Alone at 6000 Feet
Reflecting back on things, it was indeed a great navigational feat. Names like Lindbergh and Admiral Bird come unbidden to my thoughts as black ink joins with green paper: 2.8 solo cross country. It was a day long anticipated and the product of hours of study and planning. I, like Lindbergh, had chosen to use the great circle route navigation technique. The preceding night I poured over charts and weather reports. It wouldn’t be easy, but with all the preparations I had made, I just might be able to navigate from my home base, Sunny Days Airpark to distant Freen Municipal Airport. Fatigue, bad weather and fuel starvation would be my nemeses that day but somehow I would succeed. The day of my grand adventure dawned bright and clear with no sign of bad weather. My plans had paid off and soon I would be hurtling through the air in the Mighty 150. I knew that I would need every drop of fuel to make the trip successfully so I filled up the tanks. One hundred and fifty six pounds of fuel later, I was taxing to runway 17. I had all my previous nights preparations strategically placed all around the cockpit. I just knew if I could pull this one off, someday they would have my picture next to definition of “pilotage” in the aviators dictionary.
With all my preparations in place, there was only one thing left to do, dial in FMU into the GPS unit. Taxi lights and small rodents were in great peril as I weaved back and forth in the taxiway and fumbled with the buttons and dials. Try as I might, I could not get the airport identifier into the GPS and with a cold shock, the truth became apparent. This GPS database was way out of date. As I taxied in stunned silence it dawned on me that I was going to have to actually do this for real……doh!
However, as all intrepid pilots know, its best to keep the pointed end going forward as much as possible so that’s what I did. With snarl of raw horsepower the Mighty 150 leap into the air. As I climbed out I frantically searched through the reams of paper and charts for the intricate navigation calculations that I had prepared so my instructor would sign me off for this adventure. With a sigh of relief I found the one with my calculations of magnetic course, true course, wind angle correction, magnetic heading, great circle heading, great wind correction magnetic heading, course heading corrected for coriolis force and terrain interference calculations. A sea of numbers was swimming in my vision when I suddenly realized that the big number in the corner was probably the one I was looking for. With a final envious glance at the GPS I turned to course 210 and continued to climb. As I leveled out at FL045 I realized that this would not be a as pleasant a trip as I had hoped.
It was as rough as burlap underwear up there and haze was so bad that I could barely see 25 miles! How would I ever find that damn airport in these conditions? Well, I could at least do something about the wicked turbulence (I almost spilled my Yoo-Hoo). After a quick assessment of the situation I stowed anything that could be a danger (I put the cap back on my Yoo-Hoo) and mentally prepared myself for the coming maneuver. Then with a mumbled prayer to the gods of gravity I hauled back on the yoke and pulled the Mighty 150 into a near vertical ascent. As we rocked toward the stratosphere I concentrated on the undignified muscle straining techniques, being very careful not to blow out my O-ring (Did that once, had to return to the airport for repairs, God bless leather seats!) The cool thin air was my ally for now and within 10 minutes I was leveling off at FL065. The air up there was smooth, smooth like a baby’s bottom whose mother had mistaken the tube of Nair for Desitin. As things began to stabilize I realized that I just might pull this off.
Alone at 6500 feet for the first time in my life, I looked out the windows and contemplated that life was good. No matter what happens in the world, no matter what evil walks on the ground, up here I will always be happy. Up here, higher than the birds, each breath, each moment, each thought are a treasure. My Mighty 150 purred along unheeding gravities call, and for that moment at least life made sense.
Lost in my revere I suddenly realized that I was supposed to be doing something. Lets see, I did all my preflight planning using the BTIB method (bury them in bullshit), I took off, pointy end still going forward (as much as possible), looked out the window and felt awe. I just couldn’t put my finger on it, but I knew I was forgetting something. Then it hits me, checkpoints, I am supposed to be looking for checkpoints. Well that was easy. I had marked dozens of checkpoints about every 3-4 miles that should be very easy to identify along the route. This wasn’t going to be so tough after all. Man, with all the fuss you hear from crusty old instructors and pilots about getting lost, you would think there was more to it that this. My first checkpoint was a little river that intersected this road. I confidently started looking out the windows sure that it must stand out like a transvestite at a VFW reunion. Within a few moments, my hopes were dashed. There were more than 10 rivers crossing at least that many roads. How would I ever be able to pick one of those out? Never mind, I will just switch to my other easy to identify checkpoints, lakes. Lets see, this one would be easy to find. It is shaped very much like that splattered bug on the windscreen, now just a quick look and will know exactly where I am. Drat….Since when are there so many lakes in this part of the world. They all looked like splattered bugs! As panic began to mount I realized that this could be the end for me. I would just fly around here, hopelessly lost until I ran out of fuel. They would probably find my airplane 60 years later, along with the remnants of my Robinson Caruso like hut, were I lived the rest of my days trying to perfect a coconut liqueur potent enough to run an internal combustion engine.
I was just starting to layout the plans for a coconut still in my mind, wondering if the Yoo-Hoo bottle would be of use when something caught my eye in the windscreen. What in the world was that out ahead? It must have been 25 miles away but showed up clear as day. It was a solid field of white against the normally red background of Oklahoma. I wonder if it was something that could help me find were I am? I started rifling through my many charts and soon found the one I was looking for. It was the one that showed the airport that was my destination. Shrewdly studying the map, I was greatly irritated by all the little black squares drawn all around the airport. Man, its hard enough to locate an airport without having to search for it in amongst all these….these oil tanks? Ah hah, that’s what those are, and that means if I fly to all that white stuff, I can find the airport. The realization finally donned on me that I just might pull off this great feat of navigation. I eagerly pointed my Mighty 150 toward the white and flew off into, to my mind, the history books. Look out Lindbergh!
With all my preparations in place, there was only one thing left to do, dial in FMU into the GPS unit. Taxi lights and small rodents were in great peril as I weaved back and forth in the taxiway and fumbled with the buttons and dials. Try as I might, I could not get the airport identifier into the GPS and with a cold shock, the truth became apparent. This GPS database was way out of date. As I taxied in stunned silence it dawned on me that I was going to have to actually do this for real……doh!
However, as all intrepid pilots know, its best to keep the pointed end going forward as much as possible so that’s what I did. With snarl of raw horsepower the Mighty 150 leap into the air. As I climbed out I frantically searched through the reams of paper and charts for the intricate navigation calculations that I had prepared so my instructor would sign me off for this adventure. With a sigh of relief I found the one with my calculations of magnetic course, true course, wind angle correction, magnetic heading, great circle heading, great wind correction magnetic heading, course heading corrected for coriolis force and terrain interference calculations. A sea of numbers was swimming in my vision when I suddenly realized that the big number in the corner was probably the one I was looking for. With a final envious glance at the GPS I turned to course 210 and continued to climb. As I leveled out at FL045 I realized that this would not be a as pleasant a trip as I had hoped.
It was as rough as burlap underwear up there and haze was so bad that I could barely see 25 miles! How would I ever find that damn airport in these conditions? Well, I could at least do something about the wicked turbulence (I almost spilled my Yoo-Hoo). After a quick assessment of the situation I stowed anything that could be a danger (I put the cap back on my Yoo-Hoo) and mentally prepared myself for the coming maneuver. Then with a mumbled prayer to the gods of gravity I hauled back on the yoke and pulled the Mighty 150 into a near vertical ascent. As we rocked toward the stratosphere I concentrated on the undignified muscle straining techniques, being very careful not to blow out my O-ring (Did that once, had to return to the airport for repairs, God bless leather seats!) The cool thin air was my ally for now and within 10 minutes I was leveling off at FL065. The air up there was smooth, smooth like a baby’s bottom whose mother had mistaken the tube of Nair for Desitin. As things began to stabilize I realized that I just might pull this off.
Alone at 6500 feet for the first time in my life, I looked out the windows and contemplated that life was good. No matter what happens in the world, no matter what evil walks on the ground, up here I will always be happy. Up here, higher than the birds, each breath, each moment, each thought are a treasure. My Mighty 150 purred along unheeding gravities call, and for that moment at least life made sense.
Lost in my revere I suddenly realized that I was supposed to be doing something. Lets see, I did all my preflight planning using the BTIB method (bury them in bullshit), I took off, pointy end still going forward (as much as possible), looked out the window and felt awe. I just couldn’t put my finger on it, but I knew I was forgetting something. Then it hits me, checkpoints, I am supposed to be looking for checkpoints. Well that was easy. I had marked dozens of checkpoints about every 3-4 miles that should be very easy to identify along the route. This wasn’t going to be so tough after all. Man, with all the fuss you hear from crusty old instructors and pilots about getting lost, you would think there was more to it that this. My first checkpoint was a little river that intersected this road. I confidently started looking out the windows sure that it must stand out like a transvestite at a VFW reunion. Within a few moments, my hopes were dashed. There were more than 10 rivers crossing at least that many roads. How would I ever be able to pick one of those out? Never mind, I will just switch to my other easy to identify checkpoints, lakes. Lets see, this one would be easy to find. It is shaped very much like that splattered bug on the windscreen, now just a quick look and will know exactly where I am. Drat….Since when are there so many lakes in this part of the world. They all looked like splattered bugs! As panic began to mount I realized that this could be the end for me. I would just fly around here, hopelessly lost until I ran out of fuel. They would probably find my airplane 60 years later, along with the remnants of my Robinson Caruso like hut, were I lived the rest of my days trying to perfect a coconut liqueur potent enough to run an internal combustion engine.
I was just starting to layout the plans for a coconut still in my mind, wondering if the Yoo-Hoo bottle would be of use when something caught my eye in the windscreen. What in the world was that out ahead? It must have been 25 miles away but showed up clear as day. It was a solid field of white against the normally red background of Oklahoma. I wonder if it was something that could help me find were I am? I started rifling through my many charts and soon found the one I was looking for. It was the one that showed the airport that was my destination. Shrewdly studying the map, I was greatly irritated by all the little black squares drawn all around the airport. Man, its hard enough to locate an airport without having to search for it in amongst all these….these oil tanks? Ah hah, that’s what those are, and that means if I fly to all that white stuff, I can find the airport. The realization finally donned on me that I just might pull off this great feat of navigation. I eagerly pointed my Mighty 150 toward the white and flew off into, to my mind, the history books. Look out Lindbergh!