Quiet day, I know. It’s funny, but getting that thesis over the transom has freed my mind to wander a bit. It wasn’t like I spent every weekend working on it (or it would have been done ages ago), but the fact that it remained unfinished imposed a kind of moral burden that was difficult to evade.
So, as you know, I’ve been back in the flying game a little bit. It started last year, around November of 2007.
Through the kindness of a stranger, I got hooked up with the Barnstorming group, first at Palomar, and then later down at Montgomery. Pure VFR flying, albeit under the lateral limits of the Class B airspace. It was good to be back in an airplane again, but after a while the novelty of talking a non-pilot through the nuances of two-circle basic fighter maneuvers at 100 mph wore a little thin. Not that it isn’t still fun – it is. I’m flying, and getting paid for it. At a rate roughly equivalent to what I’d get spinning a “homes for sale” sign on a Carmel Valley street corner. Still, someone else is paying for my flight time, and that’s not nothing.
It took a while for the FA-18 to bake out of my system. Getting paid to fly cutting edge metal through the sky is like subsidized bank robbery. Most of us would have done it for free, if it hadn’t been for the need to keep a little something between the wind and water. A twenty year career flying fighters is like a government sponsored crack cocaine habit. When the jig is up, cold turkey is the only way through. In time you re-adjust your expectations. It just takes a while.
Especially if you live beneath the departure corridor of MCAS Miramar.
To tell you the honest, the best part of the weekend seems to be after we’ve done flying the paying customers, but before we’ve put the Vargas to bed. There’s a time – a little time – where we sit around and just shoot the breeze in that comfortable way of those who share something special.
Bud, the linesman, grew up flying Champs, moved on to other things and then lost his medical. He served in the Air Force back in the ’60s, his son recently concluded his naval service as a SEAL, and now he makes a dollar or two putting fuel and oil in a machine that somebody else will get to fly. Skip, our maintenance guy, flew Army helicopters in Viet Nam. He’s not so very much older than me – and in frankly better physical condition – and understands the machines on the inside the way that few of the operators do. He also has a story to match yours, no matter what it might be.
He stitches his tales together in sparse prose, but you can feel the flat heat, the dust, the jungle canopy in the distance when he talks. He likes to tell the tale of an Army Caribou painted up like Santa’s sled dropping in unannounced on some forward airstrip to drop off Christmas presents. Just because the pilots knew that nobody down there was getting much in the way of holiday love.
Earl the Pearl was flying commercially at age 17 in Florida, before he decided the Marine Corps had more to offer. Thirty years and several thousand hours of F-4 and FA-18 time later, he and I shepherd enthusiasts through the sky on weekend, sometimes saving a little just for ourselves. It’s not much, wrapping 1200 pounds of bent steel and sex appeal with a 150 HP puller up front against another man who’d trained his whole life to fight and win. But it’s not nothing, either.
Earl belonged to a local flying club, and in time I joined him there. Got checked out in the Cardinal (the Skyhawk came with), and now I’ve got the bug again.
There’s a certain centeredness to flying, even in a small plane. A beginning, a middle and an end. It’s bundled. Hard to describe.
It’s hard not to feel a bit – in a distant way – like a superior being as you pass up the snarled traffic on the interstate. A distant way, because you’ve still got your hands full. Not in a low-level, raging around with your hair on fire with the RWR gear howling at you as you navigate towards a target while sanitizing the airspace for bandits kind of way. But in a “this is serious and we have to do it properly” kind of way. Which is not so very different, after all. It’s a matter of degree, not kind.
Military aviators rarely give a second thought to their general aviation brethren. The jet guys fly IFR flight plans up in the flight levels, never much having to worry about the low altitude airspace structure. They don’t even carry the charts. The little guys keep clear when the high performance aircraft let down. We use speedbrakes to descend from high to final, in the full knowledge that the airspace ahead of us is clear. Knowing, if we got ourselves into a fix, that afterburners would fix nearly anything. Knowing, if it came down to it, that the ejection seat would fix whatever else was left.
A different set of conditions is in play when your practical ceiling is 10,000 feet. When it’s you getting out of the way. When you have to factor in minimum obstacle clearance altitudes against your best performance climb. When you have to factor in engine cooling and all too achievable red line speeds on a descent. When you know there’s things you can get into that you can’t get back out of. When you don’t have an ejection seat.
So I got checked out in a “complex” airplane after 1.5 hours of flight time. Flew it last week with Earl to back me up. Flew a Cessna 172 on Tuesday, all by myself. And plan to fly an IFR simulation on Sunday afternoon. All in preparation for flying the Biscuit up the coast to Monterey, Oakland, Humboldt and Portland. There’s a lot of potential good that could come out of taking your daughter flying in a little plane over a weekend. But there’s a lot could go wrong too.
I spent most of the non-working day making sure it wouldn’t be me.
Lex, you’re going to cost me money…because you’re making me want to fly again.
There’s an elemental purity to flying a bugsmasher. Especially when you can turn off the radio and just fly. Navigate with chart, compass, and Mk1 eyeball.
My house lies smack dab in the center of a low level training route south of Lexington, VA. There have been several times that fighters have flown straight up the pasture at low enough altitudes to make me want to jump off the tractor. But then, I look up in wonder and think back to how much fun it was and the fact that the Navy actually paid me for doing things like that. I miss it, but thankfully, have an occasional reminder by the overflights.
Boss, that’s a sweet slice of earth where you’re at, at least from what can be gleaned from google earth (cuz I’m geographically curious like that; thought it sounded familiar but couldn’t place it). Beautiful valley, lots of farmland, country roads with telling names and I’ll bet more than a fair share of real people. Have a friend who settled outside Roanoke and he loves it.
Lex said : “I spent most of the non-working day making sure it wouldn’t be me.”……..
And that’s the thing. It’s what gives fathers with thousands of hours of flight time their first shock of gray hair. It’s why my father drank. It’s why I imbibe. It’s because it’s one thing to risk it all for yourself or your shipmates. It’s one thing to push the envelope, to set your sights on just beyond the red line.
It’s altogether different when it’s one of your own whose fate lies in your own hands. That’s a whole new ballgame, and one that a lot of us adrenaline junkies have a hard time dealing with.
All of a sudden there’s this innocent kid in the equation and the knowledge that not just mutha, but yourself who would never forgive you if anything happened to her.
Ah well…. we all do what we have to do.
I envy you, though, Skipper. You have a lot of options, and that’s always a good thing.
Lex,
I live in South Florida just north and west of Miami. When I take my daughter up to visit her mom, we fly out of Hollywood North Perry (HWO) due west about ten miles, staying well south and below the approach to Ft. Lauderdale/Hollywood International’s approach corridor for 9 Left. Once we are far enough west, we can turn north and climb to a nice VFR altitude and look for Lake Okeechobee, keeping west of Boca Raton, and Palm Beach Int’l's approach. This is, as you can imagine out over the everglades, few roads, lots of aligators and plenty of water. Off to the right, you can see the Atlantic if your high enough and the vis is good. Flying past Jupiter, Stuart, Ft. Pierce, Vero Beach, Sebastian, Melbourne and pretty soon the northerly heading puts you over Merritt Island, direct to the KSC SLF (Kennedy Space Center Shuttle Landing Facility). We stay west of the Indian River and go over TIX (Titusville) then over the Beach Line and into the small airfield close to her mom’s house. Lots of parachute activity on weekends as well as a pancake breakfast if you pick the right day.
I’ve been flying this route for five years about 4-5 times a year in a 172. My daughter is not so hot about visiting her mom (another story) and I’m glad when two weeks are up and I have to go get her and bring her home again. She likes to fly and will often ask if she can help navigate, set the radios, do a little hand flying or just sit back and watch.
Send this to AOPA or EAA, Lex . . . please share it. They really should have you do a short monthly column in Flying, or Pilot, or Sport Aviation. They pay ya to do that too, ya know.
There’s a picture of the Santa Clause Caribou here, and one of Skip doing some of his mechanical magic here.
Tailspin, is that image of Skip one of your images? Nice…
Lex…the writer that ended up a pilot, then a writer with great, real scenarios.
One day, I’ll find out he’s made the big time and is coming to a major sized chain bookstore near me, to emboss a tome for those who have waited so long…
I can dream, can’t I?
There’s no way that GA enthusiasts will ever appreciate the rigor, thrills and dangers associated with military flying but GA is still , well, flying. Sometimes we might get some stick time in a jet or 5g aerobatics, but never a cat shot or night trap. Of course it’s nice not to have someone shooting at you. Aside from three special events wishing I was on the ground, it’s been great.
There’s a plenty of former naval aviators that made the transition to GA. Some fly fast (Chrysler’s-Bob Lutz in an L-39) and some low/slow (Author-Steve Coontz in a Cub) and found there’s aviation life after afterburners.
Most believe that every CAVU day shouldn’t go wasted on the ground and if you’re stuck on the ground, there’s always folks that like to talk about flying whether they fly, never flew or stopped flying.
College hopping via Lex Airlines will be great. Few things I’ve enjoyed as much with son#2.
Don’t forget to check the vacuum pump before you launch IFR and keep the blue side up.
Lex,
I can’t add anything, except to say you’ve summed up sentiments I’ve felt, but haven’t got the talent to express.
Nice one.
Lex,
This one deserves a wider audience.
Thanks.
Damn Lex… Honey Bees wish they could wax this poetic!
Lovely essay, Lex, so vivid that even the earthbound like me can feel untethered for a moment. If I had only been born with the eyesight and the reflexes of an athlete, I could have joined you mighty Icaruses. But reading this, I almost feel that for a moment, I have.
Marianne
Hmmmm… I’ve been cold turkey (with a few excursions) for far too long now. Sure would cut down on the 14 hour drive to see the parents! Guess I better get back to it before the option gets taxed into memory permanent like.
Steve,
You could always Home Build one (like the canoe)…
Lex
Echo to T/S. This is too good to share with just us bloggers. There are 500,000 private pilots out there that would love to read this. Send it to Flying, Private Pilot, AOPA. One of them will pick you up for a guest columnist and add to the college fund drive. We can start a pool bet! Nice writing, thanks for making the cupojo a little better on a rainy Sat-dee.
Words I might offer will nonetheless fail to add.
Flying is special as I can only imagine sailing might be.
It is the one thing I do in life that never fails to accrue positive.
Share this. There is far too little positive being written out there.
Lex,
Looks like you have been elected to be the blogging aviation ambassador to move your prose up to wider audience. I am a mutant aviator like you, Mil/GA/Regional/Airline. I enjoy all brothers and sisters in the flying realm of all species. You will succeed because it is in our and your nature. Afterwards, send me a PM, will work to put you in this seat for a ride (so you can write about it to a wide audience) It will flood your memories with bygone chapters.
http://www.collingsfoundation.org/tx_ta-4skyhawk.htm
Eh, well. It’s worth a shot – I submitted a more polished version to AOPA. I guess we’ll see.
And Salty Dog, you’re on, my brother! Getting back the Scooter would be like old home week.
Can only concur. You gift with prose needs to be put to a wider audience. Yesterday in his hanger, I was having a coversation with one of the guys at the strip I am keeping Little Mary, the kind of chat only those who have a mutual love of flight and airplanes can have. Like I told him,with me, every time the wheels come off the ground I become 17 again.
b2
Find Buffalo Bend south of Lexington then take Buffalo Bend Rd to Tarn Beck Ln and we are in the trees where the road jogs to the south. Blue Ridge are to the east of me and Alleghany mts to the west.Pretty area and with VMI, W&L and Southern VA U within 15 min. there is lots to do.
Perhaps this is the Santa-Bou
http://www.c-7acaribou.com/album/photos/photo01.htm
Lex,
Whatcha coming up to my neck of the woods for? I live about 60 miles south of Portland and drill across the Columbia from PDX at Vancouver Barracks. Which just happens to be just off the end of the runway at Pearson Air Park (and museum).
When you headed up here?
Damn you, Lex.
“It’s taking a while for the FA-18 to bake out of my system; subsidized bank robbery; done it for free; twenty-PLUS year career flying fighters; government sponsored crack cocaine; the jig is up; cold turkey; re-adjust expectations; takes a while. ESPECIALLY if you live beneath the departure corridor of NAS Ocean-banana.
Unfortunately, the only thing I fly is my NATO desk, and it doesn’t go above the 5th floor…
now, Scotch. ATB, ras
xAir/eYat,
It was bc. Haven’t been much through that area down there ‘cept on I-81 in transit. Any grouse and quail down thea? May have to go there soon & check out VMI.
Living under a VR route ain’t bad. It’s day/VFR only flying so’s you git to see something and they won’t wake you at night! Of course if’n they start doing 360′s, inverted & rocking the wings you’ll know they have you pegged Boss!
b2
b2 Not sure about the quail but we have grouse, turkey, deer and bear. Of course, I subscribe to Boo Weakley’s (good ol Milton, FL bubba) dictum that one should never hunt something that might hunt you.
Mowed “Fly Navy” in the upper field a few years ago but didn’t notice any unusual flying as a result.
eYat,
No quail? Elevation? Are dem grouse numerous IYO or are they on the ridgelines up high? Always pumping for info re my ‘Autumn avocation’..sorry.
Try painting a pole/barn roof. Hard to see looking straight down at < 300′ and 500 kts! They’ll see the barn! Have you seen any ‘lectrics on the route lately? A lot of training birds from PCOLA/Meridien and PAX use that Appalachian corridor too. Oceana is probably main owner. ‘Course, you know all this.
b2
So, how come I see some version of “Zen and the Art of Puddlejumping” getting penned in the not too distant future?
Finally got in touch with my avid turkey/grouse friend. He says grouse are pretty rare and although some can be found down low, he usually hunts the hills and it’s usually an exercise in frustration.
I see very few navy a/c using the route. Mostly F-15s. Must be a Va. ANG route.