Lesson #2 has come and gone. The exhilaration of flying has been tempered somewhat by my non-insignificant blunders in the air. Still ... supposedly I'm faring better than most. I haven't really asked "most" how they did, so I'm just taking Stephen's word here.
I skipped off work 'round 11:30 to get my airman medical certificate. I need a 3rd-class cert to fly but the doctor told me I might as well go for 2nd-class. So I have it, and hand in hand with it is my student pilot license (sans endorsement for now). Then at 5pm at the Old T's again, my lesson began.
Today was a review of turns and altitude changes, along with the fun of combining the two. Like last time I spoke to ground flawlessly, and this time I was allowed to talk to tower too. I blundered on tower, predictably; saying "request takeoff" as opposed to "ready for takeoff" is faux pas, I suppose.
Stephen shadowed the controls while I did a takeoff (wherein I mostly held the center line). I'm always distrustful of his shadowing. Not that I think he can't fly (he can), but I feel like when he's shadowing, I'm not "really" flying the plane. I feel like he makes small control inputs to smooth out my errors, when I'm not looking. When his hands and feet are way clear of the controls, I truly feel like the plane is mine.
We followed the 580 north to San Pablo Bay, and practiced turns, climbs, and descents. When he was satisfied (something I never was, given my inability to trim the plane to hold an altitude within a very generous 300 feet), he had me combine the two for climbing and descending turns. My performance won't be making Patty Wagstaff jealous, to say the least, but he seemed satisfied.
As an optional bonus, we got to try it with the hood on. To be honest, this really didn't change a damn thing. I mean, I've been "e-flying" IFR for a while now, so I've picked up the ability to scan and trust my instruments. So even when he tells me to make a turn in broad daylight with no hood, I go by the instruments. So he jammed the hood on my face, and ... I did my turns exactly the same way (i.e., sloppily).
But my biggest blunder was my response to a simple question. "Would you like to radio in to NorCal approach?"
"Sure." Wrong answer.
I cued the mic. "Oakland approach (shoulda said Norcal approach), Skyhawk 739UL is west of the Golden Gate bridge (forgot to say my altitude), request ... uhh ..." BRAIN FART "... request landing ... or ... approach ... uhh ... " I let my voice trail off.
"Cessna that radioed in ... you were completely unreadable and you trailed off. Say again."
At this point Stephen took over. I sorta slumped into my seat, a failure of a man. The typical order of these things is WHO (Norcal appraoch), YOU (Skyhawk 739UL), WHERE (west of the Golden Gate), HOW HIGH (2,500 feet), WHAT (inbound to land, Oakland). Had I strung those segments together, I would have formed a coherent radio request. But somewhere along the WHERE, the house of cards I had constructed to make it through this one radio call fell down, and I was reduced to babble.
Stephen guided me through the procedure of getting into the Oakland pattern, then talked me into getting the plane set up for final approach. He had enough faith in me to let me control it all the way into landing, but he did shadow my inputs, so I don't know how much of it was me and how much was him.
My landing was ... a C+ perhaps. I was all over the glideslope (PAPI lights going everywhere), and it was partially luck that I had the correct descent rate when the runway was "commit time" close. My flare was shaky, and I landed on my right wheel, bounced up, then plopped down on all three a little left of the centerline. Not bad, I guess. Not exactly Iceman though.
As before I handled the radio during the taxi to the FBO, fueled up the plane, and took her back to the Old T's. I had procured all the necessary documents I listed previously, so those were reviewed next. After bookkeeping and scheduling (join us Saturday 12:00pm for more), the lesson was officially over.
Stephen was pleased. I was not. I'm hard on myself. Until I can hold my damn altitude to within 100 feet, and until I can keep my VSI from pointing every direction in a climbing/descending turn, I'm still a kid.
Oh, the radio thing too. Sheesh. I gotta get my act together and act like a man on the radio.
Cost so far: $948.65
Time so far: 5 days
Hours so far: 2.1
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2 comments:
You got the hood and landed the plane on the second run out? He must think you're pretty good, or else he's a little nutty.
Doesn't the fuel smell nice, too? What a pleasant way to get cancer.
Aviation fuel is odorless, I do believe! After all, isn't all gas odorless by nature?
One of the things we do during preflight is a fuel check. We use a sump to extract a fuel sample, at look for water (which beads up) or other impurities (which are typically heavier than fuel and fall to the bottom). Also, we make sure it's the right kind of fuel. Avgas is blueish, jet fuel is clear. Avgas evaporates completely, jet fuel leaves an oily residue.
The chemistry of it is beyond me, but that's what we do!
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