I grew up in an environment very hostile to Country music. Seattle, Washington is known as the cradle of Grunge and maintains today, 15 years after the fact, an "alternative" music identity. I spent my formative college years at Notre Dame, which is mostly stocked with bluff midwestern Catholics and rich northeast Catholics who between them enjoyed a combination of hard rock, punk, and the occasional indulgence in pop music or hip-hop when it came down to dorm parties. My tastes then were nursed on a certain amount of assumed condescension toward Country music--it was, as my friends intimated to me on more than one occasion, the sound of a backwards, conservative, probably bigoted and ultimately embarrassing segment of America. And though I lived my next three years in the South, I maintained this attitude toward country music even if I found that land filled with good people and good values (both of which I miss to this day). It wasn't until I got to California that I suddenly found myself--very surprisingly--craving Country. Clearly, some unconscious comparison between the two disparate pieces of America thrust the issue into focus for me.
There is no doubt that Country music has become more popular of late. I even hear some Country songs on pop radio stations, which is of course appropriate because the odd Country music song (usually sung by an attractive young lady) will break into the mainstream Top 4o. Thus, I am clearly not the only one who is converting to a previously despised genre. Why? I think the reason for this is simple and often overlooked: Country music evokes the image of a happier, simpler time wherein we individually valued rightness over success and could therefore collectively be prouder of ourselves and our society.
The distinction between rightness and success as sources of happiness is one that resonates deeply with me, both because of my religion and (I'll argue) because of our collective understanding of "American Values." It isn't for nothing that the midwest and the south, where people live their lives in contempt of the cosmopolitan coasts and adhere to more ancient values and tradetions, are regarded as the repository of American culture--or at least when it comes to rugged individualism and the frontier ideal. We tend to regard the "settlers" and entrepreneurs who founded and built the states west of the Appalacians and south of the Mason-Dixon Line (excluding most of the West Coast) with idealism: these were the men and women who made something out of nothing; these were the men and women who raised our nation; these were the the people who valued independence, diligence, respect, and love; these were the salt of the earth. Yet that unconscious comparison that triggered my sudden, delicious, descent into Country music was the obvious fact that the people of the south apparent conformed to those idealized values with their own lives.
During my residence in the south I was surprised to see how kind, capable, friendly and even happy the general population was. Everywhere I found southerners from toddlers to great-grandparents acting respectful, respectful, sociable, and pleasantly independent (by which I mean they weren't needy). Near as I could make out, this was due to their lack of pretension. They could enjoy their surroundings without concerning themselves with the presence or attitudes of others. It felt overwhelmingly right and comfortable to me--I was in the curious position of feeling the need to be polite and yet also feeling no burden to be a certain person. Perhaps that sounds like a contradiction in terms, but for all that it is no less true. After all, politeness is simply, well, polite, and has very little to do with the values and perspectives that make up a character.
This lifestyle became suddenly much more noticeable by it's absence in San Diego. The cliche states that Southern California is mostly about image and style--and I'm afraid to say that it's both true and quite painfully obvious in the general unfriendliness of people. Often they are downright rude to each other, especially in restaurants and cafes, on the road, or when assuming a horrible condescending attitude toward waiters and retail clerks. Despite the fantastic weather, stunning scenery, and beautiful people, it was harder to stay happy in San Diego than it was in the rural and humid south for the simple reason that I had to deal with Southern Californians.
This is, of course, a very generalized comparison. There certainly are selfish and pretentious people in the south and kind and sociable people who live in Southern California (some of whom I met shortly after moving there, actually). However, based on the overall quality of society in both places, I would choose the South every time. I instinctively feel that it is easier to be a good man in the South than it is in California. There people's lives recall and present the kind of good, principled men and women who founded, developed, and succored our nation. We remember with pride our struggle for independence from England, our difficult settlement of the West, the idealism and honor on both sides of the Civil War, our conduct in both World Wars, our economic and social invincibility during the 1950s, and our victory over the Soviet Union in the 1980s. Our collective national identity values good Americans for the sake of what they have given us. Such Americans are more explicitly remembered and emulated in the South than in California. They are the characters of Country music and their stories form the themes of the genre.
In addition to enshrining our cherished and idealized memories, Country music also exhorts us morally. It is the most visible media in America that generally suggests the right and good are better than success. The values of country music are traditional and unassailable, and include trust, honesty, commitment, freedom, sacrifice within relationships and for one's country, the intrinsic value of family and religion, and romance. Country music encourages these values, teaching us that happiness is not found in more things, or more status, or in hedonism; it is found in love and dedication and self-respect. And perhaps most refreshingly of all, Country music doesn't proselytize directly but expresses itself entertainingly in stories and ballads. Contrary to the opinion I was raised to hold, Country music is certainly not depressing but rather enjoyable and occasionally stirring. Maybe it's increased popularity is an expression of our collective awareness that such values and ideals are, in fact, valuable, and that they are slowly disappearing.
It is a pity that as a society we idolize Southern California so much. The main theme of our mainstream media (Movies, songs, and TV shows) seems to be success--getting the good relationship, getting the good life, and getting the best of others. More artistic media changes things up by lamenting how hard it is to get those things and often pillories an oppressive external agency. By presenting money, success, ideal relationships, and sex as our rights, pop music supports narcissism and indirectly criticizes those who don't have such things; by presenting bitterness and anger as natural responses to one's lack of happiness, pop music encourages it's listeners to be bitter and angry. In an eloquent example of life imitating art, Southern Californians make an uneasy worship to hedonism, selfish ambition, bitterness, and narcissism. This is certainly a nihilistic approach to life--for selfishness is a hunger that can never be fully satisfied and bitterness a vaccine against all true contentment. The greater pity, however, is that so many Americans continue in contempt for perhaps the one segment of society whose majority has actually seen or found happiness.
What I discovered when I moved out of the South was that the simple, undeveloped, often dumpy south nurtured a culture of greater luminence than the "golden" West. And the art of Country music told the parables of Americanism and enshrined the "American" values that choke us up at the sound of "Taps" or stiffen our backs at the sight of Lincoln's Memorial. Such "American" values have carved for us a great place in the world. Inspired by these values, we have throughout our history reached out in solidarity to give our fellow citizens and other nations hope and freedom. These values are the source of our greatness. So I needed them--and especially their expression in Country music--when I encountered the cold and contracted spirit of Southern California. I almost never knew what I was missing.
Showing posts with label Pensacola. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Pensacola. Show all posts
Sunday, January 4, 2009
Tuesday, July 25, 2006
Wings of Gold
I did it. I earned my Wings today. I capitalize it because it is such a big deal to me: it has been my goal for the last 18 months. I am the Marine Corps’ newest Naval Flight Officer / Weapons System Officer. I completed two flights today, and shortly thereafter I was doused with champagne and ice water to celebrate. The Flight School Adventure is over. What makes this even more memorable is that I winged with a classmate who was also in my company at TBS. He crewed the other aircraft - since our last events are BFM, or "dogfighting" events, we always go up in pairs - and though I got the best of him in our engagements today, neither of us would have made it this far without workign together. Tomorrow another classmate gets winged, and we are looking forward to celebrating together this Friday after the ceremony.
Perhaps I should back up. When I transitioned from the T-39 to the T-2, I my remaining events comprised three different kinds of flights. FAM flights came first, designed (through a simple air navigation mission) to give me the time to get comfortable in the new cockpit and aircraft. WEPS flights are low-level air-to-ground flights meant to provide practice operating as a section, or as two aircraft in one flight. For the rest of my career, almost every single flight will have at least two aircraft in it. The third kind of flight is BFM, which stands for "Basic Fighter Maneuvering." These are the most fun. We depart the airfield as a section, head out over the water, fight each other until we get low on gas, then come home. Today I completed my final BFM flight first, then flew my final WEPS flight. Experiencing both kinds of missions made for a fitting wrap-up.
The T-2 is perhaps the ugliest aircraft ever built, at least when sitting on the ground. In the air it seems much more aerodynamic. It is also, literally, a vintage aircraft. It was designed in 1957, and the last modification we have was probably completed in the late ‘60s. We still fly it with genuine ‘60s flight instruments, too…no computers here, whcih can be frustrating. For example, the instrument which shows our aircraft heading and navigational information actually drifts over time, and requires constant correction off an old-fashioned wet compass. Every 10 minutes of flying—less if there has been any kind of maneuvering—we must readjust our navigation displays. It is ironic that this instrument is so unreliable, considering how important it is to fly the right heading, especially when a) flying in very busy airspace (so you don’t hit another aircraft), b)flying in clouds (when you can’t see) and c) when flying an approach (so you actually find the runway). Another crazy feature of the T-2 is the Electrical Disconnect Switch. Since the T-2 was designed as a pilot trainer, somebody thought it would be a good idea to enable the Instructor (presumably in the back seat) to simulate a total electrical power failure. So they installed a switch that actually shuts off the generators and the battery - so it doesn't so much simulate an Electrical failure so much as cause one. Then, of course, you become an emergency aircraft with no way of navigating or communicating…and oh by the way your engines may fail without the electrical spark plugs, which means you either have to airstart one of them or eject. Brilliant.
Idiosyncrasies notwithstanding, the T-2 is a pretty perky little jet. We routinely pull up to 6 Gs during turns and Aerobatics, and it low over the ground it flies really well. During WEPS flights hug every curve of a road at close to 400 mph, then execute a high-performance pull, roll inverted, dive in at our “target” to deliver weapons, then pull hard up and away again. It is fun, dynamic, and physically draining - imagine trying to keep your head up looking around and your arms moving around a cockpit when they weigh five times more than usual! Yet BFM flights are the most fun, not only because you are fighting a buddy, but also because you continually operate the aircraft in high-G, high-performance flight. You might pitch up to arc over the top of your opponent or slice around in a max-performance turn to get behind him, or (if you're in trouble) you might “unload the jet” (go to zero-G flight) so as to accelerate quickly. In this kind of flying, the only instrument you watch is the altimeter, because you are upside down as much as you are right side up, and the only thing that matters is not hitting the ground. It is extremely exciting flying. It is what I signed up to do. But before I could get there, I had to complete the obligatory aviation simulations.
T-2 Simulator Events are pretty low-key. The instructors are all former military pilots who work for Lockheed and have a contract with the Navy. Some of them have fought as long ago as Korea , and many have ejected at least once from their aircraft. One of my instructors flew the now-obsolete F-8 Crusader, now distinguished as the last American fighter jet designed with guns as its primary weapon system. It was fast, though, and my instructor told me that a peer of his was flying around at Mach 2.4 when the wind blast sheared his canopy right off the aircraft. Desperately trying to slow his jet down, the pilot was pulling the throttles to idle and putting out the speed brakes when the wind pulled his upper ejection handle out from the top of the seat, and ejected him at Mach 1.7. He was hopelessly out of position and slammed by wind traveling over 1,000 mph, which caused his knees to break so badly that his feet were slapping against his helmet visor while he parachuted down. The pilot lived to fly jets again, though my instructor had this comment: “that man does not walk like you or me anymore.”
Despite the sea stories, sim events are graded and can be stressful. My last sim was with an instructor who I had flown before. Though he is widely regarded as one of the nicest instructors around – in the lingo of flight school, a “Santa Clause” - I have always peformed poorly with him. He wasn't mean to me or anything, but for some reason I never, not once, had a good flight with him. Remarkably, he only failed me once. At my Intermediate Graduation, where I graduated first in my class, he pulled me aside afterward to ask incredulously, “How, out of all of these students, did you graduate first?” Anyway, when he walked into the T-2 student lounge to pick me up for my final sim, he stopped in his tracks, looked at me appraisingly with a funny little smile and said, “So we meet again.” Fortunately, I had a fairly decent event (though certainly not my best), and afterward he handed me my gradesheet, saying, “Well, you’re free of me forever.” We had a good laugh about that.
One little side adventure I had during this phase was a trip to Washington, DC. This took place during my three FAM flights. It is nice to do them "cross country," because not only do I get experience flying outside of Pensacola (which I am very familiar with, but I can travel to cool places for the weekend. The flights themselves are pretty low-key, too: I am only responsible for basic navigation, a skill I have been working on since the first phase of training. Friday we flew to NAS Oceana (at Virginia Beach), and then my student partner and I rented a car to drive to D.C. We had a good timeI spent an entire afternoon in the National Gallery, saw a bunch of old friends, and generally relived the days of TBS when I visited DC every weekend. Sunday morning we drove back to Oceana and took the two quick flights home. Travel is one of the benefits of Aviation.
And now, this upcoming Friday, I will officially receive the Wings of Gold. I am near the end of my time in Pensacola , and that makes me just a little sad. I have grown to love it – everything from the beautiful white beaches to the friendly dumpy dive bars has made this an interesting and entertaining cultural experience. I will leave some good friends behind as I move on, but that’s part of a military life – and it isn’t really new. My old room-mate John has gone to California ahead of me, though not to San Diego, and another old room-mate will shortly move from Jacksonville to Whidbey Island, and yet a third has deployed to Iraq. I was nervous when I first moved down here - I only really know one of the guys I would be living with, and practically no one else in the greater Pensacola area. But shortly after moving in, my other room-mate approached me in a bar and said, "I don’t know how to say this, but I really wasn't sure if living with you was going to work out or not. I didn’t really get along with you at Notre Dame. I’m pretty surprised it has gone so smoothly so far.” I guess that sounds like a mean thing to say, but I had felt the same way. And now I have many good friends from this Pensacola experience.
But enough reflecting. Tonight it is time to celebrate my newly-earned Wings of Gold.
Perhaps I should back up. When I transitioned from the T-39 to the T-2, I my remaining events comprised three different kinds of flights. FAM flights came first, designed (through a simple air navigation mission) to give me the time to get comfortable in the new cockpit and aircraft. WEPS flights are low-level air-to-ground flights meant to provide practice operating as a section, or as two aircraft in one flight. For the rest of my career, almost every single flight will have at least two aircraft in it. The third kind of flight is BFM, which stands for "Basic Fighter Maneuvering." These are the most fun. We depart the airfield as a section, head out over the water, fight each other until we get low on gas, then come home. Today I completed my final BFM flight first, then flew my final WEPS flight. Experiencing both kinds of missions made for a fitting wrap-up.
The T-2 is perhaps the ugliest aircraft ever built, at least when sitting on the ground. In the air it seems much more aerodynamic. It is also, literally, a vintage aircraft. It was designed in 1957, and the last modification we have was probably completed in the late ‘60s. We still fly it with genuine ‘60s flight instruments, too…no computers here, whcih can be frustrating. For example, the instrument which shows our aircraft heading and navigational information actually drifts over time, and requires constant correction off an old-fashioned wet compass. Every 10 minutes of flying—less if there has been any kind of maneuvering—we must readjust our navigation displays. It is ironic that this instrument is so unreliable, considering how important it is to fly the right heading, especially when a) flying in very busy airspace (so you don’t hit another aircraft), b)flying in clouds (when you can’t see) and c) when flying an approach (so you actually find the runway). Another crazy feature of the T-2 is the Electrical Disconnect Switch. Since the T-2 was designed as a pilot trainer, somebody thought it would be a good idea to enable the Instructor (presumably in the back seat) to simulate a total electrical power failure. So they installed a switch that actually shuts off the generators and the battery - so it doesn't so much simulate an Electrical failure so much as cause one. Then, of course, you become an emergency aircraft with no way of navigating or communicating…and oh by the way your engines may fail without the electrical spark plugs, which means you either have to airstart one of them or eject. Brilliant.
Idiosyncrasies notwithstanding, the T-2 is a pretty perky little jet. We routinely pull up to 6 Gs during turns and Aerobatics, and it low over the ground it flies really well. During WEPS flights hug every curve of a road at close to 400 mph, then execute a high-performance pull, roll inverted, dive in at our “target” to deliver weapons, then pull hard up and away again. It is fun, dynamic, and physically draining - imagine trying to keep your head up looking around and your arms moving around a cockpit when they weigh five times more than usual! Yet BFM flights are the most fun, not only because you are fighting a buddy, but also because you continually operate the aircraft in high-G, high-performance flight. You might pitch up to arc over the top of your opponent or slice around in a max-performance turn to get behind him, or (if you're in trouble) you might “unload the jet” (go to zero-G flight) so as to accelerate quickly. In this kind of flying, the only instrument you watch is the altimeter, because you are upside down as much as you are right side up, and the only thing that matters is not hitting the ground. It is extremely exciting flying. It is what I signed up to do. But before I could get there, I had to complete the obligatory aviation simulations.
T-2 Simulator Events are pretty low-key. The instructors are all former military pilots who work for Lockheed and have a contract with the Navy. Some of them have fought as long ago as Korea , and many have ejected at least once from their aircraft. One of my instructors flew the now-obsolete F-8 Crusader, now distinguished as the last American fighter jet designed with guns as its primary weapon system. It was fast, though, and my instructor told me that a peer of his was flying around at Mach 2.4 when the wind blast sheared his canopy right off the aircraft. Desperately trying to slow his jet down, the pilot was pulling the throttles to idle and putting out the speed brakes when the wind pulled his upper ejection handle out from the top of the seat, and ejected him at Mach 1.7. He was hopelessly out of position and slammed by wind traveling over 1,000 mph, which caused his knees to break so badly that his feet were slapping against his helmet visor while he parachuted down. The pilot lived to fly jets again, though my instructor had this comment: “that man does not walk like you or me anymore.”
Despite the sea stories, sim events are graded and can be stressful. My last sim was with an instructor who I had flown before. Though he is widely regarded as one of the nicest instructors around – in the lingo of flight school, a “Santa Clause” - I have always peformed poorly with him. He wasn't mean to me or anything, but for some reason I never, not once, had a good flight with him. Remarkably, he only failed me once. At my Intermediate Graduation, where I graduated first in my class, he pulled me aside afterward to ask incredulously, “How, out of all of these students, did you graduate first?” Anyway, when he walked into the T-2 student lounge to pick me up for my final sim, he stopped in his tracks, looked at me appraisingly with a funny little smile and said, “So we meet again.” Fortunately, I had a fairly decent event (though certainly not my best), and afterward he handed me my gradesheet, saying, “Well, you’re free of me forever.” We had a good laugh about that.
One little side adventure I had during this phase was a trip to Washington, DC. This took place during my three FAM flights. It is nice to do them "cross country," because not only do I get experience flying outside of Pensacola (which I am very familiar with, but I can travel to cool places for the weekend. The flights themselves are pretty low-key, too: I am only responsible for basic navigation, a skill I have been working on since the first phase of training. Friday we flew to NAS Oceana (at Virginia Beach), and then my student partner and I rented a car to drive to D.C. We had a good timeI spent an entire afternoon in the National Gallery, saw a bunch of old friends, and generally relived the days of TBS when I visited DC every weekend. Sunday morning we drove back to Oceana and took the two quick flights home. Travel is one of the benefits of Aviation.
And now, this upcoming Friday, I will officially receive the Wings of Gold. I am near the end of my time in Pensacola , and that makes me just a little sad. I have grown to love it – everything from the beautiful white beaches to the friendly dumpy dive bars has made this an interesting and entertaining cultural experience. I will leave some good friends behind as I move on, but that’s part of a military life – and it isn’t really new. My old room-mate John has gone to California ahead of me, though not to San Diego, and another old room-mate will shortly move from Jacksonville to Whidbey Island, and yet a third has deployed to Iraq. I was nervous when I first moved down here - I only really know one of the guys I would be living with, and practically no one else in the greater Pensacola area. But shortly after moving in, my other room-mate approached me in a bar and said, "I don’t know how to say this, but I really wasn't sure if living with you was going to work out or not. I didn’t really get along with you at Notre Dame. I’m pretty surprised it has gone so smoothly so far.” I guess that sounds like a mean thing to say, but I had felt the same way. And now I have many good friends from this Pensacola experience.
But enough reflecting. Tonight it is time to celebrate my newly-earned Wings of Gold.
Monday, March 27, 2006
The Key West Experience / Pensacola Reflections
Last February, my training squadron went on a detachment down to Naval Air Station Key West. We did this for two reasons: to give us a break from flying around Pensacola ; and to get a lot of flights done, since February weather is generally very good down there and we are on vacation from our domestic personal lives. Since we all lived together (two to a room) in a dormitory-like setting, we were easily available to fly, but that also contributed to significantly collegiate atmosphere. Combine that with the social opportunities of Key West itself, and well, things got pretty exciting. It was a good trip.
Flying/training in Key West is an eye-opener. We worked with Air Traffic Control agencies that weren't used to our missions or expectations, and we flew unfamiliar routes. The pilots and instructors from Pensacola flew in that area so long that they pretty much had all routes and airfields memorized. As a student, it is easy to rely on their obvious but unshared knowledge—you feel that if you get lost or get in trouble, your instructor or pilot will know what to do. This all came crashing down in Key West . For the first time, I found that my pilot and instructor were often as clueless as I was. Well, maybe not that clueless, but you get the idea. At first it was scary, especially since during my first event I almost had a mid-air collision and later actually hit a bird. On subsequent flights, however, I began to feel more like a contributing member of the aircrew, instead of simply a student being tested.
For all that, however, flying wasn't the most "dangerous" part of Key West . The island is the self-proclaimed poster-child of American tropical hedonism. Filled with upscale shops jostling cheek-by-jowl with tawdry souvenir joints selling racy or off-color T-Shirts, and liberally sprinkled with bars and clubs, the actual town of Key West can be a lot of fun. It is quite small, too, so my friends and I ran into our instructors partying as often as we ran into our classmates, and pretty much everywhere. It was like a huge playground. Many stories and legends emerged from the two weeks we spent there—students spending upwards of $800 at bars in one night, students getting in fights and being picked up by (and tended by) shady middle-aged guys, students getting lost and spending the night on the beaches. Fortunately (or unfortunately) I was not involved in any stories, since I spent only four days there. But it sounded like good times.
In addition to the social scene, the island and city of Key West themselves are pretty amazing. US Highway 1 runs all the way down the keys, often on bridges that span more than seven miles of water. Flying approaches around the airfield yielded beautiful sights of white sand beaches and turquoise water and green-sprinkled islands bustling gently with small towns and buildings. It was all very relaxing, even while trying to land an aircraft. Like most young people, I joined the military to see exotic places, and I think Key West qualified.
Unfortunately, as my squadron took off to Key West for a flying "vacation," my room-mate left to go to Iraq. Flight school is often an insular world (a "bubble") due to the concentration requred in each flight, and when we have time off we usually spend it relaxing and not thinking about military issues. We don't (at least, I don't) spend much time thinking about what our military is doing and where I might be sent. So it is sobering to say goodbye to my room-mate. On one level, he trades in the luxury of America (and things like trips to Key West) for a more rigorous life within the American military effort in that country, but he also is going to do the job he signed up for. Many of my friends from TBS and college have been to Iraq or Afghanistan already, and are either there for the second time or preparing to go back. That's where my job is. With them. And while I certainly believe that it sucks over there, and that it's dangerous, I want to be there.
But I have at least another year of training before I am even able to go. Pensacola, meanwhile, continues to treat me well. I have been able to spend a lot of time at the beach, running, reading and studying. Even during chilly winter months, the beach provides solitude and beauty, especially during sunrise and sunset. The nights are beautiful and clear. Though I hear a lot of my peers complaining about Pensacola and its dumpy buildings, poorly designed roads, and lack of nightlife, I am very fond of it. I have grown to love Gulf Coast style seafood,the beach lifestyle, the friendly people, and the inexpensive living. There are few other places in the world where you can waterski in October and go swimming in the ocean in early March. I shall be sorry to leave.
Flying/training in Key West is an eye-opener. We worked with Air Traffic Control agencies that weren't used to our missions or expectations, and we flew unfamiliar routes. The pilots and instructors from Pensacola flew in that area so long that they pretty much had all routes and airfields memorized. As a student, it is easy to rely on their obvious but unshared knowledge—you feel that if you get lost or get in trouble, your instructor or pilot will know what to do. This all came crashing down in Key West . For the first time, I found that my pilot and instructor were often as clueless as I was. Well, maybe not that clueless, but you get the idea. At first it was scary, especially since during my first event I almost had a mid-air collision and later actually hit a bird. On subsequent flights, however, I began to feel more like a contributing member of the aircrew, instead of simply a student being tested.
For all that, however, flying wasn't the most "dangerous" part of Key West . The island is the self-proclaimed poster-child of American tropical hedonism. Filled with upscale shops jostling cheek-by-jowl with tawdry souvenir joints selling racy or off-color T-Shirts, and liberally sprinkled with bars and clubs, the actual town of Key West can be a lot of fun. It is quite small, too, so my friends and I ran into our instructors partying as often as we ran into our classmates, and pretty much everywhere. It was like a huge playground. Many stories and legends emerged from the two weeks we spent there—students spending upwards of $800 at bars in one night, students getting in fights and being picked up by (and tended by) shady middle-aged guys, students getting lost and spending the night on the beaches. Fortunately (or unfortunately) I was not involved in any stories, since I spent only four days there. But it sounded like good times.
In addition to the social scene, the island and city of Key West themselves are pretty amazing. US Highway 1 runs all the way down the keys, often on bridges that span more than seven miles of water. Flying approaches around the airfield yielded beautiful sights of white sand beaches and turquoise water and green-sprinkled islands bustling gently with small towns and buildings. It was all very relaxing, even while trying to land an aircraft. Like most young people, I joined the military to see exotic places, and I think Key West qualified.
Unfortunately, as my squadron took off to Key West for a flying "vacation," my room-mate left to go to Iraq. Flight school is often an insular world (a "bubble") due to the concentration requred in each flight, and when we have time off we usually spend it relaxing and not thinking about military issues. We don't (at least, I don't) spend much time thinking about what our military is doing and where I might be sent. So it is sobering to say goodbye to my room-mate. On one level, he trades in the luxury of America (and things like trips to Key West) for a more rigorous life within the American military effort in that country, but he also is going to do the job he signed up for. Many of my friends from TBS and college have been to Iraq or Afghanistan already, and are either there for the second time or preparing to go back. That's where my job is. With them. And while I certainly believe that it sucks over there, and that it's dangerous, I want to be there.
But I have at least another year of training before I am even able to go. Pensacola, meanwhile, continues to treat me well. I have been able to spend a lot of time at the beach, running, reading and studying. Even during chilly winter months, the beach provides solitude and beauty, especially during sunrise and sunset. The nights are beautiful and clear. Though I hear a lot of my peers complaining about Pensacola and its dumpy buildings, poorly designed roads, and lack of nightlife, I am very fond of it. I have grown to love Gulf Coast style seafood,the beach lifestyle, the friendly people, and the inexpensive living. There are few other places in the world where you can waterski in October and go swimming in the ocean in early March. I shall be sorry to leave.
Tuesday, January 17, 2006
Grief
I am currently struggling through the first flying portion of Advanced Training. The stakes are higher here, since each student is destined for tactical aircraft. These aircraft operate in the most dynamic, threatening environment--they fight other aircraft and deliver ordnance through anti-aircraft systems. Consequently, the training is a bit more stringent. This usually takes the form of many long hours in the Simulators on my own, honing my navigation and weapons skills so I can perform them with greater precision and speed. The stress imposed on students has prompted us to to make many ironic statements regarding "glamor of naval aviation." But flying is still fun, if dangerous. Recently, in fact, our Squadron was brutally reminded about how dangerous this job is. We suffered a serious, fatal mishap we suffered last Tuesday, on January 10 2006.
That day, Rocket 512 (the call sign of the flight) reported over the radio that they entered their low-level training route around 11 AM. They were never heard from again. After two days of waiting and searching, the wreckage of the aircraft was found in Northern Georgia. Of the four aviators aboard, there were no survivors. An investigation into the cause of the mishap is pending.
There was a memorial Mass this morning for the pilot. We do not use active-duty navy pilots; we use contract pilots employed by the Lockheed-Martin corporation, all of whom have a military aviation background. The chapel was full. I reflected there on how close we are in the squadron as a group. Though I personally knew both students and the instructor who died, I was neither friends nor even very familiar with any of them. The students were several classes ahead of me; I had only flown with the instructor once. Yet their absence is tangible. They no longer participate in the stories or jokes we exchange in the Ready Room, they no longer offer unsolicited advice to other students (as is the wont of all aviators), they will never again laugh at or make an ironic crack about the "glamor of naval aviation." The instructor, particularly, I remember as being funny, friendly and sincere about teaching. He was enjoyable to fly with and made his students better at what they did. He was never cruel, difficult, or petty in the cockpit (as others were). He was an great asset to our squadron.
Perhaps more tragically, he left behind a wife and child. This is also true of one of the students; the other was recently engaged. Of course, this kind of risk was theirs to take and they took it without any illusion - as we all do. Military necessity requires us to ply our trade in dangerous regimes of flight, often at high speeds and low altitudes. Knowing this, we take especial care to identify risks and mitigate them. This is doubly true in a training command, because of "there is no glory in dying in a white [training] aircraft." All of us officers in the command realize there is nothing to do except grieve, reflect, pick up, and continue with our mission. In fact, I will be doing just that tomorrow.
For this reason (in spite of the loss), things continue more or less as normal. No doubt as I immerse myself again in the task of flying, the grief will recede. But hopefully not the memory of these four aviators. There is a quotation on the wall of our Squadron bar says talks about how any aviator's death is every aviator's responsibility; perhaps if they had exchanged one more story about a hazard or they had invested a little more time in training they'd still be among us. That quote in turn reminds me of John Donne's famous meditation:
That day, Rocket 512 (the call sign of the flight) reported over the radio that they entered their low-level training route around 11 AM. They were never heard from again. After two days of waiting and searching, the wreckage of the aircraft was found in Northern Georgia. Of the four aviators aboard, there were no survivors. An investigation into the cause of the mishap is pending.
There was a memorial Mass this morning for the pilot. We do not use active-duty navy pilots; we use contract pilots employed by the Lockheed-Martin corporation, all of whom have a military aviation background. The chapel was full. I reflected there on how close we are in the squadron as a group. Though I personally knew both students and the instructor who died, I was neither friends nor even very familiar with any of them. The students were several classes ahead of me; I had only flown with the instructor once. Yet their absence is tangible. They no longer participate in the stories or jokes we exchange in the Ready Room, they no longer offer unsolicited advice to other students (as is the wont of all aviators), they will never again laugh at or make an ironic crack about the "glamor of naval aviation." The instructor, particularly, I remember as being funny, friendly and sincere about teaching. He was enjoyable to fly with and made his students better at what they did. He was never cruel, difficult, or petty in the cockpit (as others were). He was an great asset to our squadron.
Perhaps more tragically, he left behind a wife and child. This is also true of one of the students; the other was recently engaged. Of course, this kind of risk was theirs to take and they took it without any illusion - as we all do. Military necessity requires us to ply our trade in dangerous regimes of flight, often at high speeds and low altitudes. Knowing this, we take especial care to identify risks and mitigate them. This is doubly true in a training command, because of "there is no glory in dying in a white [training] aircraft." All of us officers in the command realize there is nothing to do except grieve, reflect, pick up, and continue with our mission. In fact, I will be doing just that tomorrow.
For this reason (in spite of the loss), things continue more or less as normal. No doubt as I immerse myself again in the task of flying, the grief will recede. But hopefully not the memory of these four aviators. There is a quotation on the wall of our Squadron bar says talks about how any aviator's death is every aviator's responsibility; perhaps if they had exchanged one more story about a hazard or they had invested a little more time in training they'd still be among us. That quote in turn reminds me of John Donne's famous meditation:
"No man is an island, entire of itself / every man is a piece of the continent, a part of the main / if a clod be washed away by the sea, Europe is the less, as well as if a promontory were, as well as if a manor of thy friends or of thine own were / any man's death diminishes me, because I am involved in mankind / and therefore never send to know for whom the bell tolls / it tolls for thee."The grief I feel is real, despite not knowing any of the dead aviators very well. Their death reminds me of my own mortality, especially at the hand of flying; it is the loss of experience, from which I could benefit. Most importantly, they were comrades whose support I miss, even if I only received it tangentially. Moving on feels good, because grief hurts. But every so often I hear of an aviation mishap, and my mind returns to this one. I hope it makes me wiser.
Sunday, September 11, 2005
The glamour of flight and the onset of autumn
After a long hiatus, I finally feel like I have something to write you about. Recently flight school acquired a new dimension when I began our set of visual navigation flights. Visual Navigation (VNAV) is, as the name implies, navigation solely by external reference points: bridges, road intersections, prominent buildings, and the like. And it is very exciting flying.
First of all, because I am navigating visually, I get to look outside the aircraft for most of the flight. This is a remarkable difference from Instrument Navigation, where I spent most of my time in the air concentrating on the navigation instruments, my kneeboard, and my slide rule. Admittedly, that training is necessary, because it is the bread-and-butter of airborne navigation, but it was really nothing more than a glorified desk job - my desk just happened to be the rear cockpit of an airplane. Being able to (or supposed to!) look around from the air restores the glamour of Aviation: from above, you really feel godlike.
Second of all, in order to be able to clearly see references on the ground, I need to fly lower. Flying low is fun because you seem to be going faster and you feel more connected to the ground - you aren't simply all alone at 28,000 feet. Flying low is stressful, because there are towers and large buildings that can pass close beneath you, but that only heightens the experience.
Finally, in VNAVs, the maneuvers are downright exhilarating. Gone are boring 30-degree-angle-of-bank turns from Instrument Navigation. Marking on top of a navigational checkpoint involves a 3-G, nearly 90-degree-angle-of-bank steep turn and a quick acceleration to the new airspeed. If I need to check a reference underneath the plane, I can order a "wing-flash," which is when the pilot dips one wing alarmingly in order for me to get a view of the ground directly beneath us out of the side of the canopy. But what is especially exciting is the target run, when we acquire our "target" by raising the nose and rolling the plane so that it (and the rest of the ground) appear in the upper portion of the canopy so we can comfortably see it. This is flying - this is what I imagined when I embarked on an aviation career.
Of course, preparing VNAVs are equally difficult and time-consuming as preparing INAV (instrument) flights. There is a lot of paperwork: charts to draw and prepare, procedures to practice, and briefing items to memorize. So I am keeping busy. I am not too busy, however, to mark the passage of summer. I am entering the golden days of Pensacola - when the humidity and accompanying violent thunderstorms fade leaving clear and beautiful weather. The deep, choking foliage seems faded, too--enervated, perhaps, by the heavy heat and powerful sunlight of summer. It has become pleasant to run outside, the summer tourist swarm has left the beaches, and the ocean is still warm and still. It won't start getting cold for at least another two months. Until then, I will focus on waterskiing, beachgoing, and barbecues.
I count myself very lucky to be here now. It sometimes seems like an accident that I ended up in Aviation, and equally so that I live in Pensacola. As I write this, the late summer sun streams through my window, and I can't help but marvel at how good things seem at times. Pensacola may be a small town, it may be aggressively "deep south" in character, and it may be dumpy and poor, but it certainly has its own beauty. My perception of it, of course, includes the flying, the tight group of peers I fly and live with, and my experiences in the city itself--but I am happy here. Though I hope eventually to be posted to San Diego (which is famously beautiful), I can't get very excited about it when in the midst of a beautiful September afternoon in Pensacola.
First of all, because I am navigating visually, I get to look outside the aircraft for most of the flight. This is a remarkable difference from Instrument Navigation, where I spent most of my time in the air concentrating on the navigation instruments, my kneeboard, and my slide rule. Admittedly, that training is necessary, because it is the bread-and-butter of airborne navigation, but it was really nothing more than a glorified desk job - my desk just happened to be the rear cockpit of an airplane. Being able to (or supposed to!) look around from the air restores the glamour of Aviation: from above, you really feel godlike.
Second of all, in order to be able to clearly see references on the ground, I need to fly lower. Flying low is fun because you seem to be going faster and you feel more connected to the ground - you aren't simply all alone at 28,000 feet. Flying low is stressful, because there are towers and large buildings that can pass close beneath you, but that only heightens the experience.
Finally, in VNAVs, the maneuvers are downright exhilarating. Gone are boring 30-degree-angle-of-bank turns from Instrument Navigation. Marking on top of a navigational checkpoint involves a 3-G, nearly 90-degree-angle-of-bank steep turn and a quick acceleration to the new airspeed. If I need to check a reference underneath the plane, I can order a "wing-flash," which is when the pilot dips one wing alarmingly in order for me to get a view of the ground directly beneath us out of the side of the canopy. But what is especially exciting is the target run, when we acquire our "target" by raising the nose and rolling the plane so that it (and the rest of the ground) appear in the upper portion of the canopy so we can comfortably see it. This is flying - this is what I imagined when I embarked on an aviation career.
Of course, preparing VNAVs are equally difficult and time-consuming as preparing INAV (instrument) flights. There is a lot of paperwork: charts to draw and prepare, procedures to practice, and briefing items to memorize. So I am keeping busy. I am not too busy, however, to mark the passage of summer. I am entering the golden days of Pensacola - when the humidity and accompanying violent thunderstorms fade leaving clear and beautiful weather. The deep, choking foliage seems faded, too--enervated, perhaps, by the heavy heat and powerful sunlight of summer. It has become pleasant to run outside, the summer tourist swarm has left the beaches, and the ocean is still warm and still. It won't start getting cold for at least another two months. Until then, I will focus on waterskiing, beachgoing, and barbecues.
I count myself very lucky to be here now. It sometimes seems like an accident that I ended up in Aviation, and equally so that I live in Pensacola. As I write this, the late summer sun streams through my window, and I can't help but marvel at how good things seem at times. Pensacola may be a small town, it may be aggressively "deep south" in character, and it may be dumpy and poor, but it certainly has its own beauty. My perception of it, of course, includes the flying, the tight group of peers I fly and live with, and my experiences in the city itself--but I am happy here. Though I hope eventually to be posted to San Diego (which is famously beautiful), I can't get very excited about it when in the midst of a beautiful September afternoon in Pensacola.
Tuesday, July 12, 2005
The Adventure of Dennis
It feels like a long time since I last wrote, and I miss it. Writing my experiences in this on-going journal is enjoyable and cathartic. Recently, however, I have been occupied with memorization and studying such that I had little time to reflect upon and re-write my adventures into something that sounded like an exciting life. Then Hurricane Dennis hit Pensacola. And though this kind of weather probably seems far away to most of you (it always did to me), it is a very big deal here.
I didn't really pay attention to the path of Dennis (reported in the news) as it traveled up through the Caribbean past Haiti and Jamaica. When it closed in on Cuba, the hurricane watchers here at Naval Air Station Pensacola decided to cancel activities last Friday and fly the planes out to a safer location. As our collective eyes turned toward the storm, it aimed toward us much as Ivan did last November, and we were told to evacuate. There were all hands meetings Thursday afternoon and Friday morning to officially secure the Naval Air Station and evacuate all personnel by Saturday morning at six.
I left Pensacola on Friday morning under clear, beautiful skies. I was headed to Chapel Hill, NC, to take refuge with a high school friend of mine there. I drove past long lines at the few gas stations that still had fuel. The superstores (Wal-mart, Target, etc) had posted large signs listing products they were out of (plywood, lumber, fresh water, and so on). The radio stations were broadcasting National Weather Center flood warnings, potential evacuation orders, and hurricane advisories. This all stood in stark contrast to the absolutely pristine weather throughout the Southeast United States that day. It all seemed very ironic.
For those of you under the impression that western States are big, and eastern ones are small (as I used to be), let me be the first to disabuse you. Twelve hours I drove that day, all of it on the freeways and none of it in traffic. However, my friend made me very welcome, and the evactuaion felt more like a vacation. Essentially, I spent a carefree weekend checking out the college hangouts of UNC Chapel Hill. The only dose of reality I had was my morning telephone call to my class leader, letting him know I was alive, and periodic visits to the Weather Channel. I have to admit, it looked pretty menacing for most of Saturday and Sunday. Dennis followed the same path as Ivan, and predictions continued to place Pensacola right in the middle or just to the east of the middle of his projected path. East of the eye is the most dangerous place to be in a hurricane. The earth's rotation, called the "Corialis Force," imparts a counterclockwise motion to air around a low pressure area, which means that to the east of the hurricane, the wind is blowing off the ocean and has greater force than wind coming off the land (on the western side of the eye).
We were lucky, though. Dennis moved northward and came ashore right at Pensacola Beach, to the east of the city - the best possible scenario. There was minimal damage.The Navy Base was largely unaffected. I got the call to come back on Monday morning, and by the early afternoon I was on my way. Power had largely been restored to the Pensacola area by 11 PM as I drove in (though there continues to be a gasoline shortage), and at nearly every intersection there were state troopers and workmen repairing traffic lights, signposts, and power lines.
So the adventure ended well. I am impressed by the people of Pensacola and its environs. Everybody I met was more than willing to help with evacuation and hurricane preparedness, and most were calm and proactive about getting out. I had vague ideas of mass panic and desperate shortages at the onset of a hurricane, but Pensacola had prepared well (though, to be fair, it has significant previous experience) and the repairmen have worked straight shifts since Monday afternoon to restore power, put the traffic grid back together, and direct the return of evacuees.
I have just finished putting my apartment back together - pulling televisions out of closets, replacing the valuables that I carried with me, and resetting all the clocks. I have a test soon, and the next phase of flights is imminent, but such things are far from my mind. As I write this, Tropical Storm Emily is spinning north out of the Atlantic toward the Caribbean. Here we go again...
I didn't really pay attention to the path of Dennis (reported in the news) as it traveled up through the Caribbean past Haiti and Jamaica. When it closed in on Cuba, the hurricane watchers here at Naval Air Station Pensacola decided to cancel activities last Friday and fly the planes out to a safer location. As our collective eyes turned toward the storm, it aimed toward us much as Ivan did last November, and we were told to evacuate. There were all hands meetings Thursday afternoon and Friday morning to officially secure the Naval Air Station and evacuate all personnel by Saturday morning at six.
I left Pensacola on Friday morning under clear, beautiful skies. I was headed to Chapel Hill, NC, to take refuge with a high school friend of mine there. I drove past long lines at the few gas stations that still had fuel. The superstores (Wal-mart, Target, etc) had posted large signs listing products they were out of (plywood, lumber, fresh water, and so on). The radio stations were broadcasting National Weather Center flood warnings, potential evacuation orders, and hurricane advisories. This all stood in stark contrast to the absolutely pristine weather throughout the Southeast United States that day. It all seemed very ironic.
For those of you under the impression that western States are big, and eastern ones are small (as I used to be), let me be the first to disabuse you. Twelve hours I drove that day, all of it on the freeways and none of it in traffic. However, my friend made me very welcome, and the evactuaion felt more like a vacation. Essentially, I spent a carefree weekend checking out the college hangouts of UNC Chapel Hill. The only dose of reality I had was my morning telephone call to my class leader, letting him know I was alive, and periodic visits to the Weather Channel. I have to admit, it looked pretty menacing for most of Saturday and Sunday. Dennis followed the same path as Ivan, and predictions continued to place Pensacola right in the middle or just to the east of the middle of his projected path. East of the eye is the most dangerous place to be in a hurricane. The earth's rotation, called the "Corialis Force," imparts a counterclockwise motion to air around a low pressure area, which means that to the east of the hurricane, the wind is blowing off the ocean and has greater force than wind coming off the land (on the western side of the eye).
We were lucky, though. Dennis moved northward and came ashore right at Pensacola Beach, to the east of the city - the best possible scenario. There was minimal damage.The Navy Base was largely unaffected. I got the call to come back on Monday morning, and by the early afternoon I was on my way. Power had largely been restored to the Pensacola area by 11 PM as I drove in (though there continues to be a gasoline shortage), and at nearly every intersection there were state troopers and workmen repairing traffic lights, signposts, and power lines.
So the adventure ended well. I am impressed by the people of Pensacola and its environs. Everybody I met was more than willing to help with evacuation and hurricane preparedness, and most were calm and proactive about getting out. I had vague ideas of mass panic and desperate shortages at the onset of a hurricane, but Pensacola had prepared well (though, to be fair, it has significant previous experience) and the repairmen have worked straight shifts since Monday afternoon to restore power, put the traffic grid back together, and direct the return of evacuees.
I have just finished putting my apartment back together - pulling televisions out of closets, replacing the valuables that I carried with me, and resetting all the clocks. I have a test soon, and the next phase of flights is imminent, but such things are far from my mind. As I write this, Tropical Storm Emily is spinning north out of the Atlantic toward the Caribbean. Here we go again...
Friday, June 10, 2005
First Flights and Fast Times
Well, I can say I have officially flown an airplane now. I have taken off, flown to a different airfield, conducted appropriate aerial maneuvers along the way (like spinning out the airplane), and successfully landed, many times. The great adventure is well begun indeed.
It isn't really all that glamourous, actually. Well, it is, but that glamour is coupled with long hours of work before, during, and after my time at the cockpit. Each flight is a specific event on the syllabus here, and requires that the student be familiar with and demonstrate specific material. In this regard each flight is like a test. The "material" consists of sets of procedures for flying the aircraft, Emergency Procedures in case something goes wrong, and general knowledge of aircraft systems. This knowledge is what the student is graded on, not the actual flying of the aircraft. This is different, of course, than pilot training - there the student is graded very much on how he or she flies the aircraft. But for us backseater types, planning and knowledge are priorities.
So these past several weeks I have been studying hard, memorizing procedures step by step. It is stressful work - before each flight the instructor spends about an hour and a half with the student, examining him or her to see if they know what they are supposed to know for that flight. Instructors can grill a student on anything specific to that particular flight, or any material they choose covered in previous flights. It is much like having an oral examination, actually (though I'm embarrassed to say that I have to study harder in flight school than I ever did in college) - except when you fail, you receive a "pink sheet," which is a disciplinary file that usually leads to the student being reviewed by a board of instructors, and more often than not kicked out of the program. But - and not to sound cliche or anything - it is all worth it to be in the air.
I won't bore you with too many reflections or details on flying. It is remarkably peaceful in the air, and since we wear two sets of hearing protection the aircraft itself is quiet. When you are not desperately struggling with the controls to the (often) obscenity-filled exhortations of your instructors, the view is wonderful. The small windows of commercial airliners just don't do it justice. Underneath the professionalism and discipline of the aviation community lies a genuine joy of flying - something I have to remind myself of during difficult briefs. And the ride quickly becomes exciting (though in a good way) when you put the aircraft into a spin or flip upside down. Unlike some of my peers, I have had no problem so far with airsickness - I dare say I am having more fun with it than they are.
I have completed my flights fairly quickly. I had two on Tuesday, one on Thursday, and I was supposed to have my last today, but the approaching Tropical Storm sent enough clouds that we couldn't complete our event (which required good visibility). Cancellations are nothing new: it is warm and moist enough around here that we often contend with afternoon thunderstorms. We (the students) joke often, in fact, that much of the glamour of flying is actually sitting in a ready room waiting for a break in the weather. That is what I did Monday and Wednesday.
In retrospect, I guess flight school is different than I expected. I don't think I had many expectations in the first place, but I am both surprised at the extent to which I enjoy flying and the interminable waiting and studying that goes in to it. That's why, I guess, flight school is regarded as difficult - in fact, that's the only thing that isn't surprising. But I'd rather be doing something interesting and hard than boring and easy, so I guess I can't complain.
It isn't really all that glamourous, actually. Well, it is, but that glamour is coupled with long hours of work before, during, and after my time at the cockpit. Each flight is a specific event on the syllabus here, and requires that the student be familiar with and demonstrate specific material. In this regard each flight is like a test. The "material" consists of sets of procedures for flying the aircraft, Emergency Procedures in case something goes wrong, and general knowledge of aircraft systems. This knowledge is what the student is graded on, not the actual flying of the aircraft. This is different, of course, than pilot training - there the student is graded very much on how he or she flies the aircraft. But for us backseater types, planning and knowledge are priorities.
So these past several weeks I have been studying hard, memorizing procedures step by step. It is stressful work - before each flight the instructor spends about an hour and a half with the student, examining him or her to see if they know what they are supposed to know for that flight. Instructors can grill a student on anything specific to that particular flight, or any material they choose covered in previous flights. It is much like having an oral examination, actually (though I'm embarrassed to say that I have to study harder in flight school than I ever did in college) - except when you fail, you receive a "pink sheet," which is a disciplinary file that usually leads to the student being reviewed by a board of instructors, and more often than not kicked out of the program. But - and not to sound cliche or anything - it is all worth it to be in the air.
I won't bore you with too many reflections or details on flying. It is remarkably peaceful in the air, and since we wear two sets of hearing protection the aircraft itself is quiet. When you are not desperately struggling with the controls to the (often) obscenity-filled exhortations of your instructors, the view is wonderful. The small windows of commercial airliners just don't do it justice. Underneath the professionalism and discipline of the aviation community lies a genuine joy of flying - something I have to remind myself of during difficult briefs. And the ride quickly becomes exciting (though in a good way) when you put the aircraft into a spin or flip upside down. Unlike some of my peers, I have had no problem so far with airsickness - I dare say I am having more fun with it than they are.
I have completed my flights fairly quickly. I had two on Tuesday, one on Thursday, and I was supposed to have my last today, but the approaching Tropical Storm sent enough clouds that we couldn't complete our event (which required good visibility). Cancellations are nothing new: it is warm and moist enough around here that we often contend with afternoon thunderstorms. We (the students) joke often, in fact, that much of the glamour of flying is actually sitting in a ready room waiting for a break in the weather. That is what I did Monday and Wednesday.
In retrospect, I guess flight school is different than I expected. I don't think I had many expectations in the first place, but I am both surprised at the extent to which I enjoy flying and the interminable waiting and studying that goes in to it. That's why, I guess, flight school is regarded as difficult - in fact, that's the only thing that isn't surprising. But I'd rather be doing something interesting and hard than boring and easy, so I guess I can't complain.
Thursday, May 26, 2005
Closing in on Aviation
I have reached another milestone in training - I am ready for my first flight! I should be flying on Tuesday or Wednesday, and while on paper I am "prepared," I feel far too nervous and excited to fly than is probably wise or safe. But that is what instructors are for, right? I have to brag a bit - the aircraft we will be flying in is the Lockheed (Beechcraft) T-6A Texan II: a single-engine, turboprop, mono-wing, high-performance aerobatic trainer. What that means is that my aircraft was designed train pilots in aerobatic maneuvering...so part of our training will include things like loops, aileron rolls, split-s's, wingovers, and all sorts of sexy moves from WWII dogfighting and Top Gun (though no 4-G inverted dives with a MiG). It has a glass cockpit, which means the gauges aren't actually "gauges" per se, as in dials with needles that indicate information. They are glass computer displays that project an image of a gauge like your computer monitor. This means that some system is actually processing the information shown on the gauges and then projecting it to the pilot in an easier-to-read format - the assumption being that said system is more accurate than the conventional gauges were in the first place. The real advantage is that all-important displays (like aircraft attitude) won't "tumble" or get out of alignment...ever (even during dynamic manoevering!). It does make me kind of nervous, though, that the old gauges were prone to doing that in the first place! But far and away the coolest thing about the T-6A is that it is equipped with a zero-zero ejection seat, so the aircrew can get out in a hurry if something goes drastically wrong. "Zero-zero" means that even sitting on the tarmac, at zero knots airspeed and zero feet off the deck, this seat can still save my life, by firing me up high enough with its rocket motor (330 ft) that my parachute can safely inflate and land me on the deck.
But getting here has occupied much of my time these past few weeks. Ground school was much different from API, because it is merely an introduction to the materials we are requred to study, it isn't actually a "lecture" course. They call it "big boy school" - you are told what to know, then tested, but the material itself isn't really taught. You must learn it by yourself. First we were tested on weather knowledge, then T-6A systems (hydraulics, propulsion, electronics, avionics), and finally the actual, word-of-the-most-high-naval-aviation-authorites-sanctioned, T-6A operations manual. That was five tests in three weeks.
After that we had a week of simulator events, where you get in a flight simulator and you operate the aircraft from the cockpit. These events are treated like actual flights, and you are being graded each time on how much material you know about the aircraft and how to operate it (there are certain items that we focus on specifically in each event). For example, the first event is just to see if you are familiar enough with the many pages of checklists and the necessary radio calls to operate the aircraft safely. The second event tests all that again, but adds some emergencies in - a fire warning on the ground, a fire warning in flight, an engine failure in flight, and requires you to be familiar with the emergency landing procedure. There were only three of these events, but with all the information you have to know for each one, each one is like studying for a final. But they are fun - I got to "eject" from one simulation, and I got to "fly" in all three, which dispite the lack of visual graphics outside the cockpit, was pretty cool.
Today I had my first period of instruction in the actual aircraft. It was an introduction - showing me how to preflight the plane itself, how to prepare for an actual flight (getting weather and field updates), and how to strap in, get in and get out the aircraft itself. It was a long day, but at least I know that I am about to start flying - which is why I'm down here for in the first place.
Unfortunately, however, all this work means I have lost some free time. I go the beach rarely now, though the temperature has climbed into the high 90s and 100s several times. And except for the rare concert or something I don't get away from my texts much. But since Memorial Day weekend is coming up, I am hoping for a relaxing three day weekend...and yes, more studying.
But getting here has occupied much of my time these past few weeks. Ground school was much different from API, because it is merely an introduction to the materials we are requred to study, it isn't actually a "lecture" course. They call it "big boy school" - you are told what to know, then tested, but the material itself isn't really taught. You must learn it by yourself. First we were tested on weather knowledge, then T-6A systems (hydraulics, propulsion, electronics, avionics), and finally the actual, word-of-the-most-high-naval-aviation-authorites-sanctioned, T-6A operations manual. That was five tests in three weeks.
After that we had a week of simulator events, where you get in a flight simulator and you operate the aircraft from the cockpit. These events are treated like actual flights, and you are being graded each time on how much material you know about the aircraft and how to operate it (there are certain items that we focus on specifically in each event). For example, the first event is just to see if you are familiar enough with the many pages of checklists and the necessary radio calls to operate the aircraft safely. The second event tests all that again, but adds some emergencies in - a fire warning on the ground, a fire warning in flight, an engine failure in flight, and requires you to be familiar with the emergency landing procedure. There were only three of these events, but with all the information you have to know for each one, each one is like studying for a final. But they are fun - I got to "eject" from one simulation, and I got to "fly" in all three, which dispite the lack of visual graphics outside the cockpit, was pretty cool.
Today I had my first period of instruction in the actual aircraft. It was an introduction - showing me how to preflight the plane itself, how to prepare for an actual flight (getting weather and field updates), and how to strap in, get in and get out the aircraft itself. It was a long day, but at least I know that I am about to start flying - which is why I'm down here for in the first place.
Unfortunately, however, all this work means I have lost some free time. I go the beach rarely now, though the temperature has climbed into the high 90s and 100s several times. And except for the rare concert or something I don't get away from my texts much. But since Memorial Day weekend is coming up, I am hoping for a relaxing three day weekend...and yes, more studying.
Sunday, May 1, 2005
Survival, a Wedding, and Reflections
Recently I graduated from API, which is the six-week academic indoctrination before Flight School. The acronym API, in fact, means "Aviation Preflight Indoctrination." It is heavily academic, and instructs students in the basics of aviation: how planes stay in the air, how engines work, how weather affects flying, basic navigation, and the like. Over the first four weeks, in fact, we have six tests, and failure could mean being dropped from the program. However, the final two weeks consist of survival training, and I have spent them parasailing and simulating ejections. I also took a road trip last weekend to Louisiana to help a good friend celebrate his wedding.
I learned early this past week that ejection is rather common in Military aviation, or at least more common than I thought. Apparently 1 in 5 military aviators eject, due no doubt to the relative age of our fighter and attack jets (25-40 years) and the extreme flight regimes we put them through. Because of this, two weeks are spent teaching us the ins-and-outs of parachuting and ejection, covering ejection at high altitude, parachute malfunctions (!), and ejection over land or sea.
First, we completed a parachute simulator event. It consists of a special virtual reality helmet that presents us with the sights of descending in a parachute while we hang in the harness. Via the helmet visuals, we are presented with common parachute malfunctions and are taught how to correct them - for example, if we have twisted paracords, we have to separate our rear risers (the rear straps connected to our harness) with our arms and bicycle kick to straighten everything out. If we do it right, the simulation reflects our success. It can be kind of funny to listen to students handle their particular problem ("Uh, I don't seem to have a parachute at all." "No, actually yours hasn't inflated. How do you correct for that again?"), but it is good training nonetheless.
Later, we got to go "redneck parasailing," which is basically parasailing behind a pickup truck in a field. Ironically, we do it in Alabama. We are attached to our parachute, then towed several hundred feet up into the air, and are released so we can practice landing correctly. Ideally, we land on the balls of our feet, then control our fall in such a way as to spread the force of hte impact on the side of our legs and spine, instead of absorbing it all with our feet and knees. It is basically a funny-looking controlled fall. The parasailing is of course very exilarating, but the landing was daunting - especially since the ground seemed to approach very quickly for all that I was wearing a parachute and all. I ended up hitting my head on the ground, but that was more embarrassing than anything else, and such scrapes were typical. Nobody got really hurt.
This weekend, a good friend of mine from TBS got married to his longstanding girlfriend in Bunkie, Louisiana. I drove the five hours out in my non-ejection seat car on Friday afternoon, and arrived in time for the rehearsal dinner. The wedding was Saturday, and was followed by a great reception. All the stereotypes about the "friendly and hospitable people of the south" are quite true - rarely have I met such friendly, happy, healthy-looking, and beautiful people as the two families I partied with. And I mean "party." They were eager to chat, unashamed to dance, and very disposed to drink. After the reception, we moved to the bar underneath the hotel we were staying at. This was a good idea until a drunkard attacked my friends sister, which nearly started a full-on, broken-bottle, 15-20 person bar brawl. Fortunately, the cops arrived before any punches were thrown, and the night turned out dramatic rather than painful. But even that was memorable and fun. The hometown crowd joked that we out-of-towners were getting exposed to a "real Louisiana wedding."
I remember well at TBS the great attachment I developed to the specific place of Quantico, Virginia and Washington, DC. For some reason, I tend to associate memories with places. One of the great themes in Catholic Philosophy (at least that I have studied) is that the world we live in nurtures us in faith and understanding. At Notre Dame I discovered what this meant by the rich beauty I found in the campus there, a result of both nature, such as sunsets over the dome, crisp golden autumn days, and new-fallen snow, and human investment, such as the striking and beautiful architecture of the campus and the careful land-scaping. In a way, my memories of events and people are localized in specific places, and I am surprised and lucky that I have found all those places beautiful. In fact, it is often the place itself that strikes me most positively during times of struggle, such as the hard schoolwork of Notre Dame or the tough physical training at TBS.
This all came back to me rather forcefully this weekend because almost every single Louisiana resident I met asked me if this was my first time in their state. They also asked (with more interest) whether I liked it there. I answered, truthfully, yes: there was no honest answer after meeting such lively people this weekend. But there are other attractions, too. I can personally confirm many Louisiana stereotypes: on the road to Bunkie, I counted only three other cars (that takes into account both directions of traffic); after about 30 minutes of driving on the road to Bunkie, I could hardly see out of my windshield for the vast number of bugs that were splattered across it; and I played a rather hectic game of slalom with the random possoms and turtles foolishly crossing the road from one side of the swamp to the other. It was all overwhelmingly "redneck." Yet there is a remarkable beauty as well - only in the field at TBS have I seen so many stars, or seen them so clearly, for example. And the people make a big difference to my perception of the place.
It is easy for me especially to fall into the Pathetic Fallacy when thinking and writing about these places. In my memory they are closely associated with emotions, which I end up associating in turn with the place itself. There is a kind of thick heaviness about the south now, that lingers in the humid air and manifiests in the choking, overgrown boughs. It lends a kind of carefree anonymity, as if each day bore no witness to the last, as if each event were cloaked or hidden or reduced by the solitude and density. By contrast, it seemed to emphasize the human events. I know what Evelyn Waugh meant when he spoke of Oxford: "It was this cloistral hush which gave our laugher its resonance, and carried it still, joyously, over the intervening clamor." It is admittedly a far cry from the clearness and freshness of the northwest - but it can be seductive.
I get the strong sense that the trials and opportunities of my military lifestyle - particularly in seeing different areas of the country - is necessary to my continued growth and maturity. My discoveries about places, with their rich complexity of landscape and people, are central to my experience. Spending time on the military base with my nose buried in a textbook temporarily removed me from this kind of activity. But it was going on all the time, I think - I noticed suddenly the rare glory of Pensacola evenings on the beach; it carried all the impact of a conversion. In that sense my brief weekend break between API and Primary was just the vacation I needed.
I learned early this past week that ejection is rather common in Military aviation, or at least more common than I thought. Apparently 1 in 5 military aviators eject, due no doubt to the relative age of our fighter and attack jets (25-40 years) and the extreme flight regimes we put them through. Because of this, two weeks are spent teaching us the ins-and-outs of parachuting and ejection, covering ejection at high altitude, parachute malfunctions (!), and ejection over land or sea.
First, we completed a parachute simulator event. It consists of a special virtual reality helmet that presents us with the sights of descending in a parachute while we hang in the harness. Via the helmet visuals, we are presented with common parachute malfunctions and are taught how to correct them - for example, if we have twisted paracords, we have to separate our rear risers (the rear straps connected to our harness) with our arms and bicycle kick to straighten everything out. If we do it right, the simulation reflects our success. It can be kind of funny to listen to students handle their particular problem ("Uh, I don't seem to have a parachute at all." "No, actually yours hasn't inflated. How do you correct for that again?"), but it is good training nonetheless.
Later, we got to go "redneck parasailing," which is basically parasailing behind a pickup truck in a field. Ironically, we do it in Alabama. We are attached to our parachute, then towed several hundred feet up into the air, and are released so we can practice landing correctly. Ideally, we land on the balls of our feet, then control our fall in such a way as to spread the force of hte impact on the side of our legs and spine, instead of absorbing it all with our feet and knees. It is basically a funny-looking controlled fall. The parasailing is of course very exilarating, but the landing was daunting - especially since the ground seemed to approach very quickly for all that I was wearing a parachute and all. I ended up hitting my head on the ground, but that was more embarrassing than anything else, and such scrapes were typical. Nobody got really hurt.
This weekend, a good friend of mine from TBS got married to his longstanding girlfriend in Bunkie, Louisiana. I drove the five hours out in my non-ejection seat car on Friday afternoon, and arrived in time for the rehearsal dinner. The wedding was Saturday, and was followed by a great reception. All the stereotypes about the "friendly and hospitable people of the south" are quite true - rarely have I met such friendly, happy, healthy-looking, and beautiful people as the two families I partied with. And I mean "party." They were eager to chat, unashamed to dance, and very disposed to drink. After the reception, we moved to the bar underneath the hotel we were staying at. This was a good idea until a drunkard attacked my friends sister, which nearly started a full-on, broken-bottle, 15-20 person bar brawl. Fortunately, the cops arrived before any punches were thrown, and the night turned out dramatic rather than painful. But even that was memorable and fun. The hometown crowd joked that we out-of-towners were getting exposed to a "real Louisiana wedding."
I remember well at TBS the great attachment I developed to the specific place of Quantico, Virginia and Washington, DC. For some reason, I tend to associate memories with places. One of the great themes in Catholic Philosophy (at least that I have studied) is that the world we live in nurtures us in faith and understanding. At Notre Dame I discovered what this meant by the rich beauty I found in the campus there, a result of both nature, such as sunsets over the dome, crisp golden autumn days, and new-fallen snow, and human investment, such as the striking and beautiful architecture of the campus and the careful land-scaping. In a way, my memories of events and people are localized in specific places, and I am surprised and lucky that I have found all those places beautiful. In fact, it is often the place itself that strikes me most positively during times of struggle, such as the hard schoolwork of Notre Dame or the tough physical training at TBS.
This all came back to me rather forcefully this weekend because almost every single Louisiana resident I met asked me if this was my first time in their state. They also asked (with more interest) whether I liked it there. I answered, truthfully, yes: there was no honest answer after meeting such lively people this weekend. But there are other attractions, too. I can personally confirm many Louisiana stereotypes: on the road to Bunkie, I counted only three other cars (that takes into account both directions of traffic); after about 30 minutes of driving on the road to Bunkie, I could hardly see out of my windshield for the vast number of bugs that were splattered across it; and I played a rather hectic game of slalom with the random possoms and turtles foolishly crossing the road from one side of the swamp to the other. It was all overwhelmingly "redneck." Yet there is a remarkable beauty as well - only in the field at TBS have I seen so many stars, or seen them so clearly, for example. And the people make a big difference to my perception of the place.
It is easy for me especially to fall into the Pathetic Fallacy when thinking and writing about these places. In my memory they are closely associated with emotions, which I end up associating in turn with the place itself. There is a kind of thick heaviness about the south now, that lingers in the humid air and manifiests in the choking, overgrown boughs. It lends a kind of carefree anonymity, as if each day bore no witness to the last, as if each event were cloaked or hidden or reduced by the solitude and density. By contrast, it seemed to emphasize the human events. I know what Evelyn Waugh meant when he spoke of Oxford: "It was this cloistral hush which gave our laugher its resonance, and carried it still, joyously, over the intervening clamor." It is admittedly a far cry from the clearness and freshness of the northwest - but it can be seductive.
I get the strong sense that the trials and opportunities of my military lifestyle - particularly in seeing different areas of the country - is necessary to my continued growth and maturity. My discoveries about places, with their rich complexity of landscape and people, are central to my experience. Spending time on the military base with my nose buried in a textbook temporarily removed me from this kind of activity. But it was going on all the time, I think - I noticed suddenly the rare glory of Pensacola evenings on the beach; it carried all the impact of a conversion. In that sense my brief weekend break between API and Primary was just the vacation I needed.
Wednesday, February 23, 2005
The Imperfect Paradise
So I am in Pensacola. I've actually been here a couple of months, since I arrived here on December 18th of last year. I was confident, hopeful, and ready to begin Flight School...just as soon as I got back from Christmas leave. I was sad to leave Washington, DC, for I had found good friends there and fallen in love with the city itself. Yet the white beaches, the warm weather, and the prospect of flying made Pensacola seem like a paradise in comparison. And to top it off, I was to be living with my college room-mate. My future promised good things.
I wasn't disappointed. With a few exceptions (like today), the weather has been sunny and warm, and about once every two weeks it gets to beach-going weather for several days (consider it's the middle of winter). I drive around mostly with all my windows down, I grill my dinner on a barbecue most nights, I have a balcony that faces the sunset for evening drinks, if I like.
Yet Pensacola is in an area of Florida called "Southern Alabama." Indeed, it is directly below Alabama. And it feels very much like the deep south. The majority of buildings sprawled outside the small (pretty) urban center are ramshackle and ugly. The roads are in poor condition, and consist mostly of two-lane highways that wander aimlessly. Traffic lights are incomprehensible and long, and freeways are hidden away in inconvenient locations. Besides, they don't seem to head anywhere important. Consequently, it takes about three minutes to travel one mile of distance to your destination. I live about ten miles from downtown Pensacola, which is to say at least 30 minutes away.
I was also surprised to discover that I could not begin Flight School for medical reasons. A condition I was diagnosed with as a child popped up on my initial screening which needed to be waived before I could be medically cleared. I had received a waiver before, when I joined the military in the first place, but flight surgeons have their own rules. So I was put on indefinite hold pending the result of my waiver application. Life in this situation wasn't bad, since I had no work to do. On most days, my only requirement was to call into my Command in the morning and tell them (literally) that I was alive, whereupon I was free until the next morning. Every Monday I had to physically muster at 0800, and once I stood Duty. But the bottom line is that I didn't know whether or not I could stay here in Flight School. And I did very much want to stay.
Since I was unsure of my position, I wanted to wait before I settled in. I tried reading books during the day, distracted myself with video games, developed a daily exercise regime, and even took up ballroom dancing. This last one is perhaps the most entertaining, though I am still a beginner. But yesterday I received my waiver and today I was medically cleared for Flight, so I can bid farewell to idleness and join the working world again. I do not begin classes until next Friday, so I have a little over a week to finish buying my furniture and study materials, get in shape for the PT tests, and finish the books I have started. By all accounts flight school is quite rigorous.
So there is my story! I will try to be somewhat regular, but I doubt training here will be as interesting as TBS. Though springtime is on the way, and as the weather promises to get much hotter I shall be recreating more and more at the beach, located about 10 minutes away. So wish me luck!
I wasn't disappointed. With a few exceptions (like today), the weather has been sunny and warm, and about once every two weeks it gets to beach-going weather for several days (consider it's the middle of winter). I drive around mostly with all my windows down, I grill my dinner on a barbecue most nights, I have a balcony that faces the sunset for evening drinks, if I like.
Yet Pensacola is in an area of Florida called "Southern Alabama." Indeed, it is directly below Alabama. And it feels very much like the deep south. The majority of buildings sprawled outside the small (pretty) urban center are ramshackle and ugly. The roads are in poor condition, and consist mostly of two-lane highways that wander aimlessly. Traffic lights are incomprehensible and long, and freeways are hidden away in inconvenient locations. Besides, they don't seem to head anywhere important. Consequently, it takes about three minutes to travel one mile of distance to your destination. I live about ten miles from downtown Pensacola, which is to say at least 30 minutes away.
I was also surprised to discover that I could not begin Flight School for medical reasons. A condition I was diagnosed with as a child popped up on my initial screening which needed to be waived before I could be medically cleared. I had received a waiver before, when I joined the military in the first place, but flight surgeons have their own rules. So I was put on indefinite hold pending the result of my waiver application. Life in this situation wasn't bad, since I had no work to do. On most days, my only requirement was to call into my Command in the morning and tell them (literally) that I was alive, whereupon I was free until the next morning. Every Monday I had to physically muster at 0800, and once I stood Duty. But the bottom line is that I didn't know whether or not I could stay here in Flight School. And I did very much want to stay.
Since I was unsure of my position, I wanted to wait before I settled in. I tried reading books during the day, distracted myself with video games, developed a daily exercise regime, and even took up ballroom dancing. This last one is perhaps the most entertaining, though I am still a beginner. But yesterday I received my waiver and today I was medically cleared for Flight, so I can bid farewell to idleness and join the working world again. I do not begin classes until next Friday, so I have a little over a week to finish buying my furniture and study materials, get in shape for the PT tests, and finish the books I have started. By all accounts flight school is quite rigorous.
So there is my story! I will try to be somewhat regular, but I doubt training here will be as interesting as TBS. Though springtime is on the way, and as the weather promises to get much hotter I shall be recreating more and more at the beach, located about 10 minutes away. So wish me luck!
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