Showing posts with label my. Show all posts
Showing posts with label my. Show all posts
Saturday, August 19, 2017
Blogging in Formation My Favorite Destination
Blogging in Formation My Favorite Destination
#blogformation #blog #avgeek #aviation
Posts all week by your favorite Pilot-Bloggers!
This months theme:
My Favorite Destination
— — — — — —
But First . . .
Premiering February 6th at 0900 PHX time, right here on Capnaux.com!
Trailer to Livin the Dream! from Capnaux on Vimeo.
Direct link: http://vimeo.com/capnaux/dreamtrailer
And now . . .
Its Blogging in Formation Week—
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 nearWhere 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.
Flow into the sea
Like oils applied to canvas
How they permeate through me
_______________
_______________
Lakes below the mountainsFlow 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.
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 harbourSheltered from the wind
Where the children play on the shore each day
And all are safe within
_______________
 |
| 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. |
_______________
Ive seen enough to feel the world spinMixin 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
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)
(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
- JOIN THIS SITE....................VERIFY.............................JOINED
- COMMENT............................VERIFY.............................MADE
- FACEBOOK...........................VERIFY.............................LIKED
- TWITTER...............................VERIFY.............................TWEETED
- EMAIL....................................VERIFY.............................MAILED
- 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
Aviation Author - Mark L. Berry
Feb. 3 Smart Flight Training - Andrew Hartley
Feb. 4: Flight to Success - Karlene Petitt
Tuesday, July 18, 2017
Blogformation My New Years Resolution
Blogformation My New Years Resolution
#blog #aviation #avgeek #newyearsresolution
HAPPY BIRTHDAY, WORLD!!!
Its been an adventure, to say the least! Look for my "Best of" links below, after todays post!
Speaking of which . . .
HAPPY 100 Commercial Aviation!
Heres a cool link about it with some fun pics: http://www.businessinsider.com/1914-first-commercial-flight-price-anniversary-2013-12
and now . . .
Its Blogging in Formation Week!
New for 2014: 2 BiF posts/day, from 1 GA pilot & 1 Airline pilot!
New for 2014: 2 BiF posts/day, from 1 GA pilot & 1 Airline pilot!
Jan. 1: Smart Flight Training - Andrew Hartley
Flight to Success - Karlene Petitt
Flight to Success - Karlene Petitt
Jan. 2: House of Rapp - Ron Rapp
Adventures of Cap’n Aux - Eric Auxier
Jan. 3: iFLYblog - Brent Owens
And please Welcome Aboard our newest Blogging in Formation member, Mark L. Berry!
Mark blogs at: http://marklberry.com
See more about Mark after this post, below!
This Months Theme: My New Years Resolution!
So, lets cut to the chase . . .
My New Year’s Resolution:
Turn off the *&^% and Fly!
As most of you know, I recently wrote an article for nycaviation.com entitled, Do Commercial Pilots Really “Suck” at Manual Flying? (http://www.nycaviation.com/2013/11/commercial-pilots-really-suck-manual-flying/#.Uqkg5pFItFw)
In it, I detailed a new FAA study which posits that the “greatest risk” in today’s cockpit is 1.) Over-reliance on automation leading to complacency, and 2.) Lack of understanding of automation, leading to a reluctance to, well, “Turn off the magic and fly.”
While I take issue with the FAA’s premise that it’s “our greatest risk” (see an upcoming NYCA post where I, Karlene Petitt and others write about pilot fatigue), I did generally agree with the above two points.
________________________
Today’s airliners are six times safer than your own bathtub.
________________________
Today’s airline pilots fly the safest airplanes in history. They are the best-trained pilots in the world, operating in an environment that has become six times safer than your own bathtub. But pilots are human, and therefore prone to human error.
ANATOMY OF AN AIRLINE FLIGHT
You board your plane,
take your seat,
strap in.
The door closes.
The plane pushes back.
In the cockpit, what’s happening?
________________________
You board your plane, strap in. The door closes.
In the cockpit, what’s happening?
________________________
In a nutshell:
—After the tug disconnects and the engines are started, the Captain taxies the plane out to the active runway. He steers with his hand tiller and stops with the toe brakes on his rudder pedals.
—Cleared for Takeoff: The PF (“Pilot Flying”—either Captain or First Officer) takes the controls, runs the thrust up, steers with the rudders. The PNF (“Pilot Not Flying”) calls, “V1…Vr…” The PF rotates (pulls the stick back), the plane lifts off and flies.
—PNF: “Positive Rate” PF: “Gear Up” The PNF raises the gear handle and the landing gear sucks up into the gear wells.
At this point, 95% of the time for 95% of the pilots, the PF engages the “Autopilot.” (On the new RNAV departures, this is actually required for precision maneuvering.)
 |
| The infamous "Otto Pilot!" |
From here on out, except for special cases, the airplane is flown entirely on autopilot. While most modern aircraft can “autoland” (land on autopilot), most of the time the PF disconnects the autopilot—usually somewhere in the neighborhood of 1,000’ AGL—and lands manually.
Make no mistake, at all times while the autopilot is engaged, the PF is “flying.” That is, s/he is telling the autopilot what to do.
________________________
For airliners, flying is nothing.
Managing the flight is everything.
________________________
Think of today’s autopilot as a fancy, 3-D Cruise Control. You use your CC in the car to relieve you from the mundane burden of constantly adjusting the accelerator.
This frees his mind up to take in the “Big Picture”—watch for other traffic, monitor the radio frequency, monitor performance and deal with other issues.
This type of flying—monitoring an autopilot—may not seem as romantic as Luke Skywalker “keeping it on manual for a while,” but believe you me, this is the safest way to travel.
As I’ve said in the past, When it comes to airliners, flying is nothing. Managing the flight is everything.
 |
| "I just want you to know: were all counting on your Otto-Pilot." |
Here’s the problem—and this is one of the main points the FAA is driving at:
all this “managing” and no “flying” makes Jack a dull pilot.
In Fifi (our affectionate name for the Airbus), this is doubly true.
________________________
All this “managing” and no “flying” makes Jack a dull pilot.
________________________
Those who have taken basic flight training know that there are several controls you constantly have to manage:
—the stick, or yoke, controlling up/down, right/left.
—the rudder pedals, coordinating turns with the stick to keep the plane flying efficiently (also used for directional control on the ground, and for landing in crosswinds.)
Sunday, July 2, 2017
Break My Heart Brownies
Break My Heart Brownies
Editor's Note: I wrote during my first night in San Francisco, and, before scheduling it to publish, had second thoughts. I was going to start my new job in a few days, and the post could easily be misread to undermine my excitement for the new opportunity. I didn't want to make a bad first impression! I've been holding on to this post for a few weeks, and am finally comfortable enough to share. But if it seems out of order when compared with prior posts, that's why.
Last week, as I stood in my empty house, I was overwhelmed with heartbreak and sadness. I'd worked out that in the last 5 years, I'd moved a total of 8 times across 2 different countries, 3 different states (Oregon and California multiple times), and between 9 apartments and houses. My move back to San Francisco would be move #9.
All those moves were instigated by a job change. My mom, being a classic Asian Tiger Mother, had always drilled me to follow my career, follow the money. Well, if the last five years is any indication, I must have taken that a little too literally.
If that sounds a little bit bitter, I'll be honest — it kind of is. When I moved back to Portland in 2012, I had thought it was for good. I worked hard to build myself a permanent life there, buying a house and remodeling the kitchen to fit my needs perfectly, building a new network of friends. Everything was great, except for my career. I'm not going to talk about it here, but prior to leaving Portland, I was tired, exhausted, and burnt out.
I took the new job in San Francisco because it was an amazing opportunity in terms of career advancement and salary. In my head, I knew that the opportunity made sense and was a good decision. But in my heart? That's where things got a little bit murky. Because with every move I've made, I've had to give up more and more — family, friends, a home, my relationship. Is the opportunity really an opportunity if it costs so much? And at what point is the sacrifice too much?
I don't know the answer to that, and I know I won't know the answer to for a long, long time. But I do know that I also took the opportunity because I hoped a major change would revitalize me and help me recover from my burnout. So far, it seems to be working. I spent my first day in San Francisco wandering around, unexpectedly grinning at how much I lucked out with my new studio and my new neighborhood. I may have reluctantly accepted the move with a heavy heart, but with each step (uphill) I can feel my shoulders unrounding and my load lightening.
As for these brownies, I don't really have much to say except that they're awesome and incredibly chocolatey and really the best. They're a riff off of my favorite brownie recipe, Supernatural Brownies, but with a touch of whole wheat graham flour thrown in for a better mouthfeel and heartier crumb, along with some walnuts for texture. And finally, they're made with the BEST single-origin chocolate bars from Pitch Dark Chocolate. During my last week in Portland, I had the chance to visit their chocolate shop/factory and try a bunch of their bars and truffles (everything was amazing, but this matcha and cocoa nib chocolate bar was out of this world). The chocolate I ended up using for these brownies are their 73% cacao Ecuador bars, in which the cacao bean is fermented to bring out floral notes in the chocolate, ultimately giving the brownies a complex, bittersweet note.
Some baker's notes:
- I used Pitch Dark Chocolate for these brownies, but you can of course use any chocolate of your choice. But use chocolate that's at least 70% cacao so you can get that deep, intense chocolate flavor!
- Graham flour is available online or in specialty health food stores. One of my favorite things about graham flour is that it lasts longer than other whole grain flours, so you can buy in bulk and use throughout the year. For other recipes that use graham flour, check out this recipe for small batch whole grain chocolate muffin mix or this recipe for s'mores cupcakes (one of my favorites recipes on the blog!).
- I added walnuts to the brownies because I had a bag in my fridge that I needed to use before moving; feel free to omit if you prefer smooth brownies! For those who like a little crunch and texture in their brownies, I left some of the walnuts whole and others halved for more textural variety.
- If you can believe it, these brownies get even more flavorful and intense as they sit overnight. It's best to let them sit overnight so you get that the flavors soak and you're left with a really caramelly and chocolatey brownie. But good luck holding off. I always devour at least a third of the pan before letting it sit. OH WELL.
Available link for download
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!
<---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 . . .
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."
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.
—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
Read more »
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)