Night flight

So last night I scheduled a flight from KCCR to KMOD... weather was a little iffy, but I spoke to John on the phone and he said to come on over. I checked the METARs and while they reported overcast skies, the ceiling was between 3500ft and 5500ft along the way - more than high enough for my planned route.

I got there around 730PM. The entire place was locked, but John was in his office; he asked me a few questions and then we went out to the plane.

Boy, is night different than day!

In some ways it's easier - there is a lot less noise in the environment in terms of recognizing major features (like the runways). But in other ways, it's a lot more difficult, as I learned on my second landing attempt. My depth perception was completely off because the visual cues are different, and instead of landing properly, I literally planted the nosewheel on the ground first.

Ick.

The plane bumped and jumped but luckily my instincts held up, and I got the place down without any more drama. Then it was time to head off to Modesto.

I got the clearance, and started towards the hills north of Concord in order to follow hwy 4. I crosses the hills at about 2300ft, and almost immediately run into a fully formed cloud that came out of nowhere fast. Everything is white. I just did what the FAA calls dryly "VFR into IMC" - the number one killer of VFR pilots.

I mutter to John on the radio "I am not comfortable with this".

He says back "so what are you going to do about it?"

I say, while turning the yoke and watching my altitude, "turn back and abort".

He says "Great! that's exactly the lesson I wanted you to learn tonight".

I was miffed at first, but then realized he was completely right. This was an excellent experience. I certainly wouldn't try to brave a cloud again, not without an instrument rating. It was very disorienting to lose all visual clues like that. And the weather reports are great, but actual weather can be an entirely different thing. That cloud was well, well below the 3500ft in the report.

Doing a 180 while staying level was easy enough, and in about 30 seconds I emerged out of the cloud into the beautiful and clear sky above Concord. I did a few more full stop landings, and called it a night. I even had the controller change the intensity of the runway lights for me just so I could see them in different settings (which is important before I try to go to an uncontrolled airport at night).

First Cross-Country Solo

So 3 days after my cross-country flight with John, I came back to the airport. We had discussed this on the phone, and I was rearing to go. I would make my first cross-country solo that day (4/14/2011), same route as we did together.

I got there around 9:30 only to learn that John was on a "gift certificate" flight and was going to be gone until 10AM. No problem; I'll just preflight the plane... except that they took it for the flight he was on.

*sigh*

OK. I knew I had stuff I had to complete. I took the release forms and solo planning forms and this and that and sat down to fill them. By the time I was done, John had just landed, and I went to wait for him in his office.

A few minutes later he got there. I was all nervous energy, but he was like "so, did you complete flight planning?". I proudly show him the forms. He repeats the question. I sit down and ask "OK, what am I missing?".

He laughs.

And starts asking me to do stuff.

So apparently, I never really understood what went into planning a flight... I got a crash course in the E6B, calling for weather, using a plotter, figuring out times and estimated fuel usage and calculating headings and correcting for wind and figuring out the TAFs along the way and... and... and...

... an hour later, I was done. I showed it all to John. He looks at me and say "so what about the rest?" I sat down heavily.

He laughs again. "You're good to go buddy. Give me your logbook, so I can endorse it. You sure you're ready to do this?"

I nodded, dumb-founded. He signs the forms and endorses my logbook. I take everything, go back to the office, check out the plane, and walk to the ramp. My brain is still not registering this. I preflight. I get inside. I finish my preflight checklist. I put the headset on. I get the ATIS report. I set the altimeter, I call ground and ask for taxi...

... and something in my brain snaps.

I'm doing this!

Understand something: my two solo flights prior to this one had been merely multiple touch&go's at the airport. Now I'm about to take the plane to two other airports, the second being over 100m away. All by myself.

I get to the run-up. I finish the checklist. I get clearance to take off. I take off. I head north. I call Travis. I get to Rio Vista. I call Travis to tell them I'm landing at Rio Vista.

Someone whispers on the radio "wrong frequency".

Seems like I was "talking" to Travis on the Rio Vista traffic frequency.

Oops.

Oh well. I did say "student pilot".

Rio Vista has a lot of traffic that day, or at least so it seems to me. Myself and three other pilots coordinate all our traffic, and I land to a full stop. Go around. Take off again. Get on Travis approach - and a new wrinkle comes up. They transfer me to Travis Arrival. I have never spoken to Travis Arrival. Why am I talking to Travis Arrival?

The C17 passing under me and the fighter jet taking off at right angles towards me sort of explains things. The C17 about to pass over me adds to my jitters. Wake turbulence from one of those might not be very fun. The guy at Travis Arrivals is very nice as he is warning me about all these things... I do a quick mental calculation and get back to him.

"Travis Arrivals, zero one whiskey, I'll be about 30 seconds out when they all get by."

I sound a lot more confident than I really feel.

I swear he chuckled.

I don't get lost over Vacaville this time. I head north over 505, and over Madison ask to cancel following. The guy at Travis sounds surprised. No wonder. He KNOWS I'm a rookie student. But I want to be a big boy. I'm Pilot in Command, so I get to make the choice. He lets me off.

In about a minute I realize that I am no longer on the radio with anyone. I'm all alone. There is no one to warn me about anything, no one to help me if I am about to run into another plane, no one to ask clarifications from. Nothing.

This was the first time I got a little scared in the entire experience. The sense of loneliness up there was eerie. I considered contacting Norcal approach, but decided against it. I will do this the way it was meant to be. I'm a big boy now.

The weather was calm and the sky was clear. I started taking in the scenery. It was beautiful. I had already trimmed the plane for straight-and-level, and therefore had very little to do other than scan the horizon. The next 20 minutes were one of the most stunning experiences I have ever had, cruising at 3,000ft, my hands crossed, my eyes slowly moving right to left and left to right, enjoying the sights.

Over Willows I contacted Chico, not because I had to but because I wanted human contact again. I started looking for Haigh. I couldn't find it. I started circling. Where IS that dang airport? then I remembered my flight with John. Damn! I made the same error John and I made three days earlier. That chart really IS confusing.

Reoriented, found Haigh, landed, got off, went to the bathroom, came back, took a picture for posterity and uploaded it to Facebook.

Got back in the air. My phone was out because I had taken that picture. At 3,000, I got a text. Surprised, I checked my phone. Excellent reception. I kept it on out of curiosity. I had excellent reception at 3,000 all the way back. Funny, that.

The rest of the flight was uneventful. Made it back to KCCR, did one touch&go, then came back to a full stop. 2.9 hours total, and an absolute blast. As I tied down the plane, I felt proud, of having achieved something really big. And also a strange sense of calmness, as if I had overcome a huge obstacle, and the confidence that I could do it again.

Next up - night flying. The checkride will come soon after that, I'm sure. But I'm not worried about it now. I know I can do it. I know I'm safe. I felt it this time. I wore the plane on this flight. I didn't have to think much about operating it - it all came naturally, especially on the leg back. What a feeling.

Man, what a feeling.

Cross-country

So my instructor sent me a note last weekend, saying he had a family emergency he had to attend back in the UK, and transferring me over to my fall-back instructor, John, who also happens to be the chief pilot of my flight school. I've flown with him before a few times and while I appreciate the very structured methods my regular instructor utilizes, John just lets me fly; he has so much experience that it is a lot more difficult to faze him, and I get to stretch my elbows a bit. He's not a chatterbox either (as per the classic pilot joke: "what's the best thing about finally going solo? getting rid of the chatterbox on your right!").

Anyway, I came in Monday morning, and we started chatting. We were going to follow the incremental plan I had laid out with my regular instructor, when the discussion turned to requirements, and cross-country. John has seen me operate a plane safely in very harsh conditions; he is the one that had remarked once after one of my difficult experiences "three perfect maximum crosswind component landings in a row; that's skill, not luck". So I knew he trusted me a lot more than my regular instructor does.

But even I did not expect the next thing that came out of his mouth, which was something along the lines of: "OK, let's do your cross-country then".

Nice.

So we picked an airport - Orland Haigh, O37, west of Chico, CA - and made a plan. We would fly out to Rio Vista (O88), do a touch&go, then proceed to Haigh, land there, refuel if need be, then come back. It's a long trip - O37 is over 100 miles away from CCR. Anyway, we discuss it a bit longer, then hop on the plane, and take off.

I do the T&G at O88, then head northwest to try and find I-505. Almost immediately, I get lost. John, bless his heart, refuses to help me; instead, he keeps telling me to look at the chart and figure out where I am. I start by blind-guessing, and true to form, he refuses to tell me if I'm right or wrong, instead forcing me to think. Yes, I was panicking. But eventually I calmed down and started following the Pilotage advice I had heard before. In 5 minutes I got reoriented, found the freeway, and went back on course.

We did some dead reckoning, then VOR, before hitting Willows and starting to look for Haigh. I was pretty certain I was dead-on when John started saying "I think we passed it". I was, like, "wait, have you ever been there?", and he goes "nah, figured you'd be able to find it". I swear I glared at him. We went a bit higher and started looking. The damn thing nowhere in sight. We looked at the chart. It should be right beneath us!

Nope.

Eventually I went back to Willows and tried again, this time relying on dead reckoning. Sure enough, the chart (current, updated) was misleading! Haigh was about 3 miles north of where you would expect it to be based on the chart. John saw it first, but a split second later I did as well.

Landing was a cinch, but we had used so much fuel already that we had to refill the tanks. That was a fun experience and I learned something really new and unexpected!

The flight back was pretty uneventful, so John decided to stick me under the hood and get me lost and see if I can recover still under the hood. No problem, dude. Instruments are fun.

Came back to find the Hobbs indicating exactly 3 hours.... which is exactly the minimum requirement for dual cross-country. All that time getting lost? well, that enabled me to check that box in my training... and set me up for the next big milestone:

My first solo cross-country.

That will come in the next post.

My first solo flight

I had posted this on Facebook already, but figure it should be here too... I'll be making a few more posts shortly about this amazing experience. The date for my solo was 3/30/2011.

====

TITLE: Just wanted to share my excitement...

... with all of you.

I have been a type I diabetic for going on 27 years now. I got it when, at least in the country I grew up (Israel), there was no concept of diet drinks, let alone sugar-free desserts and such. Heck, diet Coke only started becoming available there in 1986.

My big dream, which was shattered completely and utterly when I was diagnosed, was to become a pilot. That, of course, had to be shelved, or maybe better to say discarded, as soon as I became insulin-dependent. Later going through several years of hypo-unawareness (eventually recognized as an allergy to a specific kind of insulin, and resolved by switching to a different kind) made it impossible for me to sleep alone, let alone think of flying. Getting a driver's license was hard enough.

I did take a couple dual instructed intro flights; they were fun, but also tremendously disappointing, because I knew I could never get to do it myself.

Well, in 1999 I moved to this wonderful country, the US of A. I had forgotten about my dream, because it couldn't ever be possible. Then a couple years back I acquired a CGM system (first the Dexcom, now on the Navigator), and somehow, somewhere, a spark ignited a flame that apparently was burning low for all this time. I started doing some research and found out that in the USA, unlike many other places, it IS in fact possible for a type I diabetic to get a class III airmen medical certificate - the one necessary to become a private pilot.

I remember how astounded, shocked, and delighted I was. I started the process of figuring out how to be allowed to fly. It took a year, and a rather involved appeals process with the FAA, but eventually last September I received my medical certificate.

I could learn how to fly.

I started lessons in November. Today, my instructor rode me particularly hard; I couldn't understand why he was so upset with me. We did what is called "pattern work", which involves repeated takeoffs and landings, and after seven of those, he asked me to come to a full stop and taxi back to the flight school. I knew we were supposed to fly over and do some practice maneuvers, and was feeling really guilty because I apparently upset him so much he decided to terminate my flight. I was going through my post-flight checklist when I heard him get on the radio and tell the tower "I'm gonna drop off at the ramp, and my student is going to go on his first solo".

I choked. I couldn't believe it. I had tears in my eyes all the way to dropping him off and all the way back to the runway. But there it was. Me, alone, in an airplane, fully certified and endorsed.

I did my first solo.

From here on it's a matter of polishing my technique, completing a few more requirements and doing my written knowledge test and FAA checkride. But in the world of pilots, today I became a pilot. Today I was pilot in command and sole occupant of a fixed-wing, single engine aircraft. Today, I was accepted to the club.

With my diabetes.

I flew.

I just wanted to share this. In 2-3 months, I am certain, I will complete the rest of the requirements to get my license, but that's just procedure. What I did today meant more to me than I could ever describe. And I wanted to tell you all: don't ever give up on your dreams, especially not because of your diabetes.

Don't let anything stop you. You CAN do it, no matter what it is and what ittakes. You hear me?

You can do it.