Out of commission

It has been a busy summer here in NSMT. Since the middle of June, Echo Delta and I have been home only one weekend. With class reunions, fourth of July celebrations, weddings and family reunions, work and the deli taking up most of my free time, it has been hard to find time to blog.

On top of it all, my laptap is out of commission. That is where most of my blogging is done and where a good portion of my pictures are stored. It took a couple of hard hits one day when it slid off the wing and onto the concrete while I was closing the aircraft door and then the handle fell off the case sending it yet again to the hard surface of the ramp. Even though it was in its 'protective case', the damage had been done.

Now, when I turn it on, the screen only lasts for about 3 minutes before it goes blank. Hardly enough time to do anything productive, let alone post a blog.

The flying has been good here in New South Montucky this summer. So far it has been typical VFR days with visibility down slightly due to the haze and smoke in the atmosphere from the forest fires out west. I spend my afternoon trip dodging thunderstorms on the way back to Big Town in nearly 100*F temperatures.

For your viewing enjoyment I have put together a compilation of photos (four of them) to show you the sights I see on a typical summer day.

I took this photo on the way to the hangar just before 5am.

The morning run between Cow Town and The Dive.

Dodging high base thunderstorms and rain showers.

The wet streets and airport of Big Town backlit by the sun after the rain.

When Dogs Fly

Many people travel with their pets. Not just little road trips to a neighboring state for the weekend. They actually fly, in the cabins of transport category and general aviation aircraft. Occasionally, I have had puppies on board my aircraft as cargo.

You see them all the time, dogs mostly, in those duffel bag sized carriers, with their heads poking out, sniffing all the smells of an airport. I have even seen them on a leash in the concourse!

When I worked for Diamond, we used to fly Tom Brokaw and his dogs from New York to his cabin out west.

There was this one guy, and his dog, that really stick out in my mind. I was teaching in Colorado at the time and this guy had a really nice Cessna 210 and the coolest Border Collie you ever did see. The dog would chase a frisbee all over the ramp/airport when you would throw it and then drop it at your feet to have it done all over again. He was an airport dog and was every one's friend. The dog was well trained and would respond immediately to any verbal command by his master. Even better, the crazy Collie loved to fly.

His owner would taxi the 210 to the fuel pumps, shut down and then open the door. Bounding out of the back seat, the Collie would circle the aircraft barking as if to tell the machine to stay put and then assume a position in the shadow of the airplane to stay out of the hot summer sun.

After fueling, the owner would open the door and holler, "Let's go Flying!", causing the dog to spring from his restful state and leap back into the back seat of the aircraft. The owner would get in and close the door leaving the window open, and of course the dog would do what any dog does in a vehicle with a window open.

Most General Aviation pilots make it a point to yell the word "clear " or "clear prop" just prior to engine start to ensure that there is nobody in the way of the propeller. This is the best part... The pilot yells "Clear!", and right on cue, the Collie, head out the window, begins to bark with anticipation as his master engages the starter. The engine roars to life and the dog seems to lean out the window a little more to catch as much of the slipstream as possible created by the now spinning prop.

I always wondered what they did on their flights that gave the dog the flying bug. I think this video might shed some light on the subject.

Spring Has Sprung - The Root of My Problem

The last frost has come and gone in New South Montucky, at least here in Big Town. It is time to get the yard in shape, the underground sprinklers running, and Echo Juliet has told me that she wants to plant a container garden this year.

I usually don't talk about things that happen away from the airport or out of the cockpit, but this is one of those things that you have to see to believe.

I spent the late part of last week trying to get the underground sprinkler system in our yard online for the summer. It is simple enough. Prime the pump, turn on said pump, open the spigot, and there you have it. Cool, crisp, refreshing water. Oh, but hold on there sparky....There is no water... yet. I let the pump run for 10 minutes only to get a measly trickle.

So, being the handy man that I am, I check all the plugs, fittings and valves for the system, repeat the above steps, only to be rewarded with nothing but a dribble.

The pump was here when I bought the house nearly seven years ago, and I'm sure that it was here many years prior. It is probably in dire need of an overhaul. I'm sure that it is waaaay past TBO and I have just been lucky.

I venture to one of my favorite hauts, Sears - Home of Craftsman Tools. Since the pump is a Sears brand from back in the early eighties, one would assume that the fine friendly folks at the service center would have the necessary parts to complete the overhaul.

The guy that helped me looked like the kid from the Zits comic strip and talked like Screech. They had all the parts I would need for the overhaul. "Order them", I told the young lad.

Clicking the mouse in rapid succession like he was playing an online game about to slay the evil villain, he stopped suddenly, looked me square in the eye and deadpanned, "I'm sorry Mr. Runner sir. They don't make the impeller anymore." Cumulonimbus! That's like a plane with no prop, it ain't gonna fly man!

I guess it is time for a new pump to the tune of about $300.

A couple of days later I stroll into the Turf Depot to purchase my new pump. After chatting with a couple of guys there and a crusty old rancher that happened to be in the store, I came away with a few tricks to try before I spend my hard earned cash on something I may not need. Before I attempt any abracadabra on the pump I decide to give it another whirl. Wouldn't you know it, as luck would have it, the damn thing pumped water like a cow pissing on a flat rock.

Not wanting to fix something that ain't broke, I move on. I go to the controller and one by one turn on each zone in the yard. I then inspect every head in each zone for proper function. All is in order except one head in zone one. It seems to have been sucked into the ground by some unseen force so that it makes a puddle that gurgles and bubbles.

I decide to dig it up and this is what I find.

This tree root has grown over the main supply line and the feeder supply line pulling the head into the ground. (You can see the feeder line, the white part to the right of the root.) The tree is a mature cottonwood about 2.5 feet from the top of the picture. I would love to cut this root out but it is huge, almost 8 inches in diameter and I fear permanent damage to my tree. Notice how the root has grown around the head.

I decide to meticulously dig around the root and supply line, remove the head and then push the supply line under the root to the right and re-attach the head. Sounds simple enough.

Well, two hours later this is what I'm rewarded with.

The damn thing broke off in my hand! Ok well, now for plan B. Back to Turf Depot for supplies. I decide to move the feeder line toward the bottom of the picture and place it away from the root.

Another two hours later this is what I have created.
Ya know it ain't pretty but it will get the job done. I bet in a couple of more years I'm gonna have to do this again. Maybe by that time Echo Juliet and I will have built that little ranch house in the country we have been dreaming about. Then it can be the root of someone else's problem!

Snow Day

"Aviation in itself is not inherently dangerous. But to an even greater degree than the sea, it is terribly unforgiving of any carelessness, incapacity or neglect."

Last week was a really busy week at the deli, despite the weather. It was overcast and gloomy Tuesday and Wednesday and front moved in and it began to snow shortly before noon in Squidtown.

Thursday at the deli turned out to be our biggest day of the week. The lunch rush started at about 1100 and lasted until about 1430. I was busier than a one-legged man in an ass kicking contest as I waited tables, poured sodas, and helped out the cook in the kitchen. The customers kept remarking how the weather making a turn for the worse, yet they kept coming in the door in droves. The cooked must have spiked the soup again.

I worried about my airplane in the back canyons of my mind. I had left it secured on the ramp earlier in the morning at the airport. It was a fleeting thought as I was focused on the hungry people I was serving.

I finally was able to take a breath at about a quarter to three to have a bite to eat. I finally had an opportunity to take a gander out the window at this ‘bad weather’ the customers were telling me about. What I saw surprised me.

Peering out the window, the cars and parking lot were covered in about 2 inches of heavy snow. It was snowing very hard and I couldn’t really make out the golden arches across the street.

Dialing the FBO I got ahold of the line guys to see if there was a spot in the cold hangar. I begged them to put the SUV in if they had a chance. Unfortunately, the damage had already been done.

Arriving at the airport I found the SUV stuck in the cold hangar, tug and towbar still attached, covered in snow.

The typical freight dawg pilot has few tools at his disposal to perform his job compared to his brethren at the Big Box Haulers. A good headset to protect what hearing he has left, a pair of sunglasses that he spent one entire paycheck on so that he can 1) look good and 2) protect his eyes from that big orange ball that always seems to shine right in the windscreen as it rises and sets. He also carries a 3 “D” cell Maglite that is used to 1) look for ice on the wings as he flies and 2) to beat the said ice off the wings so that he can complete the next leg. Last but not least is a nice wide broom, with soft bristles. One where the handle will separate from the head so that it is easily stored in the wing locker or cargo compartment. The broom is used to clean the snow off the wings and polish frost smooth. This is also referred to as a deicing program.

I grabbed my trusty broom and began the laborious task of cleaning snow off the aircraft. First the left wing, followed by the nose and windscreen, and the right wing. Making the turn around the corner of the wing toward the horizontal stabilizer, I heard the hangar side door open and the director of maintenance, Mick, hollered my name.

He came strolling around the tug with a shop cart in tow, loaded with my freight.

“I thought you would like to load up here in the hangar so that we can just pull you out and send you on your way with the weather the way it is. I don’t think the airport manager has plowed the runway yet either,” Mick remarked.

I loaded the freight onto the SUV and secured it with the cargo net as we engaged in a boisterous BS session.

The BS had gotten pretty deep when I noticed it was time for my departure, I stowed the broom and engine covers as the line guys opened the main hangar door. I climbed inside the SUV and ran the before start checklist as the boys towed me out of the hangar and onto the ramp.

Taxiing to runway 01, I listened to the weather and received my clearance Visibility had improved but the ceilings were low. Just another wintery spring day in New South Montucky. I poured the coals to the mighty Continentals, and began ‘snowplowing’ down the runway. Giggling with delight, because I was the first one to make tracks in the new snow, I pulled gently on the control wheel in an effort to take the mighty SUV into the air. It was then that things got pretty western, and I was about to have me a rodeo…

There was this awful buffet in the airframe as the wheels left the ground - almost like I was in a stall, but much worse. The SUV was having a hard time deciding if it wanted to fly or not. I was bound and determined to make it fly and it fought me all the way.

So there I was, 2 feet in the air, 110 KIAS, in what seemed like a deep stall, quickly running out of runway, time and options all at the same time. Not really a good situation to be in for any pilot, including myself.

I had to decide between the lesser of two evils. Sure I could chop the power and settle onto the slick, snow covered pavement and hope like hell that I would get stopped before I went off the end of the runway, through the approach lights, over the ditch and onto the highway. But, I really didn’t want to bend an airplane today. The other option was to wrestle the old hag for every knot of speed and every inch of altitude until I hit the trees ½ mile off the end of the runway in a ball of fire and twisted metal. Sucking up the gear and trying to push the throttle through the radio stack, I committed myself to option two.

In situations like this, there really is no time to be scared. You are so focused on trying to save your own ass that you put everything aside. It is not until later that you analyze what happened. It is then and only then you realize the gravity of the situation and get that ‘legs turned to jelly’ feeling.

About the time I was trying to decide if it was better to hit trees, farmer Watson’s barn, or take my chances with powerlines, something weird happened. It felt like the good Lord himself hit the SUV with a sledge hammer. With a loud thump the vibration stopped, and the SUV rocketed skyward like a homesick angel. It was only then did I realize what had happened.

With my attention being diverted by Mick, I didn’t remove the snow off the tail of the SUV. When I tried to become airborne, the tail stalled. The usually smooth aerodynamic surface was contaminated with snow, resulting in my very poor takeoff performance. The divine sledge hammer that I felt must have been when the snow departed the aircraft and the wonderful forces of aerodynamics returned, sending me on my merry way.

Arriving home, I sat my bride down and explained to her how close I came to not coming home to her that night. I was a very sobering and humbling experience. She asked me several questions in an attempt to grasp how close my carelessness came to claiming her knight in shining armor. Not being an aviation type I’m not sure she really understood.

My carelessness, incapacity, and neglect almost turned into an accident report that listed Pilot Error as a causal factor.

In the beginning...

It was my first real flying job after being an instructor. Part 135 cargo, flying an SUV, single pilot, IFR, at night, in the mountains for Diamond Air. I found myself doing the things on a regular basis that I told my former students never to do.

I was hired in early August, the hottest time of the year in New South Montucky, where afternoon temps routinely reached the upper 90’s and lower 100’s well into September. Heavy cargo loads, coupled with high temps, high density altitude and an old tired airplane made for a steep learning curve for me.

As summer turned to fall, and fall to winter I quickly became comfortable with the route, the airplane and its quirks. I was really enjoying myself having finally settled into my groove. I was used to the airports and their intricacies. I had shot the approaches to the airports on the route and I had even created a low weather visual arrival, and an instrument departure from the Hot Springs airport that was adopted by the company.

My first real test of the winter flying came with the second winter storm of the year.

The weather began to deteriorate shortly after I landed in Hot Springs. It began to snow shortly after noon. By the time my departure came along at 1630, the visibility was down to a mile and almost 1 inch of snow had accumulated. I departed Hot Springs uneventfully and turned the SUV south toward Buffalo.

The ASOS weather report at Buffalo was calling the visibility at one mile due to heavy snow and the ceiling at 700ft. It was right at minimums….

Two weeks prior, during the first winter storm, I found myself in this exact position. I was cleared for the VOR approach. I crossed the VOR, followed the procedure turn out bound and intercepted the final approach course that took me through the pass. After the pass the approach dives into the mountainous bowl down to the MDA.

Even though the weather was reported at minimums, I saw the airport about 3 miles out and was able to land, load my freight and take off w/out incident (or a missed approach)

…but I had been here before. Piece of cake. I passed the VOR and descended to the MDA. As the DME clicked down to the missed approach point, I quickly realized that I was going to miss this approach! Omigosh! I’m going to miss this approach! My first actual, by God missed approach!! How could this happen? It’s not ‘supposed to happen this way! This was not how I planned this night to go! What am I going to do? Fly the plane! Oh yeah, fly the plane.

I suddenly realized that I wasn’t flying the plane. I was just kind of there in a daze marveling at the fact that I was missing this approach. Coming back to reality, I found myself .5nm passed the missed approach point. Not good considering I was surrounded by cumulogranite, and making no attempt to rectify the situation.

I added power, retracted the flaps and the gear and began my climbing left turn back to the VOR, praying to God that I would get out of this situation alive without hitting a mountain. That would suck.

Leveling the wings in the climb I started to catch up mentally with the aircraft. All the gauges looked good. Manifold pressures, oil pressure and temps were good…hmmm. What about ice? I tuned on the wing inspection light. Everything looked good, but what was that? (insert Windows ‘something bad just happened’ sound here)

I’M ON FIRE!! Peering through the louvers on the top of the nacelle, I can look directly into the engine compartment. I saw a fiery red hot, almost white glow. That’s not fire. What is that? Oh, crap!! That is my turbo charger!! I’ve never seen it before like this. Why is it like that? What the hell is going on? Oh shiite! Mixtures! They are still at a lean cruise setting! I jam the mixture forward as I again begin to pray that molten chunks of the turbine wheel are not flowing their way to my intake valves. That would be a day wrecker.

As I began to enter the hold, the bright light that once radiated out of the nacelles had turned to a dark, almost imperceptible red glow as the added fuel began to help cool the engine. I decided that I wasn’t in the mood to try the approach again and asked ATC to join the airway home, to Big Town. The freight could wait till tomorrow.

I spent the rest of the flight watching St, Elmo’s fire dance across the wind screen fretting, and wondering if I had just baked two good engines. If I had, it would be a very expensive mistake, to the tune of about 60 grand. I wondered if I would have job, if I did in fact bake them. They seemed to be running ok, but that didn’t mean much to me at the time.

Nesting out of the airplane, and trudging to the office I noticed the chief pilot was working late. I decided I had better self disclose and take my lumps now rather than later. I told him of the situation. He reassured me that what I saw was normal and that it was unlikely that I had done any damage to the engines or turbos. He would have the maintenance guys check it out, but doubted they would find anything wrong.

“Chock it up to experience and remember it for next time”, he said, and sent me on my way.

Kind of a crappy way to learn a lesson. However, in the end, the lesson was learned, no aircraft were bent, and no lives were lost. The only thing bent was my pride and the only thing that wasn’t lost was an opportunity to learn.

NASCAR Engine Changes

It started out simple enough. A small oil spot on the hangar floor a couple weeks before Christmas, complete with an oil streak running down the gear door. The plane had sat for the weekend and recently had an oil change, so it didn’t raise a big red flag. As an A&P I was comfortable tearing the cowl off the right engine and taking a look myself. I still had time before my departure to Squidtown.

As I inspected the massive, geared, Continental engine, I see nothing unusual. The oil cap is still on, the dipstick is in place and all other indications seem normal. I inspect the engine oil drain and find a small puddle of oil in the cowling directly below it.

It seems that the engine oil quick drain, although properly safety wired closed, is leaking. It must be a bad quick drain valve, or a seal or gasket internally that is in the beginning stages of failure. As I discussed the situation with the Director of Maintenance on the cell phone, it is determined that the leak in slow enough not to cause a complete loss of oil, and that the quick drain may have been inadvertently closed improperly. I cleaned up the oil in the bottom of the cowl and was pleasantly surprised to find that it is only about a tablespoon of oil in the cowl.

We decided that the quick drain needed to be changed. I chatted with the mechanic that did the original oil change, and replaced the drain. I was determined that the drain had in fact failed.

The week before Christmas is one of the busiest times of year for Royal Air. All of our aircraft are in service and flying routes all over New South Montucky. It is not the best time for an aircraft to be out of service for major maintenance work.

The oil leak had not gone away. The puddles have gotten bigger and more frequent, the streak on the gear door had gotten larger, and wiping it away only was a waste of time. Oil was leaking from the engine. That was fact. Where it was coming from was still a mystery.

The cowl was stripped off again and hosed down with solvent to clean away the oil. It was thought that the prop seal was leaking. Prop removed, inspected, reinstalled. Ops check ok. Engine through bolts, not torqued to spec or broken? Nope, ops check ok.

In an effort to trouble shoot even farther, we decided that we would run up the engine at full take off power, sans cowl and have spotters check for leaks. I’m glad I wasn’t one of those spotters. They had to stand outside in the bitter cold, enduring severe wind chill generated by the prop wash, standing next to a howling engine, while working in close proximity to a very large propeller spinning at a blistering 2300 rpm that cold easily cut a man in two.

A normal run-up produced no results. The next course of action was to run the engine as if it were producing take-off power and then reduce it to a climb power setting and then to a cruise power setting. This would simulate all the normal flight regimes on the ground hoping to produce the signs of the mysterious oil leak.

As the engines roared to full power, the SDSUV began to shudder and strain against the brakes, gently jostling me in my seat. I reduced the power to the climb power setting, and I noticed the mechanic on the outboard side of the engine take a keen interest in something. He gave me a signal that he had found something.

I taxied back to the maintenance hanger. The news wasn’t good. It was bad. Really bad.

The engine case was cracked! At high power settings oil flowed out of the case and into the cowl creating the oily mess we had been trying to track down for a good part of a week.

A decision was made. The lead mechanic and the Director of Maintenance would start Friday morning and would do a complete teardown and rebuild of the engine hoping to have it running for revenue service on Monday afternoon. It was a daunting task, but doable.

Over the course of the weekend I kept in touch with the pit crew on the progress of the NASCAR style engine change/rebuild. I even tried to help the moral by having pizza delivered to the hangar on Saturday afternoon.

On Monday I arrived at the airport to the beautifully distinctive sound of the geared Continentals echoing off the hangars near the run-up area. The Royal Air Garmin Cessna Big Box Hauler pit crew had pulled it off. It was back to the final legs of the Christmas Peak 500.

Airline pilots

I know that this has been seen a hundred times by many of you. However, this still cracks me up every time I see it. One of the best comedy routines I've ever seen. They don't come much better than this.