Vectors, Vectors, Vectors...

Departing Oakland (KOAK) IFR is usually pretty straightforward. There's a bunch of published DP's, and a useful set of airways converging on the on-field OAK VOR, and in reality you'll just get an initial vector or two then you're on your way on the published DP or as-filed route. I'm used to all this, and it's one of the advantages to being based at Oakland in Oakland's Class C airspace (under San Francisco's Class B).

So on my first IFR departure out of Hayward (KHWD, my other home base) today, I'm not sure what to expect. Hayward sits between the KOAK ILS RWY 29 approach and the KOAK ILS 27R approach, only about 5 nautical miles from either threshold. Both are busy and in continuous simultaneous use. And there's San Francisco traffic to contend with just a few miles further west. So you can't just depart -- your path is going to cross one or the other of those two ILS's or the KSFO east-bound departures, and your release is intimately dependent on the traffic into Oakland (which used to -- and probably will continue to -- include me at times). And Hayward has no published DP's. So I'm unclear on what my final clearance is going to look like, and I have the impression I'll be waiting for release next to Hayward's 28L for a long time....

In the end I file KHWD OAK V6 SAC KSAC with DUATS, and a few hours later sitting there on the ramp, Hayward clearance gives me "runway heading until 400', then left turn 160, then vectors to OAK, V6, SAC, direct". Not too hard, I think, and since it's basically VMC today (there's only a broken coastal layer at about 1500'), I'll engage the autopilot early on departure and just sit back and watch for traffic and have fun.

And that's basically what happens for the departure and the rest of the flight (after the obligatory ten minute wait for release), but I've underestimated the amount of juggling and vectoring NorCal Approach needs to cope with my departure. From memory, not only do I never get close to OAK VOR (not that I really expected that...), I receive something like nine or ten vectors and several altitude adjustments from the moment tower hands me off to NorCal to the time I get "direct PITTS" some fifteen or more minutes later. It's like a partial-IMC Bay Tour without the time to enjoy the view. Almost all of the vectors are for traffic into Oakland or San Francisco; at one point as I seem to be well on my way to San Jose VOR (SJC) climbing to 5,000' (i.e. on a heading nearly opposite my intended heading to Sacramento), I'm given yet another vector to avoid an incoming A320 that I can't see, and I start wondering what this is going be like in real IMC when NorCal's running the Southeast flow. Can't wait to find out -- especially on the approaches back in to Hayward that fly straight into the traffic departing Oakland only a few miles away.

Still, I enjoy the flight a lot, and I think I'm becoming fairly good at working with the two-axis KAP 140. With the exception of a last-minute screwup into Sacramento (below), and the initial few hundred feet of departure at each airport, I manage to fly the entire time to and from Sacramento IFR with the KAP 140 fully-coupled. I still have a few rough edges, but the thing's magic, no doubt about it -- as long as you treat it, as John says, like a student (i.e. with eternal vigilance). The only time I screw up significantly is, ironically, just before the ILS glideslope capture at Sacramento -- part of the whole point of the flight today. I manage to disengage the autopilot at just the wrong time (it's way too easy to try to talk to the autopilot when you're really trying to talk to tower -- those two buttons are far too close to each other on the yoke...), and at that point it's easier just to hand-fly the ILS rather than reset the bloody thing and see what happens. Especially since NorCal has handed me off to tower with a Falcon behind me ready for the ILS. No problem -- I'll leave automatic glideslope coupling for another flight.

* * *

In the Cal Air office as I'm filling out the paperwork before the flight I hear a strong Scots accent, and can't help introducing myself. Mark P. is over for a while from Scotland, visiting some friends, and thinking of doing his commercial here. In the meantime he's just flying around in Cal Air's 172s -- Reno today, Vegas a few days ago, etc. We start talking about GA in Scotland -- basically, there isn't much -- and I make a joke about the three days of each year it's safe to fly VFR at his home base somewhere in Fife (an area I vaguely remember from my early childhood in visits from not-so-nearby Tighnabruaich on the other coast of Scotland). GA's hideously expensive there -- a 172 might rent for UKL 120 (about $200) per hour dry, with much higher fuel costs, and it's incredibly restricted -- not to mention ruled by capricous and mostly bad weather (I once saw a dog get blown over while walking in the nearby Grampians as a kid; the locals I was with just muttered something about the breeze and kept on walking). A different world, for sure.

I'm Such A Wimp (The Perils Of Renting)

I book 8TA for 10am - 2pm this morning for some IFR practice and to get more familiar with the KAP 140 two axis AP vertical guidance (specifically, coupling to a glideslope). I file KHWD OAK V6 SAC KSAC, a route that's new to me only because of the Hayward rather than Oakland departure; the route back (V344 to SUNOL then the LOC/DME back into Hayward) is something I have flown before already. What could go wrong?

The weather this morning turns out to be low overcast, 600' ceilings, 1600' reported tops, visibility 10NM, the usual thin coastal stratus; icing levels well above 10,000'. Cool! I think, I'll get some actual in this as well. I wander down to Cal Airways and get the keys and paperwork for 8TA from Linda, then slouch out through the grey to the ramp. I open up 8TA -- and there's this bloody great hole in the panel where the KLN 94 GPS ought to be. The whole unit's just ... missing. Hmmm, I think, did someone steal the damn thing? No, too clean -- no forced entry or anything -- but then why didn't someone tell me, as now I have no DME as well as no GPS? I'm not a /G any more, but a lowly /U. And, as I quickly realise, without that damn unit I can't do the LOC/DME back (with its very reasonable 400' MDA), or the fairly decent GPS / VOR/DME approaches -- only the VOR or GPS A with a circling-only MDA of 800' (750' AGL). Which means under my own self-imposed rules I can't depart, because I can't actually return to Hayward legally if anything goes wrong. Yes, I could do the ILS back into Oakland as it's only a few miles away (and I'll always have that plate on my clipboard when I depart Hayward, IFR or not), and there's plenty of space under the layer to return visually without hitting anything, and if I can make it over the Berkeley / Oakland Hills it's hard VFR. But I just won't do that; I decide to wait maybe an hour or so to see if the ceiling lifts.

I'm also nowadays very reluctant to fly in IMC without GPS -- panel mount or just my old Garmin 195. But I've left the 195 at home this time because it should have been just a short flight to clear skies, and because, well, 8TA has a decent panel-mount GPS, no? Urgh. OK, the lack of GPS in this case is only a convenience thing given the thin coastal layer, and I actually start looking forward to just using the VORs again without the GPS. But there I am, sitting on the benches on the ramp outside Cal Air, talking to a couple of instructors waiting for students, watching a few IFR departures (all of whom disappear into the marine layer at about 800' or so by my estimation), thinking, "it'll lift a bit soon -- it always does...". Two hours later, just before noon, I give up and cancel the flight with ATIS reporting an unchanged ceiling. Thirty minutes later as I'm getting lunch in Oakland the sun starts streaming through a scattered layer, and within an hour planes are no doubt departing Hayward VFR.

As for the GPS in 8TA -- it appears to have been removed to fix a connector problem; no one's entirely sure why I wasn't told about it. To their credit, everyone who I talked to at Cal Airways thought I was doing the right thing by not departing when the ceilings were lower than the relevant approach minima (some people expressed this in even stronger terms...) and that someone should have been a bit more on the ball about the unit.

Frustrating, but just another lesson in reality, I guess.

Making The World Safe (Again)

Like John in Death By PowerPoint (sounds like an exciting movie, no?!), I need to renew my Oakland (KOAK) ramp pass / badge sometime October (unlike John, though, I don't need driving privileges, so I miss the fun of the driving class). So I drive to the airport this morning to sort it out.

In contrast to the initial badge applications -- which involve full background and employment checks, fingerprinting, a three hour security class (whose contents you're not supposed to divulge, but which had some really hokey videos and a lot of Powerpoint presentations when I did it six years ago), a huge amount of paperwork, etc. -- unlike all this, a renewal is relatively easy (they even do all the paperwork for you themselves). As long as your old badge is still current, you just wander up to the badge place, hand your old one in, get a new photo taken, and wait. And wait... and wait... and wait. It took 90 minutes to get my new badge. Ninety minutes of watching the TSA staff taking breaks in the little break area next to us, using the microwave to reheat coffee (urgh) or melt frozen burritos; ninety minutes of watching the TSA people do their thing downstairs in the security check line (why they let us stand there upstairs looking down at the process and machines is beyond me, but never mind). Ninety minutes of wondering just what it is that takes so long.

And ninety minutes of fitful conversations among the two dozen or so people also waiting around for badges. In line, the woman in front of me -- "E." -- turns around and asks me a few questions about the process. I say it's easy, last time it only took fifteen minutes, but she's still there when I leave (E. turns out to be a Berkeley grad student moonlighting with one of the catering firms, a crappy way to get through grad school if ever I've heard one). The baggage handler next to me standing around watching the security check line below keeps talking to someone I presume is his (United) supervisor on his cell phone, getting more and more frustrated by the minute. A bunch of construction workers stand around talking among themselves, periodically sending one their number off to get some snacks from downstairs.

Finally my name's called, and the woman behind the counter apologises profusely for taking so long (I have to say the badging staff were always friendly, helpful, and fairly obviously competent -- it's just the process that seems a little glacial). And I'm surprised that nowadays the fact that I'm a foreigner makes no difference at all to the process. I guess what really counts is that I'm a certified (certifiable?) Oaklander....

So now I have a shiny new badge again (with an awful smug smirk on the photo), and the world -- or at least Oakland International Airport -- is a safer place because of it, I'm sure. Hayward -- my other home airport now -- has no such badging at all. I just have to remember the various lock combos...

Artist 3

A nice VFR flight up the coast in perfect California VMC with Artist 3, a friend with a sculpture studio near my own studio in Oaktown, and with whom I'm collaborating on some arty-farty photo and web projects. We'd originally planned to fly to Crescent City (KCEC) together from Hayward (KHWD) in 8TA to pick up one of her glass castings from a foundry up there, but that flight -- which would probably have involved a fair bit of real IFR in IMC, with an ILS to near minimums in the persistent coastal stratus at Crescent City -- has to be postponed because the foundry isn't ready, so instead we potter up the Marin and Sonoma coasts past the Golden Gate, Bolinas, Point Reyes, and Jenner, then inland to Santa Rosa (KSTS) for a break. The weather's perfect, Artist 3 discovers that she enjoys flying, and we spend an or hour two gossipping about (amongst other things) Artists 1 and 2 (and Artist 4, who hates flying, and Artist 5, who I think I've offended, and who'll probably never fly with me). Yes, it's a small, inbred world I inhabit.

We stop again at Napa (KAPC) on the way back and discover that the apron's chock-a-block full of shiny business jets, expensive-looking piston twins, and a fleet of aerobatic Yaks. We never find out what the occasion was, but I've never seen the ramp at Napa that full before. We grab the last available transient parking spot after a mad dash across several lanes -- just like parking in The City, including successfully heading off a likely competitor in a Cherokee with some deft shortcuts -- and park between a couple of Bonanzas. Inside the terminal's airport shop we browse the kitschy flying toys and knicknacks, and debate whether to buy anything; in the end we just sit around in the cool air for a few minutes and watch the people come and go at Jonesy's (not quite our cup of tea, but never mind, it's famous, dammit!). Then it's back over the beautiful colours and shapes of the lower Delta to Hayward.

Not the 600 NM IFR trip I'd obsessively planned all week, but a nice flight anyway.

* * *

During pre-flight I somehow manage to slip while checking the seatbelts, and bash my forehead against the door frame. It's painful, but I don't think much more about it until Artist 3 looks at me a little oddly and says I have blood all over my forehead. Hmmmm. I wander back into Cal Air's office and get a similar (but rather less blase) response from Linda behind the desk. Turns out I've cut my forehead fairly impressively, and a couple of bandages later I look like some sort of beaten up homeless guy (especially since I'm limping slightly from an earlier injury and am wearing my Worst Clothes Ever). I spend the rest of the day making up stories about how it happened. It's amazing how much a small almost-painless shallow cut on the forehead can bleed...

Blowout!

Nah, not me or the tires or anything, just "A[n airplane corrosion] blowout of such epic proportions it could make an inspector weak at the knees..." (Kewl!) from Connie's Connielingus blog (warning: Connielingus may contain thoughts and images hazardous to conservative moral health). I've had a soft spot in my intellectual heart for Connie's older Corrosion Of The Week (now part of her main blog) for quite a while because it's the sort of thing pilots don't often see up close, and because who can resist things like the "The Great Canadian Corrosion Experiment!!!!" ("Coffee, Cola, Urine and Vomit -- The Silent Airplane Killers"). Finally, a blog that treats aircraft corrosion, Rush, the L-Word, and The Pina Colada Song with the seriousness and dedication they deserve.

Magic

A short flight out of Hayward (KHWD) through Yet Another Boring Bay Area Sunset to get used to the two-axis autopilot on 8TA out of California Airways. This thing's magic, and after 30 minutes of climbing, turning, and generally playing around over San Pablo Bay in the dark with the autopilot engaged the entire time, I think I'm confident enough to use it in IMC on real approaches. It's the two-axis / alerter version of the KAP 140 AP, and I have to admit it takes me a few minutes to get used to using the vertical speed / altitude feature and the whole thing about commanding a computer to command the plane, but in reality the whole process is "obvious". Yes, I read the manual, but not until after I've worked out most of it on my own (I stop at Napa -- KAPC -- for some night landing practice and a quick read of the manual to confirm my suspicions).

I'm initially stumped that there doesn't seem to be any way to decouple only the vertical axis parts of the AP -- I find altitude easier to control than heading on IMC approaches and I'm not sure I want to have to dial in floor altitudes or work out required vertical speeds on the fly during an approach -- but I quickly get used to that, too. It really just isn't that hard to work out how to use this, and I do the LOC / DME 28L back into Hawyard fully-coupled, basically just sitting there watching for traffic, keeping the throttle and trim appropriate to the approach, dialing in the new floor altitudes, and making damn sure the AP is doing what I ask it to do. Magic, as I keep saying.

I'm also confused about how to use the AP for an ILS -- while it's obvious how to use it for non-precision approaches, I don't want to be vertically-coupled on an ILS if all I've got to control the AP is vertical speed or desired altitude. I feel I'm missing something really obvious here, so I call John and see if he's got any advice. The answer's pretty obvious in retrospect -- if the unit's in approach mode and vertical guidance (i.e. the glideslope) is operational out of the HSI or ILS, it'll use it. I need to practice this on a real ILS sometime soon. And read the manual properly this time.

Checked Out

As I've said elsewhere, I've been thinking of looking around for another local club or FBO that has a complex airplane or two for rent, as I'm slowly getting used to the idea of doing my commercial rating. In addition to this, 2SP and 4JG -- the only planes I'd really trust flying in sustained IMC -- are leaving the club (the economics of GA flying are quickly getting to the point that clubs like ours are barely able to charge enough to cover expenses without losing members rapidly), so I also want a place to rent decent 172s (or whatever) for flying IFR in IMC.

So over the past few weeks I've been in touch with California Airways down in Hayward (KHWD), a few miles further south of Oakland (KOAK). I did my instrument written there a year or so ago, and was impressed by the place back then, but didn't really think of it in terms of an alternative to the club -- there wasn't much point back then. But now there is, and I book a checkout with them for today so I could start renting and flying with them. I've already completed the copious paperwork needed -- a set of typical question sheets on VFR and IFR flying (airspaces, FAR stuff, personal minima, etc.) and a two-sheeter on the 172S's I'll be flying (POH stuff, W&B, fuel management, stall speeds, etc.), plus all my personal details (well, not the really personal stuff :-)).

I meet Chuck Kennedy, who'll be my instructor / checkout guy today, and we go over the paperwork. It checks out OK, except I made a mistake with the 172S's Vs0 (not sure what I was thinking there...), and got my own address wrong (very impressive work there, Hamish...). Chuck turns out to be a software kind of guy, and a good instructor, with a good sense of humour (I can't imagine a humourless instructor being a good instructor, but that's just me...), and a fairly thoughtful approach to things.

After the paperwork we wander out to the plane itself -- 8TA, a 2003 model 172S (or SP, as some people call it). It's pretty much the same as 2SP, the only real difference being a slightly different panel -- apart from the KLN 94 GPS it's got a KMD 550 moving-map display coupled to the KLN 94 (not too shabby...) and a KAP 140 two-axis autopilot (cool!). Basically, though, it's very familiar, and pre-flight, startup, and departure are routine (I'm pretty familiar with Hayward since it's where I did a lot of my initial tailwheel training, and it's a favourite for touch and goes when Oakland's 27L isn't available).

We head for the Diablo practice area, where I do the usual repertoire of MCA maneuvers, stalls, bad jokes about aerobatics, observations about the rapid growth of the Diablo Valley, emergency procedures, etc., and I discover that I'm actually enjoying this part a lot. It feels like years since I've done a real VFR workout like this (dragging the plane around continuously on the edge of a stall, doing steep turns, clearing turns, real rudder work, etc.), and it's not only going much better than I expected, but it's such a pleasant change to chasing needles in IMC (I must restart my aerobatics training with Ben again soon...).

Chuck asks me if I want to do an approach back into Hayward, without going under the hood or anything, just to check out the approach and the GPS and associated gubbins. I'm keen, since I've never actually done the HWD LOC/DME 28L approach before, and this seems like a good time and leisurely way to get acquainted with the instruments and the approach (it's a pretty common-and-garden approach, but it's likely to be my main route back in the future, so checking it out in VMC seems like a good idea). I grub around in my flight bag for the approach plate while Chuck flies for a minute or so. I familiarise myself with the approach, then set up the localiser and GPS, then follow the GPS to SUNOL, getting ready to call NorCal for the approach. After a few seconds we both realise very quickly that the GPS isn't taking us to SUNOL as it said it would, but direct to the approach's MAP. What follows is one of those GPS Moments, when two instrument-rated pilots taking it in turns can't work out for the life of them quite why the properly-programmed GPS has suddenly decided to bypass the activated approach and send us direct to the missed. Hmmmm. In the end I simply set it direct SUNOL and figure we'll get vectors anyway, which is (of course) exactly what happens. I still much prefer the Garmin 530, which seems a little less capricious -- but then this was one of those impromptu things, where I probably missed something crucial during the setup, and where it just wasn't worth debugging at the time, given that the approach is flyable entirely with the other gear, and the GPS was still giving us DME. One of the heartening things about it all is that nowadays when this sort of thing happens, I don't get flustered any more -- I just get on with it, which is part of basic instrument flying skills.

We do a couple of touch and goes in the pattern at Hayward, mostly to fill out the full hour needed for the checkout, then head back to Cal Air, where I meet Cal Airway's owner, Keith, who seems scarily on top of everything, and learn a little more about the rental procedures (basically a more formal version of what we use in the club, including using the same online web-based scheduler). Chuck signs me off and I'm now a fully-qualified Cal Airways renter. Cool!

* * *

Today's checkout was a much more enjoyable experience than I expected, and I'm so far pretty impressed by the procedures, aircraft, and general attitude at California Airways. Everybody there seemed enthusiastic and helpful, and there was always someone around who could tell me how to do this or where that was, etc. The planes look well-maintained, and the rental costs are similar to the AAC's (but charged dry / Hobbs rather than wet / tach). I'm not sure how well flying out of Hayward will work in winter IMC with the Southeasterly flow in place -- the only approaches into Hayward fly you straight into the path of Oakland's bad-weather approaches, and circling minima aren't great at Hayward -- but I'll burn that bridge when I get to it. And I'm sure I'll discover the hidden bodies at Cal Airways soon enough :-).

Thunderchicken

I discover I have the day off and decide -- what else?! -- to get up really early and fly to Monterey (KMRY) and back in 2SP. Pretend freightdogging, really, especially the getting up early bit. All in search of actual, and, well, fun -- and to make up for Wednesday's failed attempt. NUEVO5.SHOEY MUNSO -- the Usual, with the ILS 10R at Monterey, and TORO5.SNS PXN SUNOL / ILS 27R return to Oakland. Nothing I haven't done before. This time, though, there's widespread coastal stratus from about 600' up to 2,500 or so, and I'm guaranteed real IMC departures at both ends as well as a real need for the ILS in to each airport. Cool!


Things don't start so well. I can cope with the earliness (with the help of coffee from Javarama), but when the fuel pump at Kaiser spends several minutes printing my fuel receipt one character to a line, double spaced (I still have the three-metre-long receipt in my flight bag), and then the Kaiser person on the desk gets my written receipt wrong twice in a row, and then tower tells me I'm number five for release ("expect about a fifteen to twenty minute delay") as I sit there just off 27R, I realise this is probably going to be One Of Those Days. I sit there thinking it's a good thing it's cold and grey out there and I'm not literally stewing in the cockpit... I depart 45 minutes later than expected. So much for being early.

But the rest of the flight actually goes well, and I get quite a lot more actual IMC than I'd expected (ATC keeps me low and in the clouds longer than usual on both departures). Not much to report about the actual flights themselves except that the stress levels on the ILS into Monterey -- my first real IMC single pilot approach to near minimums (600' MSL breakout for 440' MSL minimums) -- are much higher than I expect, even though it's an unremarkable vectors-to-final approach. It feels great to break out still in "the donut" at a little under 600', the runway dead ahead, but single-pilot approaches in solid IMC have to be the most stressful thing I do at the moment, even worse than the drive down Interstate 880 each day. The ILS back into 27R, by contrast, is a relatively familiar exercise despite having to keep the usual best forward speed, and breakout comes at about 800' into light drizzle. As always, sinking into the cloud layer on the approaches is just breathtaking -- but of course that's exactly the time you should be most concentrating on transitioning to instruments, and not looking around, and the approach into Monterey is momentarily destabilized as I forget this obvious fact (another good lesson...). I use the autopilot this trip for the enroute portions only -- I want to keep my actual approach flying from getting rusty -- but as always, it's good to know it's there if I need it on the approaches.

While sitting on 10R holding for the Citation that departs immediately in front of me I get enough time to actually look down the runway and contemplate what it is I'm about to depart into -- the cloud-shrouded hills just to the right of the centreline, the range I know is just behind those clouds... it's a sobering sight, and that left turn and 400' per NM to 4,000' climb requirement on the DP chart makes a lot of sense. I watch the Citation climb steeply and disappear into the cloud at about 800' or so, then it's my turn. Again, nothing interesting to report about this part of the trip except as soon as tower hands me off to NorCal I get the dreaded "2SP standby for a new clearance, Oakland Center wants to re-route you...". I ask in my best whiny pleading Anglo-Australian voice if I can get direct BUSHY or BORED instead (as I've said elsewhere, a significant short cut from the standard SNS PXN SUNOL routing), and tell him that it'd make my life a lot easier... he replies that for reasons he's not going to go into right now it'd make his life a lot easier too, and he'll see what Oakland has to say. One minute later I'm cleared direct BORED, and life goes on...



* * *

While tying 2SP down at the club I hear a familiar voice calling me from Lou's hangar. It's Lou himself, dressed up against the cold grey, working on his latest plane, a 1946 Aeronca Champ. He wants to know the real ceilings down past Hayward to see if he can get out beheath it to Livermore. Not likely, I tell him, it's hanging low all the way out to Livermore, and Hayward's reported 800' is a little optimistic right now if you ask me... oh well, he says it'll give him time to do a little more work on his plane. I've never actually seen it close up before -- it's an absolute classic, almost no instruments (the only concession to modernity being the hand-held GPS unit strapped to the internal cockpit bracing -- Lou wouldn't fly anywhere without it), and with a relatively powerful 85HP engine. We talk a while about taildraggers and aerobatics, and how much he enjoys the Champ for just pottering about the Bay and out into the Valley. He's started calling it the "Thunderchicken" after the artwork on the side.

Lou's watched me get my private license, then let me rent his Arrow to get my complex endorsement (and later just to fly it around), he had some usefully-pithy advice when I was having trouble learning to do good wheel landings in the taildragger, he had similar things to say about my aerobatics training (until recently he still taught aerobatics, and he gets on well with Ben, my aerobatics instructor), and until some health problems cropped up, he was slated to be my DE for the instrument rating. He's been a constant background presence in my life at the Old T's, and I've always been grateful for his help and his sense of humour. Lou flew off carriers in the Pacific during WW2 and for many years after that, including Korea, and given his background and age you'd probably expect him to be the sort of crusty old military type who'd get on badly with me. But he never seems to mind the earrings, the funny accent, or my basically Berkeley Liberal (East Oakland division) existence. Living in the Bay Area can do this to you, Naval Aviator or not, I guess...

Dude, Where's My Plane?!

I book 2SP for a few hours at 7pm, ready for a hop down the coast to Monterey in search (again) of actual actual. It all looks good -- the coastal stratus is coming over nicely and forecast for more to come, especially down south Monterey way. I get to the club at 6.30pm. No plane. No worries, the previous pilot's probably refueling... Well, you can see where this is going. All I'll say is I don't even get to see the business end of 27R this evening, let alone the sunless shores of Monterey, and the mortified call from the previous pilot much later explaining that he'd been sitting with 2SP's owner at a certain well-known food place at Livermore airport (KLVK) discussing flying and stuff like that and had just entirely forgotten I had the plane next only partially made up for it (hello, Ian!). Humph. The Sloppy Pilot has it right about the perils of renting -- I just wish I had the money to buy.

Still, I get to talk a while with Wendy K. at the club about training and stuff (she's very close to getting her private), and to watch open-mouthed as a Challenger (I think) departed runway 33 VFR for the hills at a high rate of knots after rotating at what seems like only a hundred or so metres down the runway. Take that, noise-sensitive Alamedans! (the noise was incredible, I have to say...). John once said something about a prominent local businesswoman or something like that who owns and flies it to Tahoe and back every day (I may have this entirely wrong), which leads Wendy to start on an amusing riff about women and flying. So I ask her what she wants to be when she grows up? Not a commercial pilot, apparently -- an answer which surprises me, given her age and enthusiasm for flying. Oh well.

The Instrument Training Diary

New!!! Improved!!! Or something like that...

Probably not of much interest to most readers here, but I've finally put the blog entries that relate to my recent instrument training adventure into a coherent, separate, diary called (very orginally and with great imagination) the Instrument Training Diary on the same site (ylayali.com) as this blog (YAFB). Basically, I did this because the back-to-front blog organisation plays havoc with actually trying to read what happens on a sequential basis (rather than following along in real time), and a few colleagues had complained about it being difficult to follow. Well, it's probably still difficult to read, but at least it doesn't start with the checkride and work backwards any more... if anyone does slog their way through it without going catatonic, I'd appreciate reports on things like typos, thinkos, etc. via email (yafb at ylayali dot com is probably easiest).

And once again, thanks to John Ewing, CFII for getting me through the whole instrument rating experience and for putting up with several sense-of-humour failures and other odd contingencies along the way. It was quite a trip.

In Search Of Actual

A flight into Yet Another Boring Bay Area Sunset to Monterey (KMRY) and back with Boyan (my flight-share partner, more-or-less) in 4JG -- my half IFR, the return VFR under his command. The whole idea is to leave mid-evening in order to get some actual IMC at Monterey, a coastal airport that's notorious for having low coastal stratus at this time of the year with ceilings regularly down to 100' in the early mornings, and often about 400' at the time we're flying. And although the clouds are rolling in as usual over the Golden Gate, I log less than two minutes actual (actually, I don't log any actual -- what's the point?!) for the whole trip -- a couple of minutes lowering ourselves through a very thin coastal layer on the ILS for 10R, circle to 28L. We break out well before DH; the breakout is very sudden, being both horizontal and vertical at the same time, as the cloud bank just ended abruptly over the shoreline. On breakout I have one of those moments of disorientation when I can't see the runway (which is pretty much right in front of me) -- I guess I'd expected to break out a little later and wasn't prepared for a sudden windshield full of lights. An interesting little lesson.

Making the whole thing worse is the fact that I manage to leave my Cone Of Stupidity at home (D'Oh!) -- so the whole thing, planned as an IFR workout with multiple approaches at MRY, with holds, etc., just turns into a pleasant IFR-in-VMC flight along a familiar course over the usual beautiful Northern California coastline. Could be worse, I guess.

On the way back approaching Oakland VFR (with Boyan as PIC), NorCal -- who's been pretty much ignoring us up to that point except for the usual traffic calls every few minutes -- suddenly calls and with an irritated and slightly urgent-sounding voice tells us "4JG, head north, descend and maintain 2,000". Say again? Both Boyan and I are uncomfortable with this -- apart from the "north" thing (and the lack of any reason for the vector), heading in that direction right there at 2,000' will put us uncomfortably close to terrain which we can't see but we both know quite well from daylight flights (and from the ground). We decide to do as ATC tells us, but if he hasn't vectored us back over lower ground within two minutes (or by the time the last lights on the ground are disappearing below the nose), we'll call him and ask for higher or another vector. After about 60 seconds the controller heads us back towards KOAK and things return to normal. I'm still unsure what the hell it was all about -- there wasn't much else happening in the airspace at that time that we could hear that would have caused such a vector -- but I guess there are times when ATC moves in mysterious ways...

Mementos Mori

John calls and amongst other things he tells me about a recent serious accident involving an acquaintance of his -- the sort of accident that friends keep asking me about when I start waxing lyrical about flying and becoming a grizzled old freight dog.

We also talk a while about jobs and flying stuff; he gently taunts me by telling me I could be flying for AmeriFlight instead of driving 100 miles a day down to Silicon Valley and back for jobs and such (urgh). I have visions of endlessly flying the AmFlight Death Tube back and forth between Oakland and Fresno or Bakersfield, with ten hour layovers at either place during the day -- all for about $20K per year, no benefits. Now there's a reason to get my Commercial :-). Speaking of which, we discussed this a little bit, and I'm starting to feel a few little stirrings towards getting off my arse ("ass" for the linguistically-challenged out there) and actually starting it. It shouldn't take too long: I already have the required hours, the instrument rating, etc., and the complex sign-off -- I just need to find a club or school with a decent complex plane. After flying the Arrow (with its robust and utterly fool-proof gear) for so long, I'm always deeply suspicious of the origami-like gear on the light Cessna retractables available elsewhere locally (like Oakland Flyers or California Airways). Especially since (as I've mentioned elsewhere), I've actually had a gear failure already (a total non-event in the Arrow; it's less clear how enjoyable it would have been in a 172RG or similar). It's a shame the Arrow's been sold.

Still, I'm in no real hurry yet, but it's starting to weigh on my mind...

* * *

An hour or so later I drop off some fuel receipts in the club and run into Gabe S., who tells me he and Alan G. are seriously thinking about buying a Mooney. I tell Gabe this is the first step towards becoming a real Grownup. I joke out loud about cashing in my 401K and joining them, but suddenly realise I ought stop saying things like this -- one day I might just do it. And then what would I do when I get old(er)?