A NOTAM - an acronym for 'Notice To Airman' - is an information circular that student pilots and above receive. It is a fantastic system conceived by some fantastically pragmatic human with the intention of informing pilots about changes and procedures at airports and in airspaces. Every month, without fail, a yellow and white wad of notes appears in the post box. And every month, without fail, I get as far as tearing the plastic sleeve off and reading the information applicable to my own airport. Due to a terrible disease, Toolazytoreadmynotamsitis, there were two wads on my desk this month.
The one month I needed to read them, I didn't... Murphy, for god's sake!
So there I was, turning up the volume for Lanseria's ground frequency, wondering why on earth my psychological foundation had abandoned me. Like a reckless little creature (a smidgen of sarcasm), I crossed over to Lanseria's tower frequency and explained that I couldn't contact ground. A woman informed me, with a slight patronising tone, that ground frequency was close after two. Right. She then preceded to preempt every radio call of mine for the entire flight, poor little girl-pilot can't read her NOTAMs. Maybe she needs help with her radio calls.
In order to avoid sure embarrassment - read your NOTAMs.
Tuesday, June 30, 2009
Friday, June 26, 2009
Cowboys
Another night flight. The first in a few weeks. A niggly feeling said: you should fly with an instructor... just in case you find a way to rip of the wing in mid-flight. And die. The idea of such asymmetrical flight was deterring, so I flew with Jason.
There we were, priming IOI's beast of an engine when another plane came screaming in our direction. It didn't help that I hadn't yet turned on the master switch, and that hanger was entirely dark, save for one bright light. You should always aim to be going in the same direction as a moving propeller - not in the opposite direction and facing it. As I stared at the approaching bulk of furious metal, I saw the light. Not an 'ooh-ahh-epiphany' kind of light, but a landing light. It was a little too close.
Why don't panes have hooters? Because cowboy pilots shouldn't be recklessly taxiing through hangers at night anyway? Because most pilots manage to watch what's going on around them?
At the critical moment, about a meter or two in front of poor IOI, Cowboy-pilot noticed us. Fortunately, some kind of innate reflex resulted in efficient breaking. There was a cheeky smile through his windshield. Another close call, another good story, another inexperienced pilot on the other end - scared out of her mind. After he got out the plane (and skillfully pushed down the tail to spin it out the way), I realised he was my first instructor - infamous for his...er... liberal flying. That may explain some of my curiously bad habits. Like almost-stall speed on Final Approach.
confederations cup requires all pilots to file a flight plan for every flight. Relieved we were only doing circuits, I was happy to put in the squawk code. There is something about flight plans. Perhaps it was the movie that put people off. You would think that the idea of search and rescue would be incentive.
There we were, priming IOI's beast of an engine when another plane came screaming in our direction. It didn't help that I hadn't yet turned on the master switch, and that hanger was entirely dark, save for one bright light. You should always aim to be going in the same direction as a moving propeller - not in the opposite direction and facing it. As I stared at the approaching bulk of furious metal, I saw the light. Not an 'ooh-ahh-epiphany' kind of light, but a landing light. It was a little too close.
Why don't panes have hooters? Because cowboy pilots shouldn't be recklessly taxiing through hangers at night anyway? Because most pilots manage to watch what's going on around them?
At the critical moment, about a meter or two in front of poor IOI, Cowboy-pilot noticed us. Fortunately, some kind of innate reflex resulted in efficient breaking. There was a cheeky smile through his windshield. Another close call, another good story, another inexperienced pilot on the other end - scared out of her mind. After he got out the plane (and skillfully pushed down the tail to spin it out the way), I realised he was my first instructor - infamous for his...er... liberal flying. That may explain some of my curiously bad habits. Like almost-stall speed on Final Approach.
confederations cup requires all pilots to file a flight plan for every flight. Relieved we were only doing circuits, I was happy to put in the squawk code. There is something about flight plans. Perhaps it was the movie that put people off. You would think that the idea of search and rescue would be incentive.
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