I started flying SouthWest Airlines in 1973 . Only three cities where included in the flight schedule . Dallas Love Field , Houston Hobby and San Antonio. It was known as the " Love line " The flight attendants wore orange hot pants and skimpy tops.
One flight from Hobby to Love field the passenger next to me pionted out a cute little black
flight attendant . He told me on a previous flight she had made the usual safety announcements to the male passengers and businessmen .
He quoted verbatim the following " If all you old boys will buckle up I will go up front and tell
big daddy to get this mother off of the ground " unquote .
In later years I have quoted the above to SouthWest flight attendants to be greeted with a stoney silence . Times have changed .



All details about this flight story & comments

Mark and I were flying a Republic Seabee single engine amphibian from Houston Texas to Portland Maine . We landed at Shreveport LA. for fuel our next stop planned for fuel was at Jonesboro AK . Down wind at Jonesboro airport we selected gear down nothing happened . After three unsuccessful attempts I told Mark our only option was to look for a nearby lake and make a water landing . We told Jonesboro tower of our intention and they suggested a small lake about ten miles north of the airport . We found the lake OK but it was strewn with half submerged tree stumps . Mark was in the left seat and had an FAA seaplane rating . Alongside an earth dam we saw a strip of log free water suitable for a landing .Unfortunatly a couple were fishing just where we had chosen to land . After buzzing their row boat twice we convinced them to move . Mark made a smooth landing and we taxied towards a boat slip . To my horror I saw water flowing out of the bilge into the cabin .
I told Mark to taxi as fast as he could to the lake shore as we were sinking . Just short of the
shore we grounded in slime and mud . I had no choice I jumped into the shallow water hoping there were no water snakes. With the help of max. power and me pulling on the painter we made dry land . Almost immediatly the fisherman arrived . I asked him if he had an electric water pump as our airplane was half full off water . He produced a pump and told his companion who happened to be his wife to get down into the Seabee bilge and pump the water out . The good women managed to pump most of the water out .
A park ranger arrived and telephoned Jonesboro Airport to send a mechanic. The mechanic found a damaged hydraulic pipe and told us next time we flew a Seabee to check the bilge drain cocks were closed ! I looked at Mark " Seems we have egg on our faces " I said .
After the hydraulic line was repaired and we had thanked the fisherman and paid the mechanic we took off swerving to avoid tree stumps. We landed on terra firma at Portland next day.


All details about this flight story & comments

I never knew her name. She was pretty and full figured and worked for the Malcolm Cub an organisation that provided food and relaxation for RAF junior ranks. It was a time of turmoil in the then country of Palestine. I was to fly the young uniformed lady from the RAF base at Ismailia in the Suez canal zone to Kolundia Jerusalem's small hill top airport. The aircraft was a
four seater single engined Percival Proctor. The only thing I knew about my passenger was a nickname given her by a locker room bragart "Kiss me quick ". I shall refer to her as KMQ.
A sandstorm known as the Gibly was blowing from the south yellowing the sky and turning
the morning sun into a translucent disc .
As the pilot I occupied the left seat whilst KMQ occupied the right front seat with the charts on her lap. There were no radio beacons in the desert so navigation consisted of following the black top road leading to Gaza.
I set a northeasterly heading passing over the Suez canal. Below us the French liner "Isle de France was steaming north with her cargo of wounded from the battle fields of Indo China.
The cockpit was full of noise. Particles of sand made their way through the ill fitting windows.
Suddenly without warning my passenger slid back the side window.
Just as lift on an aircraft wing is generated by air moving rapidly over the upper surface so the same applies to an open cockpit window resulting in lighter objects being sucked out.
My passenger had just demonstrated Bernouli's theorem resuting in my charts plus a light jacket resting on her knee fluttering down to the desert below.
After dropping off my passenger in Kolundia I was to proceed to Haifa to pick up a very senior officer. My options were limited. Should I proceed relying on compass headings in the hope the visibility would improve or return to Ismailia and collect another set of charts. The loss of the charts was my fault , in the world of aviation the pilot is always to blame I should of told the young lady not to open the window. I decided to press on.
I turned to KMQ " If we get lost we may have to force land in the desert " I told her. "We could die of thurst or suffer a worse fate in the hands of Bedouin tribesmen , they may decide
to have their way with you as for me" I added " I f they decide to remove my pants they may obsreve that the skill of a country doctor falls far short of that of a Rabbi in the art of circumcism " What I was telling her I had hastily made up, Darn it she had lost my charts.
Soon the sky cleared and there below us was the Holy Land. It all looked so peaceful despite the fighting .
I was able to pick out Kolundia airport but was not ready for what happened next . What looked like a Jewish settlement lay close to the airfield . A Piper Cub was diving on the settlement dropping packages. Arabs were firing at the small aircraft who seemed to be oblivious to the danger.
'' It looks as though there is a war going on close to where we are going to land " I told
KMQ. I am sure the poor girl wished she had not come flying with me.
There was an RAF staff car waiting by a small hut . I told my passenger I was going to land
and that she must quickly get out of the Proctor and run to the staff car. I was going to get out of there as quickly as possible. Forgoing any pre take off checks I started my take of run
when I felt something hit the wing . It was a sod runway and I thought it might be a small rock.
I picked up the Air Marshall in Haifa. He was in a hurry so I didnt close down the engine.
We flew back to Ismailia . Next morning an irate Wing Commander summoned me to his office.
'' Flying Officer " he snarled " What the hell were you doing landing here with a very senior officer on board , a bullet hole in the wing and five gallons of fuel left.
Years later I called at a pub in the Cotswold hills . Behind the bar a familiar face" Kiss me quick". " Well if it isn't my favorite pilot" .she said . '" I lay on the floor of the staff car all the way to Jerusalem that day. For your information I did not believe that bull you told me after I lost your charts "


All details about this flight story & comments

During their first major exercise in Alaska last year, Lockheed Martin F-22 Raptor fighters from the 27th Fighter Squadron shot down 144 “enemy” F-15s and F/A-18s in mock dogfights. Still flush from that victory, the 27th headed to Okinawa in February and its sister 94th Fighter Squadron simultaneously deployed to Nellis Air force Base, Nevada, for the type’s first Red Flag exercise. While the 27th was sweeping the skies clear of Air Force F-15s and 1960s-era Japanese F-4s, the 94th ran headlong into the F-16s of the 64th Aggressor Squadron and suffered its first simulated shoot-down. Somehow the news escaped me, but Airforces Monthly has all the dirty details in its July issue:

The 57th Adversary Tactics Group undertook some interesting tactics not contained in the overall [scripted] intelligence scenario. These involved surprise threats, generally Red Air [enemy] fighters, entering the air battle unexpectedly. White Force [exercise control] staff would confirm that the threat was Red and Blue Air [the “good guys”] had to react. The tactic worked. An F-16C pilot assigned to the 64th Aggressor Squadron gained the first-ever F-22 kill in Red Flag. [94th commander] Lt. Col. Dirk Smith told AFM: “At least half of the 94th FS crews had less than 50 hours in the F-22 and no matter how magical the F-22, any pilot can make a mistake. The beauty of Red Flag is that we were able to go out and practice our tactics in a challenging scenario, make a mistake, learn a lesson, and be that much better prepared for actual combat.”

http://warisboring.com/?p=387

All details about this flight story & comments

Flying a short-notice trans-Atlantic sortie from the west coast to eastern Italy in a Navy tactical jet to support Operation Allied Force (Kosovo conflict). Upon landing, many crews were scheduled to fly the next night to support combat operations. Circadian fatigue ensued and we were all extremely tired and waking function was dangerously limited. Luckily no one was hurt and the AAA and Surface to Air Missiles kept everyone awake thru most of the night. Got me thinking about the commercial crews who did that every day and how dangerous circadian desynchronosis can be. The FAA doesn't have any regulation nor any hard data to support circadian fatigue mitigation techniques. I am interested in hearing from folks who have dealt with this type of fatigue and would like to describe their experiences with circadian fatigue in a survey at the link below:
http://www.surveymonkey.com/s.aspx?sm=tT8djYXQ9BP6b8v5Ccg0cw_3d_3d

(may have to cut and paste into your browser)

All details about this flight story & comments

http://www.pilotbug.com/?p=257

Recently an unemployed friend of mine wanted to get a type rating in a Citation Excel. After calling FlightSafety and being quoted an off the street contractor price of ,600, he then called Simuflight. Their price was far, far lower, to the tune of ,680. Now I am curious, is the training that much better in a FlightSafety training center? Is it 20 better?

Given that these two training programs are essentially the same, I can only think that the reason for the difference is name recognition. To the world, FlightSafety is an outfit that non-pilots trust, but much like which college you went to, it mostly doesn’t matter after the first job. After all, most of the Fractional airlines from the United States uses it. NetJets is the largest of its kind in the industry and FlightSafety is the exclusive training center of the company for the fleet types that they have. It must be noted, though, that NetJets and FlightSafety are the wholly-owned companies of Warren Buffet’s Berkshire-Hathaway conglomerate.

I think that this might actually be the case of getting the 00 Boeing 737 type rating for the express purpose of applying to Southwest. That person just needs a type, Southwest will train them as they see fit after being hired and the professional pilot who is going to need to be trained, right from the start to actually fly the plane.

All details about this flight story & comments

Mustangs and Memories

There and Back

By Owen Zupp

Once in a while you get the opportunity to tear up the sky in something a little out of the ordinary. Ain’t it great!

As the four flat blades slowly turned, reality was slowly sinking in. I was strapped in, low and tight, in the rear of a World War II vintage fighter; the Mustang. As the vapour searched for spark, the Merlin engine pushed the blades to an ever-increasing speed. Fuel, air and ignition then found common ground and the whirring blades were replaced by the throaty roar of 12 cylinders leaping in to life. The exhaust stacks punched out a burst of smoke that caught a ride in the slipstream and wove its way into the still-open cockpit. Beyond the back of display pilot Guy Bourke’s helmet, the propeller now formed a huge disc as the moving parts settled into a harmony and after start checks were verbalised.

It was thirty years since I’d last sat low in a Mustang’s cockpit. At eight years of age there were very few other ways to sit. My father had hoisted me into the cockpit of a now retired steed as it sat in the darkened confines of Syd Marshall’s Air Museum at Bankstown Airport in suburban Sydney. Ever since his RAAF days, the P-51D and its Aussie equivalent had been my father’s favourite. More than the Meteors he had flown in Korea, or the Connies in which he’d criss-crossed the globe, it was always the Mustang. Leaning in, he explained the numerous dials and switches with military thoroughness. The systems and limitations poured forth from a razor sharp memory that would still forget to pick up milk on the way home. I grasped what I could, but found my imagination drifting elsewhere. My head revolving as it moved its gaze from the enormous cowling ahead back to ‘check my six’….just in case.

Now I again found myself swiveling at the neck. It was an Airshow day at the Temora Aviation Museum in western New South Wales and the atmosphere was charged. Taking in the sights and sounds of this fantastic opportunity, I spotted my wife in the crowd. In conspiracy with Guy, who I’d known for years, she had secretly arranged the wedding anniversary gift of a lifetime. I had never seen my wife so keen for me to go to a fly-in and the reasoning was now becoming very apparent. The flight was to be made up of two sections. The first involved an air-to-air photo shoot in company with another fighter, the Boomerang, and a trainer of yesteryear, the North American Harvard. At the conclusion of this sortie, ‘Bourkey’ and I would break off and take the Mustang to the west for airwork on its own. This had been briefed thoroughly pre-flight and the Harvard now led the three ship formation out to the end of Runway 36.

Checks complete, we now sat beneath the closed canopy awaiting our turn for take-off. Throughout the procedure, Guy had kept me briefed and ‘in the loop’ through the intercom that linked the world of the rear seat to the fore. The aft seat had a spartan instrument panel of altimeter and A.S.I. to the right. To the left, at about the same height, lies the throttle quadrant. Ahead, the control column and rudder pedals complete the picture. As the pristine Boomerang cleared the perimeter, Guy announced the departure and smoothly increased the abundant power of the V12. I have been fortunate to fly a number of aircraft over the years, but the sounds, sensations and sinking into the seat of a Mustang take-off takes some beating. As rudder authority increased with airflow, the tail was raised to introduce a new world of enhanced visibility. The ground rush in the peripheral vision began to change in focus as the ground fell away and the gear was selected up. All clear for the turn, Bourkey rolled this fierce piece of North American design to the left in pursuit of the formation. Closing on the two specs at an impressive rate, one couldn’t help but imagine how many times this scene had been acted out in skies around the world in a very different time. With the Harvard serving as the camera ship, we slotted in to right echelon on the Boomerang. Sitting tight on the little Aussie fighter, it was easy to see the immaculate quality of the restoration. After weaving across the skies in formation for a period, it was time to break right and head west on our own.

The land surrounding Temora is custom built for committing aviation. Golden fields of crops, uninterrupted by the rising terrain that so often can pose a problem. Should all go quiet ‘up front’, potential landing fields are numerous, offering a special type of peace to the single-engine pilot. It is little wonder that this site was chosen as an Elementary Flight Training School throughout the war years and was home to a flock of Tiger Moths. Set to this backdrop Guy climbed the Mustang to a safe height and set about demonstrating some rolls and loops. Even tucked into the back seat, the brilliant visibility afforded by the bubble canopy allows tremendous orientation throughout the manoeuvres. As sky passed earth and back to sky, a sense of balance and power pervaded the aircraft. It was in its realm and roared across the heavens with the freedom of its namesake. I gratefully accepted control on Guy’s call of, “Handing Over” and proceeded to experience that freedom first hand. I exercised the controls and the Mustang responded crisply to the inputs. Seemingly unencumbered by adverse yaw to any degree, the rudder is used as a tuning fork rather than a backhoe. Scanning the horizon and the skies, the aircraft holds the attitude as if set in stone and I take in the view and the ambience.

All too soon, the minutes have ticked over and Terra Firma calls. We set Temora in the windscreen and call inbound for an ‘initial and pitch’ entry, Runway 36. Circuit-side and parallel, we zoom along the bitumen before pulling up and left to enter the circuit. Power steady, the energy is managed and the drag deployed to position the aircraft on left base. Final calls, final checks and the Mustang sets its sights on the touchdown point under Guys hand. Over the fence, powering back and the wide track of the main gear reunites Man and Mustang with Mother Earth. As the speed washes off, the tail slowly lowers and the back of Guy’s head again dominates my field of view.

The exhilaration as we taxied in was hard to harness. Mindful of wingtip clearance, we navigated through a tarmac littered with a gallery of aircraft that one can only admire. In position and checks complete, power is withdrawn from this great machine and the huge disc dissipates to again form four distinct blades. Becalmed, with ‘switches off’, the adventure is over. Out of the blue a childhood dream had been realised and it had lived up to all expectations. As I took in the moment, I was that eight year-old once again and looked back to ‘check my six’ one more time...…just in case.

© Owen Zupp
There and Back



All details about this flight story & comments

I was a young Lieutenant stationed at a northern tier missile base and got assigned, along with a staff sergeant, to escort a "hot can", a missile guidance set whose computer could not be erased due to malfunction. Because of this, the MGS was classified and had to be escorted by a two man, one officer team. That is two people, not three as you might think, just another example of the strange titles the government gives to things. We had to be armed with .38 caliber pistols and fly in a government contracted cargo plane escorting the item, which weighed about 1700 pounds and was BIG! The day we were scheduled to go was a blizzard, nearly a whiteout of snow and winds gusting to 60 mph at times. I am at home figuring we're not going. But my boss calls me and says "Hustle yourself to the base, you are going". I politely questioned his sanity and indicate that he should look outside. He told me the Logair pilots fly in weather like this all the time since they resupplied the DEW line in Northern Canada and he equally politely suggested I get my "self"(a euphemism)moving. I felt my way to the base in my car, slipping and sliding all over the road all by myself-everyone else had the good sense to stay indoors. We picked up the MGS in a big truck after getting our weapons and loading them, took the MGS out to flight line. We sat by the flight line for about an hour while the airplane circled above, deciding whether or not to attempt landing(we could not see them-we were monitoring the radio). Finally, we got word that they had decided conditions were too bad to land and we would reschedule for the next day. Finally some good sense! The next day, the only thing that changed was that it wasn't snowing. The wind was about the same. I was again called and told we were going. So I went to the base, got my gun and ammo and went and picked up the component with the Staff Sergeant. We haul it out to the flight line and, shortly thereafter, the plane lands. When I see it, I am not impressed. It was a very old decrepit looking turboprop airplane(a Lockheed L-100 I think). It showed its years, being corroded and tarnished in many locations and even a novice flyer like myself could tell it had lots of hours on it. We got the MGS loaded-there were about 2-3 others on the airplane that were identical. I remembered the STERN advice of my boss not to get it lost, which at the time seemed an silly suggestion considering its size, but I began to understand what he was talking about. The pilots saw we were armed and asked us if the guns were loaded, to which I replied in the affirmative. He insisted that we unload them since we would be in the cockpit with them and the flight engineer, which I could easily understand. I had no official guidance on this, so I complied, as did the Staff Sergeant. We got in the plane and they started the engines and began to taxi to the runway. I could tell this was going to be a hairy takeoff since the winds were blowing 90 degrees to the direction of the runway. I noticed the pilot, copilot and engineer did not fasten their seat belts, but the Staff Sergeant and I did. On the takeoff roll, the airplane was swerving all over the runway. The pilot and copilot did not seem concerned. After liftoff, the plane seemed to be bouncing all over the sky, though the crew still showed no concern. These guys had nerves of steel! After climbing to 10,000 feet and putting the plane on autopilot, with the plane still bouncing around, the pilot, copilot and engineer set up a board between their seats and began playing poker-no kidding! By the way, this decrepit old airplane was creaking and groaning continually. About 20 minutes after takeoff, when the airplane was above the edge of a line of mountains, the bottom dropped out. We lost, from the best I could tell, about 1000 feet in just a few seconds. We were dropping so fast that it felt like I was hanging from my seat belt. In other words, it felt like the plane was dropping faster than I was. The pilot was thrown completely out of his seat behind the center console on top of the engineer, who was also thrown out of his seat. The copilot saved us. He was thrown partially out of his seat, but managed to scramble back in it, jam the throttles wide open and pull us out of a screaming dive. After leveling off and the crewmembers attaining their respective seats, they climbed back up to 10,000 feet, put it back on autopilot and started playing cards again-sans seatbelts. These guys had no nerves! About 10 minutes later, it happened again, though not quite as bad. At that point, the pilot said "Well boys, I guess we better quit playing cards and fly the airplane". They fastened their seat belts-finally!

All details about this flight story & comments

On day I decide to take a party of three for a ride in a Cessna 172: Two girls, about 15 and 7, and their mother, with of course the two girls in the back.

We're flying along when the plane starts to yaw. I dampen it with rudder, but I have no idea why it would happen.

It starts again. Again I dampen it with rudder.

A few minutes later it starts again. The nose is swinging back and forth through about 30 degrees and I'm close to freaking out, because I've never heard of any such problem - instruments are fine (except the slip indicator) - what the hell is going on? If this pendulum swing gets much worse it's going to destabilize the airplane.

On a hunch I take a look into the back seat, and the two girls are holding hands and swaying back and forth in unison to rock the airplane.

One thing to add to your pre-flight instructions about seat belts - this isn't a carnival ride, and don't try to turn it into one.

All details about this flight story & comments

After a day full of work i rushed to Munic Airport to get my flight home to Paderborn/Germany.

At the gamma ray passenger control i was stopped because and forced to buy a plastic bag pack and pack my liquid cosmetics into it.
At this moment my thaughts were .. o.k., fine - this makes flying even safer... - we will see.
I got at the gate on time, but the plane was delayed...
After 20 Minutes delay we could board. The bus then was stopped for a minute by the airport fire patrol.
We got into the plane and the pilot excuses for the delay. The plane has left the hangar with delay, but he promised to speed up and arrive in Paderborn on time.
After the start i looked out the window and recognized the right landing gear door still open.
A look at the left side showed a closed door.
I expected - some minor probem - the pilots should see on their panels. And right - after 10 minutes flying the pilot told us due to the problem he has to turn back to munich.
I was a a little bit frightened cause i hoped the landing gear itself would work well.
After the landing we was told to keep our belts closed because the pilot was unable to steer the nose wheel and had to control the plan with the brakes only.
After some minutes rolling at the airport we were able to left the plane and enter the bus, wich brougt us to a terminal. There we've been told that the later plane to paderborn has not enough capacity to take all the passengers, Only some frequent flyers wehre called to take this plane. The others were booked in the plane to Muenster, and where driven by bus from muenster to paderborn.
So i got home after midnight with a 5 hour delay, but still healthy and happy.
Today i googled about this and found stories about some frequent landing gear and engine problems with this plane type. Should I worry now, because I regularly travel to Munich? Or may i enlarge my safetyness by packing my liquids in 2 plastic bags?




All details about this flight story & comments