MarcoAviator
05-15-2006, 03:50 PM
Now I remember ...
You know how exciting it was to fly the first times? And do all those "firsts"? The first solo takeoff. The first solo landing! The first solo x-country. The first passenger ... etc.
So many firsts ... after a while they are not firsts anymore. Oh, don't get me wrong. Flying is still exciting but some days, I can live without flying ... if the wind is too strong or the sky is too cloudy ... I can just say "Naaah. I am staying in bed this morning".
That is ...
... until you fly that "first" again. And now you are awake again. The little child is has his eyes wide open and he's blubbering "What? what was that? What happened??”
The funny part is that, once you get used to flying, these "firsts" sneak up on you when you least expect them.
I didn't expect to have a first this past weekend ... but I did. I had a first: my first VFR on top.
Ok, ok. So it wasn't my first because I have had countless VFR on top trips, on airliners. But those don't count. You are sitting in a couch, staring out a window barely big enough to fit your head, and you can't see anything in front of you and you have the passenger on the other seat whining that because you are keeping that window open he can't fall asleep!
And you are disgusted because you feel like screaming: "Can't you see the beauty of this??? can't you see the poetry of flying above the clouds?"
No, he can't.
But I can and I saw it and it struck me and ... and I am excited again.
The "I can't believe what I saw. It was so beautiful and I MUST see it again!! I have to have this!" thunderstruck that keeps you awake in excitement at night.
I am almost done with my IFR rating (at long last). Other than some prep work and the long x-country (the 250 miles one) I am getting close. And I wasn't excited about it ... I was "oh hum ... I can fly in bad weather. Cool. Next.". Until this weekend the weather turned sour in the northeast and a low pressure system to our west starting moving low clouds all over the areas.
It wasn't really IFR but it was one of those VFR days where there can't be much fun in flying: cloud ceilings were around 1800 MSL and even if my airport is at 100 feet ... 1700 feet is not much altitude to play with. And there's a few hills of 1000 and more and those put you smack into MVFR and even IFR ... if you decide to scud run.
So I called up my instructor and he had a slot available and we went up. Filed a flight plan from 47N to KABE (a half an hour ride) and filed a flight plan for the way back. IFR both ways.
I have flown IFR in a Cessna with my instructor about 4 months ago ... at that time ceilings were around 3500 feet and we were in the clouds for a total of 30 minutes at most and the ground was always visible. At that time my Piper was out of commission ... so this was going to be the first time I was taking my baby up in the soup. The plane is IFR certified (heck after spending 16 grand on that panel, it better be!!). State of the art avionics, trimmed and tuned to perfection. Can't have a better IFR machine than this, short of a plane with a FMC.
Takeoff and climb out were uneventful ... there was no wind. One of those smooth IFR days.
At 1200 feet (out of the pattern) the clouds are starting to look really close. It's hard to say how close because they have this "fuzzy", undefined bottom to them (and top too as I will find out in a minute). They are dark but not ominous ... just depressing and gloomy. I prepare myself, mentally for the transition to IFR, by double checking my instruments (especially the attitude indicator) while I still have outside visibility. I look at the AI for a few seconds and as I look out my side window I see that the first wisps of clouds are already below me. The ground is disappearing! I am now 1800 feet and going.
What really strikes me is the speed those clouds are passing me by ... I am climbing at about 90 knots (cruise climb ... about 600 fpm in my piper) and those clouds are zipping by me real fast!
2000 feet ... we are in. After a couple of transition bumps, everything goes quiet.
I am cleared to climb to 4000 ...
At 2500 something strange and incredible happens: the cockpit goes for dark to bright. It happens gradually but it happens fast and all of a sudden it feels like somebody pointed bright spotlights inside the cockpit from EVERY direction. It's an eerie thing to witness.
Concentrated on the instruments and on the NY controller that is rattling instructions at one thousand words a minute with a distinct but quite cryptic Staten Island accent, it takes me a few seconds to recognize that this means the sun is close ... and filtering through the clouds and lighting them up. We are about to break out.
And then it happens as sudden and as surprising as when we went in: we are out ... on top!
You know how when you see an object moving fast but far away, it seems that the object is actually moving slow? Like ... those 747s I see taking off from Newark ... huge, gigantic and yet the seem suspended in mid air. Wellll ... we know they are not. They are chugging along at 200 knots but they are 2000-3000 feet high, so they seem slow. But watch one of them close when they approach to land and you'll see how fast they'll come roaring past you.
Nothing gives a feeling of how fast you are going better than an object close enough to zip past you. Ever been surprised by one of those kiddie balloons? You see them in the distance ... wonder what the heck they are and they all of a sudden they shoot past you like a bullet ... shiny skin and clown face painted on them and all ... there's a boy (or a girl) down there on the ground, crying and pointing at the sky, longing after their lost friend ... perhaps whishing to fly after it. Future pilot perhaps, yes?
At 4000 feet the view is nothing short of spectacular. Visibility is to the horizon ... I am flying over a continuous carpet of fluffy white cotton ... and we are totally alone.
Ok, yes there's plenty of Continentals, Jet Blues, Alitalias and all those big-ass guys flying in the upper thousands and flight levels. But down here in the 4-8 thousands there's only us ... GA pilots. And if they are up here with me, they are flying IFR ... and if they are flying IFR in this portion of space, they are talking to my same controller ... and I don't hear anybody that even remotely sounds like a GA pilot. I am the only one talking to them (while my instructor keeps saying that he's getting bored).
It is only me up here. Flying VFR on top in the clearest, most open sky I have ever seen.
A nice VFR day has always some haze, or clouds up high on top. But today the sky is a blue I have never seen. It must be that all the clouds we can have today are locked in that layer between 2000 and 3200 and if you are lucky enough to break through, the sky is yours.
Oh I Have Slipped
The Surly Bonds of Earth...
Put Out My Hand
And Touched the Face of God
Robert Gillespie McGee.
The sky is blue enough and the air is calm enough, that I can't help thinking how fitting those words are, today.
Clocking my usual 115 knots at a comfy 2400 RPMs we reach Allentown and we are instructed to descend to 3000.
I cut power, put the nose down and dive for it. And this is another first for me: descend into the clouds ... at 115 knots (maneuvering speed for the Piper). This time the effect of speed is even more dramatic and the passage from VFR to IFR is even more sudden ... the clouds rush at us, a few wisps shoot by our wings and then we are in. Some water runs over the windshield as these clouds appear to be a bit heavier than the ones over Central Jersey.
This time I set up a shoot my first ILS approach fully in the clouds. At around 1200 feet we break out and I am spot on. We practice a couple more uneventful approaches, in and out of the clouds and I haven't had so much fun in ... well, I don't remember how long.
For some reason this breaking in and out of the clouds ... those very same clouds that flying VFR we are supposed to stay away from, is liberating. It's like a sort of transgression ... we are not supposed to do it and yet ... we do it. To a VFR pilot, that's what it feels like. An act of rebellion, not unlike the same act of rebellion that flying is, in the first place.
Man (and woman) is not supposed to fly, right? If we were ... we would have wings, right?
Wrong. We can fly .. and every takeoff is an act of defiance. And going in and out of the clouds ... well, that's also a new act of defiance.
On my quiet and uneventful way back to Central Jersey I keep thinking that I want more of this. I want to do this again. This was fun but also ... I want to do this solo. Just me, alone, on top of the clouds ... were we weren't supposed to go, reaching out, trying to touch the face of God (or a balloon with a clown painted on it ... either, or).
You know how exciting it was to fly the first times? And do all those "firsts"? The first solo takeoff. The first solo landing! The first solo x-country. The first passenger ... etc.
So many firsts ... after a while they are not firsts anymore. Oh, don't get me wrong. Flying is still exciting but some days, I can live without flying ... if the wind is too strong or the sky is too cloudy ... I can just say "Naaah. I am staying in bed this morning".
That is ...
... until you fly that "first" again. And now you are awake again. The little child is has his eyes wide open and he's blubbering "What? what was that? What happened??”
The funny part is that, once you get used to flying, these "firsts" sneak up on you when you least expect them.
I didn't expect to have a first this past weekend ... but I did. I had a first: my first VFR on top.
Ok, ok. So it wasn't my first because I have had countless VFR on top trips, on airliners. But those don't count. You are sitting in a couch, staring out a window barely big enough to fit your head, and you can't see anything in front of you and you have the passenger on the other seat whining that because you are keeping that window open he can't fall asleep!
And you are disgusted because you feel like screaming: "Can't you see the beauty of this??? can't you see the poetry of flying above the clouds?"
No, he can't.
But I can and I saw it and it struck me and ... and I am excited again.
The "I can't believe what I saw. It was so beautiful and I MUST see it again!! I have to have this!" thunderstruck that keeps you awake in excitement at night.
I am almost done with my IFR rating (at long last). Other than some prep work and the long x-country (the 250 miles one) I am getting close. And I wasn't excited about it ... I was "oh hum ... I can fly in bad weather. Cool. Next.". Until this weekend the weather turned sour in the northeast and a low pressure system to our west starting moving low clouds all over the areas.
It wasn't really IFR but it was one of those VFR days where there can't be much fun in flying: cloud ceilings were around 1800 MSL and even if my airport is at 100 feet ... 1700 feet is not much altitude to play with. And there's a few hills of 1000 and more and those put you smack into MVFR and even IFR ... if you decide to scud run.
So I called up my instructor and he had a slot available and we went up. Filed a flight plan from 47N to KABE (a half an hour ride) and filed a flight plan for the way back. IFR both ways.
I have flown IFR in a Cessna with my instructor about 4 months ago ... at that time ceilings were around 3500 feet and we were in the clouds for a total of 30 minutes at most and the ground was always visible. At that time my Piper was out of commission ... so this was going to be the first time I was taking my baby up in the soup. The plane is IFR certified (heck after spending 16 grand on that panel, it better be!!). State of the art avionics, trimmed and tuned to perfection. Can't have a better IFR machine than this, short of a plane with a FMC.
Takeoff and climb out were uneventful ... there was no wind. One of those smooth IFR days.
At 1200 feet (out of the pattern) the clouds are starting to look really close. It's hard to say how close because they have this "fuzzy", undefined bottom to them (and top too as I will find out in a minute). They are dark but not ominous ... just depressing and gloomy. I prepare myself, mentally for the transition to IFR, by double checking my instruments (especially the attitude indicator) while I still have outside visibility. I look at the AI for a few seconds and as I look out my side window I see that the first wisps of clouds are already below me. The ground is disappearing! I am now 1800 feet and going.
What really strikes me is the speed those clouds are passing me by ... I am climbing at about 90 knots (cruise climb ... about 600 fpm in my piper) and those clouds are zipping by me real fast!
2000 feet ... we are in. After a couple of transition bumps, everything goes quiet.
I am cleared to climb to 4000 ...
At 2500 something strange and incredible happens: the cockpit goes for dark to bright. It happens gradually but it happens fast and all of a sudden it feels like somebody pointed bright spotlights inside the cockpit from EVERY direction. It's an eerie thing to witness.
Concentrated on the instruments and on the NY controller that is rattling instructions at one thousand words a minute with a distinct but quite cryptic Staten Island accent, it takes me a few seconds to recognize that this means the sun is close ... and filtering through the clouds and lighting them up. We are about to break out.
And then it happens as sudden and as surprising as when we went in: we are out ... on top!
You know how when you see an object moving fast but far away, it seems that the object is actually moving slow? Like ... those 747s I see taking off from Newark ... huge, gigantic and yet the seem suspended in mid air. Wellll ... we know they are not. They are chugging along at 200 knots but they are 2000-3000 feet high, so they seem slow. But watch one of them close when they approach to land and you'll see how fast they'll come roaring past you.
Nothing gives a feeling of how fast you are going better than an object close enough to zip past you. Ever been surprised by one of those kiddie balloons? You see them in the distance ... wonder what the heck they are and they all of a sudden they shoot past you like a bullet ... shiny skin and clown face painted on them and all ... there's a boy (or a girl) down there on the ground, crying and pointing at the sky, longing after their lost friend ... perhaps whishing to fly after it. Future pilot perhaps, yes?
At 4000 feet the view is nothing short of spectacular. Visibility is to the horizon ... I am flying over a continuous carpet of fluffy white cotton ... and we are totally alone.
Ok, yes there's plenty of Continentals, Jet Blues, Alitalias and all those big-ass guys flying in the upper thousands and flight levels. But down here in the 4-8 thousands there's only us ... GA pilots. And if they are up here with me, they are flying IFR ... and if they are flying IFR in this portion of space, they are talking to my same controller ... and I don't hear anybody that even remotely sounds like a GA pilot. I am the only one talking to them (while my instructor keeps saying that he's getting bored).
It is only me up here. Flying VFR on top in the clearest, most open sky I have ever seen.
A nice VFR day has always some haze, or clouds up high on top. But today the sky is a blue I have never seen. It must be that all the clouds we can have today are locked in that layer between 2000 and 3200 and if you are lucky enough to break through, the sky is yours.
Oh I Have Slipped
The Surly Bonds of Earth...
Put Out My Hand
And Touched the Face of God
Robert Gillespie McGee.
The sky is blue enough and the air is calm enough, that I can't help thinking how fitting those words are, today.
Clocking my usual 115 knots at a comfy 2400 RPMs we reach Allentown and we are instructed to descend to 3000.
I cut power, put the nose down and dive for it. And this is another first for me: descend into the clouds ... at 115 knots (maneuvering speed for the Piper). This time the effect of speed is even more dramatic and the passage from VFR to IFR is even more sudden ... the clouds rush at us, a few wisps shoot by our wings and then we are in. Some water runs over the windshield as these clouds appear to be a bit heavier than the ones over Central Jersey.
This time I set up a shoot my first ILS approach fully in the clouds. At around 1200 feet we break out and I am spot on. We practice a couple more uneventful approaches, in and out of the clouds and I haven't had so much fun in ... well, I don't remember how long.
For some reason this breaking in and out of the clouds ... those very same clouds that flying VFR we are supposed to stay away from, is liberating. It's like a sort of transgression ... we are not supposed to do it and yet ... we do it. To a VFR pilot, that's what it feels like. An act of rebellion, not unlike the same act of rebellion that flying is, in the first place.
Man (and woman) is not supposed to fly, right? If we were ... we would have wings, right?
Wrong. We can fly .. and every takeoff is an act of defiance. And going in and out of the clouds ... well, that's also a new act of defiance.
On my quiet and uneventful way back to Central Jersey I keep thinking that I want more of this. I want to do this again. This was fun but also ... I want to do this solo. Just me, alone, on top of the clouds ... were we weren't supposed to go, reaching out, trying to touch the face of God (or a balloon with a clown painted on it ... either, or).