Going Down

I know I’ve written many times about how I prepare to survive landing an airplane someplace other than an airport but a few upcoming ferry flights had me going over my survival kit and researching better ideas or gear that might come in handy if I ever find myself up the creek. For those of you who are coming late to the party I’ll try and bring you up to speed. As an international ferry pilot I’m often flying questionably maintained aircraft thousands of miles to destinations all over the world and on really long trips I could potentially go down and find myself battling for survival in any one of a dozen different climates and or echo systems, such as; huge boreal forrest, arctic tundra, alpine/mountains, Greenland’s massive ice cap, freezing cold northern oceans, boiling hot southern oceans, triple canopy rain forrest, desert, swampland, savanna/grasslands, and down town Detroit. On my recent trip delivering a Cessna Grand Caravan from St. Paul, Minnesota USA to Singapore I flew over and had to be prepared to survive in….hmm, let’s see……all of them. Except Detroit. I don’t fly anywhere that place, too dangerous. So you might ask “Hey Kerry, how do you prepare for all those potential situations when you are flying a small plane with limited space and weight available to devote to survival equipment?”  And I might reply “That’s a good question.” I might have been tempted to answer ‘Very carefully” but that might give you all the impression that I have it all figured out but that isn’t the case. At all. Before I get into the nuts and bolts of my survival kit I’m going to give you a link to a story of two pilots that were forced to ditch in the ocean after engine problems forced them down short of Hawaii. The account is filled with mistakes that both the pilots and the Coast Guard made and it’s just pure luck that they didn’t turn into fish food.  I’ve talked personally to pilots who’ve ditched and read every account of ditching I can find to try and learn from their mistakes because I spend long hours looking down at the big blue and it doesn’t look like a friendly place at all.

Lessons Learned
A Long Wet Night


The following narrative was compiled from separate phone interviews with the pilot, Ray Clamback and the co-pilot, Dr. Shane Wiley, who graciously and very frankly shared their experience to benefit others, the pilots of the U.S. Coast Guard C-130s involved in this SAR case, email exchanges with Clamback’s partner Aminta Hennessy, official USCG reports, an article in the FAA Aviation News authored by U.S. Coast Guard Petty Officer 3rd Class Eric Hedaa, and news accounts of the incident. With the exception of the initial departure time, all times are Hawaii time.
Links to related information on this site are included.
UPDATE October 8, 2004: Ray survived two subsequent ditchings, the latest on October 5, 2004, enroute from Hawaii flying a Cessna 182. He is reported in the media to be considering retiring from ferrying aircraft.

Piper Archer III (file photo)Just minutes after the sun peeked over the horizon, Ray Clamback pushed the throttle forward and the shiny new single-engine Piper Archer III accelerated down the runway at Santa Barbara (California) Municipal Airport (KSBA), lifting off at 6:31 am on the morning of November 20, 1999. Turning to a course of 234 degrees and climbing slowly to 6,000 ft., Ray headed for DINTY intersection, his first checkpoint on the way to Hilo, Hawaii, 2060 nautical miles distant over the blue Pacific Ocean. The extra fuel on board put him right at the allowable 10% over gross weight and it was a slow climb to cruise altitude.

Ray was flying from the right seat, as is his habit on ferry flights. With over 10,000 hours instructing in light aircraft and over 150 ferry flights under his belt, at least 120 across this same route from the U.S. to Australia, the 62-year-old Aussie pilot noted he “is more comfortable flying from the right seat than from the left…and besides, that’s where the door is.” Accompanying him on this flight was 51-year-old instrument-rated private pilot Dr. Shane Wiley, back flying again after a long hiatus and looking forward to a flying adventure. He didn’t know it yet, but he was about to get a bit more adventure than he bargained for.

Ray had picked up the new Archer from the factory in Vero Beach, Florida, just three days earlier, putting 18 hours on the 180-horsepower, four-cylinder Lycoming 0-360 engine during the two-day solo cross-country. Another 2.1 hours were accumulated in a test flight to Los Angeles picking up Shane the day before, after the ferry tanks and temporary autopilot installations and first oil change were completed. The engine still hadn’t used a drop of oil.

Passing DINTY, Ray turned a few degrees right to 238 degrees which put him on the great circle track to FITES intersection, off the coast of Hilo. He had programmed the Garmin 430 (GPS) with the flight plan, now it was time to settle back and relax as the Archer droned toward Hilo at a steady 125 knots, about 140 kts. ground speed with a light tailwind. After a while Ray turned over piloting duties to Shane and nodded off.

Shane dutifully monitored the flight’s progress on the Garmin’s moving-map display, as the auto-pilot maintained heading and altitude, keeping a watchful eye on the engine instruments. Every ten minutes he’d log temperatures and oil pressure. “They didn’t vary by even the slightest amount,” Shane recalled.

Watch That Oil Pressure

Ten hours into the expected 17-hour flight Shane noticed the oil pressure had dropped, “though it was still in the green, it was quite a bit lower. I shook Ray awake and told him the pressure had dropped, and we were then both very wide awake as he looked at the gauges.” Shane remembers then that they “monitored the oil pressure for about fifteen or twenty minutes when the oil pressure dropped again and we knew then we really had a problem.” As Ray recalls it, they monitored the oil temperature and considered their options, “and within four to five minutes the pressure dropped again to the bottom of the green. At that point I didn’t wait, immediately called guard (emergency) frequency, 121.5 MHz, ‘anyone on guard, this is November four one four eight x-ray (the aircraft’s registration or “tail” number), I’ve got decreasing oil pressure and need assistance. I’d like the Coast Guard notified as soon as possible'” and then gave his position–longitude and latitude. “The frequency lit up with replies, which was very reassuring.” Ray also had an Iridium satellite phone with him, as back-up, but years of experience had taught him that a call on 121.5 MHz would likely do the job and that was far easier and quicker. Read More: A LONG WET NIGHT

 

That’s My Boy

As you all know I’ve things slide for a few months so I’m going to try and catch up.this spring number one son’s skydiving career really took off. (sorry) He came out to the drop zone almost every day and quickly built up a reputation as a good skydiver and better yet a great kid to hang out with. After getting his A license his next challenge was to get his coach rating. A coach rating allows you to just mp with and teach students that have been cleared to jump solo by the free fall instructors but do not yet have their license. The problem was Connor needed 100 jumps to be eligible to take the rating course and by the time the annual course started he only had…well, let’s just say less. That’s where being the drop zone owner came in handy. I was sure that the boy would make a fantastic coach so I pulled the evaluator aside and told him to give my son the rating or I’d fire him. OK, I didn’t quite do that but I did get him in the course early and he rocked it. Connor spent the rest of the summer teaching students and jumping for fun. Well, it was mostly fun, except for his first malfunction.

It happened while I was on the same airplane taking a tandem student for his first jump. The free fall was over and the two of us were flying the parachute back to the landing area. I happened to look down and saw an all yellow reserve canopy so I knew someone had had a malfunction. I located the rest of the skydivers and came up on son short so I was pretty sure that it had been Connor who’d had the cutaway. I pointed the emergency canopy to my student and told him what it was. He was dually impressed, even more so when I told him that the jumper with the malfunction was my son. What had happened was when Connor opened his parachute it developed line twists, that’s what we call it when the lines get all twisted up, hence the name. Unable to kick himself out of the twists and spiraling towards the ground Connor had no choice but to pull his cut away handle and pull his reserve. Now Connor is a fast learner and has been around skydiving his whole life o he knew how hard it is to find a parachute after you cut it away, particularly if it landed in the corn, where his brand new canopy was heading, so he did what any heads up skydiver would do, he followed it down and landed in the corn next to it. At least that was his plan.

There are a few mistakes a skydiver can make when cutting away from a malfunction.

  1. Panic: or should I say. PANIC!!!!!

    You should be opening your main parachute by at least 2500 feet( if you have a “D” or “Master” license) this should give you at least 10 seconds to deal with anything unusual or problematic. That is plenty of time to cutaway your malfunctioning main and open your reserver canopy with plenty of extra feet to spare. Remember any extra altitude below an open reserve is just wasted!

    Connor was open under his spinning main canopy by 3000 feet. He tried to fix it for a few seconds (with a few choice words thrown in for good measure) before pulling his handles, just like I taught him.

  2. Pulling your reserve handle before cutting away the malfunctioning main:

    If you do this you dump your reserve into the malfunction which is what we call BAD. Connor didn’t do this incredibly stupid thing so he got to move on to…

  3. Dropping your handles:

    When you pull the cutaway and reserve handles they come completely free, and if you drop them gravity takes over and they have a tendency to go down. This can be a problem when you are still a few thousand feet in the air because they are impossible to find and cost about $175 or more. Each. I’m sorry to report that Connor dropped his reserve handle, but seeing I dropped my reserve handle on my first cutaway I’ll give him some slack. (still disappointed though)

  4. Not following or at least keeping an eye on your gear:

    When you cutaway a malfunctioning parachute it also goes down and seeing it can cost up to $3000 you really want to keep track of where it lands. Ideally if you can you land next to it so as to avoid many hours searching the corn but failing that you should at least have an idea of where to look. Connor’s only cost $500 but he did a good job and circled it under his reserve planning to land right next to it, just like to pro’s do. But he screwed it up, which leads to the next thing you can do wrong when cutting away from a malfunction.

  5. Landing next to your gear but screwing it up:

    Ideally you land next to your gear, gather it up, walk out to the road and wait for a ride. But that’s hard to do if you screw up the landing and hurt yourself. Landing next to your gear is a pretty bad ass thing to do. But if your skills at landing in some random location on the spur of the moment don’t match your balls things can get painful. Luckily all that Connor did was to get a little slow and stall his reserve canopy just before landing. Oh wait, that was the stupid part. The lucky part was that he did it over thick tall corn. Which leads me to the last mistake you can do when cutting away from a malfunction.

  6. Screwing up on video:

    Now I’ll admit that the boy did a pretty good job on his first major malfunction. Hey, He jumped out of a plane at 14,000 feet, did a shit hot skydive, had a spinning malfunction, dealt with it, landed next to his gear, and walked out to the road with it with a smile on his face. Unfortunately we still get to critique his landing.

 

Day 14, The Finish Line

The ride to the airport the next morning was an eye opener. The night before we could tell that the city we were driving through was not what you would call cosmopolitan but in the daylight it was even worse. Everywhere you looked you saw nothing but extreme poverty. Garbage was everywhere and thousands of shoe less and shirtless young men waded through the knee deep flood waters brought by the annual monsoon rains, dodging old trucks, buses, rickshaws, tuck tucks, (the little three wheel smokey taxis) Almost nothing was new and shiny and everyone was wet. The sobering ride was capped off by the most tragic sight I’ve ever seen. We came up to another endless pile of garbage and in the middle of it was a naked man squatting on his heels and staring off into the distance. As we passed him I could tell that he wasn’t reliving himself, he was just sitting there with a completely blank look on his face. I realized that I was looking at someone who’s life score was zero. The man had nothing, no clothes, no possessions, nothing, not even a grain of rice. Yet somehow he’d managed to survive, so far. As we left him behind I looked at Stuart and asked if he’d seen the man. He had and I could tell that the sight had affected him as well. I’ve seen sights like that all over the world and it never fails to remind me just how lucky I am.

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The flight to our next stop in Thailand was a hazy, cloudy, misty, foggy mess. The entire area seemed like a big damp sponge but there were no thunderstorms so I was happy. That is until we crossed into Burma/Myanmar. Usually when you cross into another country you are handed off to that country’s air traffic control center and crossing into Burma was no different except that when I tuned into the new frequency I was surprised to hear the controller speaking a foreign language. Now it’s not uncommon for a foreign controller to speak his or her native language to a pilot who’s a fellow native. But this guy was speaking some strange language to English speaking pilots. As I waited for a break in the constant radio traffic I realized that the controller was actually speaking English! His accent was so bad that I couldn’t understand him at all and when I finally got a chance to report my position his replay was incomprehensible. The conversation that followed was so frustrating that I can’t do it justice. The bottom line was that I was routed almost one hundred miles out of my way and only saved when another controller took over and allowed me to point the Caravan in the right direction.

The rest of the trip was pretty routine. We dropped Jack off in Thailand and spent the night at his beautiful home before continuing on to Singapore. The last day was perfect for flying which was almost a let down after the challenges we’d overcome on our half way around the world trip. I tried to get Stuart to wring out his new plane a bit, you know steep banks, stalls, wing overs, because the next time he flew it I wasn’t going to be there to keep him out of trouble. Also, the best way to get used to a new aircraft is to see just what she can do, you know, push the envelope a bit. I called ATC and asked for a slight deviation around a build up and after receiving permission told Stuart to point directly at a big billowing cumulus cloud a few miles ahead of us. I wanted Stuart to fly as close to the cloud as he could before banking away sharply. (when I mean sharply I mean about a ninety degree bank) then when just clear of the cloud bank back the other way in a bank that was just as steep. The object of the lesson was to really get to know what your aircraft can do because someday you just might need to do something other than a nice easy standard rate turn. But alas Stuart wasn’t having any. His turns were nice and smooth and boring. I tried a few more times to get him to really put it over but he just kept flying nice and smooth and mellow. Oh well.

Stuart’s landing at Singapore was the best of the trip, only a small bounce, giving me hope that he might be able to handle the big old Caravan all by himself. Stuart asked me if I needed a night’s rest in Singapore before flying home but I assured him that I’d be OK just hopping on a plane and heading home. It would’ve been fun to spend the night but I’ve been to Singapore before, it was at Halloween, so hard to beat that party, and there was no reason to make Stuart pay me for another day and the cost’s associated with that. So after a grand total of six hours on the ground I was on the way home with another half way around the world trip under my belt and a nice tip in my pocket (thanks Stuart!) Before leaving Stuart told me that he was moving to the US next year and he’d be calling me to help him fly the Caravan back again. I told him that we’d have to take the route through Russia so that we’d make it a complete around the world trip. How many guys can say that? He looked dubious but I’ll talk him into it.

 

The final push.

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Till next time!

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Day 13 Continued

We could see the thunderheads building fifty miles ahead as the sun set behind us. It was almost like they were waiting for the sun to go down before coming out to play. Built into the multi function display and moving map the strike finder was lighting up with clusters of little green X’s of death showing the latests lightening strikes and outlining the individual cells. I could see that the line of cells were all over the place but it looked like there might be enough big gaps to between them to allow us to weave our way through. (Notice how I didn’t add the word safely) The sun set and it got dark so fast it was like someone flipped a switch. With it dark we could see the big thunderheads flashing in front of us like big Chinese lanterns.

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There were a lot of cells almost directly in our path so I called radar control to request a deviation of twenty degrees south to what looked like clearer air but was denied due to restricted airspace. I could see the big restricted zone just south of our course so I cheated us as far south as I could without actually crossing into it. But even though I only drifted a few miles off course control still bitched at me to stay clear. The closer we got to the line of storms the worse things looked. The radio was busy with airliners deviating around weather and from the looks of things the thunderstorms covered most of northern India. I was hoping that the cell in my way would move clear by the time we got there but no such luck. The big cell towered far above us and was putting on quite a light show. There was no way I was going to poke my nose in there and see how bad it was. I requested another deviation but control still wasn’t in the mood to be reasonable. As we got closer I tried to find a way in between the clusters of lightening strikes on the screen but there didn’t look like there was any kind of clear path through. Things were starting to get pretty bumpy when I finally said screw it! I’m not poking my nose in there. I told control that I was coming to a new heading that would steer me clear of the thunderstorm and put me right into the restricted airspace. It was either that or turn back and that wasn’t going to happen. Control’s response was “Roger, understood. Contact when back on course.” Really? If it was that easy why couldn’t they have let me do that fifty miles ago? I spent the next two hours weaving my way through the storms. We flew into some really heavy rain and moderate to severe turbulence but eventually put the storms in the rear-view mirror and were left with nothing but heavy rain and low clouds to contend with. The approach into Chittagong airport in Bangladesh was a fun one with low clouds and rain, I really love approaches like that at night because it always looks cool when you break out and have the runway all lit up in front of you. That is if you did it right. It only took us two hours to get the Caravan fueled up, with a slight mishap of dousing some poor fuel guy with jet A when the over-fill valve under the wing let go with him standing right under it. Then it was a quick one hour ride to the hotel, (super fun when you’ve been up all night) We finally got to the brand new Radisson hotel. Unfortunately the hotel was so new that they didn’t have their liquor license yet so after what was probably one of my most challenging of flying in 30 years I couldn’t even get a damn beer.

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Day 13

So when I last left off way back in July I was ferrying a brand new Cessna Caravan from St. Paul, Minnesota to Singapore with new owner and his father in law. So without further ado, Day 13, part one. I know, I know, I promised you all a lot longer post but it’s hunting season and I have to get up early and sit in a cold tree….for fun.

The paper weather chart and forecast for our flight into India that morning was of the kiss your sister kind. Not too bad but not exactly ideal either. The monsoons were still active over northern India but the thunderstorms they produced were supposed to be scattered on the leg from Pakistan to our first stop in Nagpor but it looked like the second leg across the northern part of the country to Bangladesh was going to be a bumpy one. The two legs were relatively short ones and if the fuel stop in India wasn’t too long we should land in Bangladesh while it was still light out.

Four hours after takeoff we touched down in Nagpor India. The flight had been and easy one except for a slight parking problem (stupid ramp rats) and with any luck we’d be in and out quickly. But of course there is no such thing as luck in the third world when it comes to aviation. Our ground handler met us on the ramp and quickly and efficiently put everything in motion to get us on our way. He disappeared with our passports into the main airport building and was back shortly telling us that everything was in order and that the fuel guys had been informed that…………Oh never mind……..I’m sick of telling you all the same story over and over again. I land at some back water third world airport, do battle with the customs/immigration/fuel/weather/security guys. They take forever to do their jobs and get me back into the air which screws up my carefully laid but, obviously over optimistic, plans. So let’s just cut through all the boring details and cut right to the chase. 3 hours on the ground waiting for fuel then back into the with no new weather forecast and a guarantee that the sun will set hours before we get into Bangladesh. Did I mention the forecast we got back in Pakistan called for strong thunderstorms along our entire route? Buckle up boys.

The reports of my death are greatly exaggerated

OK, OK, I’ll start posting again. Sorry for the long gap (Holy crap, my last post was in July!) but I’ve been busy. OK, maybe busy isn’t the best word, I guess LAZY would be more accurate. In my defense I really did have an incredibly busy skydiving season this summer. After two years of the worst weather I’ve ever seen we finally got a summer of nothing but sunshine and light winds, perfect for the jumping out of planes thing. The biggest problem was once I got behind in my posting about all the things I wanted to tell you all about there was no way I could catch up after working 15 hour days 7 days a week. But we’ve shut down the drop zone for the year and my excuses are running out so stand by for an avalanche of stories of the last six months. Maybe avalanche isn’t the best word either if past history is any judge.

Day 12. Continued

Finally back in the air and on our way over the Gulf Of Oman to Pakistan. It was Jack’s turn to fly and once again he insisted on hand flying the climb to altitude which I’m sure gave the air traffic controllers a good laugh because our track wasn’t what some would call a straight line. Normally I wouldn’t care that much if we wandered a mile or so off course but not only was this particular leg was a rather long one over water, wasting fuel over the ocean really bugs me, but our course took us to within a few miles of Iranian airspace and that’s not something you want blunder into. Apparently our drunken meanderings weren’t deemed dangerous enough to comment on because the radio stayed quiet all the way to Karachi. The approach into Karachi was extremely hazy due to the heavy pollution and record heat wave that had been causing the deaths of hundreds of people over the past two weeks. Once on the ground it was time to decide weather to continue flying or call it quits for the day.

Our considerations were this:

1. We’d only flown one leg that day and that’s a pretty weak day in anyone’s book.

2. My Indian visa’s expiration date was the next day. Did that mean it was still good if we landed tomorrow or was some customs agent going to have a fit and claim that it was expired? And if that was the case what was he going to do? Kick me out of the country? OK.

3. Our landing permit was only good for today and tomorrow. If for any reason we couldn’t make it to India the next day we would possibly have to wait in Pakistan for days while we got a new permit.

4. we also didn’t have an overnight permit for our first fuel stop in Nangpor India, meaning if we took off we’d have to fly two more legs that day and make it to at least Kolkata of Bangladesh. That would be 8 more hours of flying plus however long it took us to get fuel in Nangpor which could take hours.

5. Due to the delays in Fujairah and losing an hour to time zone change it was already late afternoon in Karachi and judging by the speed that the ground crew and customs officials were moving it would be at least two hours before we could takeoff.

Seeing that Stuart was the guy paying the bills it fell to him to make the decision whether to stay or go. I told him that I’d do whatever he wanted. We had 3 pilots and if he wanted to fly all night I could hack it. I wouldn’t love it but I could do it. Stuart got on the phone to the company helping us with landing permits and was told that we “might” be OK if we stayed put but it would be best if we stuck with the plan made it through India that night. Stuart wasn’t happy with the choice we were facing. Attempt two long and difficult late night flights over India, or stop for the night and risk a very expensive time consuming delay. Welcome to ferry flying. Oh, did I mention that there had been record monsoons pounding India for the last two weeks? Just a minor detail. The weather report we’d gotten from the ground handler wasn’t very helpful but did show a large area, most of northern India in fact, of possible/occasional imbedded thunderstorms with tops up to 45,000 feet. Stuart finally arrived at the correct decision and pulled the plug on the day. I was really glad he made the right call because I didn’t want to be the bad guy and tell him that flying the night would be kind of a stupid idea, I’d have still done it of course, can’t say no disease remember?

one last bit of color, as we were making a pit stop before heading to the hotel two gentlemen sitting on folding chairs next to the building offered us a cold drink from the orange plastic cooler sitting on the table next to them. I tried to politely refuse but they were so insistent that I relented and took the paper cup full of white liquid that was being thrust into my hands. “Drink! Drink!” Sure, easy for you to say. you weren’t going to be the one sitting in a small plane for the next four days with no toilet. But once again “can’t say no disease” got he better of me and I took swig……..of………???? Tangy,milk? Gross. Yes that’s’ exactly what it was, tangy milk. The men proudly told me that they came up with this nectar of the gods by mixing milk with 7Up. Yum. Not wanting to be the only one with a stomach problem the next day I shamed Stuart into taking a swig as well. Misery loves company don’t you know.

Burning daylight while Stuart tries to get overflight permits.
Calling it a day.

Day 12.

Ferrying small airplanes around the world involves a lot of challenging flying to be sure but the biggest challenges, and delays, usually happen when you’re on the ground. My challenging day started when the phone rang while I was still sleeping. It was Stuart wondering if I was up and on my way down to the lobby yet. CRAP! I’d gotten my time zones wrong and set the alarm on my phone one hour too late. I assured Stuart that I was almost ready and then set the world sped record for showering, cramming my assorted junk back into my suitcase and racing down to the lobby. That’s one reason I prefer to ferry fly alone, I wait for nobody and nobody waits for me. I missed breakfast but I was glad I’d gotten the extra hour of sleep because for the last week we’d averaged about 5 or 6 hours of sleep a night and it was taking it’s toll. Last night was a typical end of a ferry flying day for us. By the time customs finally let us go and we got a ride to the hotel it was already 10:30 local time. After a long and stressful day of flying all 3 of us need a beer but because it was Ramadan the bar was closed, don’t want to see the infidels drinking in public during Ramadan don’t you know. We were, however, told that room service would deliver beer to our rooms so that we could desecrate our bodies and disobey the Prophet in supposed secret. So desecrate we did. Twice. Then it down to dinner where we poured over our Ipads looking at weather and routing for the next day. By the time we were done eating all of us were looking a little dazed so it was off to bed, but the rest of the world doesn’t stop just because just because you’re on a long ferry flight so I had to spend another 15 minutes or so answering emails and assuring the wife and family that I still existed. By the time I killed the lights it was 1:00 and our ride to the airport was picking us up at 6:30….great.

So scramble down to the lobby only to suffer through a 20 minute check out by the crack hotel staff. We arrived at the airport, checked weather, filed our flight plan and took off for Pakistan. Oh wait, I forgot the two hours we spent watching the customs agents, our handler and what appeared to be the airport manager argue about who knows what. There was a lot of shouting and hand waiving and what appeared to be a world class butt chewing of our handling agent but eventually they were satisfied that they’d wasted enough of our morning and let us go. We finally taxied out to the runway only to have the tower call and inform us that our overflight permit number had changed and that we would have to return to the terminal to file another flight plan. Perfect. I was sure the rest of the day was going to be just a smooth.

 

Day 11.

Up and at em semi early with no really long delays to speak of. That’s a first. A quick 4.5 hour flight to Riyadh, Saudi Arabia for fuel. Flying into Riyadh is always an experience. Most of the time the conditions are terrible with super high temperatures, hot like the sun, and super, I like that word today, poor visibility due to blowing sand and dust that can blot the sky out as high as 12,000 feet. But if you’re lucky and the winds are low you get to see just what the oil rich Saudis spend their money on. Don’t get me wrong, it’s still hot as the sun but there’s lot’s of cool buildings and stuff to look at.

The gas and go stop was as quick as could be expected with one small problem. One of the guys fueling us grabbed and bent both of the small metal fences on the wings. It wasn’t that much damage but Stuart was understandably upset, it’s a 2.4 million dollar aircraft after all. After paying for the fuel the gas jockey had the balls to ask for a tip. Needless to say gratuity was not forthcoming. Once we got everything sorted out it was back in the air for another flight over the desert to Fujairah. Our luck was holding with good weather and the last half of the flight being at night. Stuart got his first night landing in almost a year. Not a bad job. So would think that was all for the day wouldn’t you? Well it was, except for the 2 wasted hours we spent with customs as they tried to sort out God knows what. We’re only here for fuel and sleep, why can’t you just stamp our passports and let us go to the hotel? The cherry on top of another long day.

IMG_8670Somebody’s summer cabin.

IMG_8677Setting up the approach on the Garmin 1000

IMG_8680On final in Fujairah.