I knew there was a possibility today would be "interesting". It was still snowing last night when we put Sara Jean's car in the garage. That snow was falling on the existing three inches of ice and sleet mixed. My old work car has front-wheel drive, so I was pretty confident about making my way to work this morning. But just in case, I drove up and down our drive several times to make a pathway to our road. Then I backed into our drive so all I had to do this morning was start the car, clean off the windows and lights, take a sip of coffee, drop the car into gear and drive carefully to work.
But Mother Nature said HA!
I woke this morning to 4 inches of snow on top of the three inches of sleet/ice. Front wheel drive works great so long as the wheels touch the ground. With ground cover this deep, the floorpan making contact with the snow actually lifts the weight of the car off the wheels. With no weight on them the front tires spin uselessly.
And that's what happened. I drove halfway up the drive and the car came to a stop, wheels spinning. You know the drill from there... select "Reverse" and back up, then "drive" and try again... two feet closer to the road. Back and forth, back and forth.
But "Mr. Snowplow Driver" sabotaged my efforts...
When I got to the end of the drive the snow was piled more than a foot high, and I couldn't get enough inertia built up to ram my way through it. Time to shovel.
This week I became eligible for Social Security payments. With the patients I transport I'm continually reminded how stupid 62 year old men can be. Put a snow shovel in the hands of a sixty-two year old man and you have the perfect formula for a heart attack at the lifting end of that shovel.
So I went slowly, digging snow from underneath the car and in front... back in the car to inch forward another two or three feet, then rinse and repeat...
Over and over...
Neighbor Mike came by in his four-wheel drive truck on his way to work...
No time to really lend much of a hand. He asked how he could help and I suggested he try to make a pathway for me to escape. But Mike's truck had nothing in the bed, and although he was motivating, he was slipping and sliding all the way. He made three "back and forths" for me, then waved as he made his way to work.
I drove another three feet, then grabbed the shovel again.
Half an hour later I'm on the road. Forty-five minutes after that I'm at work, and the helicopter is still in the hangar... Mr. Snowplow driver is clearing the helipad.
I check weather and most of this storm is now East of us. I preflight the aircraft in the hangar and when I'm done, the pad is clear. We push the machine out onto the pad and I call dispatch to let them know we're ready to fly.
"Can you take the ****** transport team to Rivertown?"
"Yes, I can do that."
"Your flight is a go."
We've had two days of icy/snowy weather. I suspect there are quite a few patients in little hospitals waiting for the weather to clear so they can be moved to get the care they need.
Ambulances, ground and air, will be mighty busy today.
Showing posts with label Weather. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Weather. Show all posts
28 January 2009
18 January 2009
When To Be A Chicken
I had a student scheduled yesterday. He's a VERY experienced pilot (a fixed-wing Designated Pilot Examiner)... and I love teaching fixed-wingers to fly helicopters. But as I indicated in our coffee test post below, we woke hearing the wind blowing so hard the walls of our log home were creaking against the strain.
Let me back up a little here...
This fixed-wing guy has recently gotten his helicopter rating across town and now that company won't allow him to rent their helicopter. The company I teach for allows students to rent our bird following their training, so he needs a checkout with us to insure he's competent before renting our machine.
When I check, the report is: wind out of the West at 15, gusting to 27 with peak gusts up to 30 knots. That's a bunch. It presents an interesting question-
If I give him his checkout under these conditions, he'll be exposed to wind he probably would never choose to fly in on his own, and I'll be able to evaluate his skills under extreme conditions... sort of "If he can safely fly in this, he'll be safe in anything."
But there is a limitation in the operator's manual restricting pilots with less than 200 hours from flying in this kind of wind. I really don't want to reinforce the idea that he could safely fly under these conditions. I decide to call him and see what he will decide to do.
I call his cell phone and he answers, "Hey Greybeard, I'm giving a speech. Can I call you back in 45 minutes?"
When the phone rings 45 minutes later he says, "I was giving a speech at a flight instructor renewal course. Sorry about that!" (This will be an interesting student!)
When I pose the question, he defers to my judgment-
"If you think it's safe I'm ready to fly."
I press him to make a decision, but begin to get the feeling he thinks my schedule is tight and I may not want to cancel, so I ask, "What's your schedule look like tomorrow?"
I hear relief in his voice... "Oh, I could fly either really early, or late afternoon. Your pick."
I think I like this guy. I'll bet I like the way he flies.
I'll let ya know.
Let me back up a little here...
This fixed-wing guy has recently gotten his helicopter rating across town and now that company won't allow him to rent their helicopter. The company I teach for allows students to rent our bird following their training, so he needs a checkout with us to insure he's competent before renting our machine.
When I check, the report is: wind out of the West at 15, gusting to 27 with peak gusts up to 30 knots. That's a bunch. It presents an interesting question-
If I give him his checkout under these conditions, he'll be exposed to wind he probably would never choose to fly in on his own, and I'll be able to evaluate his skills under extreme conditions... sort of "If he can safely fly in this, he'll be safe in anything."
But there is a limitation in the operator's manual restricting pilots with less than 200 hours from flying in this kind of wind. I really don't want to reinforce the idea that he could safely fly under these conditions. I decide to call him and see what he will decide to do.
I call his cell phone and he answers, "Hey Greybeard, I'm giving a speech. Can I call you back in 45 minutes?"
When the phone rings 45 minutes later he says, "I was giving a speech at a flight instructor renewal course. Sorry about that!" (This will be an interesting student!)
When I pose the question, he defers to my judgment-
"If you think it's safe I'm ready to fly."
I press him to make a decision, but begin to get the feeling he thinks my schedule is tight and I may not want to cancel, so I ask, "What's your schedule look like tomorrow?"
I hear relief in his voice... "Oh, I could fly either really early, or late afternoon. Your pick."
I think I like this guy. I'll bet I like the way he flies.
I'll let ya know.
16 January 2009
Your Morning Weather Forecast
Fellow earthlings and inquisitive souls, let's experiment!
My local weather guy says this works, and he's pretty good at his business.
He claims bubbles in your coffee can forecast your weather. Goofy stuff like this has always fascinated me, so he quickly had my undivided...
Pour your coffee in such a way that bubbles are formed. If the bubbles cling to the outside edge of your cup, the pressure is low and you can expect weather associated with that low pressure... here in the Midwest we'll have wind, clouds and precipitation.
Conversely, if the bubbles form in the middle of the cup, you are experiencing a high pressure system, normally associated with sunshine and fair weather.
Ever hear this before?
Then why didn't you share?!
08 January 2009
Guardian Angels At Work:
There is still a little fog in the area, but the freezing rain and drizzle are now East of us. The helicopter is still in the hangar because with the low ceilings in the area I'm goin' nowhere... why even push it out?
Still, we get flight requests. I check our weather and although it looks better, two airports within 50 miles of us are reporting 600 foot ceilings with 1-1/2 miles visibility.
The AWOS at the little airport where we're based is reporting VFR conditions... ceilings of 1100 feet and visibility 8 miles. Conditions are improving, but the forecast is for possible snow showers after midnight. I turn down the flight but tell our dispatchers about the improving weather.
Half an hour later I hear a siren getting louder and louder. I step out our front door just in time to see a Squad Car zoom by going 'way fast. I watch as he disappears in the distance, then hear another siren coming. This time it's a fire truck headed the same direction.
Then, the phone rings...
"Can you take a standby for an MVA between you and C-Ville?"
(Wow! That flight will take all of 5 minutes!)
"Let me check." I look at radar and dial up our AWOS on the phone...
"Yep, we'll accept the standby. We'll push the aircraft out now."
My crew has gone to bed. Over the intercom I inform them we're on standby and need to push the aircraft out of the hangar. All hands need to be watching as we push out to insure I don't run aircraft extremities into walls or doors. We've no sooner finished situating the helicopter on the pad and bringing the tug back into the hangar when the telephone rings again...
"Your flight is a go."
We quickly walk to the aircraft and along with my nurse and paramedic we check to insure shorelines are disconnected, gas cap and all cowlings are secure. I take my seat, buckle up, and pull the starter triggers as my crew climb in and secure seat belt and shoulder harnesses.
"Everyone secure?"
"Ready in the back."
"I'm ready here too."
I announce my takeoff over the airport unicom frequency, then check my instruments to make sure everything is within normal operating limits. We clear the surrounding trees and instantly see the scene... the accident is on the road adjacent to the airport! I call dispatch and tell them we're airborne and already over the scene. Dispatch gives me the frequency and contact information and I switch frequencies while circling the scene. The moment I have the proper frequency dialed in we hear the ground unit calling us...
"Hang on (our callsign), we're putting the strobes out for your landing now."
We see two guys walking out into a harvested field adjacent to an overturned car, carrying three flashing strobe lights.
"Do you see the strobes?"
"Roger"
"There are wires on the East of the road but no wires near your LZ. Your patient is a 25 year old female. She collided with a utility pole and has sustained electrical burns from contacting wires as she exited her car. She also has multi-system trauma."
"Roger that. I'm landing now", and I announce our landing to dispatch.
The area he has designated for me is a safe one... it's in an open, just harvested soybean field. Still wet from recent heavy rains, there is a three foot deep ditch full of water parallel to the road, separating the LZ from our patient's overturned automobile and the ambulance where they are stabilizing her for transfer to us. I don't want my crew to have to negotiate the water-filled ditch with the patient and stretcher, so I land over the strobes his crew has placed, then hover and land the helicopter North of the overturned car, 10 feet from the downed wires about 100 feet from the waiting ambulance.
Skids down, I say "We're on the ground" and note landing time and coordinates, secure the aircraft controls, then dismount to insure any onlookers don't approach too closely. The scene commander approaches to make sure he did nothing wrong selecting the area where he placed the strobes. I tell him his LZ was perfectly safe but explain my thought processes for landing where I did.
"I just wasn't sure you'd want to be that close to those wires" he says.
"I appreciate that sir. Thanks for thinking of our safety" I respond.
When I'm sure I can safely do so I climb into the aircraft and enter the GPS waypoint for the hospital I'm guessing they'll want the patient to be transported to, make note of the distance so I have an idea how long the flight will take, then dial the bug on the heading indicator for the heading I'll need after departing into the wind.
Twelve minutes after touchdown at the scene my crew appears out of all the flashing lights with our young accident victim on the stretcher. We carefully load her, check again to make sure all the aircraft parts are secure, then take off vertically to avoid any unseen wires. The flight to the trauma center takes 27 minutes.
(I guessed wrong and had to reprogram the GPS.)
On this dark, damp, chilly night, she was on her way to visit a family member at our local hospital. She saw "an animal" dart in front of her car and swerved to miss it and lost control. She clipped a utility pole, breaking it in half. In the accident sequence the car rotated 180 degrees and rolled onto its top. Crawling over the headliner and climbing out the rear window, she didn't realize live wires were contacting the car's now exposed (dying cockroach) undercarriage. She was electrocuted as she crawled out. She has an electrical entrance wound on her left index finger and an exit wound on her left ankle, and is VERY lucky to be alive.
Flight visibility wasn't great initially, but improved as the flight progressed.
In many ways, this gal had a guardian angel watching out for her!
These pics are blurry because the photographer is an amateur and it was mighty dark, but you can get a feel for the scene with them.
(Clicken to embiggen):
Still, we get flight requests. I check our weather and although it looks better, two airports within 50 miles of us are reporting 600 foot ceilings with 1-1/2 miles visibility.
The AWOS at the little airport where we're based is reporting VFR conditions... ceilings of 1100 feet and visibility 8 miles. Conditions are improving, but the forecast is for possible snow showers after midnight. I turn down the flight but tell our dispatchers about the improving weather.
Half an hour later I hear a siren getting louder and louder. I step out our front door just in time to see a Squad Car zoom by going 'way fast. I watch as he disappears in the distance, then hear another siren coming. This time it's a fire truck headed the same direction.
Then, the phone rings...
"Can you take a standby for an MVA between you and C-Ville?"
(Wow! That flight will take all of 5 minutes!)
"Let me check." I look at radar and dial up our AWOS on the phone...
"Yep, we'll accept the standby. We'll push the aircraft out now."
My crew has gone to bed. Over the intercom I inform them we're on standby and need to push the aircraft out of the hangar. All hands need to be watching as we push out to insure I don't run aircraft extremities into walls or doors. We've no sooner finished situating the helicopter on the pad and bringing the tug back into the hangar when the telephone rings again...
"Your flight is a go."
We quickly walk to the aircraft and along with my nurse and paramedic we check to insure shorelines are disconnected, gas cap and all cowlings are secure. I take my seat, buckle up, and pull the starter triggers as my crew climb in and secure seat belt and shoulder harnesses.
"Everyone secure?"
"Ready in the back."
"I'm ready here too."
I announce my takeoff over the airport unicom frequency, then check my instruments to make sure everything is within normal operating limits. We clear the surrounding trees and instantly see the scene... the accident is on the road adjacent to the airport! I call dispatch and tell them we're airborne and already over the scene. Dispatch gives me the frequency and contact information and I switch frequencies while circling the scene. The moment I have the proper frequency dialed in we hear the ground unit calling us...
"Hang on (our callsign), we're putting the strobes out for your landing now."
We see two guys walking out into a harvested field adjacent to an overturned car, carrying three flashing strobe lights.
"Do you see the strobes?"
"Roger"
"There are wires on the East of the road but no wires near your LZ. Your patient is a 25 year old female. She collided with a utility pole and has sustained electrical burns from contacting wires as she exited her car. She also has multi-system trauma."
"Roger that. I'm landing now", and I announce our landing to dispatch.
The area he has designated for me is a safe one... it's in an open, just harvested soybean field. Still wet from recent heavy rains, there is a three foot deep ditch full of water parallel to the road, separating the LZ from our patient's overturned automobile and the ambulance where they are stabilizing her for transfer to us. I don't want my crew to have to negotiate the water-filled ditch with the patient and stretcher, so I land over the strobes his crew has placed, then hover and land the helicopter North of the overturned car, 10 feet from the downed wires about 100 feet from the waiting ambulance.
Skids down, I say "We're on the ground" and note landing time and coordinates, secure the aircraft controls, then dismount to insure any onlookers don't approach too closely. The scene commander approaches to make sure he did nothing wrong selecting the area where he placed the strobes. I tell him his LZ was perfectly safe but explain my thought processes for landing where I did.
"I just wasn't sure you'd want to be that close to those wires" he says.
"I appreciate that sir. Thanks for thinking of our safety" I respond.
When I'm sure I can safely do so I climb into the aircraft and enter the GPS waypoint for the hospital I'm guessing they'll want the patient to be transported to, make note of the distance so I have an idea how long the flight will take, then dial the bug on the heading indicator for the heading I'll need after departing into the wind.
Twelve minutes after touchdown at the scene my crew appears out of all the flashing lights with our young accident victim on the stretcher. We carefully load her, check again to make sure all the aircraft parts are secure, then take off vertically to avoid any unseen wires. The flight to the trauma center takes 27 minutes.
(I guessed wrong and had to reprogram the GPS.)
On this dark, damp, chilly night, she was on her way to visit a family member at our local hospital. She saw "an animal" dart in front of her car and swerved to miss it and lost control. She clipped a utility pole, breaking it in half. In the accident sequence the car rotated 180 degrees and rolled onto its top. Crawling over the headliner and climbing out the rear window, she didn't realize live wires were contacting the car's now exposed (dying cockroach) undercarriage. She was electrocuted as she crawled out. She has an electrical entrance wound on her left index finger and an exit wound on her left ankle, and is VERY lucky to be alive.
Flight visibility wasn't great initially, but improved as the flight progressed.
In many ways, this gal had a guardian angel watching out for her!
These pics are blurry because the photographer is an amateur and it was mighty dark, but you can get a feel for the scene with them.
(Clicken to embiggen):
25 December 2008
Trip 19 Wrap-up
Get into your car and drive to the grocery. Sometimes you can do that and, arriving at the grocery, not even remember passing through certain intersections or stopping at a certain traffic light.
Flying locally can be a little like that. Dealing with familiar things... airport, landmarks, flying an aircraft you are accustomed to... you can relax and enjoy the sensory part of flying. There is almost no planning involved, and little worry about flying into "restricted" or "prohibited" airspace... you know where that is and know exactly how to avoid it.
Flying cross-country, particularly in a brand-new aircraft, is a little like renting a car in a big, unfamiliar city and trying to efficiently make it across town in a short amount of time. It comes with all sorts of stresses:
-You're flying a brand new aircraft.
Moving parts sometimes take a while to realize they all need to work as a team in order for the machine to do its job. Knowing this, you know you have to keep an eye (or ear) out for trouble.
-There truly is airspace out there you have to avoid or you'll be in big trouble. As an example, Disneyland is now a "no-fly" area. Accidentally overfly Disneyland and a commercial pilot may find himself without a certificate to earn a living.
-In your local area you know the signs dangerous weather is approaching. You know what to watch for and you know which indicators need immediate action and which can be put on a "watch" list. Flying far from home takes you out of this comfort zone. Unfamiliar terrain and unfamiliar weather patterns rightfully cause a little stress in a transient pilot. Smart cross-country pilots will seek the advice of a local pilot the moment she/he begins to feel uncomfortable with anything out of the ordinary.
-Ferrying an aircraft normally means you're on some sort of schedule. Someone wants the machine in a certain place at a certain time, and $$$$ are being spent to insure that happens. Just keeping everyone informed of your progress and happy with the situation can also be stressful.
We had some of all of that this trip. As I've indicated, the R44 gave us NO trouble at all... it ran like a sewing machine both days. We did however encounter some threatening weather, and anxiously watched the weather channel and took a look at weather radar whenever it was available at our fuel stops. We truly thought our last day would be delayed or postponed due to ice... we simply cannot fly in freezing rain, freezing drizzle, or a mix of snow/sleet/anything with "freezing" preceding the type of precipitation. Thankfully the forecast 24 hours prior to our flight Wednesday was wrong, wrong, wrong! We flew a little over 8 hours Wednesday without a cloud in the sky.
Little airports are like little towns... they roll up the sidewalk and shut down the lights at dusk. I don't like flying a new machine at night, but made an exception this time because we had several hours under our belts in this helicopter and it seemed to be working just fine, and we wanted to be home with family for Christmas. Still, we stayed VERY CLOSE to Interstate highways after dark, just in case something went "bump" in the night. Thank God, nothing went bump.
But flying after dark requires special planning for fuel and services. Little airports normally have signs in the terminal window saying "After hours call ....." with a telephone number for someone supposedly on call to come ASAP and fuel you if you need it, and they charge a call-out fee that makes this painful. If they're doing something they don't want to leave, like sleeping at 4 A.M., they sometimes won't answer the phone or will tell you "I'll be there in 3 hours." NOT GOOD.
So it's better to plan your stops around bigger airports with airline or commuter service after dark... there is almost always someone already there to pump your fuel.
And that's what we did last night. Fuel at bigger airports is normally more expensive, but it's not as expensive as fuel+ call out fee.
I love ferrying helicopters home from California. We get to see about 2/3rds of the country up close and very personal, and we're traveling at a speed that is fast enough not to be boring. We can fly low enough to see flora and fauna... we saw deer and wild pigs on this trip. Just North of Tucson we could see a fenced-in area full of critters we knew were different, and upon checking found several hundred ostriches slightly uncomfortable with our low pass. We're low enough that my (still pretty great) eyes can read the road signs and tell how far it is to EL Paso, for instance.
This particular trip went normally. For that I am grateful.
I don't recommend doing it with the remnants of a cold.
I do think most of you would enjoy the experience though.
Buy a helicopter and I'll give you an experience you'll remember the rest of your life!
And again, thanks to all for following along, and thanks especially for those with advice and comments.
Flying locally can be a little like that. Dealing with familiar things... airport, landmarks, flying an aircraft you are accustomed to... you can relax and enjoy the sensory part of flying. There is almost no planning involved, and little worry about flying into "restricted" or "prohibited" airspace... you know where that is and know exactly how to avoid it.
Flying cross-country, particularly in a brand-new aircraft, is a little like renting a car in a big, unfamiliar city and trying to efficiently make it across town in a short amount of time. It comes with all sorts of stresses:
-You're flying a brand new aircraft.
Moving parts sometimes take a while to realize they all need to work as a team in order for the machine to do its job. Knowing this, you know you have to keep an eye (or ear) out for trouble.
-There truly is airspace out there you have to avoid or you'll be in big trouble. As an example, Disneyland is now a "no-fly" area. Accidentally overfly Disneyland and a commercial pilot may find himself without a certificate to earn a living.
-In your local area you know the signs dangerous weather is approaching. You know what to watch for and you know which indicators need immediate action and which can be put on a "watch" list. Flying far from home takes you out of this comfort zone. Unfamiliar terrain and unfamiliar weather patterns rightfully cause a little stress in a transient pilot. Smart cross-country pilots will seek the advice of a local pilot the moment she/he begins to feel uncomfortable with anything out of the ordinary.
-Ferrying an aircraft normally means you're on some sort of schedule. Someone wants the machine in a certain place at a certain time, and $$$$ are being spent to insure that happens. Just keeping everyone informed of your progress and happy with the situation can also be stressful.
We had some of all of that this trip. As I've indicated, the R44 gave us NO trouble at all... it ran like a sewing machine both days. We did however encounter some threatening weather, and anxiously watched the weather channel and took a look at weather radar whenever it was available at our fuel stops. We truly thought our last day would be delayed or postponed due to ice... we simply cannot fly in freezing rain, freezing drizzle, or a mix of snow/sleet/anything with "freezing" preceding the type of precipitation. Thankfully the forecast 24 hours prior to our flight Wednesday was wrong, wrong, wrong! We flew a little over 8 hours Wednesday without a cloud in the sky.
Little airports are like little towns... they roll up the sidewalk and shut down the lights at dusk. I don't like flying a new machine at night, but made an exception this time because we had several hours under our belts in this helicopter and it seemed to be working just fine, and we wanted to be home with family for Christmas. Still, we stayed VERY CLOSE to Interstate highways after dark, just in case something went "bump" in the night. Thank God, nothing went bump.
But flying after dark requires special planning for fuel and services. Little airports normally have signs in the terminal window saying "After hours call ....." with a telephone number for someone supposedly on call to come ASAP and fuel you if you need it, and they charge a call-out fee that makes this painful. If they're doing something they don't want to leave, like sleeping at 4 A.M., they sometimes won't answer the phone or will tell you "I'll be there in 3 hours." NOT GOOD.
So it's better to plan your stops around bigger airports with airline or commuter service after dark... there is almost always someone already there to pump your fuel.
And that's what we did last night. Fuel at bigger airports is normally more expensive, but it's not as expensive as fuel+ call out fee.
I love ferrying helicopters home from California. We get to see about 2/3rds of the country up close and very personal, and we're traveling at a speed that is fast enough not to be boring. We can fly low enough to see flora and fauna... we saw deer and wild pigs on this trip. Just North of Tucson we could see a fenced-in area full of critters we knew were different, and upon checking found several hundred ostriches slightly uncomfortable with our low pass. We're low enough that my (still pretty great) eyes can read the road signs and tell how far it is to EL Paso, for instance.
This particular trip went normally. For that I am grateful.
I don't recommend doing it with the remnants of a cold.
I do think most of you would enjoy the experience though.
Buy a helicopter and I'll give you an experience you'll remember the rest of your life!
And again, thanks to all for following along, and thanks especially for those with advice and comments.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)