Lesson 20: Cross-country night flight

This weekend was supposed to be packed. A lesson Friday night, Saturday night, and a cross-country solo Sunday morning. Realizing that a cross-country night lesson on Saturday night, followed by a solo Sunday morning, and the significant travel time between would be strenuous, I booked a hotel between the two flights.

It wasn't until the next day I realized I booked it for the wrong dates, Friday night to Saturday morning. Okay, that's fine. I can still make use of the hotel: I can stay in the air late on Friday, without worry of missing a BART train.

Riding to the Old T's at 8pm on Friday, it dawned on me that I could just move my solo flight to Saturday morning and make full use of the hotel as originally intended. There are no planes available for Saturday morning and the weather looks to be crappy, but there's still hope... I guess.

I arrived at the Old T's as the sun was setting, and Stephen asked me if I had a flight plan to Santa Rosa ready. It was that moment that I remembered I accidentally threw it out. Stephen was not pleased. Regardless, he had me quickly plan a new flight to Santa Rosa, and since I had never been there before, familiarize myself with printed information on the airport.

Santa Rosa has a tower, but it closes at 8pm. He explained that it would be like flying into an uncontrolled airport.

I preflighted the plane with my own flashlight this time, and brought her to runway 33 after I got my clearance. Taxiing was much less eventful on account of the sun still being up; Stephen had wondered when night officially began and had even made me call some agencies to that effect, but no one had an answer for him. So I guess night officially begins when he says it does.

At the runway I made a point to note the departure time. I've been trying to get in the habit of remembering all the crap you have to do before you get in the air.

"Want to kill two birds with one stone?" Stephen asked as I climbed out of Oakland with the sun just below the horizon.

"Sure."

And on came the hood. Apparently I need like 5 hours of simulated instrument time.

Partially because I hadn't flown in two months, but primarily because the right wing had about 30 pounds more fuel than the left, I could not for the life of me keep that plane steady. We were zigging and zagging, wobbling about the sky. Stephen candidly suggested I feed from the right tank only, but that only fixed the problem very slowly.

So, the plane made lazy S-turns across the sky as I chased the VOR needle exasperatingly. Once we got over the Scagg's Island VOR, Stephen suggested I taske my hood off for a peek. It certainly was beautiful out; a crisp, cool night over the North Bay.

I continued further to the Santa Rosa VOR, and as I was 5 nautical miles or so out, Stephen had me take off my hood and find the airport.

"I see the rotating beacon, but no runways." I strained my eyes to see the runway lights.

"That's because you haven't turned the lights on." Oh! Pilot-controlled lighting! I eagerly clicked my mic in an attempt to get the runway to light up.

Click-click.

No dice. "Try it five times, and slower," Stephen suggested. I obliged, and the runway lit up like plugging in Christmas lights. After an ear-popping descent to pattern altitude, I entered a left 45 for runway 14, turned downwind, then base, then final. Landing was smooth and uneventful. Stephen had me click the lights on again on base, so they wouldn't go out on short final. I liked having power over such a large electrical device.

"On long night cross-countries, pilots keep themselves busy by turning on the lights for every runway they fly over," Stephen said. Shortly thereafter he noticed the fuel selector valve was still on "RIGHT," not "BOTH," and gave me heat for not following the pre-landing checklist correctly.

We discussed the possibility of getting fuel at Santa Rosa, but ultimately decided just to go back. For someone who has never been to this airport, taxiing around at night, I think I did pretty good. I had removed the relevant page from my Pilot's Guide and clipped it to my kneeboard, and it helped me not get lost.

I brought the airplane back to runway 14, then we took off again, departing straight-out for Scagg's Island. Once I was a thousand feet off the ground, the hood came back on, and that oh-so-familiar amateurish weaving began.

As I flew back under the hood, Stephen, true to his word, used the GPS to search for nearby airports, and turned the runway lights on as we passed. I saw him fiddling with Gnoss's and Petaluma's lights.

"I love flying at night," Stephen said whimsically. "It's so pretty."

Once over Scagg's, Stephen had me continue to the OAK VOR. In the process of tuning the OAK VOR I lost control of the airplane, which had already turned itself 180 degrees around and was descending rapidly. (I hate flying with a fuel imbalance.) After about 5 minutes of flying, he said I can take my hood off, and sure enough, there we were, over San Pablo Bay, approaching Hercules.

I checked in with NorCal Approach, and was told to head to the Mormon Temple.

"When you get switched over to Tower, I'll handle the radio," Stephen said.

Uh-oh. This could only mean one thing. "You have a surprise for me?"

Stephen made a wicked smile. He was up to something. "I remember back when a surprise meant like a birthday cake or something, not an in-flight emergency," I remarked.

"Surprises are fun."

After the handoff to Tower, Stephen made his request. "Oakland Tower, 739UL would like a low approach to 29, landing 27R, if you can squeeze us in."

"739UL, sorry, I got planes backed up for 25 miles. So that will be cleared to land 27R."

"Oh well," Stephen said to me. "At night the lights are 29 look amazing." 29 is the Big Runway, the one the big jets use when they land and depart Oakland. He explained that a low approach on 29 means flying the length of the runway not 50 feet above the ground, then making a steep turn and landing on 27R (I assume landing on the departure end).

That reminded me that I wanted to practice the low-approach 27R landing for runway 33, a similar approach, and he told me we could do that sometime. For now, though, I am simply landing on 27R, like so many other times. I made another smooth landing, proceeded to Kaiser for fuel, and spent $113 on filling up this very thirsty aircraft.

Like the previous night, the South Tower was handling all air traffic, so the radio was busy, sharing it with the Big Jets. I squeezed in my taxi request, and proceeded to the Old T's to shut off the aircraft.

Stephen wants my next cross-country solo to be to Healdsburg, an airport just beyond Santa Rosa. Though as I write this, it is the next morning, and the weather doesn't look promising. I may end up doing it tomorrow or next week.

I also have another cross-country night lesson Saturday night; who knows where that will be to. I'll find out in a bit.