In an effort to keep peace on the home front, this part of the story will not name names. It seems that “one of us” is waaay behind in editing her pictures (oh no, I let the cat out of the bag). (Oh well, it wasn’t terribly peaceful on the home front anyway.) Part of this has to do with the same “one of us” feeling compelled to take a picture of every cloud and every farm in the entire Midwest. So, feeling very PIC-like (an aviation term meaning Pilot in Command) and bored, grounded as I am watching the snow fall, I wrested the blog controls from “the other of us” and decided to author my own blog.
Naturally, one of the places we knew that we had to fly to since the day I got my license was back to where it all began, Long Island, New York. Fortunately, June of 2010 was my brother’s half century birthday and, I guess due to a weak moment on the part of my sister-in-law (which I’m certain she is regretting), we were invited! I immediately began making plans and in a flurry of flight plan activity, mapped out this route:
The plan called for leaving as early in the morning as “the other of us” was willing to get up (not terribly early) flying down the Chicago lakeshore, hang a left at Gary, Indiana, site of the very picturesque abandoned steel mills and continuing on to Youngstown, Ohio, famous for the…uh, Youngstown airport. Quick lunch, gas up and 3 hours later, Long Island.
Okay, so that was the plan. The actuality was that Mother Nature planned to throw some real nastiness at us the morning we were to depart. So instead, we decided to leave right after “the other of us” got home from work, fly to Youngstown, stay the night and fly the remainder the next morning. So, we launched from Waukegan at 6:30 under beautiful clear skies. As planned, we hung our left at Gary and cruised on. By 9:00 (sunset) we had passed Cleveland. Those of you not familiar with Ohio geography and landmarks may be completely unaware of what lies between Cleveland and Youngstown. Let me educate you – NOTHING. At least nothing that emits even a photon of light. So, motoring along in pitch blackness (and the glow of the instruments and GPS) with complete confidence in my “PICness” we radioed Youngstown airport when we were 20 miles out. Our call was met by a very friendly (and bored) indeed ATC guy. We subsequently began our descent and our ATC buddy gave us a hearty “Clear to land!” I responded with, “that’s very good and encouraging but could you turn the runway lights on so I can see WHERE I’m clear to land.” Boy that was met by some boisterous laughing. (I suspect this kinda stuff is WAY funnier when sitting in a swivel chair than in an airplane). Suddenly the airport appeared in all its blazing glory. We landed, taxied to the FBO (which we knew ahead of time would be closed) and apparently, that was the event of the day because all the runway lights went off and the airport was effectively closed.
Now, this next part may not be politically correct so, those of you who are sensitive are advised to read this next part with your eyes closed. I’ll tell you when you can open them again. One of the things I’ve included in my passenger briefing is that “I’ve been all the way to the back of my plane and haven’t yet found a bathroom so I’d advise you to go now before we leave”. One of the enduring mysteries of flying is that no matter how far you’re going, you inevitably have to pee about a half hour before getting there. Flying being what it is, it’s not like you can just pull over to the side of the road. Well, this trip was no exception. In fact, one of the challenges of landing at Youngstown was uncrossing my legs so I could work the rudder pedals.
So, landed we were. I got out a penlight and we began to button the plane up for the night and put its cover on. When we were done, we both walked around the plane to ensure we hadn’t forgotten anything. It was then that I heard Jolene exclaim, “Oh no, we have a problem. There’s a puddle. The back of the plane is leaking!” Assuring her that the puddle was caused not by the back of the plane but the front of the pilot made her feel marginally better.
(Okay, you can open your eyes now.)
The next morning, we launched for Long Island. Beautiful day but the cloud cover was forecast to become denser the further east we went. Bridgeport, Connecticut, where we planned to hang our right to cross Long Island Sound was forecast to be a broken layer (5/8-7/8 cloud cover). As we crossed the Hudson River at Ossining, we got a good view of the Tappan Zee Bridge.
We were beginning to feel at home, having traversed that bridge hundreds of times. Coming up on Bridgeport, it was tending more towards the 7/8 part of the broken definition but we could see that there was a similar cloud layer over Long Island but nothing over Long Island Sound. Before hanging our right, here’s what it looked like from where I sat.
I told Jolene, “Okay, here’s the plan, we make our turn, we contact Macarthur and we descend while crossing Long Island Sound. When we get to the other side, we are under the cloud layer and we land.
So, I made my turn, contacted Islip, Macarthur and began my descent. Boy, I’ll tell you! Sometimes things work out just like you planned and make you look really smart. This was one of those times.
Even though seeing Long Island was a thrill, hearing the NY accent and the NY “attitude” from the NY air traffic controller really made me feel at home. Islip Macarthur, you’ll know, is a large commercial airport. They handle 160,000 landings and departures a year and it is a major hub for Southwest. Well, as we were on our downwind leg (heading South), there was a Southwest Boeing 737 on final. Now, it is common that air traffic control (ATC) will try to separate a small plane from landing after a big one by 3 minutes or so to avoid what is called “wake turbulence” which could cause the smaller plane to tumble (apparently, they don’t like the loud noise that a small plane landing upside down creates). So, as I was talking to Islip ATC and he told me, “ah, Cessna 179 X-ray Pop (that’s me), extend your downwind to avoid wake turbulence”. I expected this and he was telling me to keep going the way I was going for awhile to allow the vortexes created by the 737 to dissipate. After what seemed like a long while and with the Southwest long on the ground, I was beginning to leave Long Island and head out over the ocean to Florida. I thought that perhaps ATC had forgotten about me (which, BTW happens more often than you might think). So, I called and said, “ah, Islip Tower, this is 179 X-ray Pop, I’d like to begin my base turn”. (BTW, in case you were wondering, you have to preface your communications with that “ah”, it makes you sound very pilot-like.)
Now, ATC, over the entire country is very emotionless and professional. Not so, New York.
ATC shot right back with “ah, X-ray Pop, alright, I told you about the wake turbulence; do whatever you want, clear to land”.
Oh boy! We were in New York.
Great landing and here’s my Southwest buddy. Stand by for the next blog, “Adventures in New York”.
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