BobsV35B(at)aol.com
Guest
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 Posted: Tue Nov 16, 2010 1:54 am Post subject: I Flew..... |
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It really was a fun job (sigh).
Here is to the new guys, just hope they enjoy it too.
Happy Skies,
Old Bob
In a message dated 11/16/2010 1:42:16 A.M. Central Standard Time, john(at)vormbaum.com writes:
| Quote: | Gee, Don, thanks for pointing out that I definitely chose the wrong career path. I'm sure there are negatives too, but I'm guessing that everything on this list makes them worth it!
Sent from my iPad
On Nov 15, 2010, at 6:14 PM, dongirod <dongirod(at)bellsouth.net (dongirod(at)bellsouth.net)> wrote:
| Quote: | st1\:*{behavior:url(#default#ieooui) }
WOW, great memories ! Forwarded from a friend. Long but good. FE
ļ»æ You see them at airport terminals around the world.
They come neatly uniformed and, sleeves striped; wings over their
left pocket.
They show up looking fresh. There's a brisk, young-old look of
efficiency about them.
They arrive fresh from home, from hotels, carrying suitcases,
battered briefcases, bulging, with a wealth of technical
information, data; filled with regulations and rules.
They know the new, harsh sheen of Chicago's O'Hare.
They know the cluttered approaches to Newark; they know the
tricky shuttle that is Rio; they know, but do not relish, the
intricate instrument approaches to various foreign airports;
they know the volcanoes all around Guatemala.
They respect foggy San Francisco.
They know the up-and-down walk to the gates at Dallas, the Texas
sparseness of Abilene, New Orleans' sparkling terminal, the
milling crowds at Washington.
They know Butte, Boston, and Beirut.
They appreciate the perfect weather in Phoenix; they recognize
the danger of an ice-slick runway at JFK.
They understand short runways, antiquated fire equipment,
inadequate approach lighting, but there is one thing they will
never comprehend: Complacency.
They marvel at the exquisite good taste of hot coffee in
Anchorage and a cold beer in Guam.
They vaguely remember the workhorse efficiency of the DC-3's,
the reliability of the DC- 4's and DC- 6's, the troubles with
the DC-7 and the propellers on Boeing 377's. They discuss the
beauty of an old gal named Connie.
They recognize the high shrill whine of a Viscount, the rumbling
thrust of a DC-8 or 707 on a clearway takeoff from Haneda.
The roominess of the 747 cockpit, and the snug fit of a 737.
They speak a language unknown to Webster. They discuss ALPA,
EPR's, fans, mach and bogie swivels. And, strangely, such things
as bugs, thumpers, crickets, and CAT's, but they are inclined to
change the subject when the uninitiated approaches.
They remember flying [i]before[/i] GPS; low freq ranges, VOR, ILS
and ADF.
They have tasted the characteristic loneliness of the sky, and
occasionally feel the adrenaline of danger.
They respect the unseen thing called turbulence; they know what
it means to fight for self-control, to discipline one's senses.
They buy life insurance, but make no concession to the
possibility of complete disaster, for they have uncommon faith
in themselves and what they are doing.
They concede the glamour is gone from flying.
They deny a pilot is through at sixty.
They know tomorrow, or the following night, something will come
along they have never met before; they know flying requires
perseverance and vigilance.
They know they must practice, lest they retrograde.
They realize why some wit once quipped: "Flying is year after
year of monotony punctuated by seconds of stark terror." As a
group, they defy mortality tables yet approach semi-annual
physical examinations with trepidation.
They are individualistic, yet bonded together.
They are family people.
They are reputedly overpaid, yet entrusted with equipment worth
millions. And entrusted with lives, countless
lives.
At times they are reverent: They have watched the Pacific sky
turn purple at dusk and the stark beauty of sunrise over Iceland
at the end of a polar crossing.
They know the twinkling, jeweled beauty of Los Angeles at night;
they have seen snow on the Rockies.
They remember the vast unending mat of green Amazon jungle, the
twisting Silver road that is the Father of Waters, an ice cream
cone called Fujiyama.
Who can forget Everest from 100 miles away, or the ice fog in
Fairbanks in January?
They have watched a satellite streak across a starry sky, seen
the clear, deep blue of the stratosphere, felt the incalculable
force of the heavens.
They have marveled at sun streaked evenings, dappled earth,
velvet night, and spun silver clouds, sculptured cumulus: God's
weather.
They have viewed the Northern Lights, a wilderness of sky, a
pilot's halo, a bomber's moon, horizontal rain, contrails and
St. Elmo's Fire. Only a pilot experiences all this.
Flying close fingertip formation in a flight of four.
Stopping the lumbering beast on a short, icy, slick runway.
Sunrises seen from the high flight levels that make the heart
soar.
The patchwork quilt of the great plains of Kansas from 37,000'
on a day when you can see forever.
Cruising mere feet above a billiard-table-flat cloud deck at
Mach .86 with your chin on the glare shield and your face as
close as you can get to the windshield.
Punching out the top of a low overcast into the bright sunlight.
The majesty and grandeur of towering cumulus.
Rotating at VR and feeling 800,000 plus pounds of Airplane come
alive as she lifts off.
The delicate threads of St. Elmo's Fire dancing on the
windshield at night.
The twinkle of lights on the Japanese fishing fleet far below on
a night crossing of the North Pacific.
Cloud formations that are beautiful beyond description.
'Ice fog' in Anchorage on a cold winter morning.
Seeing the approach strobes appear through the fog on a [i]'Must do'[/i] zero-zero
approach when there is no other place to go.
Seeing geologic formations that no ground-pounder will ever see.
The chaotic, non-stop babble of radio transmissions at O'Hare
during the afternoon rush.
The quietness of center frequency at night during a
"Transcontinental flight" ... or over the Amazon at any time.
Lightning storms at night over the Midwest.
Picking your way through a line of huge thunderstorms that
seemed to go all the way from Chicago to New Orleans
The soft glow of the instrument panel in a dark cockpit.
The dancing curtains of colored light of the "Aurora Borealisā.
The taxiway names at O'Hare before they were renamed: 'The
Bridge', 'Lakeshore Drive', 'Old Scenic', 'New Scenic', 'Outer',
'The Bypass', 'Inner', 'Cargo', 'North-South', 'The Stub', and
'Hangar Alley'!
The majestic panorama of an entire mountain range stretched out
beneath you from horizon to horizon.
Lenticular clouds over the Sierras.
The brief, yet tempting, glimpse of runway lights after you've
already committed to the missed approach.
The Alps in winter.
The South China Sea so smooth that you leave waves in the water
from 75 feet above the sea as you fly over it.
BEFORE GPS: Talking to Ocean station, "November" for a fix
between the coast and Hickam to find out where in the hell we
were.
The lights of London or Paris at night from FL 350.
Squall lines that run as far as you can see.
Exotic lands with exotic food.
Maneuvering the airplane through "canyons" - between towering
Cumulus Clouds.
The deep blue-gray of the sky at FL 430.
The hustle and bustle of Hong Kong Harbor.
The softness of a touchdown on a snow-covered runway.
Hearing the nose wheel spin down against the snubber in the
wheel well after takeoff. A delightful sound signaling that you
were on your way!
Old Chinatown in Singapore before it was torn down, modernized,
and sterilized.
Watching the lightning show while crossing the ITCZ at night.
Long-tail boats speeding along the kalongs in Thailand.
The quietly turning paddle fans in the lobby and the "Long Bar"
at the "Raffles Hotel" in Singapore.
Dodging colored splotches of red and yellow light on the radar
screen at night.
The sound of foreign accents on the radio.
Luxury hotels.
To paraphrase the eloquent aviation writer, Ernie Gann, "The
allure of the slit in a China Girl's skirt".
Sunsets of every color imaginable.
The tantalizing glow of the flashing strobe lights just before
you break out of the clouds on the approach.
Yosemite Valley from above.
The almost blindingly-brilliant-white of a towering cumulus
cloud.
A cold San Miguel in Angeles City after a long day's flying.
The taxiway sentry (with his flag & machine gun) at the old
Taipei (downtown) airport.
Seventy-thousand-foot-high thunderstorm clouds in the tropics.
Sipping Pina Coladas in a luxury hotel bar, while a Typhoon
rages outside.
Seeing the Chinese Junks bobbing in Aberdeen harbor, during a
takeoff from Kai-Tak Airport.
The smell of Winter kimchee in Korea.
Watching the latitude count down to zero on the INS, and seeing
it switch from "N" to "S" as you cross the equator.
Wake Island at sunrise.
Oslo Harbor at dusk.
Icebergs in the North Atlantic.
Contrails.
Pago Harbor framed by puffy cumulus clouds in the late
afternoon.
The camaraderie of a good crew.
Ferryboat races in Sydney Harbor.
Experiencing all the lines from the old Jo Stafford tune:
See the pyramids along the Nile.
See the sunrise on a tropic isle.
See the market place in old Algiers
Send home photographs and souvenirs.
Fly the ocean in a silver plane.
See the jungle when it's wet with rain.
White picket fences in Auckland.
White sandy beaches lined with swaying palms.
Double-decker buses in London.
The endless expanse of white on a Polar Crossing.
The "Star Ferry" in Hong Kong.
Bangkok after a tropical rain.
Mono Lake and the steep wall of the Sierra Nevada range when
approached from the east.
The bus ride to Stanley ... on the upper deck front seat of the
double-decker bus.
Heavy takeoffs from the "Cliff" runway at Guam.
Landings in the B-767 when the only way you knew you had touched
down was the movement of the spoiler handle.
The deafening sound of tropical raindrops slamming angrily
against the windshield, accompanied by the hurried slap, slap,
slap of the windshield wipers while landing in a torrential
downpour in Manila.
Endless ripples of sand dunes across the trackless miles of the
Sahara desert.
German beer.
The pounding pride, joy, and excitement as your carrier slowly
returns to port after a combat cruise.
Oktoberfest.
The white cliffs of Dover.
Oom-pa-pa music at Meyer Gustels in 'Frankfurt' or sweinhauzen
at Gert's.
Fjords in Norway.
The aimless compass, not knowing where to point as you near the
top of the world on a polar crossing.
The whiskey compass on a steep tilt.
The old Charlie-Charlie NDB approach into Kai Tak.
Brain bags crammed with charts to exotic places.
The Peak tram in Hong Kong.
Breaking out of the clouds on the IGS approach to runway 13 at
Kai Tak, and seeing a windshield full of checkerboard.
An empty weight takeoff in a B-757.
The bustle of Nathan Road on a summer day.
Sliding in over Crystal Springs reservoir for a visual approach
and landing on 1R in SFO.
The smell of tropical blooms when you step off the plane in
Fiji.
The rush of a full-speed-brakes descent at barber pole in a
B-727.
Deadheading in First Class.
The Canarsie approach into JFK.
The Eiffel Tower Max Gross Weight Takeoffs.
Cross-wind landings at 29 Kts/90 degrees.
Good Co-pilots.
Man-sized rudder pedals as big as pie plates.
Leak-checking your eyelids on a long night flight.
And, as one friend so perceptively pointed out, "Payday"!
Making an aural null range approach.
Watching Venus coming up before the sun in the Eastern sky,
giving the horizon a light show like no other.
Your first T-38 afterburner takeoff.
Drinking beer at Barney's Beach house on Tumon Bay in Guam.
Flying the 767-500 on the EXPRESSWAY VISUAL to RWY 31 at LGA.
Kobe Beef in Kadena.
Listening to the controllers work Atlanta Approach on a busy
summer thunderstorm day.
Landing the first Saturday after 9-11.
Watching the sunset and sunrise on the same leg.
Playing golf at Clark.
Sailing in the lagoon at Diego Garcia.
The C-141 at 200' across the desert.
C-150 spins with new students.
Flying an NDB circle to minimums in Korea.
New Years Eve at the Rocks in Sydney.
Manila, Moncton, Tokyo, Shanwick, Honolulu, New York, San
Francisco radio.
Eating Banana Fritters at Pago Pago waiting on fuel.
Getting an "OK" grade (the best) from the LSO, after a night,
3-wire trap onto a pitching deck at the aircraft carrier.
Enjoying the great apple pies at the Sitka, Alaska airport.
Finding an accommodating hotel bartender who will open up the
bar just for you and your crew at 5 am, after flying all night.
Your first trip as a newly-minted airline Captain.
Watching Sumo wrestlers in Kyoto.
The treasures you find at the Shannon, Ireland Duty Free Shop.
Seeing your flight attendants all stripped down to their tiny
bikinis at the hotel pool.
Enjoying a Guinness - the way it should be drunk - at "Durtee
Nellie's" bar in Limerick, Ireland. (Established in 1611)
Seeing the looks of thanks and admiration in the eyes of
departing passengers, after you brought them safely through a
harrowing, turbulent thunderstorm enroute.
Watching the glee in a young child's eyes as he is met by the
grandparents at the airport gate.
Getting a soft touchdown and keeping it on centerline, despite
35-knot crosswinds on an ice-covered runway.
A good flight attendant in First Class who keeps you supplied
with rich, hot coffee.
24-hour layovers in Puerto Vallarta. (or Mazatlan or Zijhua
Tanejo or Manzanio.)
Trying to "catch the wire" (before you end up in the swimming
pool) at the NAS Cubi Point Officer's Club.
The view from Victoria Peak Restaurant in Kowloon.
"Window shopping" in Amsterdam.
Getting a body massage in Bangkok.
Rick's Cafe on the cliff in Jamaica.
Doing the River Approach (visual) to Rwy 19 at DCA.
Hearing the "Call To Prayer" from the nearest mosque in Rihyad.
ANY Runway 8 takeoff or landing at Juneau.
Navigating "The Metro" in and under Paris.
And MOST OF ALL, flying for 37 years and NEVER ONCE appearing on
the 11 o'clock news.
Listening to the early call to prayer on while sipping coffee on
your hotel balcony in Istanbul.
Snow covered Red Square at midnight under a full moon.
The hustle of converting feet to meters on an approach into
Moscow.
The unusual and exotic qualities of Mumbai.
Visiting the street of chocolatiers in Brussels.
The sky on a clear night at 30 West.
The Milky Way on a clear night over the Pacific.
A Cat 3 snow storm landing.
Heavy fog taxi and take-off in the pre-dawn hours.
Lilting voices of Scottish controllers.
Female British controllers conducting a GCA.
Range approaches...that actually worked.
Watching the moon-rise over the ocean and beach in St. Croix
after a long day of fighting weather.
Seeing the world from a cockpit 5 to 6 miles up.
Small family restaurants in the back streets of Rome.
Visiting a flight attendant's father's olive orchard in Greece.
Paris.
Dublin and singing in a pub.
First carrier landing.
Flames from the stacks of a B-25 at night.
Just you, the ocean, the moon and that big old radial...all
alone.
Seeing a carrier at the pier for the first time.
Picking up the ball for the first time
Last carrier landing.
Last simulator check.
Being fortunate enough to learn from my mistakes and survive.
Joking with your fellow pilots in operations.
Last flight and going home.
Not bending any aluminum and staying out of the news for 36
years.
Unpacking my suitcase for the last time.
On short final to Ascension Island hoping the other half of the
runway is still there.
It is their world. [b]And once was mine...[/b]
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