Almost flying

It was that old familiar terrible sinking feeling! Just after takeoff from a wet runway, we had already climbed into the thick clouds. The nose yawed sideways. The alternator and hydraulic failure lights illuminated but I was too busy trying to keep the airplane going straight ahead to notice. I retarded the propeller control and felt no change in the strong turning moment so pulled it past the stop to feather the propeller. Ah blessed relief, things became more manageable and I was assured that we could keep flying. For sure the crisis wasn't over, but even with only one engine running we were able to climb and then execute an instrument approach and get the airplane safely back on the ground.

The adrenaline charge was real, the practiced procedures were real but the airplane was safely bolted to the floor of a building in Scottsdale, Ariz. It was my annual flight simulator training required for the twin engine airplane that I fly for a local company. Personally, I'd about as soon take a beating but the requirement is well justified and if the training makes my flights safer for my passengers so be it!

Our simulator instructor this year was particularly knowledgeable and taught us much more about using the great capabilities of the GPS unit installed in our airplane. For the modern-day pilot the technology learning curve is mighty steep! But then that comment may have something to do with my age and the fact that the "kids" learning to fly today have cut their teeth on cell phones and computers. I learned to fly in an airplane that had no radio much less any electrical system. Today young nimrods, male and female alike, are completely comfortable "interfacing" with an electronics suite vastly more capable than the spacecraft that last took man to the moon.

The flight simulator in which I have doing annual training for at least the past 12 years was recently upgraded with enhanced graphics -- what the pilot "sees" out the window. Not changed, though, was the view inside the clouds, somewhat akin to looking out the inside of a milk bottle. For visual flight prior we had a generalized murky green landscape but now with modern graphic projection of actual satellite digitized photos the presentation is nearly true to life. We made landings and departures from Grand Canyon Airport, Scottsdale, Aspen and even Kennedy International Airport in New York. There I had actually flown before, but it was then called Idelwild, I was flying a C-47 (the venerable DC-3) and the year 1964.

During another session still in the simulator I was flying above a cloud layer at 15,000 feet and about 80 miles west of Denver. The attitude indicator had failed. We used to call it the "artificial horizon" as it is the flight instrument a pilot uses to determine pitch, nose up or down, and bank angle, to turn or fly straight. We were flying east in the sunshine but facing with trepidation the impending instrument approach down through the clouds into Denver International Airport.

The failed instrument is no real problem as other instruments can impart the same information to the pilot, it just takes practice. I was all set up for the descent, about to enter the thick cloud layer when my cell phone rang. It vibrated merrily in my pocket and eventually went away as I had much more important business to tend to. No problem, just another thing to ignore just like we should do in our automobiles.

I've been privileged this week to fly and drive at least two thirds of the way across the United States. Long-haul truckers do it daily as do airline and corporate pilots.

Distance becomes merged into time. Years ago I came to realize that in one hour my big jet made about the same distance cross country as it takes a person a day to drive, about 500 miles. From Alabama to the Pacific Ocean, about eight hours in the kind of airplane that I fly today or three days driving time.

The phrase tells us to stop and smell the roses. Driving from Colorado Springs to Albuquerque, it had snowed the days before. The sun was out, but the temperature was below freezing so the trees were lightly dusted with snow and beautiful like a scene on a Christmas Card. The road was mostly dry, never icy, and a pleasure to cruise along enjoying the awesome scenery.

Flying across the Mississippi Delta south of Memphis I am always intrigued with the abundance of water. Some of that is water that dry Nebraska sacrifices to forego irrigation to prevent its consumptive use in growing crops. Instead we send it down river to the Missouri and eventually into the Mississippi.

It looks to this old farmer that they have an overabundance of water. I see thousands of ponds growing catfish, tilapia and crawfish. Dry now, but thousands of acres are bermed to hold water and will be flooded to grow rice. Many hundreds of acres of farm ground are already flooded and the spring runoff has barely begun. It has to be tough planting into that terribly wet ground.

Yet, across the western half of the country it is obvious that water is a scarce commodity. For miles and miles that desert pasture would require a cow to graze at 30 miles an hour just to stay thin. Yes, the country is big and beautiful, but for this old farmer it looks near worthless. Ann could only envision snakes, scorpions, tarantulas and lonely distance from civilization. But then we crossed the desert just after a rain and the hills east of LA and even the desert flats showed a nice color of green.

Obviously, people choose to live all across this country we call the Southwest, so they are finding something to love and call home that more than meets my eye.

That is the way I saw it.