Monday night I finally completed the night cross-country flight that is required of a private pilot. I believe that was the last of my requirements, and I am now technically prepared to take the test.
I got to the airport just after 6pm and Chris and I started going over Oral Exam questions. The test is two parts: the actual check-ride and an oral exam, where Royal (the examiner) can ask me basically anything at all related to flying. Luckily, for this oral exam I don't need to know everything, but I do need to know the basics, and how to look up information I don't know.
Chris started asking me questions that I hadn't had time to get to yet, and I didn't know the answers and instead attempted to bullshit my way through it. Bad choice. When I don't know something on this test, admit it. Chris warned me that Royal will catch me and call me out on it; better to admit it and look it up, he'd have more respect of my decision making that way. Unfortunately still, these were some of the most basic questions, the kind I shouldn't be looking up. Clearly I still needed to do a LOT of studying.
Once it started getting dark, Chris and I went out to the plane for take-off. I did most of the pre-flight talks that I'm going to have to complete during my check-ride (such as telling my passengers what to do in case of any problems and using the proper checklist), then we taxied down to the runway for take-off. I'd prepared a flight plan to Orange County Airport (MGJ), an untowered airport with two runways in NY State, west of the Hudson and just west of Stewart Airport, which was in class D airspace.
We took off runway 36 with almost no winds and head left. I made the mistake of not starting my turn until 1600', when a turn should be started "within 300' of traffic pattern altitude." Another mental note for me.
Using my sectional and my flight plan I navigated us over the first checkpoint before quickly learning my lesson: navigation during night flight is much harder. (The "digital VOR" that I often mention, technically called a LORAN, was turned off. Chris knew it would make the flight too easy.) The checkpoints I'd picked out would have been great for day flight, but at night things like small airports and lakes were almost impossible to locate. As I maintained my heading and altitude (4500') I tried to figure out how far along my course I was. I kept staring at my sectional, then trying to find the landmarks outside. This was a mistake, and one Chris let me make to teach me a lesson. Once I thought I'd figured out where we were, he told me I was wrong. What I should be doing is picking things from OUTSIDE, then finding them on the sectional, not the other way around. I'd read that before, but in flight forgotten to practice it. If you do it the wrong way, you'll convince yourself you're somewhere you're not, and that could cause troubles.
Without warning, Chris asked me where I would land in an emergency: I had no clue. This wasn't a surprise to me, as I'd thought about it before and didn't know where to land in an emergency at night. Chris pointed to the highway I'd just found below us and said, "that's a lighted runway in an emergency; there nothing better at night except an airport." He followed up by asking me if I should land with - or against - traffic. With, of course. Then as cars see a plane about to land in front of (or behind them) they can get out of the way, whereas a head-on situation would give them much less time to react.
Eventually I figured out that the city in front of us was one of my checkpoints, and Stewart Airport was right past it (and the Hudson), exactly as I'd expected. Chris pointed out the bridge crossing the Hudson and made a final note about emergency landings: "never, ever land on a bridge. I'd pick the water before the bridge. Bridges have ropes and beams that hold them up, and you're very likely to hit them coming in for a landing there. Avoid it." Good advice; I'd made a mental note to avoid all bridges since my encounter with one at Goodspeed.
I flew over Stewart, making sure to stay clear of their airspace, before I found Orange County. I'd told Chris my options: contact Stewart to enter their airspace as I descend to Orange County, or overfly Orange County before descending in the free airspace to the west of it. Chris had me chose, so I went with the latter.
Being uncontrolled, Orange County doesn't have a tower to talk to, but a UNICOM. A UNICOM is a "UNIversal COMmunication" radio: everyone around that airport should just announce where they are and what they're doing, and anyone in the area can talk with each other. It's a simple idea, and it works pretty well, but I don't have a lot of experience with it. When a helicopter was flying over the airport, Chris took over the radios and controls. Apparently I had just reported that I was entering right down-wind for runway 21 (when I had MEANT to say that I INTENDED to enter right down-wind for that runway). He informed me of my mistake and said "you have to descend pretty quick if you just told them you're entering right down-wind right now," as he banked the plane about 60-70 degrees in a tight turn to descend fast. I asked "couldn't I just correct myself?" Chris said I could, but we were already there by then.
Coming in for landing was fine, though I did it very high intentionally. Chris had warned me that we were going to be flying right over a mountain that I'd never see at night, so I wanted to make sure I was clear of it.
As we came in to land, Chris made one last radio call and the runway lights went out. Instantly I realized what happened: on untowered airports, at night, the runway lights were pilot-controlled on the UNICOM frequency. When you press down to make a radio call on that frequency, it adjusts the lights. There are four settings: off, low, medium and high. I quickly asked Chris "how many times do I need to press [the radio button] to turn them back on? 5?" Chris gave me his usual sink-or-swim answer: "you tell me." I tried 5: "I think 5 is medium, 3 is low and 7 is high."
Click-click-click-click-click.
...
Then they came on, to medium. I was right, but it took a few seconds for them to turn on. I made a mental note; not for my check-ride, but for the next time I'm flying at night: don't panic if it takes them a few seconds. Once that was sorted out, I came in to land.
After I touched-down and made my radio calls I started to taxi to what I thought was taxiway A, but was actually grass. Though I wouldn't have made it there before catching my mistake, Chris took the controls anyway and teased me about it. Once we got onto the taxi-way we turned around almost immediately and Chris made the radio call that we were going to take-off the same way we came in to land (runway 3; the opposite end of runway 21). Normally you wouldn't do this because of wind, but with no wind, there was no reason not to.
My take-off was more "by the numbers" (per Chris's instruction) this time. Pulled back at 50 knots and once I took-off I got some speed before climbing at 70 knots. Chris then pointed out the mountain that I never saw: to the left was a huge ridge that extended 600' above the runway to 1000' MSL. A lone red light marked the top of it, but was so small I never noticed it during the landing.
Chris instructed me to climb west of Orange County before I headed back east, so that I wouldn't break Stewart Airspace. He then asked me what altitude their airspace went to, what height I should go to and why. "They go to 3000', I'm going to 3500' because (1) a VFR flight heading east needs to be at odd-thousand plus 500 feet and (2) if a gust of wind or poor judgement knocks me down 50' I don't want to break their airspace." My reasons were fine, but Chris added one more: we hadn't adjusted the altimeter for Orange County, so the air pressure was still set for Oxford. While it wasn't going to make a HUGE difference, it was something to remember, and certainly a good point.
We were still climbing to 5500' as we flew above Stewart, that way we could see more landmarks and have more time if an emergency occurred. Then I told Chris that I'd forgotten to make a flight plan back, but I could use my original one in reverse... to some extent. He told me I should have made it, but wasn't too harsh, since I'd simply not had enough time to make another one. Because checkpoints over this area wasn't too good, Chris reminded me that keeping my heading was my best friend. I had flown to Orange County with a heading of 273, so my heading back should be "140, which is what I'm on now."
"What? Your heading should be 140?"
"Yeah... or wait... 120? No, yeah, 140." I was obviously confused.
"What direction did we fly there with?"
"273"
"I mean: we went [almost due] west. So coming back we should go..."
"East! Wait... east is 090... oops!"
I had tried doing some overly complex math in my head instead of doing the simple thing. It wasn't intentional, nor an attempt to impress anyone, just a mistake. I explained it to Chris and apologized that I wasn't thinking. He actually said, "you were thinking, and that's a good thing." True, but I pointed out that thinking the wrong thing was still a mistake. From now on I'll double-check using a different system.
As we got closer to Oxford I spotted Hartford, then the two high towers by Robertson. I knew Oxford had to be coming up on my right at some point. Then Chris took control.
Oxford was just off our right. In fact, it looked like we were just 4 miles out, though Chris pointed out that this was a visual trick of the night. He called the tower and we got clearance to land. I noticed Waterbury, then the tower at the airport, before Chris gave me back the controls. I had gotten lost - which is normal for a first night flight. After I get me license, I want Chris to instruct me so I can get better at it, and eventually be able to do it comfortably solo.
As I came in to land, Chris turned off the landing light, which helps illuminate the runway under the nose wheel. Not comfortable with it, and not sure he intended for me to leave it off, I turned it back on and said "nope, it's on." He didn't hear me, because once we'd landed I repeated it. Apparently he didn't realize I had turned it back on and called me a bum. I told him that during my night training he could make me do touch-and-gos with the landing light off, if he wanted. That's going to be an interesting night when it comes.
After shut-down, Chris told me to just hit the books. There's only three ways I would fail, he said: stare at the instruments, making up excuses, not knowing the basics. The first two are things I'm just going to have to hold myself to; the third I needed to fix.
I've spent almost all my "free" time studying since that flight, and I'll be meeting with Chris again tonight, then tomorrow morning before the 9am check-ride.
I don't know if I'll have time to post before then, but if not: wish me luck! This could be a great birthday :)
Showing posts with label night. Show all posts
Showing posts with label night. Show all posts
Wednesday, September 10, 2008
Thursday, August 21, 2008
Cross Country Solo - Finally!
After getting back from my week-long vacation on Saturday, Chris's schedule and the weather haven't played along. Finally last night things came together, and I made my solo cross-country flight to Groton.
I got to the airport just minutes after 6 and was all signed-off and behind the yoke by 6:30. During the preflight I noticed some water got in with the fuel, but I managed to drain it all out and have Chris confirm I was clear to fly. I was. My instructions were simple: fly to Groton, then fly back. If I felt uncomfortable with the landing, do a missed-landing (which is generally the same as a go-around, though a go-around implies you'll try landing again). I could do some touch-and-gos there, just land and taxi back for another take-off -- whatever I wanted. Chris said he wouldn't be there when I got back, but to call him and let him know I got back safe. Walking away he wished me good luck, and issued a final - less than reassuring - command: "don't die."
The taxi, run-up and take-off all went fine. I kept my flight plan to Groton, my sectional, and my baseball cap (to block the sun from my eyes) on the empty seat next to me, along with the return trip flight plan tucked away. I'm a very visual person, and I've been visualizing this flight ever since Chris and I first made it together, so while I did locate every checkpoint on my flight plan, I forgot the first one (Waterbury) until it was behind my left shoulder. I knew where I was going, and could probably make the flight without checkpoints, but to keep the practice up I used them. Past Waterbury though I was getting nervous when I hadn't seen Meriden Aiport (MMK) yet. I had been drifting a little further south than I wanted since the heading indicator kept sticking, but the airport should still be in sight. Finally I came upon it -- I was expecting it to be closer to the ridge I flew over already, but it was further east than I remembered. I confirmed my mistake on the sectional and now I probably won't make that one again.
On the way there the sky was clear, the winds were calm and I had little-to-no work that I really needed to do. I was flying GREAT! Looking out the window - scanning for traffic - check the ground for emergency landings and reference points - glance at the instruments to make sure everything was OK - back to looking outside, repeat. After a little while I started noticing some faint sounds in my headset -- it certainly wasn't air traffic. I listened closer and realized it was definitely a radio station, as in AM or FM radio. I couldn't tell exactly what was being said or played, but once I realized my radios seemed to still work, I was just amused by it. Strangely, it stayed in my headset even when I changed to other frequencies. I just shrugged it off -- at first.
As I got Groton in sight I had been checking their ATIS to make sure I knew what to expect when I got there. They were using runway 23, which was the same one Chris and I used when we made the flight together. I had mixed feelings about that: I'm familiar with that approach and landing which is a plus, but coming from Oxford I'm set up perfectly for a straight-in landing on runway 15. Well, I certainly wasn't going to ask the tower for special permission, so runway 23 it was.
During my flight to Groton I had used the "digital VOR" that I've mentioned in a few previous posts to get my heading and distance to Groton, so I knew when to call and inform them I was close to entering their airspace. I realized after I could have used the checkpoints on the ground instead, since I had measured those distances previously, but I liked having multiple systems to double-check. As I got closer and closer to Groton I wanted to call the tower and run-off all the information I wanted to give them: "Groton Tower, Cesnna 48984 12 to the West-Northwest, solo student requesting landing, taxi-back, with Delta." I made the call, but I knew I was a little more than 12 miles out, despite my report. This was when things got interesting.
Although Groton Tower heard my request, they called me back informing me that my radios were fuzzy and asked if I had another I could use. Not sure what to do, I simply called back, speaking louder and more clearly, asking "984, is this better?"
"984, not really, you're still pretty scratchy, but I can make you out. Report 3 mile right base."
"984, will report 3 mile right base, thank you."
As I was getting closer and lower to the airport, suddenly my radios freaked out. It sounded like the channels on a TV that are only static, with no one talking. As I was getting close to my 3 mile mark I considered calling the tower and asking if they heard it to -- or if they could hear me at all. I worried that my radios had died completely and that I was going to either be making a landing by coded lights (something I'd studied a bit, but wasn't a master at, and certainly wasn't prepared for) and wondered if I should turn my transponder to 7600, the code for "no radios". First, I thought, let me try my call to tower.
"984, entering 3 mile left-- err, sorry, right base."
Luckily, the static died when I called. Then:
"984, clear to land runway 23," they called me back
"984, clear to land," I confirmed.
On the way down I noticed they gave someone else clearance to take off on runway 23 ahead of my landing. I was a little surprised, but I slowed down a little more to make sure he had space. My landing was smooth and I was cleared to taxi back for my take-off. The traffic had really died down and I was the only one currently using the runway, so I was cleared to take off as soon as I'd requested it.
I requested a turn Northwest and was cleared. While climbing I noticed another plane above me to my right -- exactly where I wanted to go. He radioed the tower and was entering a right downwind. A few seconds later tower called me:
"984, I'll call your turn"
"984, could you repeat that?"
[A moment passes in silence.]
"Groton Tower, 984, could you repeat the last instruction?"
"984, I'll call you when you can make your turn out."
"984, waiting for your call, traffic in sight."
"984, you're clear to turn after that traffic."
I love radios. I don't understand why people are so afraid of them; yeah, you might mess-up on it and sound like an idiot, but they really are wonderful tools. And not being too afraid to ask for that command to be repeated could have saved me big trouble had I not seen the incoming traffic.
The rest of my climb to 4500' was smooth, and once I was out of the Groton airspace I called tower requesting a frequency change, and thanked him for his help. Now I was just flying back towards Oxford -- straight into the sunset.
Hmm... straight into the sunset. It was beautiful, certainly, but I couldn't see squat. I took some pictures with my phone (which came out funny due to the prop) which I'll get uploaded at some point. UPDATE: Here are the photos, finally!
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I tried looking for traffic, but it was hindered by the glare. Also, as the sun was going down things were getting darker. That started making me concerned, but I reassured myself that I was very familiar with this flight, and that I had the tools and knowledge to get back, even if it was dead night. The fact that the cold air vent was open and blowing on me just made things less comfortable.
Once I was on my way, and realized I couldn't make the plane go a whole lot faster (in an attempt to beat the sunset), I decided to find my checkpoints and fix the things that were annoying me. First, I put on my baseball cap on under my headset to block the sun better. Second, I grabbed the air vent's plug from the back of the plane and shoved it in. Third, I reattached the visor which had fallen off while I was climbing. Finally, I took off my sunglasses once the sun was behind the mountains, which helped clear things up a bit.
As I got closer to Oxford I heard the faint radio music playing. I'm sure it wasn't "A Whole New World" from Alladin, but for some reason I got that song in my head. Appropriate for flying, I guess.
I'd had some troubles with the "digital VOR" earlier -- it was giving me two different headings and distances to Oxford -- but now it seemed consistent: I was 12 miles out with a perfect heading. Wait, 12 miles already? Oops! Time to get ATIS! Got it and called Oxford Tower. I was told to report a 3 mile right base (that sounded familiar), but as I got closer I heard the tower talking with another plane who was going for a straight in to the runway. As tower called me to inform me of the plane ("it probably shouldn't be a factor for you, but I'll call it anyway") I got it in sight and informed the tower. They called back "984, clear to land #2 following that traffic."
I'd turned on all my lights so it would be easier for the tower to see me, as well as any other traffic. The runway was all lit up, though it wasn't technically a night landing yet. I set up perfectly, and finally figured out giving that little push of left rudder as-needed during my landing at Groton (though at Groton I felt like I swerved on the landing a tiny bit; practice will help). As I attempted my flair, however, the plane refused to level out. I just "sat" on the runway. It bounced slightly, though it wasn't a rough landing. Strange. I'm still not sure why it happened, but I was done for the night, so I didn't worry about it.
As I was cleared to taxi back to parking I considered asking the tower if he had any problems with my radios, but decided not to bother him with it. I'd let Chris know when I called him after I tied the plane down.
I parked and performed the tie down and logbook entries, then, as I was walking away from the plane, I got a phone call from Chris. I didn't get back until 8 o'clock, so it was an unusually long flight, though Chris's major concern was because they had actually shut down Oxford's runway for 15 minutes due to a plane that landed with its brakes on. Oops! Strangely, it was actually the Extra (a VERY fancy stunt plane) that did the run-up behind me prior to my departure from Oxford. Anyway, he was glad I was back and safe. I told him about the radios and how I picked up some AM or FM station. Apparently there were two things at play: 1. the actual VOR was left on, which caused interference, and 2. the radio's connections needed to be cleaned. Chris is supposed to have that taken care of today so I can perform my long-cross-country (150 miles minimum) tonight.
Tonight's flight: OXC-GON-EWB-OXC, all solo. And I've never been to EWB before, so I better get studied up! Assuming things go as planned tonight, I'll be making another post soon.
I got to the airport just minutes after 6 and was all signed-off and behind the yoke by 6:30. During the preflight I noticed some water got in with the fuel, but I managed to drain it all out and have Chris confirm I was clear to fly. I was. My instructions were simple: fly to Groton, then fly back. If I felt uncomfortable with the landing, do a missed-landing (which is generally the same as a go-around, though a go-around implies you'll try landing again). I could do some touch-and-gos there, just land and taxi back for another take-off -- whatever I wanted. Chris said he wouldn't be there when I got back, but to call him and let him know I got back safe. Walking away he wished me good luck, and issued a final - less than reassuring - command: "don't die."
The taxi, run-up and take-off all went fine. I kept my flight plan to Groton, my sectional, and my baseball cap (to block the sun from my eyes) on the empty seat next to me, along with the return trip flight plan tucked away. I'm a very visual person, and I've been visualizing this flight ever since Chris and I first made it together, so while I did locate every checkpoint on my flight plan, I forgot the first one (Waterbury) until it was behind my left shoulder. I knew where I was going, and could probably make the flight without checkpoints, but to keep the practice up I used them. Past Waterbury though I was getting nervous when I hadn't seen Meriden Aiport (MMK) yet. I had been drifting a little further south than I wanted since the heading indicator kept sticking, but the airport should still be in sight. Finally I came upon it -- I was expecting it to be closer to the ridge I flew over already, but it was further east than I remembered. I confirmed my mistake on the sectional and now I probably won't make that one again.
On the way there the sky was clear, the winds were calm and I had little-to-no work that I really needed to do. I was flying GREAT! Looking out the window - scanning for traffic - check the ground for emergency landings and reference points - glance at the instruments to make sure everything was OK - back to looking outside, repeat. After a little while I started noticing some faint sounds in my headset -- it certainly wasn't air traffic. I listened closer and realized it was definitely a radio station, as in AM or FM radio. I couldn't tell exactly what was being said or played, but once I realized my radios seemed to still work, I was just amused by it. Strangely, it stayed in my headset even when I changed to other frequencies. I just shrugged it off -- at first.
As I got Groton in sight I had been checking their ATIS to make sure I knew what to expect when I got there. They were using runway 23, which was the same one Chris and I used when we made the flight together. I had mixed feelings about that: I'm familiar with that approach and landing which is a plus, but coming from Oxford I'm set up perfectly for a straight-in landing on runway 15. Well, I certainly wasn't going to ask the tower for special permission, so runway 23 it was.
During my flight to Groton I had used the "digital VOR" that I've mentioned in a few previous posts to get my heading and distance to Groton, so I knew when to call and inform them I was close to entering their airspace. I realized after I could have used the checkpoints on the ground instead, since I had measured those distances previously, but I liked having multiple systems to double-check. As I got closer and closer to Groton I wanted to call the tower and run-off all the information I wanted to give them: "Groton Tower, Cesnna 48984 12 to the West-Northwest, solo student requesting landing, taxi-back, with Delta." I made the call, but I knew I was a little more than 12 miles out, despite my report. This was when things got interesting.
Although Groton Tower heard my request, they called me back informing me that my radios were fuzzy and asked if I had another I could use. Not sure what to do, I simply called back, speaking louder and more clearly, asking "984, is this better?"
"984, not really, you're still pretty scratchy, but I can make you out. Report 3 mile right base."
"984, will report 3 mile right base, thank you."
As I was getting closer and lower to the airport, suddenly my radios freaked out. It sounded like the channels on a TV that are only static, with no one talking. As I was getting close to my 3 mile mark I considered calling the tower and asking if they heard it to -- or if they could hear me at all. I worried that my radios had died completely and that I was going to either be making a landing by coded lights (something I'd studied a bit, but wasn't a master at, and certainly wasn't prepared for) and wondered if I should turn my transponder to 7600, the code for "no radios". First, I thought, let me try my call to tower.
"984, entering 3 mile left-- err, sorry, right base."
Luckily, the static died when I called. Then:
"984, clear to land runway 23," they called me back
"984, clear to land," I confirmed.
On the way down I noticed they gave someone else clearance to take off on runway 23 ahead of my landing. I was a little surprised, but I slowed down a little more to make sure he had space. My landing was smooth and I was cleared to taxi back for my take-off. The traffic had really died down and I was the only one currently using the runway, so I was cleared to take off as soon as I'd requested it.
I requested a turn Northwest and was cleared. While climbing I noticed another plane above me to my right -- exactly where I wanted to go. He radioed the tower and was entering a right downwind. A few seconds later tower called me:
"984, I'll call your turn"
"984, could you repeat that?"
[A moment passes in silence.]
"Groton Tower, 984, could you repeat the last instruction?"
"984, I'll call you when you can make your turn out."
"984, waiting for your call, traffic in sight."
"984, you're clear to turn after that traffic."
I love radios. I don't understand why people are so afraid of them; yeah, you might mess-up on it and sound like an idiot, but they really are wonderful tools. And not being too afraid to ask for that command to be repeated could have saved me big trouble had I not seen the incoming traffic.
The rest of my climb to 4500' was smooth, and once I was out of the Groton airspace I called tower requesting a frequency change, and thanked him for his help. Now I was just flying back towards Oxford -- straight into the sunset.
Hmm... straight into the sunset. It was beautiful, certainly, but I couldn't see squat. I took some pictures with my phone (which came out funny due to the prop) which I'll get uploaded at some point. UPDATE: Here are the photos, finally!
I tried looking for traffic, but it was hindered by the glare. Also, as the sun was going down things were getting darker. That started making me concerned, but I reassured myself that I was very familiar with this flight, and that I had the tools and knowledge to get back, even if it was dead night. The fact that the cold air vent was open and blowing on me just made things less comfortable.
Once I was on my way, and realized I couldn't make the plane go a whole lot faster (in an attempt to beat the sunset), I decided to find my checkpoints and fix the things that were annoying me. First, I put on my baseball cap on under my headset to block the sun better. Second, I grabbed the air vent's plug from the back of the plane and shoved it in. Third, I reattached the visor which had fallen off while I was climbing. Finally, I took off my sunglasses once the sun was behind the mountains, which helped clear things up a bit.
As I got closer to Oxford I heard the faint radio music playing. I'm sure it wasn't "A Whole New World" from Alladin, but for some reason I got that song in my head. Appropriate for flying, I guess.
I'd had some troubles with the "digital VOR" earlier -- it was giving me two different headings and distances to Oxford -- but now it seemed consistent: I was 12 miles out with a perfect heading. Wait, 12 miles already? Oops! Time to get ATIS! Got it and called Oxford Tower. I was told to report a 3 mile right base (that sounded familiar), but as I got closer I heard the tower talking with another plane who was going for a straight in to the runway. As tower called me to inform me of the plane ("it probably shouldn't be a factor for you, but I'll call it anyway") I got it in sight and informed the tower. They called back "984, clear to land #2 following that traffic."
I'd turned on all my lights so it would be easier for the tower to see me, as well as any other traffic. The runway was all lit up, though it wasn't technically a night landing yet. I set up perfectly, and finally figured out giving that little push of left rudder as-needed during my landing at Groton (though at Groton I felt like I swerved on the landing a tiny bit; practice will help). As I attempted my flair, however, the plane refused to level out. I just "sat" on the runway. It bounced slightly, though it wasn't a rough landing. Strange. I'm still not sure why it happened, but I was done for the night, so I didn't worry about it.
As I was cleared to taxi back to parking I considered asking the tower if he had any problems with my radios, but decided not to bother him with it. I'd let Chris know when I called him after I tied the plane down.
I parked and performed the tie down and logbook entries, then, as I was walking away from the plane, I got a phone call from Chris. I didn't get back until 8 o'clock, so it was an unusually long flight, though Chris's major concern was because they had actually shut down Oxford's runway for 15 minutes due to a plane that landed with its brakes on. Oops! Strangely, it was actually the Extra (a VERY fancy stunt plane) that did the run-up behind me prior to my departure from Oxford. Anyway, he was glad I was back and safe. I told him about the radios and how I picked up some AM or FM station. Apparently there were two things at play: 1. the actual VOR was left on, which caused interference, and 2. the radio's connections needed to be cleaned. Chris is supposed to have that taken care of today so I can perform my long-cross-country (150 miles minimum) tonight.
Tonight's flight: OXC-GON-EWB-OXC, all solo. And I've never been to EWB before, so I better get studied up! Assuming things go as planned tonight, I'll be making another post soon.
Thursday, May 8, 2008
My First Night Flight
The lesson I had planned for yesterday happened, which was good, because the next few days are calling for bad weather (in fact, I just spoke to my instructor -- we're not going today, and tomorrow's not looking good either).
Last night's lesson started later than planned. One of Chris's other students was flying the plane around a little when I got there, so we didn't really start until nearly 7pm. Even then, we started with ground school. He was teaching me navigation, which I understand the theory of already, but the actual practice of calculating your routes using pilot tools is a bit more technical than I'd expected. I think I picked up on it quickly, and I'm eager to practice filing out some flight plans myself, but I forgot to get the template (there's a standard flight plan chart Chris has) before I left. Maybe I'll scan one in for a future post -- navigation is going to be heavily involved for awhile.
Anyway, by the time we were done with navigation it was getting dark. Chris hadn't planned on it taking that long, but I got into it and had a lot of questions. We went outside and Chris called to get the plane fueled up (at Oxford, the fuel is delivered by truck, though at many other airports fueling up is like it is with a car where you taxi up to pumps). That took awhile too.
We finally got in the plane by around 8:30 and taxied out to the runway. Everything was fine in the run-up, so we called for clearance to take-off. Even though not a single plane had taken off or landed since we stepped outside, 6 in a row suddenly came in to land. After the 5th one, ATC let us slip in. The ride was surprisingly bumpy, thanks to the incoming storm the brought rain all last night. The worst part though was landing.
Landing at night SUCKS. Taking off is fine; flying around is fine -- it's just like at daytime (though navigating without being able to see as well will become a future challenge, I can tell). Landing at night, however, makes it tough to tell how far off the runway you are when you start your flair. If you level-off too early, you're flairing high and the plane will fall -- from whatever height you're at -- onto the runway when you lose your speed. It's like jumping off a ledge thinking it's 2' when it's really more like 7' and landing with a forceful THUD! If you don't level-off early enough though, you land smack-down on the runway with the nose wheel (or, best case: on all three). Even going 45nmph on an angle into the ground is still quite unpleasant.
In fact, had I started this blog a while back, these would probably be exactly the descriptions I would have used for daytime landings. The difference is: I'm half-decent at those now ("half-decent" not "really good" -- you never want to get too cocky when flying or you'll make bad choices). Landing at night is like learning to land all over again. I'll just have to practice, but I want to get good... or at least half-decent.
Tonight: back to studying for my written exam, maybe another practice test and trying to see if I can find the flight plan template online so I can try some of those. I'm looking forward to getting up again: we're flying to Simsbury Airport which is supposed to be frighteningly short!
Hopefully the weather clears up soon...
Last night's lesson started later than planned. One of Chris's other students was flying the plane around a little when I got there, so we didn't really start until nearly 7pm. Even then, we started with ground school. He was teaching me navigation, which I understand the theory of already, but the actual practice of calculating your routes using pilot tools is a bit more technical than I'd expected. I think I picked up on it quickly, and I'm eager to practice filing out some flight plans myself, but I forgot to get the template (there's a standard flight plan chart Chris has) before I left. Maybe I'll scan one in for a future post -- navigation is going to be heavily involved for awhile.
Anyway, by the time we were done with navigation it was getting dark. Chris hadn't planned on it taking that long, but I got into it and had a lot of questions. We went outside and Chris called to get the plane fueled up (at Oxford, the fuel is delivered by truck, though at many other airports fueling up is like it is with a car where you taxi up to pumps). That took awhile too.
We finally got in the plane by around 8:30 and taxied out to the runway. Everything was fine in the run-up, so we called for clearance to take-off. Even though not a single plane had taken off or landed since we stepped outside, 6 in a row suddenly came in to land. After the 5th one, ATC let us slip in. The ride was surprisingly bumpy, thanks to the incoming storm the brought rain all last night. The worst part though was landing.
Landing at night SUCKS. Taking off is fine; flying around is fine -- it's just like at daytime (though navigating without being able to see as well will become a future challenge, I can tell). Landing at night, however, makes it tough to tell how far off the runway you are when you start your flair. If you level-off too early, you're flairing high and the plane will fall -- from whatever height you're at -- onto the runway when you lose your speed. It's like jumping off a ledge thinking it's 2' when it's really more like 7' and landing with a forceful THUD! If you don't level-off early enough though, you land smack-down on the runway with the nose wheel (or, best case: on all three). Even going 45nmph on an angle into the ground is still quite unpleasant.
In fact, had I started this blog a while back, these would probably be exactly the descriptions I would have used for daytime landings. The difference is: I'm half-decent at those now ("half-decent" not "really good" -- you never want to get too cocky when flying or you'll make bad choices). Landing at night is like learning to land all over again. I'll just have to practice, but I want to get good... or at least half-decent.
Tonight: back to studying for my written exam, maybe another practice test and trying to see if I can find the flight plan template online so I can try some of those. I'm looking forward to getting up again: we're flying to Simsbury Airport which is supposed to be frighteningly short!
Hopefully the weather clears up soon...
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