Showing posts with label blogging. Show all posts
Showing posts with label blogging. Show all posts

Saturday, August 19, 2017

Blogging in Formation My Favorite Destination

Blogging in Formation My Favorite Destination


#blogformation #blog #avgeek #aviation



Its Blogging in Formation Week—
Posts all week by your favorite Pilot-Bloggers!

This months theme:

My Favorite Destination
—  —  —  —  —  —


But First . . .
Ladies and Gentlemen, from the Flight Blog, by popular demand,
Im proud to announce the upcoming world premier of my new video vlog, 
"Livin the Dream: Another Day in the Life of an Airline Pilot"
Premiering February 6th at 0900 PHX time, right here on Capnaux.com!


Until then, please enjoy this 20 second trailer!


Trailer to Livin the Dream! from Capnaux on Vimeo.

Direct link: http://vimeo.com/capnaux/dreamtrailer

And now . . .

My Favorite Destination

I know I dont get there often enough
But God knows I surely try
Its a magic kind of medicine
That no doctor could prescribe

Glacier Bay; on Final approach into JNU

But theres this one particular harbor
So far but yet so near
Where I see the days as they fade away
And finally disappear

"One Particular Harbour"—Jimmy Buffet

Theres been a vision in my head all my adult life. A very vivid dream, I think. But it may very well be a real memory. A vague picture of a secret destination that I stumbled upon while flight training in a small college nearby.

To this day, I havent figured it out.

Nestled in the rugged Chiricahua mountains in southeastern Arizona is a tiny dirt strip that only the most intrepid, determined pilots can find, let alone slip into.
You must take the base-to-final turn on faith that somethings actually there. It takes all of your skills to safely land. But once you do, the camaraderie you find there is magical. You are part of a family.

Theres picnic tables, fireplaces, a beautiful mountain stream, all covered by a lush canopy of Ponderosa pines. Indeed, the strip itself is surrounded by pines, all the more tough to spot and land.
_______________
Lakes below the mountains
Flow into the sea
Like oils applied to canvas
How they permeate through me
_______________
You roll to a stop, kill the engine, hop out. The warm sun greets you from a cloudless blue sky. Children laugh and play. Barbecue wafts on the dusty breeze. Somewhere, somebody plays a guitar. And of course, the sound of prop planes buzzing in and out fill the air like dozens of magical fairies.

Its the warmest, coziest, most peaceful feeling my mind can conjure.

And perhaps conjure it has. As I said, I cant be sure if its a dream or an actual memory. It may even be mixed with my most cherished childhood memories, of backpacking with my family deep in the wilds of the Ansel Adams Wilderness, south of Yosemite.
Dad fishes at Frank Lake (named after my grandfather.)
The epicenter of my familys most cherished spot on earth.
_______________
And theres that one particular harbour
Sheltered from the wind
Where the children play on the shore each day
And all are safe within
_______________
In my travels, Ive racked up many particular harbors: Juneau Alaska, St. Croix USVI, Interlaaken Switzerland, Telluride Colorado, and St. Barts, Antilles (rumored to be Jimmy Buffetts famed "Cheesburger in Paradise.")


Playin hookie in Paradise!
(Thats me on the left, with Capns Brian & Kevin, & Randy.)
These 3 may know the answer to my riddle; Im afraid to ask.
And perhaps my favorite, a sleepy little coastal fishing village tucked way back in the wilds of Venezula, with no paved roads, no phones, and not a soul who speaks English. My commuter pilot buddies and I went there for a weekend, and stayed for a week. (We hitchhiked 30 miles to the next town to call in sick. Crew scheduler Paula, God rest her soul, covered our a$$es for the price of a 5th of rum.)


_______________
Ive seen enough to feel the world spin
Mixin different oceans meetin cousins
Listen to the drummers and the night sounds
Listen to the singers make the world go round
_______________


St. Barts. I could land my Aztec here in half the runway...
but I always rolled out to the end to check out
the nude beach!


But today, decades later, if I detect a slight dust in the air, Im instantly transported back.

Back to that magical land, that One, True, Particular Harbor.




And I am  completely  at peace.


_______________
A most mysterious calling harbour
So far but yet so near
I can see the day when my hairs full gray
And finally disappear
_______________

In some ways, it doesnt matter whether my destination is real or imagined. Because it exists in my head, its real. As real as the oatmeal I had for breakfast.

And the world is a better place, knowing it exists.

One Particular Harbor, by Jimmy Buffett
(accompanied by some random, Islandy pics)

Direct Link: http://youtu.be/f0fj-UevS0s

Have you found your particular harbor? Share it with us if you have. If not . . . find it! Its out there. Out there waiting for you to discover.

Remember, Capn Aux always sez:
The world is a Disneyland made just for you!
—  —  —  —  —  —  —
                        POST-FLIGHT CHECKLIST
  1.  JOIN THIS SITE....................VERIFY.............................JOINED
  2.  COMMENT............................VERIFY.............................MADE
  3.  FACEBOOK...........................VERIFY.............................LIKED
  4.  TWITTER...............................VERIFY.............................TWEETED
  5.  EMAIL....................................VERIFY.............................MAILED
  6.  OTHER NETWORKS............VERIFY.............................SHARED 
          POST-FLIGHT CHECKLIST.......................COMPLETE!      
    — — — — — — —


    Feb. 1: House of Rapp - Ron Rapp
    Adventures of Cap’n Aux - Eric Auxier
    Feb. 2: iFLYblog - Brent Owens
            Aviation Author - Mark L. Berry
    Feb. 3 Smart Flight Training - Andrew Hartley
    Feb. 4: Flight to Success - Karlene Petitt

    And Introducing our new fighter pilot team!

    Available link for download

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    Wednesday, August 2, 2017

    Blogging in Formation Dealing with Passengers Part I

    Blogging in Formation Dealing with Passengers Part I


    #blog #blogformation #avgeek #aviation

    Its Blogging in Formation Week—Posts by your favorite Pilot-Bloggers!


    This Months theme: 
    Dealing with Passengers
    (original post 2/3/12)
    But First . . .

    Ladies and gentlemen, from the Flight Blog, Capn Aux is proud to present his new VIDEO VLOG!

    Coming on the heals of his viral "Livin the Dream" video, the question on everybodys mind is, CAN HE TOP IT? 

    Well . . . Id be lying if I said NO!
    But dont just listen to me ramble about . . . heres a video trailer of me rambling about the awesomeness of my new vid!


    Direct Link: http://vimeo.com/capnaux/dtrailer

    And Now . . . 

    Dealing with Passengers—Part I



       "This is an emergency announcement," the female voice calmly declared in prim n proper English accent over the PA of the British Airways’ 747—while cruising at 35,000 feet over the North Sea. "We may shortly need to make an emergency landing on water."

    Minor detail:  this “emergency announcement” was an accidentally-triggered prerecorded message. . . accidentally triggering 330 passengers to panic.
       This embarrassing debacle reminds me of the old Airbus pilots’ joke:  “Ladies and gentlemen, we are flying a state-of-the-art,  fully automated Airbus and nothing can go wrong click! go wrong click! go wrong . . .”


       While I’ve have never had to deal with trying to calm down hundreds of panicked passengers inflight, there is definitely an acquired art to the making of a passenger PA.


     Typically, flight attendants must read their briefings verbatim, but the pilots up front have much freer reign.  Oh, sure we’re required to grovel a bit to you and say, “Thank you for flying Very Fast airways.  Buckle in, there is no need to panic,”* etc.  But how we say it is largely left to us.

      While I’m always tempted to simply say, “Welcome aboard, sit down, shut up, behave,” and be done with it, that particular PA only works to cut the tension on the annual simulator check ride.
       At least for me...



       Rule # 1:  the traveling public wants to be reassured.   They want their Captain to have a deep, gruff, authoritative but soothing fatherly voice, like George Clooney with a Texas drawl.  

       Unfortunately, my voice has been going through puberty for the past 35 years; I sound more like Capn Doogie Howser.  Once, during a particularly early morning departure when my vocal chords were at their most relaxed, I thought I’d made the most manly PA of my life.  But that fantasy was quickly shattered when two college kids poked their heads into the cockpit after the flight and said, “We just wanted to see who was flying, ‘cause you sounded like you were 18!”

    Since then, I’ve been resigned to my fate.

       Rule #2:  Humor is allowed over the PA, but you’d damn well better be good at it.  If not, refer to Rule #1.  While my buddy Captain Tony can keep his cabin in stitches for hours,** I found out a long time ago I’m in the “Not funny” category.

       Once, on April Fool’s Day, I diligently kept our passengers informed of our imminent arrival into RNO . . . during our flight to LAX.  From the first announcement on, the flight attendants plagued the cockpit with pleas to correct the destination . . . the passengers were on the verge of mutiny!  It was then that I learned:  the Captain’s voice over the PA is the Voice of God.

    Barney Fifes Capn voice?  EPIC FAIL!

    —————
    The strength of the turbulence is directly
    proportional to the temperature of your coffee.
    — Gunters Second Law of Air Travel 
    —————



       The age old turbulence/seat belt sign bit is an art unto itself as well.  It boils down to this:  one man’s gentle rocking, nappy-time turbulence is another’s “my God, my God we’re all going to die!” . . . it’s simply a matter of opinion.  And the forecast of turbulence is just that: a prediction.  Personally, I use the SWAG method:  the “Scientific, Wild-A** Guess.”  Oh, sure, we can guesstimate by reading the clouds, listening to other aircraft’s reports, etc.  But in reality, there’s no telling just what Mommy Nature has up her sleeve.  In fact, it’s so random, that we call the Seat Belt switch the Turbulence button:  turn it off, get instant bumps.  Bottom Line, we err on the side of caution.  In the end, really, the seat belt sign is nothing more than a Liability Switch:  if it’s on, get up at your own peril.

    (Note: A portion of the following paragraph was quoted by BBC online—Capn Auxs big claim to fame! See link, below)

       There is also an art to revealing just what’s going on without giving away TMI.  While I can’t exactly jump on the PA and say, “Folks, pay no attention to the burning wing,” I also must avoid describing ad nauseum exactly what the mechanics onboard are fixing.  For example, I cant launch into a five minute dissertation of just why our our IAE V-2533-A5 Engine Number 2‘s ECU (Engine Control Unit) on the FADEC (Full Authority Digital Electronic Control) is triggering spurious warnings from the SDAC (System Data Acquisition Concentrator) to the EWC (Engine/Warning Display) without sounding alarmist.  And I certainly can’t say, “The doohicky on the whatchamajig is causing quite a nasty ruckus with that gizmo thingy.”  But I can say, “Our ace mechanics are onboard resetting one of our black boxes.  We should be under way in a few minutes.”***

    Bottom line:
    Trust us.  It’s OUR butts in the plane, too, and we ain’t gonna risk it, PERIOD!





    Capn Aux, in the middle of one of his exceptional—if rather non-humorous—PAs.


    But he still sounds—and looks—like Capn Doogie!









    For inspiration, look no further than this stellar pilots PA, brought to you by the folks at Barely Air!





    Direct link: http://youtu.be/IqkOi2AdjLw

    ** Example of classic Tony PA:  “Attention K-Mart shoppers, we have a blue light special on aisle . . . oh, sorry, that’s my day job.  Ahem!  (deep, gruff George Clooney voice with a tinge of Texas drawl) This is your Captain speaking . . .”
    Article links:
    • Inadvertent Emergency Passenger PA
    • Things You Cant Do on a Plane
    • BBC Link

    —  —  —  —  —  —

    Catch ALL of our Formation Bloggers this month!


    Mar. 1: iFLYblog - Brent Owens
               Aviation Author - Mark L. Berry

    Mar 2: Smart Flight Training - Andrew Hartley
                 tallyone.com  - Rob Burgon

    Mar 3: Flight to Success - Karlene Petitt
               project7alpha.com - Chip Shanle

    Mar 4: House of Rapp - Ron Rapp
    Adventures of Cap’n Aux - Eric Auxier

    —  —  —  —  —  —

    Capn Aux Blogging in Formation Posts
    • My Favorite Destination: http://capnaux.blogspot.com/2014/02/blogging-in-formation-my-favorite.html
    • My New Years Resolution—http://capnaux.blogspot.com/2014/01/blogformation-my-new-years-resolution.html
    • What I Want Under the Christmas Tree—http://capnaux.blogspot.com/2013/12/blogformation-what-i-want-under.html
    • Aviation History: Captain Grace Baloyo—http://capnaux.blogspot.com/2013/11/blogformation-aviation-history.html
    • My Most Instructional Moments—http://capnaux.blogspot.com/2013/10/blogging-in-formationthere-i-wuz-my.html
    • If I Had 1 Wish for Aviation—http://capnaux.blogspot.com/2013/09/formation-blog-if-i-had-1-wish-for.html
    • Stranger Than Fiction—http://capnaux.blogspot.com/2013/08/blogformation-stranger-than-fiction.html
    • The Future of U.S. Aviation—http://capnaux.blogspot.com/2013/07/happy-4th-future-of-us-aviation.html
    • My Most Memorable Flight—http://capnaux.blogspot.com/2013/06/blogformation-my-most

      Available link for download

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    Friday, June 30, 2017

    Blogging in Formation—There I Wuz! My Best Instructional Moments

    Blogging in Formation—There I Wuz! My Best Instructional Moments


    #BlogFormation #blog #avgeek #aviation #airline


    All,


    In response to your requests, you can now conveniently buy signed copies of 

    The Last Bush Pilots and Code Name: Dodger!



    <---Just look for this, over on the left!


    Apologies, but they are currently only available in the U.S!





    And now . . .

    Its Blogging in Formation Week!
    Posts all week beginning Sunday, September 29!

    This months Theme
    My Best Instructional Moments

    _______________
    "I nearly wet my pants."
    _______________

    "Brrrrrrrrooowwww"went the sound of my engine winding down.
    I nearly wet my pants.
    Why? Minor detail: I was still 10 miles from the airport, at an altitude of 3,500 in a single engine Grumman Cheetah.

    I was a 20-something flight student working on a college degree and a CPL (commercial pilots License.) My college, Cochise, had a runway right on campus. A "poor mans Embry Riddle," I liked to call it.

    Located smack in the heart of nowhere and six miles north of the Arizona/Mexico border, the campus offered wide open, clear blue skies for us fledgelings to spread our wings. While the Sonoran desert below offered relatively flat terrain,  none of us newly-hatched chicks wanted to brave the cactus-strewn, rattlesnake- and scorpion-infested wastelands in a 4-seat accidental glider.



    And yet, There I Wuz . . .

    But more on that lesson later.

    Speaking of nearly wetting my pants . . .

    On one of my most memorable cross country flights at the same college, I found myself an hour away from my destination—Deer Valley Airport, in the northwest Phoenix Valley—when I had to go pee.

    Really, really bad.

    Checking the fuel supply, I firewalled the throttle. The engine screamed. The airspeed indicator leapt from 115 kts to . . . 116. I asked Albuquerque Center for a direct routing to destination. No such luck. I seriously considered diverting to an emergency alternate. But try explaining that to the dean.
    _______________
    "My bladders overpressure relief valve was so far past its design limit, 
    I was near panic."
    ______________

    Inch by maddening inch, I inched toward my destination. After an eternity, the Phoenix Valley loomed into sight. Deer Valley lay on the opposite side of the metro area—another 10 minutes to cross. 

    Having received my PPL (Private Pilot License) training in the Valley of the Sun, I was more than familiar with the old landmarks. However, my bladders overpressure relief valve was so far past its design limit, I was near panic. As I frantically scanned the city, nothing looked familiar. Fortunately, Phoenix ATC vectored me straight to Deer Valley airport, where, after several bladder-jarring bounces, I touched down. I fast-taxiied to the parking area, set the brake, killed the ignition and eased out of the cockpit. No "hopping out" for me; any fast movements, and my jeans would be a darker shade of blue.

    I waddled to the bathroom, doing my best to look nonchalant.

    Today, I am happy to say, all my flights are on airliners with plenty of lavs available. But I think, even after 17,000 more hours under my belt since that fateful day, my internal overpressure relief valve has been fully trained to come nowhere near its design limit ever again.

    Our Lesson Here:
    —Always take a whiz before flight.
    —Dont load up too much on coffee.
    —No lav aboard? Carry your own: an empty, gallon-sized water jug.


    As for my engine winding down?

    My heart leapt in my throat. I immediately lowered the nose to keep airspeed. My brain switched into overdrive, calculating the probabilities of deadsticking in to our runway, and searching for an alternate, snake- and cactus-infested gully in which to land.

    Just like the problem of diverting to take a whiz, I knew the best outcome would be that Id earn the constant ribbing of my peers, and some horrid nickname that Id never live down.

    At worst, Id die.
    _______________
    "At worst, Id die."
    _______________

    That reminds me of another good lesson, that of James Richards (not his real name), my fellow Alaska bush pilot in Juneau. One day, while taxiing his Cessna 207 around a line of airplanes, he took the turn a little too hot and tight. His wing dinged another wing. Result: two busted nav lights. No big deal. But it earned him an "incident" in the FAA playbook, and the dubious nickname of "Crash."

    He hated that name with a passion, but it stuck with him for the rest of the season. Today, "Crash" Richards is a senior Captain at Alaska Airlines.

    Captain Richards is also the original inspiration for the name of my character Jake "Crash" Whitakker, the legendary bush pilot in my novel, The Last Bush Pilots. Larger than life, Jake is equally adept at landing planes and ladies—and "crashin em," too. See his story below!



    Our Lesson Here:
    —Always take it careful and easy around airplanes; at worse, youll die; at best, youll earn a reputation and nickname you dont want.

    —  —  —  —

    Excerpt from 
    The Last Bush Pilots

    CHAPTER 5: Jake “Crash” Whitakker

    In the ego-filled world of Alaskan commercial pilots, Jake Whitakker was the undisputed king of flight.  This was not consciously acknowledged by those around him, it was simply understood as fact.  Many disagreed with his cowboy ways in the cockpit, especially FAA Inspector Bruner and his government cohorts back in Oklahoma City.
    Nevertheless, Whitakker’s airmanship remained unquestioned.  And as a hunting and fishing guide, Jake Whitakker had no equal.
    Born in Kalispell, he spent much of his youth hunting the Montana wilds under his prospector daddy’s muddy boots.  With Mom gone long before his memory, young Jake learned to bring home the buck and skin it while Dad panned and sluiced his way across the Rockies, Canada, and finally Alaska.  Squandering a healthy family inheritance, father and son traveled in an aging Piper Super Cub, which Jake soloed before his thirteenth birthday.
    A year later, his flight-of-fancy life suddenly crashed and burned.
    In a bar room shootout over a shady lady, Jake lost his one anchor:  his friend, his mentor, his hero.  His dad.  For the first time in his life, Jake was alone.  Abandoned by the one he loved.
    Devastated, a wall went up around him.
    Authorities sent the wild boy to a Catholic orphanage.  Though Catholic on the birth certificate, he’d rarely set foot in a church.  Like Tarzan coming to the city, he didn’t fit in, didn’t belong.  And he didn’t care.  Weekly fistfights with the other boys and the nuns’ daily knuckle rappings did little to temper his demeanor, for the seeds of his life had already been sewn.  Jake Whitakker was a renegade and mountain man, born and bred.
    After high school, to finance his commercial flight training, he landed a summer job on a forest fire fighting crew.  Each season he worked up the fireman’s ladder, eventually landing in the copilot seat of a slurry bomber, a modified C-130.  Flying troops and slurry over the burning brush, he and his crew squeezed the twin engine turboprop plane into and out of some of the shortest dirt strips in the country.
    Once, during a low pass over a particularly hot fire, an underground fuel tank exploded, sending liquid fire and shrapnel flying into his path.  He banked hard and climbed, but too late.
    The number two engine disintegrated and his right wing caught fire.  Before the captain and crew realized what had even happened, he calmly deadsticked the craft into a meadow, dumping the slurry as he did.  The plane landed, wheels up, in a cloud of red dust.  The fire retardant doused the flames, and though the plane was a total loss, the men escaped with few injuries and no burns.
    The action earned him command of his own ship, and the dubious nickname of “Crash.”
    A small scar from that action graced his square chin cleft, complimenting his woodsman’s good looks.  And at six feet two of swaggering muscle, he was equally skilled at landing ladies.
    During winter months he flew, backpacked and hunted the wilds of North America.  His outdoor talents caught the eye of a U.S. Fish and Wildlife official, who talked him into taking on another role:  Game Warden.  Jake’s contempt for poachers nearly equaled his passion for hunting, as only a man brought up firsthand to understand nature’s delicate balance could.  He added to the Department’s arsenal a most effective weapon:  a floatplane.  With great mobility, efficiency and zeal, the man enforced his beat.
    It was an idyllic, if ironic, existence for the wild man.  But even along the Canadian border, civilization hounded him.  Finally, a tough young Yupik Eskimo named Sophie, working a summer job for the forest service, caught his eye.  Sparks flew as hot as the embers from his old job, melting the glacial ice around his heart.  But when the season ended, despite Jake’s frantic pleading, she returned to her native village of Akiachak, Alaska.
    Abandoned yet again by the one he loved, Jake was crushed.  He took a long hard look at his life, then looked at her photo.  He recalled his youth in the vast Alaskan Interior.  The land and Sophie beckoned.
    “To hell with it,” he said, and followed her to Alaska.
    The love affair, so perfect in the Lower Forty Eight, was a train wreck.  Only Eluk, the family’s new Alaskan Malamute puppy, seemed to enjoy his presence.  Including Sophie.
    Sensing her slipping away, he begged her to marry him.  She refused.  More to the point, her family refused.  While a Gussik husband might mean a step up in wealth, a pilot would never be around to help during the tough times.  Moreover, Sophie’s father had other plans for her, in the form of a tribal official in Bethel.
    Jake left with his tail between his legs.  With his tail wagging, Eluk followed.  Except for the affection Jake felt for his new companion, the glacial wall around his heart refroze.  He fled as far as possible, to the opposite corner of the state, from Sophie.  But never again did he leave Alaska.
    Joining an upstart air taxi firm in Juneau called Southeast Alaskan Seaplanes, Whitakker quickly gained a reputation as one of the region’s premier hunting and flying guides.
    But that was not the only fame he gained.  While some said he invited the worst of luck, to pilots he enjoyed the best.  Starting with his legendary slurry bomber crash, Jake survived no less than two accidents and three “incidents,” as the National Transportation Safety Board called his minor crackups in typically dry government legalese.  He walked away from them all.  And, while eighty percent of all aviation crashes were attributed, rightly or wrongly, to “pilot error,” only one was ever blamed on him.
    The accident had occurred in Gastineau Channel.  Summer tourist season had brought yet another luxury cruise ship into port, and while some passengers power-shopped downtown, the more adventurous signed up for the SEAS’ glacier “flightseeing” tours.
    Sunny skies and whitecaps promised a scenic but bumpy ride for Whitakker’s passengers.
    A barf bagger day for sure, Jake thought with a grim smile, as he flew his floatplane up the Gastineau Channel toward the cruise ship.
    Jake’s de Havilland Beaver led a squadron of cohorts, strung in trail from the airport.  Like Navy pilots in a carrier pattern, each planned to touch down, glide up to the ship dock, load up and launch again, only seconds apart.  All part of the show.
    Slowing the Beaver to final approach speed, Whitakker scanned the channel for boat and plane traffic.  Calculating wind, waves and channel current, he selected the prime touch down point which would slide his bird up to the dock with minimal work.
    Available link for download

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