smooth ground, while flying with one wingtip just feet away from the trees of the cliff face next to you as you guide the plane down the valley.
Back at the airport Ward and I parted, and I made a wonderful discovery. There at the Concrete Airport are three hangars chock-full of carefully restored aircraft on display. I wandered through the planes for about 30 minutes in awe that they were all sitting there to be admired.
I departed the airport for a second time that day, and headed back up the same canyon that Ward and I had just flown. This time with an eye for higher altitudes and maybe a glimpse as Lake Chelan and the Stehekin airstrip. I climbed through the valley and over ridges discovering the alpine lakes along the way. Alpine lakes are amazing. Nearly all are a vivid teal blue ringed by steep mountains and trees. The terrain is rugged, and intimidating. At regular intervals I planned my glide path back into the valleys if the engine fails. But it does not. Instead, it pulls me further into the mountains, over ridges, towards glaciers, and exposing new valleys below.
I love this part of the State. Rugged, harsh, unforgiving, and beautiful.
As I approached Dome Peak, the aroma of a forest fire was becoming more intense – even at 7,000 feet. There were no forest fire restrictions when I left, but I’d not want to wander into one that has come up since I last checked. So I set the GPS to guide me home, and head back toward Paine in a shallow descent. In less than 25 minutes, I’m back on the ground.
Isaac was diagnosed with juvenile diabetes on Sunday, or what is called type one. For several days, he had been using the bathroom frequently was always thirsty, had lost about seven or eight pounds, and was having occasional headaches. Other than that, he didn't show any visible signs of slowing down or being "ill."
We called the Dr, Sunday morning, and after a short conversation she sent us to the ER. There they ran some tests and diagnosed him, and then said we were going to be transferred to Children’s Hospital in Seattle. They would not allow us to drive him down there and instead, called in an ambulance to move him. Once at Children’s we were told we would be spending the next three days there getting Isaac stabilized and us trained to help him.
The next three days were a blurr, both in the amount of information we had to absorb, and the range of shock and emotions we had to face. We had classes two or three times a day. On Wednesday afternoon they let us out. Isaac is doing well and adapting quickly to his new life long routine.
So here is the high level view of what we learned:
Our bodies run on sugar, or glucose. It is the fuel cells use to keep up their energy. These sugars are produced from carbohydrates we eat, which the digestive system breaks down into sugars.
The sugar gets into the cells with the help of insulin. Without the insulin, the sugar cannot get in to the cells, and the cells cannot function.
Insulin is produced in the pancreas.
With type one diabetes, the immune system decides the pancreas is bad, and starts treating it like a foreign object, and renders it permanently unable to make insulin. The pancreas will never heal.
The auto-immune disorder is a gentic error of some sort, and they do not know for certain what event triggers it, nor do they have a way to prevent it. It just happens.
As a side note, in type two diabetes, the pancreas still does its job and is producing insulin, but the body becomes resistant to it.
Through the ability to do nearly instant blood glucose testing (we got a cool little electronic gizmo) we are able to mimic the pancreas’ normal functions, and then inject the correct amount of insulin based on the current blood glucose, the amount of carbohydrates he is about to eat, and the amount of exercise he is getting. (Yes, there is a fair amount of math involved.)
So the cool thing is this: Isaac can continue to live and eat just like he always has, he just has to medicate for it. In the past when kids got diabetes they were medicated, and then had to adjust their lives to match the medicine. Now we are able to go about life, and adjust the medicine to match their lives.
Clearly this will bring about more work in our lives, but Isaac is pretty positive right now, and happy to be back home. He is already settling back in to running and playing with his siblings, and has spent some time in the gym.
