Chinook

  Mid-morning. Starbucks drive through. Tall Americano and a lemon poppyseed loaf.

  Typically I have to be in the flight planning room busily smacking at the computer keyboard and fretting about fuel loads long before the guy who unlocks the Starbucks in the morning has even had his morning pee. Today is a noon check-in and I think I will take advantage.
  Four hours later at FL270 we're crossing the 49th parallel northbound in smooth air which is unusual considering the crosswind that is roaring from the west. Our track over the ground is 013 degrees yet we are steering almost due (magnetic) North. That is about thirty degrees to the left. The associated mountain wave activity has our airspeed and pitch rolling up and down like a ship at sea. I select the 'soft ride' mode on the auto pilot to mitigate discomfort in the back end of the airplane.
  As we pass over an airport enroute, I can just make out a company airplane far below parked on the ramp all tented up and plugged in for the day. My eyeballs move just slightly and I see some long white treeless blocks of snow looking unnatural relative to the rest of the mountains in the area - a ski hill. I'm sure business is good for them these days with the tremendous amount of snow they've received so far this winter. I can't actually make out any riders but the parking lot is half full so they must be down there somewhere.
  We're coming up on the arrival now and the ATIS states in its indifferent monotone manner to expect turbulence all quadrants. Wind is 260 degrees, 24 knots gusting to 38 knots. I guess that airflow has made its way to the surface.
  We get cleared to a lower altitude and are warned again of the impending churning chaos awaiting us 10,000 feet below reported in 'all quadrants' by 'all types'. I can't help but think they must be wrong, it is such a smooth ride at the moment and everything looks pristine from our perch. I turn around and tell everyone in the back it's going to get rough and to put everything away and tighten their seatbelts. Well, time to slow down to 'turbulence penetration speed'. I pull the power levers back while holding the gear horn silencing button and slow the rate of descent slightly. A few minutes later we're at a crawling pace and I start to get impatient and wonder if I'm wasting time with this, its probably not that bad. I then look out my window and see this one little cloud that gets my attention. Generally I'm not afraid of clouds, but this little one is all rolled up into a ball and I can watch it rotating. That's bad. Five seconds later, there it is. Bang. We hit the s**t storm. The punches come one after another. I feel like a speedbag.
  We get changed over to arrival frequency and check-in. Everyone other than ATC who is talking on the radio sounds like they're beating their chests with their fists while they speak, us included. We're given vectors and advised to expect the bumps 'all the way to the gate'. Nice.
  Finally we turn the 180 degree corner to final and watch the ground speed bleed off wildly - at least we're still going forward. Cleared to land. I brief that we're going to land with some extra airspeed (for mom). 1000 feet and we're configured for landing. We hear a Boeing ahead of us inform tower that they experienced negative performace windshear in the last 800 feet. Then tower says 'hey you in the beech, did you catch that?' Sure did thanks.
  Well, they were telling the truth, we got it at about 900 feet. Airspeed bleeding off, groundspeed and sink rate increasing. My right hand pushes on the power levers. Push more. More. My mouth was just forming the words go-around when, with all that power in there, the airplane's descent rate slowed and I got it back on glideslope. Two red and two white lights on the left side PAPI's before we crossed the company mandated stable approach threshold of 500 feet AGL.
  The two behind us landed, but the two after that went missed due to windshear.

I have the next few days off, maybe I'll take a drive and check out that ski hill..

Night Flight

Sunset in our six. FL270 Eastbound.

  -28 degrees. Normally we don't use a Ground Power Unit for a whole lot on the airplane I fly. Only very few fellow pilots who fly this type use a GPU regularly and for reasons I can't quite pinpoint,  I find it a little too pretentious. However, today we're going to pull a little juice off of one to fire up the electric heat and preheat the cabin. You see, for some unknown reason the airplane was left outside for an indeterminate period of time in pretty frigid temperatures and everything is cold soaked. Now normally a warm butt and some idle chatter from the passengers is enough to soften things up until we have the engine fires burning, but today we will have to go with option B - preheat. Our passengers happen to be super-ultra VIP - that translated means 'No Cold Bums'.
  So the First Officer takes care of the GPU and the walkaround and the fuel order - but more importantly the commissary and liquor. I take my seat and program the FMS and grab an IFR clearance so we are ready to go when the kings and queens finally arrive.
  I'm just finishing up when the passengers begin to board. I quickly recognize the telltale signs of loud boisterous chatter punctuated with abrasive and irritating laughter. They've already been in the sauce. Super. This should be fun..
  With the safety briefing complete we taxi out. We can hear the loud crunching of snow as we pivot on the right main gear to make a tight exit off the company ramp - every Canadian knows when the snow is noisy like that, it means it is very cold. Too cold to even be slippery.
  We blast off into the cold twilight. We are going against the flow of the evening inbound rush hour traffic on climb out. We are quickly cleared to our planned altitude and  then direct to destination. The visibility tonight is fantastic and we can see the lights of all the major cities for over 100 miles. We level off and I trim the airplane and reluctantly transfer control to the autopilot. There is another plane 50 miles ahead of us on the same airway at the same altitude and their contrail is hanging lifelessly just a few hundred feet off our left wing - illuminated by the last few rays of the setting sun.
  My attention is drawn back inside the airplane as I hear the clinking of glasses. The passengers are knee-deep in the onboard booze. One guy closest to the flight deck taps my shoulder so I make sure the FO  has the airplane and I take off my headset. Turns out this guy is a pilot and owns his own Cub - cool little airplane - and we get into a discussion of this disease we call aviation. Some of the other guys and gals start to join in and turns out these people are all right. They're not the snooties I thought they might be. Super nice and friendly.
  As we're chatting away the FO motions for me to put my headset back on. I do and he tells me we have some interesting traffic going to cross at 1000' above in about 2 minutes. There is an F-18 on its way back to base from a training mission and is on the airway at FL280. I spot him in the distance and closing fast. I turn all the interior lights in the airplane waaayy down and tell the rosy cheeked Cub owner what's up and a few of the others seem interested as well. First thing we see are the red and green nav lights, then a big fat contrail, then the dark silhouette of a military jet just starts to become distinguishable. I'm thinking to myself this is very cool (Canada does not have a huge military presence and seeing them in action is fairly rare, especially in flight). Then just as he's about to cross overhead he pulls the nose into a kind of high alpha and wags the wings. Then he's gone. Wow. Very cool.
  Centre come up and asks if we got a nice view. Thats a big 10-4. Thanks for the show.

Wonder where we'll be and what we'll see tomorrow..

The Rocks

28,000’  Northwest bound.

 We have a quick trip to the mountains to pick up a couple heli-skiers who have had their fill and just want to go home. The two ladies (sisters) have a rather arduous journey ahead of them this cold day in January. They will hop in an A-Star helicopter from a remote camp and fly VFR over to the small 4,000 ft runway tucked far inside the Rocky Mountains where we will meet them with the Beech and shuttle them IFR over to an international airport where they will catch an Airbus that will carry them back to their home country across the pond. 

The weather at destination is not reported, but the helicopter pilots say it’s ‘decent’.  Decent to a fling-wing pilot differs somewhat from a fixed wing pilot, but I decide to launch based on that professional assessment anyways.  As we start out it is an absolutely gorgeous morning – good vis and no bumps. Did someone say coffee? Why yes, I think I will have a cup with my smile today.

Of course as we near destination, the clouds start to gather in the valleys threatening us pilots with actual work (in the form of a full approach procedure). Now there seems to be more stratus than granite so we reluctantly load up the approach and request a clearance to the initial approach waypoint. This airport is served only with a GPS approach, and the minimums are quite high as it sits low in a valley protected on 3 sides by sharp looking mountains reaching to 11,000 ft. We hear some static and then some silence. We repeat our request. Static then silence. Even at this altitude we are out of range of ATC. Then, crisp and clear from a Boeing high overhead comes ‘Hey you in the Beech, Center clears you outta high level controlled airspace in the vicinity of XXXX’. Roger dodger. Thanks for the relay. We’re on our own now.

  As we pass just south of the airport enroute to the initial waypoint, we spot a hole in the undercast. Should we? It is the siren call of shortcutting – drop through the hole and we can avoid a long slow IMC approach... Not gonna happen though. I hear they make those hills out of some pretty hard stuff.  

So we continue on. Descend. Level out. Turn. Descend. Slow down. Approach flap. Level out. Turn. Descend into the stratus. Light to moderate icing. Descend again. We break out of the clouds and we are staring down the barrel of the runway, but thousands of feet too high to make it a straight-in landing, as expected due to the type and location of the approach. Gear down to slow us down. We fly overhead and see the runway is mostly cleared of snow and join the downwind in a continuous descent all the way around until final. Speed checks - flaps all the way down, flick a couple more switches and the landing checklist is complete. Vref and touchdown. Maximum reverse then light braking and we make the taxiway.

The weather in the mountains really does change rapidly. We were on the ground for about 20 minutes, and in that time that hole we passed on our way in infected the air around it and went viral which enabled a nice VFR departure and an even nicer ride home.

Who knows where we’re going to be tomorrow...

#2 Starter U/S

  I can sense it coming. I am overtired and desperately need some deep - a slap in the face probably couldn't wake me up - kind of sleep. Guess I was just trying too hard. My left eye is cracked open, unlike my right eye which is squished closed under the weight of my exhausted head, and is trying to identify my whereabouts. Then anxiety creeps in - what day is it? Where am I supposed to be? Am I late? Why is it so dark?
Oh yes, it's 3:30am. Actually its 3:28, and my subconscious internal clock has alerted me to the fact my cell phone that doubles as my daily alarm will ring in two minutes. If I would like to preserve to some degree the peaceful state the beautifully curved body next to me is experiencing, I had better turn it off before it anounces the morning I wish I could sleep through.
Shower. Shave.
License, wallet, spectacles and (rhymes with spectacles) - and out the door I go. Pick up my $1.70 habit and straight to the office. I'm in luck, the VIP computer (that is - the one in the far dark corner) is free. Click. Click. Click. Print. Sign and photocopy. March out to the beast through the icy december wind. My flashlight betrays no obvious mechanical problems. Cargo is already loaded. Let's get rollin'!
Chocks pulled. Door closed. Power on. Lights on. Swing my hand in a circle and stop with two gloved fingers pointed up: the guy with the glowing orange wands seems to understand my non verbal language - starting number two...
Uhhh, cough ahem. Starting number two...
OK, quick re-check of all necessary start items. Good to go.
Hand swirl with the fingers aaaand starting number twoooo....

Lights off. Power off. Door open. Chocks in.

Maybe my side of the bed is still warm.