THE FLIGHT
“I’m not sure that’s a good idea, Deb.”
As we flew high above the Adirondack Mountains, my co-pilot was insisting that we look for a landing airfield below. We were suddenly flying into an unpredicted ugly rain. It was getting a little bumpy in our small Cessna.
“Yes, I don’t like this at all, so I think that would be best”, came her reply, as though she were the pilot-in-charge.
Flying toward one of the world’s busiest airspaces–New York City– was apparently freaking her out. That and the rain, that noisily pelted us. Small aircraft do not come equipped with windshield wipers for a reason. But the atmosphere inside was becoming as disturbing as outside on this late September afternoon.
Until now, we had had a beautiful flight from Ottawa. This was my ‘long cross–country’ flight as a qualification for my Commercial Pilot’s Licence. So I was a relative novice.
‘No, Deb, I believe we should stay the course to Teterboro Airport as planned. In five minutes the New York tower is going to pick us up on radar.”
Silence.
I could sense her agitation mounting.
These were busy skies and about to get more crowded, and she obviously wasn’t up to it. I knew the important thing was not to get upset by her behaviour–that Job One was to keep my head and land this thing.
So, after a little self-talk, I convinced myself to ignore her mood, focus and tell myself..….“You can do this.”
Within a few seconds, I made the call to the Teterboro Air Traffic Control:
“Cessna 172, Canadian; Whiskey Tango Foxtrot calling Teterboro. Over.”
“Yes, come in Whiskey Tango Foxtrot, what’s your destination; can I help you, over?”
“You sure can, thanks.”
After setting the appropriate radar dials, it was a supremely happy moment to hear,
“OK, I got you! ”
One thing I had learned is that Air Traffic Controllers are smart, sensitive, helpful and want only one thing–to keep you from flying into other aircraft. This lovely southern-accented woman was no different.
The other thing I understood is that there is no place for ‘ego’ to get in the way of your safety, as I announced to her,
“I’m a reasonably new pilot flying from Ottawa, Canada. We didn’t expect this rapidly deteriorating weather. And, I’ve never flown into New York.”
Her answer was clear and caring, “Don’t worry, Whiskey, Tango Foxtrot, you will be fine; y’all carry on this course. Over.”
I was then guided on a more easterly course to divert to New Republic airfield. And yes, she assured me that this weather was worse than predicted. I wasn’t alone in miscalculating.
New Republic Airport has a series of runways, like spokes on a wheel. My so-called co-pilot still maintained her silence and it was obvious there would be no help, no extra eyes. In fact, there was no help as I overflew the runway and needed to go around again, not an unusual occurrence at an unfamiliar, crowded airfield.
“Damn, I missed that”, I said, irritated at myself.
“I saw it.”
She had simply refused to tell me.
And finally came the call,
“Whiskey Tango Foxtrot–you are clear to land; have a good evening.”
552 words
Tuesday, March 15, 2022