was a bit wobbly and lost about 150 feet was good enough. The main focus then was to navigate the high terrain and busy airspace of KSEE.
It should come as very little surprise that I carried too much altitude into my first approach (which, of course, in an unfamiliar plane, was a long final rather than a standard pattern). Rather than let it play out, as I may have in Bozeman with 9,000 feet to work with, the 2,700 foot 27L at Gillespie would not be as forgiving. A go-around was definitely in order, though it would not be the only one of the day. The next try, with a full pattern, was much smoother. The biggest physical difference when flying this particular plane was the manual flaps. The toughest part is the initial reach way down to the floor for the first “notch” of flaps, but once the handle is up, it’s not all that different. Think of it as a large parking brake handle with three specific locking detents – just pull up to lower the flaps.As we were coming in on short final for the third landing, the completely unexpected – and illegal – happened. Luckily, with the instructor in front, we reacted quicker than I may have on my own. At just about 200 feet AGL, a plane on the ground entered the runway – our runway! – and took off. We aborted the approach and slid over to the left. At this point, it made sense to transfer control, since the instructor could then still see the violator. Another complicating factor was that the plane that we were otherwise supposed to be following had completed its touch and go, and was now going to begin turning back toward us. We chose to turn in front of him, as we still had enough room, but he was rapidly closing in. In the meantime, the controller was berating the violator and trying to straighten out the mess. Although it could have gotten much uglier, everyone managed to keep a clear head and work the problem. The moral for me was that you really do have to be ready for anything. Both the instructor and I had noticed the runway incursion at the same moment, but he was quicker to recognize that the approach was thereby immediately terminated. I took an extra second to stare in disbelief that someone was pulling out in front of us. The other challenge was that we were then boxed in between a parallel runway to our right, the violator below us who would be climbing up toward us, and the aircraft in front of us. It took some quick thinking, and the instructor was on the ball. As we came back around, we requested a switch to 27R to change it up a bit and do a right-hand pattern. This requires a slightly different approach (ha!) due to a mountain being right where you would normally fly the base leg. It turned out okay, and the instructor was ready to send us on our way. Compared to the first hop, the sightseeing portion was uneventful. The San Diego Class B has several VFR corridors through which we could transition the area, and with the numerous landmarks, it was fairly easy to navigate. I tried to monitor some of the tower frequencies as we moved along toward the coastline, but it finally got to be too much chatter and not enough useful information. The best course of action was to simply keep eyes outside. We turned north and followed the beach at 4,500 feet all the way up to Palomar. The instructor had pointed out in our pre-flight briefing that the corridors are set up to allow two “levels” of VFR traffic in each direction – 3,500 and 5,500 for southbound, 4,500 and 6,500 for northbound. This results in the Class B volume dropping off significantly as we got out over the water and out of the controllers’ reach. As we descended and turned around, I looked up the SoCal approach frequency. I’ve taken a liking to having the controller at least know who I am, even if it turns out that they’re too busy to actually provide flight following. Although the VFR corridor doesn’t technically require communication with ATC, by contacting them they can at least assign a discrete transponder code and then know your N-number in case there’s any need to communicate. In any case, at least I can advise of my intentions so there’s less guesswork if they have a traffic conflict. Call it maximizing the use of my available resources. In this case, the frequency was quite busy, and the first controller I spoke to turned me over to another sector for flight following. This one was also busy, and I had made the decision to simply proceed outside the Class B and forget the whole idea. Of course, that’s when there was sudden silence for a good ten seconds. Plenty of time. I gave it a shot and advised of our plan to remain in the VFR corridor, inbound to Gillespie. They provided a squawk code and altitude restriction, along with a timely traffic advisory for a plane in the opposite direction.
The rest of the flight was smooth, even though the sun was starting to throw up some thermals. The minor bumps really weren’t any worse than what we have up in Montana, but kept us bouncing as we arrived into the Gillespie pattern. After another mostly-smooth landing, we called it a day. It is probably fitting that Mom is now my most "frequent flier" with me.
Sunday, April 19, 2009
Incursion Excursion
Today was a day of “finalies”. Mostly, I was finally able to go flying again after a three-month hiatus. Even better was that I was finally able to fly in my hometown of San Diego. Better than that, I was able to fly with my mom, in the plane that she is flying in her own training. Better than that, was that the plane is a four-seat Piper Cherokee, so I was able to add another checkout to my logbook. Better than that was the experience of flying in a completely different environment, with challenging terrain and busy Class B over our heads. But as if that weren’t enough, it was also a picture-perfect Southern California morning, with calm winds, clear sky, and temperatures in the 60’s at KSEE. In the “it’s always something” department, however, I forgot to put my GPS in my bag, so I didn’t get to put the track in my collection. Nevertheless I made up for this by having the flight indelibly imprinted on my memory…
The first job was two-fold: to fly with the instructor and get a sign-off for the Cherokee, and to run through my three takeoffs and landings, since it’s been exactly three months (I would have to count individual days to see if I really was over 90, but close enough). With the instructor, Mom was able to fly along in the back seat, so that was pretty cool, too. This went very similarly to my checkout in the 172, but with a bit more emphasis on navigating the environment due to the tight airspace and terrain. We only did one stall, then some steep turns. Since I haven’t done any since my checkride, and since it was such a trial just getting to that point before, I figured it would be interesting to see the results – in an unfamiliar plane no less. It turned out better than I would have expected, and there was a bit of turbulence, so the fact that I 
was a bit wobbly and lost about 150 feet was good enough. The main focus then was to navigate the high terrain and busy airspace of KSEE.
It should come as very little surprise that I carried too much altitude into my first approach (which, of course, in an unfamiliar plane, was a long final rather than a standard pattern). Rather than let it play out, as I may have in Bozeman with 9,000 feet to work with, the 2,700 foot 27L at Gillespie would not be as forgiving. A go-around was definitely in order, though it would not be the only one of the day. The next try, with a full pattern, was much smoother. The biggest physical difference when flying this particular plane was the manual flaps. The toughest part is the initial reach way down to the floor for the first “notch” of flaps, but once the handle is up, it’s not all that different. Think of it as a large parking brake handle with three specific locking detents – just pull up to lower the flaps.As we were coming in on short final for the third landing, the completely unexpected – and illegal – happened. Luckily, with the instructor in front, we reacted quicker than I may have on my own. At just about 200 feet AGL, a plane on the ground entered the runway – our runway! – and took off. We aborted the approach and slid over to the left. At this point, it made sense to transfer control, since the instructor could then still see the violator. Another complicating factor was that the plane that we were otherwise supposed to be following had completed its touch and go, and was now going to begin turning back toward us. We chose to turn in front of him, as we still had enough room, but he was rapidly closing in. In the meantime, the controller was berating the violator and trying to straighten out the mess. Although it could have gotten much uglier, everyone managed to keep a clear head and work the problem. The moral for me was that you really do have to be ready for anything. Both the instructor and I had noticed the runway incursion at the same moment, but he was quicker to recognize that the approach was thereby immediately terminated. I took an extra second to stare in disbelief that someone was pulling out in front of us. The other challenge was that we were then boxed in between a parallel runway to our right, the violator below us who would be climbing up toward us, and the aircraft in front of us. It took some quick thinking, and the instructor was on the ball. As we came back around, we requested a switch to 27R to change it up a bit and do a right-hand pattern. This requires a slightly different approach (ha!) due to a mountain being right where you would normally fly the base leg. It turned out okay, and the instructor was ready to send us on our way. Compared to the first hop, the sightseeing portion was uneventful. The San Diego Class B has several VFR corridors through which we could transition the area, and with the numerous landmarks, it was fairly easy to navigate. I tried to monitor some of the tower frequencies as we moved along toward the coastline, but it finally got to be too much chatter and not enough useful information. The best course of action was to simply keep eyes outside. We turned north and followed the beach at 4,500 feet all the way up to Palomar. The instructor had pointed out in our pre-flight briefing that the corridors are set up to allow two “levels” of VFR traffic in each direction – 3,500 and 5,500 for southbound, 4,500 and 6,500 for northbound. This results in the Class B volume dropping off significantly as we got out over the water and out of the controllers’ reach. As we descended and turned around, I looked up the SoCal approach frequency. I’ve taken a liking to having the controller at least know who I am, even if it turns out that they’re too busy to actually provide flight following. Although the VFR corridor doesn’t technically require communication with ATC, by contacting them they can at least assign a discrete transponder code and then know your N-number in case there’s any need to communicate. In any case, at least I can advise of my intentions so there’s less guesswork if they have a traffic conflict. Call it maximizing the use of my available resources. In this case, the frequency was quite busy, and the first controller I spoke to turned me over to another sector for flight following. This one was also busy, and I had made the decision to simply proceed outside the Class B and forget the whole idea. Of course, that’s when there was sudden silence for a good ten seconds. Plenty of time. I gave it a shot and advised of our plan to remain in the VFR corridor, inbound to Gillespie. They provided a squawk code and altitude restriction, along with a timely traffic advisory for a plane in the opposite direction.
The rest of the flight was smooth, even though the sun was starting to throw up some thermals. The minor bumps really weren’t any worse than what we have up in Montana, but kept us bouncing as we arrived into the Gillespie pattern. After another mostly-smooth landing, we called it a day. It is probably fitting that Mom is now my most "frequent flier" with me.
was a bit wobbly and lost about 150 feet was good enough. The main focus then was to navigate the high terrain and busy airspace of KSEE.
It should come as very little surprise that I carried too much altitude into my first approach (which, of course, in an unfamiliar plane, was a long final rather than a standard pattern). Rather than let it play out, as I may have in Bozeman with 9,000 feet to work with, the 2,700 foot 27L at Gillespie would not be as forgiving. A go-around was definitely in order, though it would not be the only one of the day. The next try, with a full pattern, was much smoother. The biggest physical difference when flying this particular plane was the manual flaps. The toughest part is the initial reach way down to the floor for the first “notch” of flaps, but once the handle is up, it’s not all that different. Think of it as a large parking brake handle with three specific locking detents – just pull up to lower the flaps.As we were coming in on short final for the third landing, the completely unexpected – and illegal – happened. Luckily, with the instructor in front, we reacted quicker than I may have on my own. At just about 200 feet AGL, a plane on the ground entered the runway – our runway! – and took off. We aborted the approach and slid over to the left. At this point, it made sense to transfer control, since the instructor could then still see the violator. Another complicating factor was that the plane that we were otherwise supposed to be following had completed its touch and go, and was now going to begin turning back toward us. We chose to turn in front of him, as we still had enough room, but he was rapidly closing in. In the meantime, the controller was berating the violator and trying to straighten out the mess. Although it could have gotten much uglier, everyone managed to keep a clear head and work the problem. The moral for me was that you really do have to be ready for anything. Both the instructor and I had noticed the runway incursion at the same moment, but he was quicker to recognize that the approach was thereby immediately terminated. I took an extra second to stare in disbelief that someone was pulling out in front of us. The other challenge was that we were then boxed in between a parallel runway to our right, the violator below us who would be climbing up toward us, and the aircraft in front of us. It took some quick thinking, and the instructor was on the ball. As we came back around, we requested a switch to 27R to change it up a bit and do a right-hand pattern. This requires a slightly different approach (ha!) due to a mountain being right where you would normally fly the base leg. It turned out okay, and the instructor was ready to send us on our way. Compared to the first hop, the sightseeing portion was uneventful. The San Diego Class B has several VFR corridors through which we could transition the area, and with the numerous landmarks, it was fairly easy to navigate. I tried to monitor some of the tower frequencies as we moved along toward the coastline, but it finally got to be too much chatter and not enough useful information. The best course of action was to simply keep eyes outside. We turned north and followed the beach at 4,500 feet all the way up to Palomar. The instructor had pointed out in our pre-flight briefing that the corridors are set up to allow two “levels” of VFR traffic in each direction – 3,500 and 5,500 for southbound, 4,500 and 6,500 for northbound. This results in the Class B volume dropping off significantly as we got out over the water and out of the controllers’ reach. As we descended and turned around, I looked up the SoCal approach frequency. I’ve taken a liking to having the controller at least know who I am, even if it turns out that they’re too busy to actually provide flight following. Although the VFR corridor doesn’t technically require communication with ATC, by contacting them they can at least assign a discrete transponder code and then know your N-number in case there’s any need to communicate. In any case, at least I can advise of my intentions so there’s less guesswork if they have a traffic conflict. Call it maximizing the use of my available resources. In this case, the frequency was quite busy, and the first controller I spoke to turned me over to another sector for flight following. This one was also busy, and I had made the decision to simply proceed outside the Class B and forget the whole idea. Of course, that’s when there was sudden silence for a good ten seconds. Plenty of time. I gave it a shot and advised of our plan to remain in the VFR corridor, inbound to Gillespie. They provided a squawk code and altitude restriction, along with a timely traffic advisory for a plane in the opposite direction.
The rest of the flight was smooth, even though the sun was starting to throw up some thermals. The minor bumps really weren’t any worse than what we have up in Montana, but kept us bouncing as we arrived into the Gillespie pattern. After another mostly-smooth landing, we called it a day. It is probably fitting that Mom is now my most "frequent flier" with me.
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