I’ve not been flying so this week I’ll leave you with an excerpt from a Piper Flyer article, where I recount one of my first experiences with flying into military airspace in France.

You can’t fly very far in Europe without flying through military airspace. In the UK, in fact, it’s something to aim for, the military controllers are exceedingly helpful and always patient, which is not necessarily the case for the civil airfields. But still, I felt nervous, convinced that the slightest misstep would get me shot down out of the sky. I had visions of men with missiles watching a black screen and my little aircraft ending up being an unlucky blip in the wrong place. “Intruders in the north east quadrant! Scramble! Take ‘em out!”

But I couldn’t argue against crossing Cazaux for our flight from Oxford to Málaga: it would keep us along the coast (no chance of getting lost!) and our flying time would be reduced by over half an hour. My (French speaking) boyfriend had phoned Cazaux on my behalf the day before and asked if the area was active. He was told no, no problem and we would have to make contact but we would be able to cross.

So it was a bit odd that Cognac sounded surprised when I stated my intentions. He blustered for a moment and then told me to call Cazaux directly.

An older voice responded to my call with an almost sexy accent and blissfully fluent in English. I smiled at the radio and explained that I wanted to traverse his airspace.

His response was calm and friendly. Were we aware that there was bombing activity along our proposed route?

Well, er, no.

I’m not one to argue with bombs about but Cliff was a bit annoyed, having called the day before. “Ask if you can cross anyway,” he insisted. It seemed simpler than going back to Cognac and trying to explain what had happened.

Amazingly, I got a positive response. The controller asked if I was willing to take direction from him to lead me through the airspace.

Not a problem. I made sure that he was aware that I was flying under Visual Flight Rules and told him I was happy to follow his instructions. I could understand him perfectly. It was a bright day with a clear horizon. There was only him and me on the air. And I wouldn’t even have to navigate. Great stuff.

Then he started giving me directions.

“I need you to follow the ring road.”

“The, er, ring road. Standby.”

I zoomed in on the GPS, sunglasses tugged off so I could see the lighter lines of the roads. Meanwhile, Cliff grabbed the map tucked away between the seats and re-folded it to for our general area. Our French friend became impatient.

“November 666 Echo X-ray?”

I couldn’t see anything vaguely ring-shaped.

“Affirm, I’m trying to find the ring road, Echo X-Ray.”

Cliff cursed. “He must be in Bordeaux!” He waved the map at me, drawing a U around the city with his finger. “Look, right here! That road goes around the west of Bordeaux but it doesn’t show on your navcom map until it is clear of the built-up area. He’s taking you east.”

I looked at the map and then made the call. “Would that be the E70?”

“The ring road. You see it? Follow it to the junction, then follow the A62 towards Langon.”

I looked out the window for a moment and then back at Cliff.

“He knows I’m in a plane, right?”

The GPS was close to useless now. The physical map showed the roads but only gave the E-numbers (European references) which the French don’t use. Without Cliff, I’d have turned around and hightailed it back to Oxford. But with the help of the village names, we were able to spot the junction on the ground and follow his route. I followed the road around and then leaned into the turn at the junction.

“Sylvia.” Cliff and I have a long-standing agreement not to criticise each others flying whilst in the air. I sensed he might be about to break this agreement.

“Look, you don’t have to follow the cloverleaf exactly. You can just head southeast from here. Please.”

I forget sometimes that he suffers from motion sickness. I straightened the plane out and called the controller.

“I have turned southeast onto the E72. I have Langon in sight. Can I proceed direct south?”

“When overhead Langon, proceed direct to Mont de Marson.”

I sighed. Either I had to learn how to spell French names or he had to learn to use compass headings. I looked at the GPS and then again at Cliff.

“I think he might be taking ‘visual’ a little bit too seriously,” said Cliff. He showed me the map. “Its due south from Langon. Want the road number?”

I glared at him and proceeded to follow the roads.

“November 666 Echo X-Ray is overhead Mont…” I had to stop and look at the map again. “Mont de Marson. May we continue south to leave your airspace?”

He sounded almost disappointed as he bid us a pleasant onward journey.

Everyone’s heard about the A320 that successfully landed in the Hudson and almost everyone seems to have an opinion. Finding the insightful points of view can take a little bit more time. Here’s my collection of the most interesting pieces on the Web that deal with the flight and its aftermath.

Yesterday, new footage of the plane in the river was released:
1010 WINS New York’s #1 source for local news, traffic and weather – Security Cam. Shows Plane’s Hudson River Crash Landing

The Con Ed tape, which company spokesman Chris Olert said was recorded by a security camera at a steam plant on Manhattan’s west side, begins with the plane hitting the river and skidding to a halt in a spray of water and steam at 3:25 p.m.

Within a minute, an emergency slide folds from the plane’s right side, and the first passengers and crew members appear on the wings where dozens gathered to await rescue. One or two people are visible in the water, which authorities said was a dangerous 41 degrees at the time.

Photographs of the airplane recovery:
AOPA Pilot Blog: Reporting Points » Blog Archive » Fishing for an A320

Flight Sim view of landing in the Hudson:
BBC NEWS | Special Reports | A pilot’s eye view of NY crash flight

The achievement of Captain Chesley Sullenberger in getting his plane down safely has astonished pilots and aviation experts.

US Airways letter to the passengers:
What US Airways is Doing for The Passengers of Flight 1549 >> The Cranky Flier – Airlines|Airports|Air Travel Blog

On behalf of all of us at US Airways, we hope that you have returned home and are resting and recovering following the evacuation of Flight 1549 on January 15, 2009. We are extremely grateful that our crew used their combined experience and training to safely land and evacuate all of the passengers onboard this flight. We also thank you, as many of you also played a role in ensuring a quick and safe exit.

Some pertinent points regarding the media coverage:
Ditching of US Air 1549 – Few clarification | Plastic Pilot

It is interesting to see that the co-pilot, Jeff Skiles, was the flying pilot on this leg, but Captain Sullenberger decided to take over after the bird strike. Taking this decision and its acceptation by the co-pilot reveals excellent CRM. Swapping the flying pilot and non-flying pilot roles under such circumstances requires in-depth training and conviction that the CRM principles are good.

Aviatrix objects to the terminology:
Cockpit Conversation: Safety Is Not a Miracle

And then, having interviewed everyone available and panned around everyone’s cellphone photographs, for lack of anything else to say about it, the networks and headline writers started calling it ‘a miracle,’ and making me yell at the TV. Don’t get me wrong: this landing wasn’t a routine occurrence. It’s a stunning, inspiring event. It’s good that no one died. It’s also good that no one died on the hundreds of flights US Airways conducted that day without incident. But I think it’s somewhat insulting to attribute any of that safe flying to divine intervention.

A pilot steps through the sequence of events:
Flight Level 390: Dual Engine Flame Out, continued…

The crew sees the geese, then feels the impact forces. Flight deck alarms are going off, one after the other. You can feel the aircraft decelerating. Get the nose down, fast! Maintain airspeed!What is happening here? A sick feeling washes over you from head to toe.

A bit of a light-hearted view:
Do birds fly in clouds ? – PPRuNe Forums

Owls are night rated and equipped (and oh so silent) In fact night aerobatic. One passed me walking dogs half an hour ago at head height pulled up and virtually stall turned onto a branch. Very skilful!

A more serious answer:
Flight Without Horizon References in European Starlings

Radar studies (Griffin 1972) suggest that some birds can maintain straight and level flight under completely overcast conditions, but birds flying within clouds may produce erratic tracks, suggesting disorientation in the absence of visual cues.

I’m surprised to find out that I haven’t written a destination piece on Oban, one of my favourite airfields. In fact, I’ve only mentioned it once.

Update from Abroad, March 2008

We used Oban airfield instead which has recently undergone renovations and has a new 1,264m runway. It is a great airfield, easy to spot from miles away and as soon as we’d taxied off the runway, there were people coming out to help us unload the plane and organise a taxi. Very helpful and friendly. It was a quick trip from the airfield to the ferry where we sat in the bar and watched the mainland recede and the island come into view. A very comfortable trip, despite nasty 30 knot headwinds all the way in.

The location is stunning, the runway is a comfortable 1,264 metres long and the people are unfailingly polite and helpful. The airport (with fuel available seven days a week) is optimally placed for exploring the Hebrides and there is a B&B directly across the bridge which you can use as a base if you want to make an early start.

If you don’t want to make it a flying holiday, you are still well-placed in Oban with ferries to the local islands and well-connected by train.

But don’t take my word for it. Here’s a recent description of the airfield on PPRune:

What’s happening at Oban?

You cant beat the view from the airport at Oban on a nice sunny day! Either summer or winter the view is breath taking no matter which direction you look! Fantastic place to use as a base to explore further up the West coast and indeed to Inverness and the East travelling up the Great Glen. Fuel is available there which is in short supply once you leave the Central belt of Scotland!
The guys there are fantastic with nothing being too much trouble and if passing and fancy a quick stop I have called on the radio and never been refused a landing! There maybe a PPR rule but as with most things in aviation circumstances change and Oban Information seem to be very accommodating! One of the best airports I have visited!

My first flight into Oban was nerve-wracking due to the thousand-foot hill a mile to the north of the runway, that’s when I learned what a dog-leg was. Since then, I’ve been lucky enough to fly into 01, which makes for a simple straight-in approach, with a fairly gentle left turnout on a go-around.

Although we only stopped for a cup of tea (I’ve since been told that they offer Jammy Dodgers as standard, we missed out!), I am reliably informed that the nearby Lochnell Arms offer a good meal if you are looking for something more satisfying.

Note: Do not rely on other people to gather information for you – and for the love of safety don’t rely on my notes being correct for your flight! Always verify all details yourself.

Oban

Airfield: EGEO
Phone Number: 01631 710910 (Strictly PPR)
Hours: 09:00-18:00 GMT
Frequency: Oban Information 118.050 Mhz
Runway: 01/19 1264×30 Asphalt
Website: http://www.argyll-bute.gov.uk/content/roadsandtransport/planebranch/obanairport
Divert: Glasgow

Oban officially want a 3 hour PPR but we’ve never been turned down even when phoning a scant hour ahead. The landing fee of £15 is a wee bit steep so in future I intend to insist on a Jammy Dodger to defray my costs.

And if that hasn’t whetted your appetite, then take a look at this awesome collection of aerial shots from the South-West Highlands, one of the most beautiful places on earth.

I found myself with a week clear in Southern Spain; free time spanning in front of me and not a single claim to my time. Add to that a Piper Saratoga parked in Málaga gathering dust and it was clear: it was time to go flying. After months of bad weather followed by hectic schedules leaving no time for private flying, I looked forward to getting back into the air. I picked up my PPL and log book and then I looked at the dates. How long since my last flight? A refresher might be in order!

Someone was working on my behalf in the karma stakes. I spoke to Lee, my ex-instructor, who agreed that a short break in Spain sounded like fun, even if it was going to involve spending a day flying with me.

And so we fly.

Lee still remembers my weak spots from training and has a good idea of what I’m probably out of date on. To my dismay, he informs me that we will do engine failures, my most unfavourite past-time. This involves the normally quite sympathetic man sitting next to me suddenly closing the throttle and saying “Your engine has failed, now what?”

Screaming, apparently, is not an option.

I bite my lip and try to remember the sequence of events. This should be second nature, I know that. In a real emergency, there’s no time to sit and think. I exhale sharply as I realize that I’ve instinctively started to deal with the issue: while I’m pondering, I’ve put the plane into a glide configuration, maximizing our time in the air. OK, I remember this now: the next step is to work out which way the wind is going. I scan the ground for smoke stacks, hoping to get a hint, but no one has thought to oblige me with a bonfire. The trees seem still, there’s no local train, I’m running out of things to look for. Meanwhile the plane is drifting along the way a heavy Piper Saratoga drifts, which is with a distinct downward motion.

“You are taking too long,” Lee says, sounding calm and patient despite the fact that I’ve clearly lost the plot.

I point the plane based on our runway direction, at least that’s generally in line with what the wind was when we took off. He smiles and waits. It seems to be falling into place now, my next move is obvious.

I start looking for some place I would be able to land without killing us. The Spanish landscape looks uninviting: dusty hills and rivers weaving their way to the coast, the occasional road twisting around the landscape. Orchards of olives, a favourite sight down on the ground, frustrate me now that I’m looking for something flat. The main crops of Andalucía: oranges, olives, almonds: none of these can help me now. My forehead prickles with perspiration. Finally I see a gap, a flat rectangle at about the right distance.

“That field, there.”

“The one with the tree in the middle?”

I wince, but there’s plenty of room either side. Yeah, that one.

It’s time to start looking at what is wrong with the engine and whether it’s recoverable. I put my hand on the throttle: that’ll fix it!

Lee knows me too well; he shakes his head. I leave the throttle where it is and pretend to check all the other things that might have gone wrong. Fuel, oil, magnetos, fuel pump. I try to take the checks seriously, but it’s difficult. I tap the things I would check and pretend to turn off the fuel.

“Right, I’m taking her down.”

I’ve failed to find the problem with the engine; we have run out of options. I mime making sure the plane is secured, feathering the prop, turning off the magnetos and then I say the words: “We’re landing in a field.” Now my stomach tightens, even though I know it’s not for real.

“Might want to tell someone?”

“Oh yeah…. Mayday mayday mayday November 666 Echo X-ray has an engine failure, somewhere south of Granada, putting her down in a field.”

I should be trying to give them a more exact location but at the moment I’m more concerned about lining up on my base leg; the fake radio call is the least of my worries. I turn the plane again and my eyes flit between the field and my altitude. What’s ground level here?

It strikes me that this is rather critical and I break protocol to ask.

“How high is the ground?”

“Coming up quick, Sylvia, come on. Wheels?”

Lee doesn’t give hints. Well, I guess he does, as landing gear is pretty critical. I put the wheels down and turn again, now I’m heading straight in for my field, on final. I’m proud of myself for remembering the next step.

“As we come down could you please open your door and adopt the brace position.”

He nods with a slight smile.

I’d feel good about this but we are still going down. I’m expecting him to break off the exercise and let me put the power back on, but he’s taking advantage of the fact that we are in the middle of nowhere. Low flying rules are a bind in southern England, less so “somewhere south of Granada” where it’s all fields and no populated areas to avoid. My knuckles turn white as I clench the control. We are now 3000 foot above sea level, I reckon the ground to be at least 1800′.

I put the flaps down and we continue to descend. The ground is scarily close. On the third level of flaps, with the tree now stealing my entire focus, he finally says the magic words,

“That’s fine, go around.”

I push the throttle in and climb away.

“You’d have made that,” he says.

The ultimate praise.