Flying anecdote, as promised
Posted: March 10th, 2018, 9:44 pm
As promised on this board at some stage, I feel the urge to share this anecdote...
Sortie 249
I had to fly for two and a half hours in order to have the requisite flight time for the renewal of my flying licence. It was a miserable September morning in 2001. The clouds were low and my spirit had followed them down... This was my last chance to get the hours in without added complications.
The airfield and Cessna (D-EAEH, see photo linked to below) were at Landshut, half an hour's motorbike ride away up a Bavarian Autobahn. The weather didn't improve. Some of the treetops under the downwind leg of the traffic circuit were disappearing into the cloud. The only ray of hope came from a bright band, a silver lining even, between the ground and the sky to the South East.
I took off and, as if by surprise, was in the cloud almost immediately. Quick reactions brought me straight back out again. Quite a shock for someone at the time used to seeing out of the window. As agreed with the guys in the tower I ignored the traffic circuit and made directly for the distant brightness. Just past the Munich control zone the clouds lifted a bit and made the flying much less stressful.
And so began over two hours of flight, plying between the Alps near the Chiemsee and Landshut, or as near as I could reasonably get to it. Doing a dot-to-dot puzzle with small airfields in case the cloud should ignore the forecast and descend once again.
Eventually my bladder reported in. I was reluctant to put down for this trivial reason and decided not to waste time and hold on. After a long while I became more and more aware that I'd put myself in an awkward predicament. I realised I was never going to be able to hold on until the two and a half hours were up. Even landing was becoming unthinkable; believe me it's useful to have no such distractions, especially in marginal weather.
The only receptacle in the aeroplane was my crash helmet behind me. I wasn't about to use that. Or I could just relax and let go. Then the idea of a Lufthansa sick bag happened upon me. So, half standing, with my head pressed against the roof, holding course with the compass and height with the altimeter, I filled the bag. And boy was I relieved.
Only now I had another problem. This bag was almost full. I couldn't put it down. That too didn't bode well for the landing. Usually both hands are needed: yoke, mixture, carb. heat, throttle, flaps etc.
So, not wanting to litter the countryside with this bag, I flipped up the window and thrust the thing out whilst holding on tightly. It swung aft and there we stayed, the bag and I, in the noise and draught until I started working my grip along the open end and down the side.
But disaster struck. At a critical stage the bag reversed in the wind and emptied half its contents over the village of Taufkirchen (aptly approximating to “baptising churches” in English). I say half the contents because the other half shot inside the aircraft with a remarkable force covering me, the window opposite, my motorbike gear and indeed almost everything inside.
After the otherwise uneventful landing I did my best to clean things up quickly before the next customer turned up (unlikely because of the weather). I returned home rather flustered but happy in the knowledge that two hours and forty minutes were added to my total flying time.
Chris
The unfortunate aircraft
Sortie 249
I had to fly for two and a half hours in order to have the requisite flight time for the renewal of my flying licence. It was a miserable September morning in 2001. The clouds were low and my spirit had followed them down... This was my last chance to get the hours in without added complications.
The airfield and Cessna (D-EAEH, see photo linked to below) were at Landshut, half an hour's motorbike ride away up a Bavarian Autobahn. The weather didn't improve. Some of the treetops under the downwind leg of the traffic circuit were disappearing into the cloud. The only ray of hope came from a bright band, a silver lining even, between the ground and the sky to the South East.
I took off and, as if by surprise, was in the cloud almost immediately. Quick reactions brought me straight back out again. Quite a shock for someone at the time used to seeing out of the window. As agreed with the guys in the tower I ignored the traffic circuit and made directly for the distant brightness. Just past the Munich control zone the clouds lifted a bit and made the flying much less stressful.
And so began over two hours of flight, plying between the Alps near the Chiemsee and Landshut, or as near as I could reasonably get to it. Doing a dot-to-dot puzzle with small airfields in case the cloud should ignore the forecast and descend once again.
Eventually my bladder reported in. I was reluctant to put down for this trivial reason and decided not to waste time and hold on. After a long while I became more and more aware that I'd put myself in an awkward predicament. I realised I was never going to be able to hold on until the two and a half hours were up. Even landing was becoming unthinkable; believe me it's useful to have no such distractions, especially in marginal weather.
The only receptacle in the aeroplane was my crash helmet behind me. I wasn't about to use that. Or I could just relax and let go. Then the idea of a Lufthansa sick bag happened upon me. So, half standing, with my head pressed against the roof, holding course with the compass and height with the altimeter, I filled the bag. And boy was I relieved.
Only now I had another problem. This bag was almost full. I couldn't put it down. That too didn't bode well for the landing. Usually both hands are needed: yoke, mixture, carb. heat, throttle, flaps etc.
So, not wanting to litter the countryside with this bag, I flipped up the window and thrust the thing out whilst holding on tightly. It swung aft and there we stayed, the bag and I, in the noise and draught until I started working my grip along the open end and down the side.
But disaster struck. At a critical stage the bag reversed in the wind and emptied half its contents over the village of Taufkirchen (aptly approximating to “baptising churches” in English). I say half the contents because the other half shot inside the aircraft with a remarkable force covering me, the window opposite, my motorbike gear and indeed almost everything inside.
After the otherwise uneventful landing I did my best to clean things up quickly before the next customer turned up (unlikely because of the weather). I returned home rather flustered but happy in the knowledge that two hours and forty minutes were added to my total flying time.
Chris
The unfortunate aircraft