A Salty Winter Day

During 2009, I made a concerted effort to adopt some of the technological advances of the last 20 years. When my TV ceased to work without a digital converter box, it finally dawned on me that I needed to embrace the modern world. I discarded my cassette tapes, threw away my Sony Walkman, reluctantly gave away my VCR and I finally quit buying disposable 35 millimeter cameras. In one swoop, I purchased a new digital camera and an iPod. Although befuddling and frustrating at first, they quickly became standard fare for my daily life.

When it comes to flying, I’ve always worked diligently to embrace technology that will enhance the safety and convenience of a flight. As an aircraft renter, this task can be especially daunting. Avionics vary depending on the year a plane was manufactured. Combine that with the aftermarket upgrades by any particular aircraft’s various owners, and you have a hodgepodge of equipment with which you need to be familiar.

Recently, I was given the opportunity to sit right seat, co-pilot in an aircraft with one of the most modern avionics packages available. My friend Steve had just upgraded the instrument panel in his Mooney 252, and he wanted me to accompany him on a flight down south. His aircraft now possessed more glass-cased electronics than I’d ever seen from the cockpit vantage point. Steve was anxious to test his new Aspen Avionics Suite, which had just been installed at Sarasota Avionics a few days earlier. The system allows for nearly complete cockpit automation, requiring the pilot to simply takeoff and land. I was excited to see this new technology provide the fly-by-wire experience I’ve only read about. While I expected the new avionics to be helpful, I was humbled by their ability to enhance our adventure.

As always, there were many issues to address before departing--weather being the most critical. The winds were gusting at 28 knots directly off the north side of Runway 27 when we called to file our flight plan. This condition meant a 90-degree crosswind component as high as 28 knots at our destination airport. Although rarely lacking in chutzpah, Steve and I decided that 28 knots of crosswind component in a Mooney 252 is, well, suicidal! So with the forecast winds diminishing later in the day, we begrudgingly delayed our departure. Sadly, it was still possible the winds would be uncooperative at our scheduled arrival time. However, diverting to Naples or Fort Lauderdale for better runway alignment was far from a reason to be upset. But after enduring a hard negotiation for a one-day reprieve from the rigors of our everyday lives, getting that plane on the ground in Key West was Priority 1.

With nothing but adrenaline gushing through our veins, we departed into brilliant, blue Florida skies. Once airborne, Steve engaged the autopilot and began flying by simply pushing buttons. The entire flight plan had been pre-programmed into the Garmin GPS so all we had to do was sit back and make the changes required by the air traffic controllers. We were initially cleared to an altitude of 11,000 feet--and a short while later, 13,000 feet. We simply input the desired rate of climb and the aircraft did the work with no physical effort from the pilot. We enjoyed a ground speed of nearly 180 knots, which meant our flight time would barely exceed two hours.

While en route, we tested the different systems and familiarized ourselves with their complexities--all the while, eagerly anticipating our arrival in Key West.

We began our initial descent 80 miles north of the island. It was a long, gradual cruise descent, allowing us to reach speeds of more than 200 knots. Shortly thereafter, the Miami controllers handed us over to Key West approach.

There’s something poetic about hearing “cleared for approach” in the Conch Republic. It brings smiles, warm memories, and nostalgia to mind, as Key West is such a special place. This time even more so--especially since the airplane was still on autopilot!

Fortunately, our landing turned out to be a non-event, as the winds had calmed to a mere 10 knots. Interestingly, our decision for a later departure was validated by a Delta flight that was diverted to Miami earlier in the day due to high winds. Its disgruntled passengers were then bussed to Key West--ouch!

As always, Island City Flying Service made quick work of our ground transportation, and within an hour, we were making our way down Duval Street on rented bicycles in search of dinner and a frosty treat. It wasn’t long until we were reminiscing about past trips we’d made and about how in our younger days we couldn’t have imagined flying our own airplane to a destination like this. We reflected on our flight, marveling at the electronic gadgetry available to us.

The next day we lounged at Dante’s Poolside, eating oysters and basking in the Florida sun. We grumbled about having only 24 hours on the island, as we were needed in the real world again so soon. Then we snickered, knowing how lucky we were to have this one day. When it was time to depart, we pedaled our way toward the Southwinds Motel, returned our bikes and grabbed a cab to the airport.

We headed north towards Jacksonville around 5 p.m., and by the time our automated flying machine placed us over Tampa, we were privileged to witness a jaw-dropping sunset. With Steve’s confidence in the new instrument panel building, we had time to tinker with the newly installed stereo system. Before long, my iPod was blessing us with Kenny Chesney’s unique blend of island music. A short time later, with the moon rising in the east, Jacksonville Approach cleared us for our arrival into St. Augustine.

As the auto-pilot flew the approach procedure, I watched the lights of St. Augustine pass below while pondering the last 24 hours. I realized that when frustration with new technology turns to mastery, a deep sense of satisfaction combines to create a magical experience. In the moments just before landing, with the music playing and the moon rising, I experienced that realization, that epiphany, that sometimes in life we get it right--very, very right.

Island Intermezzo

I recently had the pleasure of waving goodbye to 2009 in Key West. It was long awaited and long overdue. After a tumultuous 18 months culminated in a five-week sabbatical from the world’s never-ending scourge of bad news, I packed up for what I thought was a two-night stay at my favorite little motel in Key West. When I awoke on departure day, I decided to extend for another twelve days. I know--twelve days? It’s a long story, but traveling with no reservations affords the luxury of a change in plans.

I spent the next two weeks reflecting on the non-stop deluge of bad news that seemed to perpetuate itself throughout 2009--banks going out of business, the “Great Recession,” housing crises, stock market meltdown and the loss of millions of jobs. All of this while the entire world seemed mired in an Obama-rama daze.

The year was tough. Nearly all industries were decimated--real estate and aviation were of particular concern to me. Between the two, job losses were stratospheric. Couple that with my investment accounts being clobbered and it’s easy to understand why I ended the year negative in the sleep column.

As I pedaled around the island, I never saw a hint of the carnage I dealt with in the working world during the previous 18 months. The only trouble I seemed to encounter was an occasional wind gust blowing my cowboy hat onto the street. With no deadlines, timelines or pushy people expecting things from me, I was finally able to unwind and look at life through a new pair of shades. With 20/20 hindsight, I can now see that all storms do pass--even the Category 5 variety.
When my two weeks in paradise began drawing to a close, I knew it was time to get back in the airplane. With all the turbulence of 2009, flying is something I’d put on the back burner, and I missed it terribly. I called Island City Flying Service and spoke with Rose. One of the things I love about the aviation community is the camaraderie. I hadn’t planned on being in Key West for two weeks so I hadn’t brought any flight gear. With Rose’s assistance, Island City supplied me with everything I needed.

With a flight scheduled, I called Eddie, the Southwind Motel’s assistant manager, and offered to take him up for a ride. He eagerly accepted and a short time later we were on our way to the airport.

Upon arrival, we were greeted with a 14-knot crosswind directly off the south side of Runway 9. The aircraft, a Cessna 172, is rated up to a 15-knot crosswind but with winds gusting even stronger, I knew I’d have my hands full. The instructor, Perry Jones, asked me how I liked crosswind landings. I smiled and told him a little practice never hurts.

We departed into windy skies and flew directly west to Ballast Key. It’s privately owned and consists of a primary beach house and a secondary guest house. Unfortunately, it lacks the length needed for a suitable runway, so we made a low pass and snapped some amazing pictures. Island rumor has it that Kenny Chesney is interested in purchasing it. Since it’s only accessible by boat or helicopter, the seclusion seems a perfect fit for him. The view was stunning, as it always is at low altitude in the Florida Keys. We flew for an hour--long enough to see a few islands and fill me with a delightful endorphin rush. Eddie was a champ. The landings didn’t seem to faze him, even as Perry and I were struggling to deal with crosswind gusts as high as 18 to 20 knots; I really wish there was an app for that!

When we finished flying, I felt rejuvenated. I hadn’t had that “I can do anything” feeling for a long time and it felt good. I knew it was time to turn the tables on 2009 and go on the offensive again. Further, aviation must play a bigger role in my future. So with mixed emotions, I headed north on U.S. 1 towards Jacksonville, started a new job and thrust my head into the jaws of life.

Perspective has a way of changing when you’re at sea level with a few weeks to relax and let the world pass you by. For the last couple of years, quality downtime has eluded me, and allowing that to happen was a big mistake. Thanks to warm temperatures, a few Kenny Chesney songs and some time to reflect, the sun is shining brightly once again. Time away seems to soothe that uncomfortable feeling of not knowing what to do, when to do it, or how to fix the mistakes already made. Sometimes we just have to slow down, decompress and slide into that old blue chair Kenny’s so fond of. It’s funny how an airplane and a tiny American island can turn out to be the ultimate medicine.

Beach Bound !

In the spring of 2003, I had the opportunity to take my friend Brian up for a short flight. I always relish opening the skies to a potential aviation enthusiast, paying it forward as my friend Steve Ellis did for me many years ago. After our flight, Brian and I went out for a beer where he promptly decided to begin training to acquire his wings. His excitement was contagious and by the time our mugs were empty, I’d committed to a 12-day general aviation adventure, destination Key West. I was ecstatic to have the privilege of mentoring a close friend and share my passion for the skies. All he needed to do was complete his training.

When the summer of 2004 arrived, we acquired the use of a plane we’d both flown many times. It was a Cessna 172. We decided to depart Lee’s Summit, Missouri before sunrise on a mid-July morning. We wanted to avoid the late afternoon thunderstorms typical of a Southern summer afternoon. Also by leaving early, we could make Panama City, Florida, in time for oysters and a frosty mug of Anheuser Busch’s finest lager.

The sun was rising to beautiful clear blue skies when we departed Lee’s Summit. I gladly flew the first leg of the flight. Cool morning skies and a lack of air traffic make for an inviting and peaceful experience in the cockpit. It gives a pilot time to relax and take in the joy of flight. Life’s troubles seem to slide away when you’re at the controls of an airplane, as nothing but the task at hand really matters.

Our flight took us south over Springfield, Missouri, and then southeast toward a place called Walnut Ridge, Arkansas. We could pick up fuel and take in a short tour of the airport. One of the joys in general aviation is the ability to visit out-of-the-way places you would never otherwise encounter. Walnut Ridge is one of those places. The airport has historical significance dating back to World War II when it was a training field for bomber pilots. Its six interconnecting runways make landing a breeze, even if the winds are uncooperative. After our tour and refueling, we departed, destination Montgomery, Alabama. We’d need another splash of fuel and a weather report before making our final assault on the oysters and lager in Panama City.

We departed Walnut Ridge and headed toward Memphis where we encountered clouds at our altitude of 5,500 feet. Since this was Brian’s first long cross-country flight, he’d never seen 5,500 feet on an altimeter or a cloud layer that would make it necessary for him to make course deviations. It made him nervous. His eyes grew wide when we encountered rain. Since the weather was good for visual flight, I laughed, cracked a joke, and he immediately calmed down.

I watched him while reflecting upon my first cross country flight as a licensed pilot. Brian was smarter than I was. He delayed taking his maiden voyage until he had a more experienced pilot to assist him. On this flight, I had a job. I would be mentoring and providing insight and guidance when critical decisions were made. I relished the opportunity but hoped we wouldn’t encounter any difficulties. If we did, I hoped I was up to the task. We continued navigating through a maze of clouds. Brian enjoyed this leg of the flight, comparing the deviations to playing a video game. He looked at me with a big grin and all I could do was chuckle.

As we approached Montgomery, we checked the airport advisory frequency and called the Montgomery tower. They denied us permission to land due to an inoperable aircraft on the runway. We quickly located an alternate airport in Greenville, Alabama. We could top off our tanks, check weather and be on our way quickly. Greenville was situated perfectly. It allowed us to hit our waypoint (REBBA) and avoid entering the restricted airspace of Eglin Air Force base to the west and the military operations area of Tyndall Air Force base to the east.

With Greenville chosen, Brian began a descent to enter the traffic pattern. We did a quick airport briefing and he began preparations for a turn to the final approach course. His airspeed was fast and altitude high when he turned inbound. I said nothing and gave him time to correct. As we closed the distance, he closed the throttle and waited for the aircraft to sink onto the runway. When it did, the aircraft bounced and became airborne again. With the stall horn blaring, I assisted by pushing the throttle to full power and pushing the nose of the airplane forward in an effort to gain airspeed. I then retracted the flaps and trimmed the plane for climb out. I handed control of the aircraft back to Brian and told him not to worry, the next landing had to be better. We went around the airport for another try and made a nice landing. Upon deplaning, the airport attendant gave us a wry smirk and offered to fill our tanks. We thanked him and went inside. When we approached the plane for our last leg of the flight, the attendant pointed out a damaged tire. Apparently, the hard landing had left one tire lean on tread. It was airworthy but any added abuse might cause a problem. There was no mechanic available so we’d need to make Panama City for service. Our landing would need a gentle touch.

We decided I would fly the last leg of the flight due to the added complexities of the airspace, a control tower airport, and now, a questionable tire. We picked up radar service and hit our waypoint perfectly. During our descent into Panama City, the controller gave us instructions and clearance to land. His inviting Southern drawl and casual attitude made for much needed comic relief as we approached. I turned final and descended toward the runway. Holding the nose of the aircraft off of the ground for as long as possible, I slowed to a crawl and gently touched down. We taxied to the ramp and spoke with the attendant. He had fuel, a mechanic and a tire. We thanked him and told him we’d be back in two days.

Brian was not his usual chipper self. Pilots tend to be hard on themselves when they make a mistake. I know; I’ve made plenty. I didn’t worry much about him as we were headed to a bar, which generally works the stress and fatigue out of a long day of flying. We sat and recapped the day’s events. We agreed that Brian’s misstep most likely would not have resulted in an accident. Yet we agreed it could have seriously damaged the aircraft. Further, he agreed I did the right thing in taking control of the situation. Brian still couldn’t let it go. After a couple of frosty treats, it was evident I needed to launch a nuclear bomb by telling him about my taxiway-landing debacle. That would make his botched landing seem like small peanuts. It worked, and by the time the evening was over the joke was on me. We also decided that a written version of my taxiway-landing incident would be a good learning tool for new pilots.

When we departed Panama City, Brian elected to make an overnight stop in Cocoa Beach, Florida. His flight and landing were flawless; his confidence rebuilt. The next day, we made a non-stop flight to Key West. The view from low altitude is unbelievable in the Florida Keys, driving home the joys of general aviation. Enjoying the Duval crawl after hearing “cleared to land” in the Conch Republic is a marvelous experience. Brian and I were proud, for we had completed a plan 15 months in the making.