"Okay, your turn," my instructor told me. We were flying straight and level a mile off the ground when I had to demonstrate to him how to get into and successfully recover from a spin. What is a spin, you might ask? Well, if you've seen Top Gun, it's how Goose died but not quite so dramatic in a Cessna. When an airplane slows down, lift over the wings is greatly reduced. When there isn't enough lift to support the weight of the airplane, it begins to "stall" or sink. In a spin, one wing is stalled more than the other and airplane begins to plummet and "spin." All instructor candidates must go through some form of training in how to recover from the dreaded condition.
I took controls of the airplane, added full power and pitched up for the sky. As the stall warning horn started to scream in my ear, I stomped as hard as I could on the rudder. In less than a second, the sky turned into ground and that ground was spinning. What a spin looks like. Click the link for a video!
Flight instructing is an interesting venture. In most skill oriented professions, the teachers are usually experienced and knowledgeable. Now, I'm not saying I'm neither, but last January, I barely had 300 hours in any type of airplane and was teaching the next generation of pilot how to fly.
When you first start teaching, you are quick to make corrections. The only way to a let a student learn, however, is to let them get scared. As students get more familiar with ways to recover from stalls, we start putting them in various attitudes to make the airplane stall; some of them make the airplane enter the early stages of a spin. As I've gotten more experience and confidence in the airplane, I've let them take situations further so that they can see what happens if they don't use the techniques they are taught.
It is very easy to become comfortable from the right seat, doing the same routines over and over again. Then, in an instant, that all changes. As I quickly approach my airline start date, I know there are many things I will not miss about instructing, my students trying to kill me being a big one.
Last week, I had my most recent brush with terror. Mom, this is where you should probably stop reading.
As the student turned the engines on, I continued to stare outside the cockpit. This was a "progress" check and my role was to evaluate the performance of the student and give feedback to the instructor. As we lined up for take-off, the student added full power and launched the aircraft down the runway. He pulled back on the controls to get the airplane airborne, and pulled too hard...and continued to pull. I quickly put my hand on my controls and firmly pushed them back to an acceptable setting. Had he continued to pull on the controls, the airplane would have surely run out of speed and come crashing down to earth. This is a common error for most students and I rarely let it get anywhere close to that, today being no different.
As we climbed out over the ocean, I told him what he'd done wrong and told him that I would not be interacting with the controls during this phase of the evaluation. If he did something wrong, it would be a failure. As we ran through various maneuvers, it appeared as if his nerves had gotten the best of him on the ground. The remainder of the practice maneuvers were fine. Then it came to one of the hardest maneuvers for students to do.
For those that are familiar, the particular maneuver is an accelerated stall. Essentially, we have the students bank 45 degrees in one direction then pull on the controls to load the wings, inducing a stall. When done properly, it is a very simple and easy maneuver. For whatever reason, our students just can't figure it out.
The student on this particular day set up the maneuver just fine. As we slowed to stalling airspeed, he smoothly rolled the airplane onto its side and began to pull. I was looking outside over the nose and noticed that he hadn't quite banked enough. I'll have to remember to tell him to bank more when we land, I thought to myself as he started to pull on the yoke. At this point, I noticed that he hasn't quite pulled hard enough and the nose, instead of sitting nicely on the horizon, begins to point up into the air.
This isn't of concern to me. Most students at this point stall the airplane, even though not correctly, and return to cruise. This time was different. As the nose started to rise, the wing that was pointed up began to stall. I felt the aircraft start to buffet as the wing slowly dropped to level. I now had a decision to make. Should I tell him to recover and fail him on the maneuver or see what he does next? Not wanting to fail him yet, I let it continue. I wanted to see what he would do to rectify the situation.
With the stall horn blaring and the aircraft buffeting, the student started to panic. The worst possible thing he could have done was pull harder on the yoke and try to roll the airplane to regain its originally bank. He knew he had done the maneuver wrong, but instead of recovering, he tried to make it work. This would slow the airplane further and him trying to make the airplane roll would make the stall on the sinking wing worse.
As I looked down to see why he wasn't recovering, I saw him lean back in the seat posturing to pull harder and saw him crank the controls to try and make the flailing airplane roll. My curiosity had turned into confusion. Wait, what... In the split second it took me to figure out what he was doing, I felt the familiar sinking and turning feeling I'd felt in the past. With him using all his might to roll the small twin-engined aircraft to the left, it stubbornly stayed level...a very bad sign. Then, in an instant, the right wing succumbed to the stall and gave up on flying. The nose of the aircraft start to swing to the right and I quickly and firmly grabbed the controls. "My controls," I said calmly and the student, feeling helpless, quickly gave in.
At this point, the plane had uncontrollably rolled 60 degrees to the right as I quickly tried to fix the situation. I yanked the throttled to idle, and stomped on the rudder to stop the airplane from rolling upside-down. We were still pitched up and I pushed the yoke into the instrument panel but, with adrenaline pulsing through my veins, pushed too hard. Out of nowhere, I and everything else in the airplane shot to the ceiling. My head quickly bridged the 10 inch gap to the ceiling and I could see books and charts that were formerly on the students lap floating in front of his face. The fuel in the carburetor also became weightless. I heard the engine start to surge and sputter as they were starved of fuel. Oh shit.
Those two words are never what you want to hear or even think in an airplane. Here I was, floating above my seat, and listening to my engines give up. I had a mile below me but knew if I was floating, we were coming out of the sky in a free fall. I sat there for what seemed like minutes before I was able to get the airplane back under control. I sank back into my seat and the books and bags came crashing back down to the floor and seats. The sound of the bags falling made a crashing sound behind me. I was sure I had broken something.
Heart-racing, I kept flying the airplane for a few more minutes and started looking around to make sure everything was fine. The plane, recently out of maintenance, had a few pieces of plastic and dirt on the floor from replacing an instrument. All of that had become airborne in the chaos and made it appear as if something important had shattered. After a thorough examination of the airplane, we finished the evaluation and headed back for the airport.
It had been a long time since I had been that afraid. In the end, it really wasn't TOO big of a deal but the combined shock from the engines surging, the bags crashing and being pressed against the ceiling scared me. I really do look forward to the day when I no longer have to worry for my life. These "scares" happen two to three times a month and they are getting old. One month left...
Sunday, August 25, 2013
Sunday, August 11, 2013
The Dream
As long as I can remember, I've wanted to fly. Hours upon hours of my life have been spent looking up at the sky in hopes that one day I would be there. I don't remember when the formation of the dream started. I believe that you are a sum of your experiences and that each one, no matter how small and insignificant they may seem, ultimately shape the person you become. So, I will start at the beginning.
My second cousin, Bobby, graduated from the US Air Force Academy in 1987. My grandma, being his aunt, flew out for his graduation and purchased a child-sized Air Force Academy shirt and gave it to me as a birthday present the following August. Subconsciously, this would be the beginning of the journey. I don't remember wearing the shirt or even knowing Bobby went to the Air Force Academy. In fact, when I first started looking into Service Academies my freshman year in high school, my parents reminded me that I had a cousin who went to USAFA. It was a surprise to me.
My first real memory of aviation happened several years later when I was probably around 6 years old. My Aunt Connie had recently become a flight attendant for Northwest Airlines. She invited our family to the airport in Cleveland where she was on a layover. Being my first real memory of flying, I'm sure my parents would have a more accurate version of the story but I'll do my best.
This was a time before terrorism, before stuanch security. Anyone could walk through the metal detector and sit at the gates. Airports like Cleveland and Akron-Canton had observation decks beyond security where ticketed passengers or their friends and family could sit and wait for flights to arrive and depart. I don't remember walking to the gate on this occasion, but I do remember walking up to the gate and seeing a jet in person for the first time. I stood there at the window looking at massive, strange object in front of me. To a small child, this was the biggest thing I'd ever seen. With my face pressed to the window, I stared wide-eyed at the plane staring ominously back at me. The windows to the cockpit were its eyes and they were dark and soulless. I was scared.
I wasn't quite sure how airplanes worked but I knew when you got on them, they flew and went places. My aunt walked up and wanted to take me on board to see the cockpit and meet the pilots at which I staunchly refused. I remember someone, probably my aunt, grabbing my arm and trying to coax me into the jet way As I closely examined the gate door, the hallway seemed to be never-ending as it curved out of sight toward the plane: an abyss. I knew that if I walked through that door, I was never coming back and the thought of the plane taking me away brought me to tears. "What's wrong sweetie?" I vaguely imagine my mom asking. "I don't want to get on the airplane. I don't want to leave" I said hysterically. No force in the world would get me on that thing and my family eventually gave up. It was a near miss for me.
Not more than a year later, my aunt started dating a man named Charlie. As a fighter pilot in both the Navy and Air National Guard flying A-6s and F-16s, as well as an airline pilot for Northwest Airlines, he would become the manifestation of my dream. For your viewing pleasure, I've included a link to his epic crash. Yes, that's him (A-6 Carrier Landing Crash). My fascination for aviation started at a very young age but he would be the one to give it legs.
When I was 9, my parents drove the family to Detroit where Charlie would be performing an F-16 demonstration in the Selfridge ANG Air Show. In a time before cell phones or GPS directions, my family showed up late as always. To this day, being late unsettles me and this was no exception. I don't know how we met up with my aunt, but I do remember we found her just in time for Charlie's demonstration. She wanted us there earlier to meet him, but alas we didn't make it. At some point, a strange man in a flight suit showed up, introduced himself, and took us up to his squadron where we could get some food and a better view of the show. It was fascinating seeing the jets flying so loud and so fast. The most vivid memory I have from the event followed shortly after we arrived in the squadron. As I sat in the wood paneled room, I watched a jet come screaming down the runway and disappear into flames as it struck the ground. (Selfridge Crash) I don't know that my young mind understood what happened that day, but it is a memory that has stuck with me and one that surely has impacted my life.
At some point during my childhood, my grandma met a man who worked for Goodyear. They traveled all over the world and even lived in places like Turkey and Jamaica. When I was in 3rd or 4th grade, my family flew down to Jamaica over Spring Break to visit my Grandma for Easter.
This was my first ever trip in an airplane and boy what a trip it was. We arrived at the Akron-Canton Regional Airport, a small airport servicing the two small cities in NE Ohio early in the morning. At the time, the airport was very small and served only a handful of flights each day. Our particular flight was on Northwest Airlink with service to Detroit. My dad, always quite the joker, called it a "puddle jumper" and "mosquito plane" based on its relative size and the noise the propellers made compared to the rest of major airline jet fleets.
The engines started and I remember thinking how loud they were for such a small plane. Our family was in the back row of the merely 30 seat airplane as it took off and "puddle-jumped" us to Detroit for the 30 minute flight. I sat in the window seat and stared in awe at the ground. Everything I'd ever known, the houses, the cars, the roads, were so tiny. I watched as people went off to work but their movement reminded me of a world brought to you by Mr. Rogers. The view was fascinating, so fascinating that I still remember staring down from my seat in the sky to this day. And then it was over. As we walked off the tiny prop plane and into the incredible Detroit Metro International Airport, I couldn't believe how fast it went. It seemed like only minutes had gone by since we took off and here we were, in another state. "Dad! Time flies when you're having fun!" My dad, never serious and always joking responded, "time flies when you're on a plane!" Oh dad.
As we walked into the terminal, I took control of the boarding passes. I'd been checking out the same 3 books in the library over the past year about airplanes. It was a picture book and detailed jet engines, passenger jets and their various configurations. At one point, my teacher came to me and told me that I had to check out something different. I'd been rotating between two or three books for the majority of the school year. Well, if they would've had more plane books, maybe I would have checked out a different one! This newly gained expertise somehow gave me the confidence to take over the trip.
I marched out into the terminal and looked for the signs to our new gates. My mom smiled in amusement as I, completely serious, lead us to our next gate. Surprisingly, without hesitation or even the slightest hint of being lost, I guided us through the endless caverns of Detroit-Metro to our transcontinental flight to Miami. For those of you who remember the old Detroit airport, you would know how big of a feat this actually was. I walked straight to the window to see what kind of plane it would be. To my surprise, it was the same plane as the one I had faced-off against in Cleveland not long before. The large jet was sitting at the gate and it wasn't long before it was our turn to board. I held the boarding passes and when our row was called, instructed the family to get up and get in line. Never a smile, never shy, I marched us onto the plane and to our seats. Present day Chris really wants to go back in time and tell young Chris to CHILL OUT! When we got onto the jet, I was amazed at its size. There were three rows on either side of an isle that seemed to go on forever. Naturally, I took the window seat again and couldn't help but couldn't help but notice how quiet the engines were when they roared to life.
After several minutes of taxiing around the airport, I felt us line up and stop on the runway. In seconds, the engines spooled up to a near deafening roar as the brakes were held. Then, as the pilot released the brakes, the jet launched down the runway seemingly on the verge of being out of control. I sank in my seat as I felt the world fall below me and watched in amazement as I watched it do just that. No longer could I see cars or buildings. I just saw a vast earth below, devoid of life but scarred with fields and roads from some ancient civilization. It was then that the exhaustion from the early morning and the excitement of the previous several hours caught up to me. Within minutes, I was sleeping soundly against the window.
The trip back was uneventful until we arrived in Detroit. A spring storm had developed and the plane had gone in for maintenance or was delayed into Detroit, I can't be sure of which one. I remember my dad and mom getting frustrated at the lateness of the flight. Day soon turned into night and the world outside the airport suddenly seemed ominous and scary. We eventually boarded the plane in a light rain with lightning off in the distance. As we made our way to Cleveland, I can imagine the pilots picking their way through the storms. The ride was incredibly turbulent and passengers around me were getting sick. I was scared but did my best to focus on the seat in front of me and not on the flashes of lights appearing in the dark nothingness of the clouds around the mosquito-shaped propeller plane. Behind me, someone seemed to scream that our wing had hit by lightning but I never lost composure. I never let any weakness show. On my birthday, my dad called me and, not knowing I was writing this, reminisced back to that day. It was nice sharing that memory with him and I chuckled to myself as he told me he'd never set foot on a tiny plane like that ever again.
From a very young age, aviation has had an incredible impact on my life. Outside of a few direct interactions, it has lived mostly on the periphery of my life. From time to time, my grandma would take my sister and me to the nearby airport and let us roam around the observation deck. I would stare at the magnificent planes as they sat dormant at the gates. Every so often, one would taxi out to take off or land and taxi in to the gate. As a gift, she also gave me a radio that could tune to Air Traffic Control frequencies. I would spend afternoons on my bed listening to the radio chatter while I played with a model of an F-16. Even as a young adult, this fascination didn't fade away. No matter where I was at, whether on the football field or the baseball diamond, when the gentle roar of a jet could be heard approaching, I would stop what I was doing and see what it was.
I took some time to reflect on my 30th birthday. So many things have lead up to who I am today. As 18 year old Chris stepped on the plane as a civilian for the last time before heading to the Air Force Academy, you couldn't have told him that more than a decade later, he would have left the Air Force to pursue the dream of aviation.
I am pleased to let you all know that I have made a decision. After considerable reflection and exhausting research, I've decided to head to Trans States Airlines based out of St Louis, Missouri. They do most of their flying as "United Express" and I will be stepping foot in an Embraer Regional Jet (ERJ-145). In a little over a month's time, I will say goodbye to the Cessnas and Seminoles of Eastern Florida as I head to five weeks of training in Missouri and most likely ending up in Washington D.C. I haven't arrived at my dream yet, but this is one very important and significant leap in the right direction. For the first time in a long time, it seems like the ball is finally bouncing my way.
My second cousin, Bobby, graduated from the US Air Force Academy in 1987. My grandma, being his aunt, flew out for his graduation and purchased a child-sized Air Force Academy shirt and gave it to me as a birthday present the following August. Subconsciously, this would be the beginning of the journey. I don't remember wearing the shirt or even knowing Bobby went to the Air Force Academy. In fact, when I first started looking into Service Academies my freshman year in high school, my parents reminded me that I had a cousin who went to USAFA. It was a surprise to me.
My first real memory of aviation happened several years later when I was probably around 6 years old. My Aunt Connie had recently become a flight attendant for Northwest Airlines. She invited our family to the airport in Cleveland where she was on a layover. Being my first real memory of flying, I'm sure my parents would have a more accurate version of the story but I'll do my best.
This was a time before terrorism, before stuanch security. Anyone could walk through the metal detector and sit at the gates. Airports like Cleveland and Akron-Canton had observation decks beyond security where ticketed passengers or their friends and family could sit and wait for flights to arrive and depart. I don't remember walking to the gate on this occasion, but I do remember walking up to the gate and seeing a jet in person for the first time. I stood there at the window looking at massive, strange object in front of me. To a small child, this was the biggest thing I'd ever seen. With my face pressed to the window, I stared wide-eyed at the plane staring ominously back at me. The windows to the cockpit were its eyes and they were dark and soulless. I was scared.
I wasn't quite sure how airplanes worked but I knew when you got on them, they flew and went places. My aunt walked up and wanted to take me on board to see the cockpit and meet the pilots at which I staunchly refused. I remember someone, probably my aunt, grabbing my arm and trying to coax me into the jet way As I closely examined the gate door, the hallway seemed to be never-ending as it curved out of sight toward the plane: an abyss. I knew that if I walked through that door, I was never coming back and the thought of the plane taking me away brought me to tears. "What's wrong sweetie?" I vaguely imagine my mom asking. "I don't want to get on the airplane. I don't want to leave" I said hysterically. No force in the world would get me on that thing and my family eventually gave up. It was a near miss for me.
Not more than a year later, my aunt started dating a man named Charlie. As a fighter pilot in both the Navy and Air National Guard flying A-6s and F-16s, as well as an airline pilot for Northwest Airlines, he would become the manifestation of my dream. For your viewing pleasure, I've included a link to his epic crash. Yes, that's him (A-6 Carrier Landing Crash). My fascination for aviation started at a very young age but he would be the one to give it legs.
When I was 9, my parents drove the family to Detroit where Charlie would be performing an F-16 demonstration in the Selfridge ANG Air Show. In a time before cell phones or GPS directions, my family showed up late as always. To this day, being late unsettles me and this was no exception. I don't know how we met up with my aunt, but I do remember we found her just in time for Charlie's demonstration. She wanted us there earlier to meet him, but alas we didn't make it. At some point, a strange man in a flight suit showed up, introduced himself, and took us up to his squadron where we could get some food and a better view of the show. It was fascinating seeing the jets flying so loud and so fast. The most vivid memory I have from the event followed shortly after we arrived in the squadron. As I sat in the wood paneled room, I watched a jet come screaming down the runway and disappear into flames as it struck the ground. (Selfridge Crash) I don't know that my young mind understood what happened that day, but it is a memory that has stuck with me and one that surely has impacted my life.
At some point during my childhood, my grandma met a man who worked for Goodyear. They traveled all over the world and even lived in places like Turkey and Jamaica. When I was in 3rd or 4th grade, my family flew down to Jamaica over Spring Break to visit my Grandma for Easter.
This was my first ever trip in an airplane and boy what a trip it was. We arrived at the Akron-Canton Regional Airport, a small airport servicing the two small cities in NE Ohio early in the morning. At the time, the airport was very small and served only a handful of flights each day. Our particular flight was on Northwest Airlink with service to Detroit. My dad, always quite the joker, called it a "puddle jumper" and "mosquito plane" based on its relative size and the noise the propellers made compared to the rest of major airline jet fleets.
The engines started and I remember thinking how loud they were for such a small plane. Our family was in the back row of the merely 30 seat airplane as it took off and "puddle-jumped" us to Detroit for the 30 minute flight. I sat in the window seat and stared in awe at the ground. Everything I'd ever known, the houses, the cars, the roads, were so tiny. I watched as people went off to work but their movement reminded me of a world brought to you by Mr. Rogers. The view was fascinating, so fascinating that I still remember staring down from my seat in the sky to this day. And then it was over. As we walked off the tiny prop plane and into the incredible Detroit Metro International Airport, I couldn't believe how fast it went. It seemed like only minutes had gone by since we took off and here we were, in another state. "Dad! Time flies when you're having fun!" My dad, never serious and always joking responded, "time flies when you're on a plane!" Oh dad.
As we walked into the terminal, I took control of the boarding passes. I'd been checking out the same 3 books in the library over the past year about airplanes. It was a picture book and detailed jet engines, passenger jets and their various configurations. At one point, my teacher came to me and told me that I had to check out something different. I'd been rotating between two or three books for the majority of the school year. Well, if they would've had more plane books, maybe I would have checked out a different one! This newly gained expertise somehow gave me the confidence to take over the trip.
I marched out into the terminal and looked for the signs to our new gates. My mom smiled in amusement as I, completely serious, lead us to our next gate. Surprisingly, without hesitation or even the slightest hint of being lost, I guided us through the endless caverns of Detroit-Metro to our transcontinental flight to Miami. For those of you who remember the old Detroit airport, you would know how big of a feat this actually was. I walked straight to the window to see what kind of plane it would be. To my surprise, it was the same plane as the one I had faced-off against in Cleveland not long before. The large jet was sitting at the gate and it wasn't long before it was our turn to board. I held the boarding passes and when our row was called, instructed the family to get up and get in line. Never a smile, never shy, I marched us onto the plane and to our seats. Present day Chris really wants to go back in time and tell young Chris to CHILL OUT! When we got onto the jet, I was amazed at its size. There were three rows on either side of an isle that seemed to go on forever. Naturally, I took the window seat again and couldn't help but couldn't help but notice how quiet the engines were when they roared to life.
After several minutes of taxiing around the airport, I felt us line up and stop on the runway. In seconds, the engines spooled up to a near deafening roar as the brakes were held. Then, as the pilot released the brakes, the jet launched down the runway seemingly on the verge of being out of control. I sank in my seat as I felt the world fall below me and watched in amazement as I watched it do just that. No longer could I see cars or buildings. I just saw a vast earth below, devoid of life but scarred with fields and roads from some ancient civilization. It was then that the exhaustion from the early morning and the excitement of the previous several hours caught up to me. Within minutes, I was sleeping soundly against the window.
The trip back was uneventful until we arrived in Detroit. A spring storm had developed and the plane had gone in for maintenance or was delayed into Detroit, I can't be sure of which one. I remember my dad and mom getting frustrated at the lateness of the flight. Day soon turned into night and the world outside the airport suddenly seemed ominous and scary. We eventually boarded the plane in a light rain with lightning off in the distance. As we made our way to Cleveland, I can imagine the pilots picking their way through the storms. The ride was incredibly turbulent and passengers around me were getting sick. I was scared but did my best to focus on the seat in front of me and not on the flashes of lights appearing in the dark nothingness of the clouds around the mosquito-shaped propeller plane. Behind me, someone seemed to scream that our wing had hit by lightning but I never lost composure. I never let any weakness show. On my birthday, my dad called me and, not knowing I was writing this, reminisced back to that day. It was nice sharing that memory with him and I chuckled to myself as he told me he'd never set foot on a tiny plane like that ever again.
From a very young age, aviation has had an incredible impact on my life. Outside of a few direct interactions, it has lived mostly on the periphery of my life. From time to time, my grandma would take my sister and me to the nearby airport and let us roam around the observation deck. I would stare at the magnificent planes as they sat dormant at the gates. Every so often, one would taxi out to take off or land and taxi in to the gate. As a gift, she also gave me a radio that could tune to Air Traffic Control frequencies. I would spend afternoons on my bed listening to the radio chatter while I played with a model of an F-16. Even as a young adult, this fascination didn't fade away. No matter where I was at, whether on the football field or the baseball diamond, when the gentle roar of a jet could be heard approaching, I would stop what I was doing and see what it was.
I took some time to reflect on my 30th birthday. So many things have lead up to who I am today. As 18 year old Chris stepped on the plane as a civilian for the last time before heading to the Air Force Academy, you couldn't have told him that more than a decade later, he would have left the Air Force to pursue the dream of aviation.
I am pleased to let you all know that I have made a decision. After considerable reflection and exhausting research, I've decided to head to Trans States Airlines based out of St Louis, Missouri. They do most of their flying as "United Express" and I will be stepping foot in an Embraer Regional Jet (ERJ-145). In a little over a month's time, I will say goodbye to the Cessnas and Seminoles of Eastern Florida as I head to five weeks of training in Missouri and most likely ending up in Washington D.C. I haven't arrived at my dream yet, but this is one very important and significant leap in the right direction. For the first time in a long time, it seems like the ball is finally bouncing my way.
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| This is the airplane I will be flying |
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