Wed Mar 28, 2012 11:30 am
#1050792
Flying under Pressure
Pilot X flies north on a business trip in his immaculate Saratoga – his first serious use of a beautiful aircraft. What could possibly spoil his carefully planned day?
Pilot X knew that, today, he had truly arrived in the world of aviation. Sure, there had been plenty of times over the last four years when he thought he’d made it: his first flight, his first solo, the day his PPL dropped onto the doormat and, recently, the day that he’d passed his IMC rating – but this was definitely it, the day that X arrived.
He took a few minutes just to stand and gaze at the gleaming, sleek lines of the Piper Saratoga, shining from the recent drizzle in the weak, February sun. It resembled some of the things that he’d flown previously but this aeroplane was just so much more. That long nose and all those windows tapering down to the tail – a real, go-somewhere aircraft. Last summer’s sun, which he’d been enjoying when he first read about the share for sale in this beauty, seemed a long way off – but the description of her as being immaculate was no less true. He’d fallen head over heels for her at first sight and felt the same again this morning.
Getting to know this aircraft had, in truth, been something of a love/hate relationship for Pilot X; he had great affection for her but the increase in workload that he’d found when transitioning from the Warrior he’d grown used to was massive. Not only was he now starting to really see what his IMC rating had been all about, he was also getting used to a constant-speed prop and a retractable undercarriage – wobbly props and disappearing Dunlops as the group’s almost tame instructor liked to call them.
They’d had an interesting time together, converting X to this new type. If he was entirely honest, there’d been occasions on which he thought that he’d overstretched himself just a bit…
It was after the very first trip that the headaches really started; he’d had something similar once or twice while doing the IMC rating but they were much less pronounced than of late. X was fairly sure that it was just down to the added pressure he was under. Even so, just before Christmas, with the headaches growing in intensity each time he flew, he admitted that he wasn’t getting any younger and visited the opticians for the very first time. A pair of reading glasses had eventually and somewhat grudgingly been ordered, but he was told that he didn’t need them for flying. The headaches must just be a matter of stress and the demands he placed on himself, rather than the onset of middle-age that he’d feared.
Whistling walkround
Today was going to be something different, though – his first really long-distance trip alone in the Saratoga: East Anglia to the North of Scotland for a business meeting, all in not much more than two hours. Already it was mid-morning and the meeting was at two; he found it stunning
that his planning had shown that this could actually work.
He whistled as he did his walkround and took his time running through the start, taxi out and pre-flight checks. Everything seemed just right, exactly as it should be and he lined up for his first real use of his share in this aeroplane. He knew that this was more aircraft than he truly needed today but it was the only one he owned; well, owned a fifth of, anyway. He tensed his right leg slightly against the rudder...
Climbing out at a smidge over 90kt the view forward was of a white overcast and in not much more than the time it took for the gear to show up and locked, the side windows turned white, too. Only a minute later he burst out into that brightness that only skiers and pilots know and he grinned to himself, even though he was still working hard. In what seemed like no time at all he was at FL85 heading for Ottringham and, with the endless white expanse before him, he relaxed and felt right at home.
The trip went exactly as he’d planned and even better than he’d hoped, though the clouds had unexpectedly risen up to meet him the further north he flew. He felt the first bead of sweat form on his forehead as he reduced power and rpm and set the mixture for descent; he knew what he’d been taught but it all still felt foreign – especially that extra lever to think of. The headache followed soon afterwards; at first there was just a dull ache above the left eyebrow, spreading to the right as he descended…
Searing hot poker
He was concentrating hard on the instruments now, screwing his eyes up against the ever-rising pain, trying to read the numbers through eyes wet from the sweat running down his brow.
A stabbing, twisting feeling at the bridge of his nose forced him to momentarily close his eyes against the burning sensation. He shook his head and blinked away hot tears as he tried to control his descent.
When he finally broke through the cloud everything happened a little bit faster than he would have liked and the agony was still corkscrewing through his forehead, but at least he’d made it. There’d been times, descending through that unending white, with the searing hot poker above his eyes making it almost impossible to focus on the instruments, that he thought he’d never get this far. Now it was almost over.
He was a little bit higher than he’d have liked and much too fast but, through the stabbing sensations, he managed to line up for what was a pretty much perfect approach – or at least the last few hundred feet of one.
The sweat was actually dripping into his eyes from the combination of concentration and pain as he rounded out. The aircraft sinking and sinking and sinking until it made contact with the runway, a screeching of metal and then a series of thuds as the propeller bit chunks out of the asphalt.
His heart seemed to sink right through his stomach and the sweat felt as though it had instantly frozen on his crumpled brow. Pilot X had arrived.
Questions
1 What might have been the cause of X’s headaches?
2 What should X have done when he first started to experience the headaches?
3 What could X have done when the symptoms started in this flight?
Pilot X flies north on a business trip in his immaculate Saratoga – his first serious use of a beautiful aircraft. What could possibly spoil his carefully planned day?
Pilot X knew that, today, he had truly arrived in the world of aviation. Sure, there had been plenty of times over the last four years when he thought he’d made it: his first flight, his first solo, the day his PPL dropped onto the doormat and, recently, the day that he’d passed his IMC rating – but this was definitely it, the day that X arrived.
He took a few minutes just to stand and gaze at the gleaming, sleek lines of the Piper Saratoga, shining from the recent drizzle in the weak, February sun. It resembled some of the things that he’d flown previously but this aeroplane was just so much more. That long nose and all those windows tapering down to the tail – a real, go-somewhere aircraft. Last summer’s sun, which he’d been enjoying when he first read about the share for sale in this beauty, seemed a long way off – but the description of her as being immaculate was no less true. He’d fallen head over heels for her at first sight and felt the same again this morning.
Getting to know this aircraft had, in truth, been something of a love/hate relationship for Pilot X; he had great affection for her but the increase in workload that he’d found when transitioning from the Warrior he’d grown used to was massive. Not only was he now starting to really see what his IMC rating had been all about, he was also getting used to a constant-speed prop and a retractable undercarriage – wobbly props and disappearing Dunlops as the group’s almost tame instructor liked to call them.
They’d had an interesting time together, converting X to this new type. If he was entirely honest, there’d been occasions on which he thought that he’d overstretched himself just a bit…
It was after the very first trip that the headaches really started; he’d had something similar once or twice while doing the IMC rating but they were much less pronounced than of late. X was fairly sure that it was just down to the added pressure he was under. Even so, just before Christmas, with the headaches growing in intensity each time he flew, he admitted that he wasn’t getting any younger and visited the opticians for the very first time. A pair of reading glasses had eventually and somewhat grudgingly been ordered, but he was told that he didn’t need them for flying. The headaches must just be a matter of stress and the demands he placed on himself, rather than the onset of middle-age that he’d feared.
Whistling walkround
Today was going to be something different, though – his first really long-distance trip alone in the Saratoga: East Anglia to the North of Scotland for a business meeting, all in not much more than two hours. Already it was mid-morning and the meeting was at two; he found it stunning
that his planning had shown that this could actually work.
He whistled as he did his walkround and took his time running through the start, taxi out and pre-flight checks. Everything seemed just right, exactly as it should be and he lined up for his first real use of his share in this aeroplane. He knew that this was more aircraft than he truly needed today but it was the only one he owned; well, owned a fifth of, anyway. He tensed his right leg slightly against the rudder...
Climbing out at a smidge over 90kt the view forward was of a white overcast and in not much more than the time it took for the gear to show up and locked, the side windows turned white, too. Only a minute later he burst out into that brightness that only skiers and pilots know and he grinned to himself, even though he was still working hard. In what seemed like no time at all he was at FL85 heading for Ottringham and, with the endless white expanse before him, he relaxed and felt right at home.
The trip went exactly as he’d planned and even better than he’d hoped, though the clouds had unexpectedly risen up to meet him the further north he flew. He felt the first bead of sweat form on his forehead as he reduced power and rpm and set the mixture for descent; he knew what he’d been taught but it all still felt foreign – especially that extra lever to think of. The headache followed soon afterwards; at first there was just a dull ache above the left eyebrow, spreading to the right as he descended…
Searing hot poker
He was concentrating hard on the instruments now, screwing his eyes up against the ever-rising pain, trying to read the numbers through eyes wet from the sweat running down his brow.
A stabbing, twisting feeling at the bridge of his nose forced him to momentarily close his eyes against the burning sensation. He shook his head and blinked away hot tears as he tried to control his descent.
When he finally broke through the cloud everything happened a little bit faster than he would have liked and the agony was still corkscrewing through his forehead, but at least he’d made it. There’d been times, descending through that unending white, with the searing hot poker above his eyes making it almost impossible to focus on the instruments, that he thought he’d never get this far. Now it was almost over.
He was a little bit higher than he’d have liked and much too fast but, through the stabbing sensations, he managed to line up for what was a pretty much perfect approach – or at least the last few hundred feet of one.
The sweat was actually dripping into his eyes from the combination of concentration and pain as he rounded out. The aircraft sinking and sinking and sinking until it made contact with the runway, a screeching of metal and then a series of thuds as the propeller bit chunks out of the asphalt.
His heart seemed to sink right through his stomach and the sweat felt as though it had instantly frozen on his crumpled brow. Pilot X had arrived.
Questions
1 What might have been the cause of X’s headaches?
2 What should X have done when he first started to experience the headaches?
3 What could X have done when the symptoms started in this flight?
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