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One of the perks of my new jet job is the ability to have my wife hop on an airliner and join me whenever I fly to someplace nice and have to stay for a few days. The company is often hired to fly someone who wants to spend a week in places like Miami, Phoenix, or Las Vegas and then be flown home. And because the hourly cost of flying the jet is so high it’s often cheaper to leave the plane and crew there rather than have them fly home empty and then come back a week later to bring them home.

What makes it a nice cheap vacation is that the company is already paying for the hotel room, so all it costs us is her plane ticket. And usually we stay at Hilton hotels which has the added benefit of free breakfast for 2 because I’m a Hilton Honors member. Heck, the company even gives me per diem. It all adds up to a pretty cheap vacation.

But doing this can have it’s risks because the company can’t always guarantee us that we will stay at that location for the entire time we planned. Sometimes if the plane is going to sit for close to a week my boss will try and find fill in work for us lazy pilots to do. So instead of sitting by the pool for a week drinking margaritas the company might subcontract us out to one or two different charter companies who’ll fly the crap out of us until it’s time to bring our original client back home. And if I’ve flown my wife down to join me she might be drinking alone. Oh, and we will have to pay for her hotel room. So it’s not always a sure thing.

But sometimes my boss can give me an “almost” guarantee that once we land we will stay put for the entire trip.

Which led to a dilemma last week when I looked at the upcoming flight schedule and saw 2 trips that would be fun to fly my wife down to. There was a 5 day trip to Las Vegas that would be kind of fun, I like Vegas. And there was a 7 day trip to the Cayman Islands! And I LOVE the Cayman Islands!

And it turns out that none of the other pilots even wanted to Cayman Island trip because they are boring people. Losers. But the boss was dragging his feet about weather or not the plane would stay put for the week or because the hotels there are outrageously expensive and it might be cheaper to fly the plane back to the US rather than put the two pilots up for that amount of time.

But I was pretty sure that wasn’t going to happen. It’s just too expensive to pay for the all the landing fees and time on the plane just to get a cheaper hotel room. But I wasn’t positive, and to make the decision harder was the price of the ticket to get my wife down there. $1000! Oof. Hate to book that flight and then have the trip fall apart.

On the other hand the Vegas trip was solid. The plane wasn’t going to move, period. And the tickets to Vegas were WAY cheaper. But I really really really wanted to go to the Cayman Islands!

But the longer we waited the more expensive the Cayman Islands tickets got and I finally couldn’t stand it any longer and told them to put me on the Vegas trip. Argggg. A five day trip in Sin City with the wife would still be fun. I guess. Not much Scuba diving in the desert though.

I pouted for two days over that decision, especially after one of the pilots who got picked for the Island trip told me that the boss finally decided that the plane and crew would stay on the island for the entire week and would be staying at a really expensive resort. Double Arggg.

I was really kicking myself. We could’ve had a full weeks vacation in the Cayman Islands for two, all expenses paid, for $1000. Did I say Arggggg before? I did? Well, still Arggggg.

I didn’t make me feel any better when that pilot sent me this picture.

His text said-” I bet you don’t have you don’t have this view in Las Vegas.” Jerk

But I felt a whole lot better when I got his next text the next morning.

“Our tropical trip didn’t last long. We’re on our way home due to a passenger family emergency. Good thing you didn’t fly your wife down.”

They spent less than 24 hours in the Caymans. Bummer for them but a close call for us. Because if I’d flown my wife down she’d be stuck there by herself and the cost of the resort would be on us not the company. That would have made for an expensive and lonely trip. Sometimes you get lucky. Now it’s time go lose some money on the Vegas strip. Unless my luck holds.

Warning! Warning! Winter storm TAYLOR is approaching! Expect 5 to 10 inches of SNOW!!! Argggg! For the love of God Flee!

You don’t have to tell me twice. I’m outta here. But seriously whoever came up with the idea of naming winter storms before they happen? Back in the day (makes me sound so old) they named them after they happened. Like the Halloween blizzard of 1991. Now THAT was a blizzard! It’s just stupid to name them because half the time nothing happens, just a little snow, no big deal, we live in Wisconsin people, it happens almost every year, deal with it.

Of course in this case I’m actually fleeing. Well not actually fleeing, flying. I’ve got a trip in the jet to Las vegas that was supposed to leave tomorrow but because of the “storm” we’re leaving a day early. OK by me. Just means another day of vacation in Vegas for me and the misses because I’m flying her down commercially to join me whilst I spend 5 days on the company dime waiting for the clients to do whatever it is that people do in Sin City. I’m sure we’ll find something to do to pass the time.

Last winter My wife and I decided that we’d had enough of winter and hopped into my beloved 1960 Beech Queen Air “Black Betty” for a little road trip. First stop was Denver to pick up Supergirl (daughter) Then down to San Diego for to visit my uncle Kerry (namesake)and his family.

It was a great trip. Black Betty purred like a kitten (400 really big kittens per side) Handled icing conditions and heavy snow like a champ and got us down and back in record time. (not sure what record I’m referring to)

The two highlights to the trip was Supergirl flying us across the Grand Canyon at sunset and landing at Sedona.

The day finally came. Marcio’s first single engine ocean crossing. And let me tell you it was no picnic. First it was almost impossible to get the big guy into the survival suit he rented, even though it was size “JUMBO” Then once we squeezed the Brazilian toothpaste back into the tube I had to help get him into the tiny Cirrus cabin. It didn’t take long for him to realize that if he fully wearing the suite he A. Wouldn’t be able to fly, run the radio, navigate, or do just about anything. Basically an uncomfortable passenger with a better than average chance of dying. And 2. He’d lose a lot of weight on that leg because the thick neoprene suit was hot as balls.

Normally when I fly single engine pistons over a cold ocean environment I fly with the suit on but only around my waist. That way I’m a lot more comfortable and able to do things. Like fly an airplane. If I need to ditch all I have to do is put my arms in the sleeves and zip up the front. I practice it in every plane I ferry to make sure I can do the maneuver in the space I have in that particular plane. It’s usually tight and sometimes kind of difficult which is one of the reasons I fly as high as I can in order to give me as much time as possible to get set to ditch.

So I told Marcio to try my methould. (Jeeze, just getting his arms out of the suit was an ordeal.) Once he was stripped down to his waist he climbed into the front right of the Cirrus (another ordeal) closed the door and tried to simulate getting the suit all the way on in mid-flight.

Well. I won’t try and describe all the contortions, grunts and groans that that went into Marcio’s attempt get to get his arms into the neoprene sleeves but suffice it to say the key word in this sentence is attempt. After the “put your suit on in the cockpit” experiment failed miserably Marcio decided to fly with one arm in the suit. That way he’d be half way to getting his survival suit on. And if I could fly at 30,000 feet he might even have time to get it zipped up.

After coming up with that mediocre plan and not being able to think of anything else we needed to do that might delay or otherwise give us an excuse to not go, we went. The takeoff was just like every other ocean crossing takeoff. “Does the engine sound funny?” “What’s that smell? Does it smell electrical?” “Did you remember to check the oil?” “WHAT AM I FORGETTING???????!!!!!” The fear of the unknown can drive you crazy sometimes. I had to remember that I’d been doing this for 25 years at the time. This was Marcio’s first.

The crossing from Wick Scotland to Reykjavik Iceland is about 650 nautical miles and is the safest of the North Atlantic legs for a few reasons. First of all about halfway across is an airport at the Faroe islands that a pilot in trouble could divert to.( Kind of handy) Then there’s the fact that there’s good radio coverage along the entire route. (Agin handy in the event of trouble. You can yell for help and someone will hear you.) But last and most important is the rescue services that are available. Both scotland and Iceland have a fantastic Coast Guard to rely on in case of ditching. And with the Faroe islands in the middle there’s a good chance that you’ll be in range of helicopter rescue. Helicopters, good. Helicopters, fast. Boats, bad. Boats slow.

We climbed up to 24,000 feet in the turbocharged Cirrus set the power to long range cruise, sat back and got comfortable for the easy 4 hour flight. The plane would go a lot faster than the 165 knots we were cruising at but would burn a lot more fuel. Fuel that we might need if we ran into trouble. As we got closer to Iceland if everything was looking good with the weather and winds aloft we’d probably bump the power up in order to get to the bar quicker.

To be continued:

“Traffic 12o’clock”……………..”In sight”

Saw this A380 heading my way yesterday flying from Texas to Wisconsin.

The Cirrus Marcio and I ferried from Munich to Las Vegas in Annecy France.

After nearly getting hauled off to the Tower of London the night before Marcio and I pointed the Cirrus north towards Scotland, our last stop before taking on the North Atlantic. As we got closer to the ocean crossing Marcio got more and more nervous, with good reason.

Flying the North Atlantic, or any ocean for that matter, in a single engine piston is nothing to sneeze at. There’s a trail of aluminum sitting at the bottom of the sea along the ocean crossing routes that will attest to that fact. And every one of those planes was flown by a pilot who thought he could make it.

But in Marcio’s case he had extra reasons to be scared. Number one was that he hadn’t flown anything but airliners and business jets in many years and just getting into a small plane scared him. (and he barely fit into the Cirrus anyway) Number two was that we were heavy. With three adult men (make that three and a half with Marcio) our bags, survival gear, camera gera, and full fuel, the Cirrus was pretty heavily loaded down. I didn’t do a weight and balance because I didn’t really want to know just how much. Madness you say? Not so says I. Almost any airplane can fly at weights far over its certified max gross weight. How do I know this? Because back in my early days of ferry flying the FAA allowed planes being ferried over the ocean to fly 25% over max gross weight and with the center of gravity 2 inches of aft of the rearward limit. You just have to know how to fly a plane in that configuration. which is why they took out the waiver for the aft CG. Too many pilots got too slow and crashed. When flying a plane over max weight you have to keep your speed up and fly smooooooth. It’s that simple.

Oh, and Marcio had one more reason to be scared of the upcoming crossing. The Cirrus was running like shit. Ever since we’d picked the plane up in Munich we’d been fighting the planes tendency to run rough at low altitudes. Especially when reducing power in the descent.

I tried everything. Leaner mixture, richer mixture, boost pump on, boost pump off. I even resorted to reading the manual! No help there. The engine ran fine at altitude and on the ground but having it cough and sputter during an approach was……..disconcerting.

The German mechanics in Munich couldn’t find anything wrong and gave me that look that mechanics love to give pilots. the one that says “Are you sure you know what your doing?” We had lots of theories as to why it ran rough but in the end it came down to, did the engine die completely? No? Then off you go. Have a nice trip. Fine, what could possibly go wrong?

The flight from southern England up to Wick Scotland was nice though. It’s a rare day that you can see the Scottish highlands like this.

When we got to Wick Marcio was flying from the left seat. I’d been giving him more takeoffs and landings, trying to get him comfortable with the little Cirrus. Being a jet pilot he set up for landing WAY out over the water. Typical pattern for a jet but I like to be closer to the runway in a piston in case something goes wrong. Which was exactly when the engine started running rough again.

And while I was trying different mixture and boost pump settings I suggested (in no uncertain terms) that maybe he should, you know, point us at the nearest point of land maybe? Please? He didn’t disagree.

I managed to get the engine smoothed out and Marcio’s landing was acceptable. I think he was just as happy to be able pull out a smooth landing in the Cirrus as he was to getting down safely.

We put the plane in the hanger and I did an oil change while Marcio did an interview for the camera. Big shot.

To Be continued:

The morning started with an argument. Our Cirrus had a gremlin in the production company’s sound system. We didn’t know how long it would take to fix and with Marcio’s wife about to give birth any day we could ill afford any delay. Cory and Pete’s Caravan had a similar sound system that was working just fine. Cory and Pete didn’t have any real important deadlines hanging over them. (unless you count getting back home to their families, which they did) How about this for an idea. We swap sound systems. That way Kerry and Marcio can get back on the road and Cory and Pete could deal with the problem instead.

“You guys wouldn’t have a problem with that would you?” Marcio asked. It turns out that, yes, yes they did have a problem with that. And if you had such a tight deadline maybe you shouldn’t have taken the trip,no? After all, every good ferry pilot know having deadlines is a very dangerous thing when ferry flying. Plus, no. We are not willing to give you our sound system.

Marcio could maybe have been a bit more diplomatic but it didn’t really matter in the end as the AV guru called a bit later to tell us that he’d chased the gremlins out of the Cirrus and we were good to go.

We wasted getting back in the air and headed toward jolly old England. It turns out that we should have wasted a little time because as we were approaching the English Channel Marcio discovered that we might not make it to the airport he’d filed our flight plan for before it closed for the night. Not to worry. We just called up ATC and requested a landing in Southampton instead. Amazingly they approved the request with only a mild bit of harrumphing and highly unusualing.At least that’s what we thought.

As we pulled up to Southampton’s FBO we had group of very official looking men with guns drawn surround our plane. “That’s new.” I said. There was a lot “Out of the plane! Hurry up! Hands where we can see them! What’s all this then? Show us some ID!

We’d been detained by the British Secret Service! We didn’t expect that.

“NOBODY EXPECTS THE BRITISH SECRET SERVICE!”

(Sorry, I couldn’t help myself.)

The agents started out very hard core and cop like but they put the guns away when they saw two middle aged pilots and a scared cameraman. They wouldn’t tell us what the problem was at first. One group brought us inside and started interrogating us while another searched the plane.

They looked really skeptical when we told them we were filming a TV show and ferrying a plane that was being exported at the same time. They softened a bit when our cameraman began pleading with them to please please please let him film this encounter. By soften I mean angrily refusing his request. But they relaxed a little because 1. Nothing makes a cop happier than turning down a reasonable request, And B. If we were even asking to film this we probably were who we said we were.

Then Marcio turned on the charm. (Something the big Brazilian was particularly good at) He began telling them the story of how we’d been trying to get this plane out Europe but first a rough running engine and then problems with our sound system had forced us to turn back from England not once but twice. And how his time was running out to get back to his family. And how he was scared to even fly in this tiny thing because he’s a jet pilot. By the time he was done he had them eating out of the palm of his hand. They were basically like “And then what happened Marcio?”

Satisfied, they finally told us why they thought we were terrorists or something. It seems that someone thought it unusual that we filed flight plans from Germany and then France and both times cancelled in mid-flight. Then when we changed landing locations, again in mid-flight, there suspicions were confirmed. “ARREST THE BLIGHTERS!”

Could this trip get any weirder? Turns out, it could.

To be continued:

Gear up!

While Marcio and I were enjoying the product that Scotland is most famous for, Cory and Pete were stuck in the actual country. The daring duo had finally made it to Wick but their hopes for a quick turn and been dashed. You see they were now in Eurocontrol country. And when you want to fly in Eurocontrol’s airspace you must ask pretty please my I? And this time the answer was “no, we don’t have a slot time for you right now, maybe later, much later.”

They tried everything. Changed their routing. Nope, still no slot time. Change their requested altitude? (Even though the Caravan’s turbine engine would use a ton more fuel if they flew lower.) No. Fly VFR? “No, stop asking. We’ll get back to you when we get back to you.” which turned out to be 8 hours later because they had to fly right past both London and Paris which, as it turns out, is a rather busy chunk of airspace.

But eventually the Caravan landed at the Annecy airport only fifteen minutes after they were to be officially closed for the night. Which wouldn’t be a big deal in the US, but in France when an airport closes it closes. No landings permitted. Luckily I’d been in contact with Pete and knew it would be close so I’d gone up to the tower and pled my case for a little extra time. The controller was reluctant at first, (Zat is ze rule monsieur) but after a few fingers of Glenfiddich found its way into his coffee mug things just sort of worked out.

The gang was back together! Not only had I done trips with both Cory and Pete but the cameramen in both our planes were best friends and had known each other since college. I was especially glad to see their cameraman John.

John had been my cameraman on every trip I’d flown the previous season and we we really got along well. That first year we flew all over the world together, landing in over 50 countries and having all kinds of amazing adventures. You don’t spend that amount of time with someone without becoming great friends.

It was a fantastic night. First we had to apologize for the horrible accommodations and mediocre food.

Then it was a great night out on the town where the locals treated us like kings.

It was the kind of night that makes me love being a ferry pilot. It’s the grand adventure of flying small planes around the world, meeting up with other ferry pilots and swapping flying stories at the bar, and meeting the locals who think that what you do is just the coolest thing in the world. Which of course it is.

But the next day it was back to work. Cory and Pete were going to get checked out to be able to land on the famous Courchevel airstrip (one of the most dangerous in the world) and Marcio and I still had a broken sound system on our hands and Marcio had a real race to win because his wife was super pregnant and if he didn’t make it home in time to be there for the birth of his second child he would be a dead man.

To be continued: