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Kids and Planes, Be One.

Phoenix taking the shot.

The shot Phoenix got.

     I love going to the airport. It's my happy place. The sights and sounds and smells make me at peace no matter how bad my day was before. The same holds true for my son. He's six. We've been heading to airports and basking in the glow of landing lights since before he could walk. For my boy, this is heaven. My little man has his eyes glued permanently to the sky. In our backyard, an hour's drive from Toronto's Pearson Airport, he'll yell at me to come look at the Dreamliner gliding overhead coming in from Vancouver. He'll often grab his Canon SX510 and take some shots. They're not always in focus or the best composition, but they offer a perspective uniquely his. As adults we can often become over-concerned with proper exposure, depth of field and lighting, kids don't care. They just shoot what they like. And that's cool. I don't know where my son's future lies, in the cockpit or designing a new engine or building houses or writing books, that's up to him. But right now, his head is in the clouds like his old man, and his eye is to his camera. 

Great-Grandma feeling like a kid again. 

    I love taking kids to the airport, six years old or ninety. Because when we stand under the glide-path and the heavies start rolling in, we're all kids again. There's no difference between a youngster and a grownup when there's hundreds of tons of A380 or 777 sailing just over your head, screaming like a banshee. So if you're feeling down, bored or know someone who is, just head to the airport. Grab a coffee or a juice-box and be a kid again. You won't disappointed. Take a camera or just a lawn-chair. Take someone you love back in time to when flight was magic or show someone new that it really still is. We can't always be in the air, and we can't all be pilots. But we sure as heck can still be kids around planes and feel the magic once again. 

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Why We Failed the 747

      On Wednesday January 3rd, 2018, the final Delta Airlines 747 made one final low pass over Pinal Airpark in Arizona. Her Pratt and Whitney engines spooling up as she cheated gravity in a swan-song of mechanical fury that the surrounding desert swallowed up indifferently. Circling back to her fate, the last Delta Queen reluctantly shed her last vestiges of flight and joined the earth that birthed her forever. Becoming spare parts, soda cans and key chains await her and her sisters. An ignominious death unfitting of royalty. The last of her kind. The last of the American Queens.

     True, there are still many Boeing 747’s left in the air. Many ply the skies as freighters, and many  in passenger service. British Airways, KLM, Lufthansa and Korean Air come to mind. Yet the tide has turned. The 747 is dying a slow death. Very few of the newest 747-8I passenger Jumbos are in regular service. It’s not looking good for the iconic aircraft.

     And it’s our fault.

     This could easily have been another essay where someone waxes poetic about the heydays of Boeing’s big bird, where we lament the damage done by generic two-engine airliners and speak of efficiency and gallons of fuel per passenger mile on convoluted spreadsheets. We can twist math and blame the bean-counters all we like but it doesn’t focus on the problem.

     Passion. Wonder. Feeling. Glamour. Adventure.

     When was the last time you used any of those words when confronted with the flight choice screen when booking your latest faraway voyage? Did you even ask which plane you’d go on? Did you even notice it when you walked down the jetway? Could you even recall what it was when someone asked you? Or was is irrelevant to you? Could you care less? Was saving $11 per passenger or a shorter layover your prime concern? Was it in-flight wi-fi or a bigger TV screen? Were you more concerned with taking your shoes off at security than taking a picture of that gleaming piece of metal art standing ready at your departure gate? Think about it.

     What I described is the reality of aviation now. The average ticket buyer doesn’t know or care what aircraft they’re going on. They’re unwilling participants in aviation because the magic is gone for them. Jaded, cost conscious, security-weary and often fearful. Who could care less if that bird has RB-211’s or CF-6’s powering it? I want business class legroom and service at economy prices. I don’t care that inflation means that flying is cheaper than ever before. I don’t care.

     As a society we often get what we deserve. We want it all right now and we want it for free. We’re rejecting the 747. Flying is no longer magic. It’s annoying. It’s that thing I have to do to get there. Nothing more. People close their window shades before the plane even pushes back. I’ve seen that before, where’s my drink?

     Airlines are not run by aviation lovers. They can’t be. They’re businesses responding to market pressure and customer desires. The votes are cast with each ticket sold, with each choice to favor one flight over another, one aircraft over another. Empty aircraft lose money and become unprofitable. A full brand new Boeing 747-8I gets 83 mpg(US) per passenger with 467 seats, exactly 1 mpg less than an A350 with 315 passengers, 7 mpg better than 787-9 Dreamliner with 291 souls on board. The 747-8I is cutting edge for fuel efficiency, safety and passenger comfort. No one cares.

     So next time you stand at your gate and look out at a sea of two-engine generic airliners and wonder where all the passion, wonder, feeling, glamour and  adventure went you’ll know. We traded it for 11 bucks, a shorter layover or because we couldn’t even be bothered to find out what we were flying on.

     Rest in Peace 747, we are no longer worthy of you.  

                                                                                      -John James Pindera-

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Alpha and Omega in one day.

Watching her roll up to gate 24 at Narita filled me with a wrenching turmoil of feelings that is hard to explain. The usual ones were there, the awe at her size, the admiration of her presence and the giddy anticipation of being in the air again soon. But there were others too, sadness and despair, that concrete knowledge of the futility of time as it marches ever forward.

Time, like water, flows either with us or against us, it cares not what we wish or do, what we'd like. I find it the height of irony that in the moment I have finally been able to secure a seat in the upper deck of the Queen of the Sky flying with a US airline, is simultaneously the last time I will ever do so.

Finality.

I say it's apropos that it's raining as we depart, goodbyes are always better with curtains of water hitting your face, that way no one can see any tears.

So how does one enjoy a swan song and a virgin moment all at once? How do you say goodbye when you're not ready to? I honestly don't know. But I'm going to try.

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Long Live The Queen.

I sometimes feel very alone when I talk about aviation. Passion is sometimes scarcely different from obsession. Perhaps it's a bit of both. So here's a little story: A few weeks before I wrote this, I found out that I would have to travel to Japan for business. We usually use Delta Airlines at work and I knew that Delta's 747's were being retired soon. Very soon. As most people are more concerned with minimizing connections than picking particular aircraft to fly on, I knew that if I didn't speak up, fate would put me on an A330 just to save four little hours missing a layover. So I sent an imploring email to our travel agency. I begged to have flight DL275 with a connection in Tokyo verses the quicker direct flight to Nagoya. I was graciously granted my request and I was able to secure a flight on the Queen of the skies, the 747. It would be my first time ever on a 747. After the flights were booked, I was terrified that something would get fouled up and I'd miss my chance forever. I truthfully had difficulty sleeping for weeks. Since the time I was child I always equated the look and silhouette of the 747 as the standard by which all big jets are to be measured. Nothing has ever matched the size and power and presence of Joe Sutter's masterpiece in such a perfect way. There are bigger planes but they still don't measure up. The Queen is regal. It has style and it has history. It changed the world and how we travel. This plane simply went and shrunk the planet. As the day of the flight approached I reached out to the Michigan Planespotting group on Facebook. I asked if someone could please take a picture of the takeoff. I was hoping I could get picture of that mighty jet with myself somewhere inside it, and get it I did. Tom LaPrise, whom I've never met, went out of his way to capture that powerful moment. He did a wonderful job. About an hour after takeoff, while in the air, I saw that Tom posted the pictures to the Facebook post I had made. I was thrilled. Being that I'm insufferably enthusiastic about all things aviation, I showed Mary Mitchell, a member of the flight crew, the picture that Tom had taken when she came by for meal service. I expected a perhaps perfunctory look at the picture since most people would say it's just a plane. Mary however was quite interested in the shot and said she'd like a copy. Hmmmmm, maybe I'm not alone in this?

(Photo Credit to Tom LaPrise)

Time passed and I fell asleep for a while, only to be awakened by my own snoring (apologies to my fellow passengers). A few minutes later Mary comes by and starts talking to me again about the pictures. It turned out that word had spread throughout the aircraft and more crew members wanted to see them. Mary and I ended up in the galley to chat a little more since we starting to get a bit loud. I guess that kind of thing happens when you talk about something you love. H.T. (Her nickname meaning was interesting and shall remain undisclosed) came by next, she was one of the flight attendants on board who it had turned out, was on her final flight aboard a 747. She wanted to see the pictures too and became quite emotional at seeing them. I also got a hug from her, 747's will do that to people. Then George showed up and then Lois (who bares quite a resemblance to Lynda Carter of Wonder Women fame) showed up too. Then Captain Ross Warner rounded out the bunch. All of us together in a galley on a 28 year old 747-400 looking at pictures of this Grand Lady powering away from the ground, and telling stories about her. These people had a connection to her in a way I did not expect. Like I mentioned earlier, I often feel alone when I speak about aviation, but this time I didn't. This time I was among friends who understood. This time I was in familiar company.

So guess what? This isn't a plane. It's family. These people have been with her during the Northwest days, saw her dressed in new colours as a Delta bird and now have the bittersweet duty of conducting her on these final few flights. The sadness is palpable as is the pride in the Queen. This is far more than just a plane. It's careers and memories and discoveries. It's carried loved ones home from long sojourns across our lonely planet. It's been a safe place to be when Mother Nature got angry. It's been a quiet place to reflect on experiences just past, or a place to anticipate new ones. It's been a work place, a birth place and home away from home. It's been a dear friend. It's a strange and wonderful thing how people can attach themselves to inanimate objects, to the creations of hands and give them a life of their own. I feel that life in this aircraft, this Queen. It has infected the crew that tends to her and it has afflicted me too in only one flight. Some things are more than the sum of their parts. This is one of them.

So a big thank you goes out to that Delta crew who let me into their world for a brief instant. To see what that old girl means to you. To the pilots who invited me to the cockpit after the flight to imagine what it must be like to fly the greatest aircraft to have ever taken to the air. You made me feel like a little boy again. I used to think it was wings and engines and fuel and math and money that kept a plane like the 747 in the air. I was wrong. It's none of those things. It's love.

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Just a quick thanks to aviation.

Right now, as I write this, I'm a Canadian guy, born to Polish parents, eating Italian food, in a small town in Japan. How? An airplane. Think about it. 100 years ago, this was impossible.

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Judge a cover by its book. A trip with Newleaf.

The Saturday morning had arrived for our trip to Vancouver, it was humid when we arrived at Hamilton airport and the terminal was sticky. My kids fought over which food they could bring on board the aircraft since no meal service was offered on the flight we were booked on. We were trying out Newleaf for the first time and I had my reservations. Friends told me to pass, to go with one of the other two majors, but saving well over a thousand dollars flying my family of 4 was hard to pass up. Fortune favors the bold they say, well does it? As boarding time drew closer I walked up to the gate to see the bird that would carry us, I gazed on a unassuming 737-400. I checked the Reg and found she was in her 27th year, memories of her birth a long time passed. No winglets, no in-flight entertainment, no wifi. Just a seat and a destination. This would be a flight to endure, not enjoy. The 737-800 owned by Westjet the next gate over looked pretty opulent in comparison. Oh well, let’s get this over with.

Upon boarding we were greeted by one of the most cheerful flight attendants I’ve ever encountered. Chantel (hope I spelled that right) directed us to our seat and even helped us out since we had booked our kids in the exit row and we had to shuffle them to a more appropriate spot. There’s a difference between forced pleasantry and the genuine article, this was real. As the trip progressed we noticed a common theme, a flight crew that actually cared about their jobs, the people they were serving and each other too. I noted the camaraderie between them, it was infectious and engaging. 

At our stopover in Winnipeg to take on passengers, depart a few others and to top off the tanks with Jet-A, we decided to stay on board for the 40 minutes. We cracked open our airport sandwiches (surprisingly good) and fueled up ourselves. My kids, Penelope and Phoenix asked me if they could take a peek in the cockpit, so asking one of the Pilots (Jason?) our kids were rewarded with an awesome tour of the flightdeck. The Captain and First Officer answered the myriad of questions thrown at them and never rushed my kids. These two gentlemen were proud of their profession and plane, and made my daughter and son’s day. Phoenix even got to share his knowledge of aircraft by correctly declaring that this aircraft had CFM-56 engines to the pilots, I think they were impressed, not many 6 year olds can do that. After my kids left the cockpit, more kids came and received the same kind of treatment. Impressive.

So we survived our trip with with Newleaf, Canada’s newest Ultra Low Cost Carrier. We survived no in-flight movies, no wifi, no winglets and paying for a coffee. We survived and had a wonderful time doing it. That 27 year old Boeing flew like a champ, the pilots greased the landings with a surgeon’s hand, we avoided Pearson’s madness and my wallet is $1500 heavier because of it all. So a thank you to Flair Air and Newleaf and its employees, Chantel and Anne and the two other flight attendants whose name I didn’t get, thanks to the gentleman in the cockpit and a shout out to Bryan from Newleaf’s call centre for fixing an issue we had with a reservation the night before we flew out. Keep this up and I see good things in your future. Good job.

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The fine print. Read it.

So you wanted to go to Paris. Maybe Cape Town. Perhaps Machu Picchu. You desired to walk the markets of Islamabad, or to get a selfie on Mount Fuji. You became singularly fixed on getting to New York City, or touching the soil of the land your ancestors used to call home. 

It continued with that view above. That pale azure fading to the cobalt blue of the stratosphere. But your journey didn’t start there, not like that picture, not on your way. Oh no, it started in a far more pedestrian of ways. 

On a computer.

It may have been yours, it may have belonged to your travel agent, but that’s where it started. And when the time came to make up your mind about which flight, which route, which airline, which plane, which seat, which class your voyage would be, you agreed to the conditions of carriage before you made your decision to pay. You had to, or you couldn’t buy your ticket.

But alas, agreeing is often done without understanding and because of this many have run into problems. Problems that, yes I’ll say it, they caused themselves.

So here it is, READ THE FINE PRINT BEFORE YOU PAY. I’m sick of people blaming airlines for overbooking. I get it, getting bumped sucks. It’s stressful and enraging but that’s the game. Unless you own an airline you don’t get a vote, well that’s not true, you do, buy the ticket or don’t. That’s your vote. 

I don’t know about you, but I don’t like spending money. I like the things spending money gets me, but if I don’t have to part with my cash, I won’t. I don’t buy garbage on purpose, if at all possible I try to spend my money in the smartest way I can. Probably so do you. So if you do, then why oh why would you spend hundreds or thousands of dollars, euros, yen, whatever, and NOT KNOW YOU RIGHTS AND JUST AS IMPORTANTLY, YOUR OBLIGATIONS? Laziness? Willful ignorance? No, it’s choice. 

So if you’re crying because that new discount airline charged you 20 bucks for a boarding pass you could have printed at home for 10 cents, or you got denied boarding as you arrived at the gate 5 minutes before departure time because reading the directions isn’t important, then shut up. Shut. Up. Don’t go on social media to complain because you sound like a dolt. Grown-ups know there’s consequences to actions. Ignorance is NOT bliss and you made your bed. Don’t like it? Buy your own 737. Boeing sells tons. 

The rest of us read the directions. We got here early. We checked in online 24 hours before the flight. We looked up what we can bring on board. We spoke to the crew like civilized human beings, not bratty children. If we do all these things right, and we still get bumped (which is unlikely), we’re not surprised because we knew ahead of time this was a possibility. We knew that this was part of modern air travel, we walk off the plane with dignity. There’s another plane leaving soon. You won’t die. You’ll just be late.

Flying is quite possibly the best thing humans have ever learned to do. Don’t mess it up for the rest of us because you don’t like reading. Don’t complain because the simple act of informing yourself of what you were buying eluded you. 

There’s lots of other ways to get around if this hard for you, so remember, busses have lots of empty seats but the view just doesn’t compare.

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Do the things you love with the ones you love. (at Toronto Pearson International Airport)

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Rush hour. (at Toronto Pearson International Airport)

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Winter dirt. (at Toronto Pearson International Airport)

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With one hand on the wheel. (at Toronto Pearson International Airport)

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Better than a teddy bear.

When I was a kid, I was scared of thunderstorms. Really scared. Petrified. I used to follow my mum around the house at less than a step away whenever a violent (or mild) Southern Ontario thunderstorm would pass over our little house. I recall telling myself that I’d never move out when I became a grown-up because I may get caught alone during a storm and positively die. The fear was all-encompassing.

As I grew I developed coping mechanisms to wean myself of the fear. I begged for books on the subject of storms. I learned all I could about what thunder and lightning was, how it formed, and why storms were important and crucial to life on earth. Knowledge conquers fear, it always has. But it takes time.

Back when I was a kid in the early eighties, DC-8’s and 9’s were still numerous in the skies above. Low bypass turbofans were hung under the wings of planes everywhere and a vanilla Boeing 737 could sound like an F-16 if it had JT8D’s making her move. There often times wasn’t a lick of difference between the sound of an approaching thunderstorm and a plane climbing out of Pearson heading two-seven-zero en route to Vancouver. 8 year old me was counting on that. You see, sometime we all lie to ourselves. I’m not saying it’s the right thing or the smart thing, just that we’re all guilty of it. That’s what I did. Laying in my bed on a hot summer night with the window open I’d wait in fear of the next thunderstorm. I’d pray to fall asleep before it arrived so I wouldn’t have to experience it. If I knew one was coming it was over, so I’d keep my eyes clamped shut so I would’t see distant lightning flashing across my ceiling and tell myself that the thunder I heard was nothing more than a jet plane passing overhead. And if I tried hard enough, if held my eyes closed good enough, I’d believe my lie about all the jets flying over and fall asleep before the storm arrived. It’s funny, I never really considered how much my little heart was tied up to those planes in that way until now. Some kids hugged a stuffed toy (I did too), but sometimes it takes a Pratt & Whitney turbofan to get to sleep. So I get very defensive of old iron for this reason. Noise regulations have changed the mighty sounds of jets into the whispers of neutered vacuum cleaners. Yes the new generation of high bypass turbofans are remarkable in the their power and efficency, but just don’t sound as good.

This past February a day after returning from a trip from Prague, I took my 5 year old son Phoenix to say goodbye to an old friend. A 33 year old Boeing 737-200. It has those Pratt & Whitneys on it that lulled me to sleep all those years ago. It was leaving. My local airport had received so many complaints about this plane that the company that flew it decided to leave for good. I watched that bird make her smokey and thunderous climb many times in the early morning light after a night shift and smiled every time. It was like losing a friend. It’s been 9 months since I last saw her. My son still asks where it went.

In this day of noise sensitive people who inexplicably decide to live right off the end of runway 08, the reality is that these old birds are dying. Someday soon, it’ll just be those hushed vacuum cleaner sounds coming from jets passing overhead and old guys will wax poetic about how a “real plane” should sound like. That’s progress I guess. Until that day happens I’ll savour every last one of these smokey old birds that made their own thunder, and put me to sleep all those years ago because of it.                                     -James Pindera-

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The Turboprop.

“Warning, this aircraft is propeller driven.”  Have you seen this while booking a flight? Has it scared you away? Don’t let it. Now if you’re skittish or prone to motion sickness the ride will be a little more, well, spirited, but that’s not a bad thing. Here’s a few reasons why.

1. Turboprops fly lower to the ground than jets. So if you’ve got a window seat and it’s a clear day, you’ll see LOTS more. A recent flight I was on cruised at 12,000 feet. It was a very noisy and old (25 years) Dash-8 300 series. It was awesome. Visceral. Being able to see the Quebec countryside and the Saint Lawrence River from only three and a half kilometres up instead of ten was a nice change. Individual cars could be spied on with ease as their drivers went about their business. Wispy cumulus clouds were our playground for 40 minutes. This was flying at a more personal level.

2. Turboprops are smaller than the average jet. This makes them more nimble or more twitchy depending on your views. (Guess which one I think it is?) I cut my aviation teeth on small cessnas and I honestly feel like most airplanes isolate the passengers too much from the sensations of motion and flight. The smaller the plane, better the (or worse) the fun. So while you may be used to the Cadillac ride of Triple 7, just remember that the back of a pickup truck on a dirt road can be a lot more fun. Unlike the pickup truck though, this ride is neither dangerous nor dusty. Just a bit more fun. The best part is the take off and turns. They actually feel a bit more like flying.

3. They don’t need long runways or huge airports. There’s a good chance you’ll get onboard by walking on the tarmac right up to the plane. If you squint you can imagine you’re Clark Gable or Carole Lombard getting on a DC-3 headed off into the sunset, the music in the air on a rainy night. It’s like the 1930′s again. You’ll see your pilots through the windows and probably get to say hello to them before you depart. It’s just a bit more personal. Jetways aren’t that great anyway.

So next time you’re confronted with a flight on a plane with propellers, just say yes. It’s flying with a bit more personality. You’ll be glad you did, or you’ll puke.

                                                                                                James Pindera  

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The Window Seat.

     The window seat. The holy grail of the planespotter. No other place compares except for the cockpit. The view. The take-off. The landing. The flaps and ailerons and spoilers. The wing flexing. The view of the airport during boarding and pushback and landing and arrival. The engines. The thrust reversers, the glorious sight of the ground falling away as the engines sing their song! Oh for mercy help me!

       On my last flight I reluctantly gave up my window seat to my wife. She gets airsick and it was the last leg of our travels. The last plane was a wonderful (and one year old) Q-400, but turbo-props aren’t for everyone and it took its toll. I offered the window to my lovely wife to help with her nausea. It was hell. Not for her (it was too) but for me. It literally made me want to cry not looking out. It was a one hour flight from Montreal to Hamilton at dusk and it nearly killed me. My GPS would’t work that far from the window and no matter how hard I tried I could’t see enough. Melanie looked out occasionally and managed not to vomit, so that was a success, but at what cost? Of course it’s just a seat and the time passed quickly and everyone lived to tell the story.

      The thing is that the window seat means more to some of us than you may possibly imagine. To many it’s the place to sit to avoid distraction from passengers that like to leave again and again. It’s better that the dreaded middle seat without any doubt, and it’s often a second choice to the aisle seat where getting up easily is king.

       Sometimes despite our best attempts, our booking with care and our overtures to fellow travellers, we at times end up with a non-window seat.

   So if you’re one of those people who end up with the window seat, please for the love of all things sacred, don’t:

1. Close the window shade at ANY time during take-off or climb-out.

2. Close the window shade during decent and landing.

3. Close the window shade while at the gate.

4. Close the window shade during push-back.

5. Close the window shade for any reason whatsoever.

   Just don’t close the window shade. If you don’t like the light, don’t sit there. Seriously, seeing someone close their shade during takeoff almost makes me lose it. I mean REALLY? YOU DON’T WANT TO SEE THIS???!!!??? FOR HEAVEN SAKE! WE CRAWLED OUT OF THE DARK AGES TO TAKE TO SKIES AND YOUR STINKING SHADE IS CLOSED??? WHY? WHHHYYYYYYYYY?

    I have to go now, I think I need my meds.

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Stop Whining and Enjoy the Ride.

This is going to be a rant. Full stop. I’m sick to death of seeing and hearing the whining about flying on social media every time an airline makes a post about anything. I GET IT. 

So this is for the whiners: 

You’re upset that the seats were too small, or the food wasn’t good enough. You clearly stated CHICKEN! You were appalled by your flight being delayed by a maintenance issue. You were inconvenienced by weather causing your flight to be cancelled, you’re important and you’ve got places to be! How dare they! You endured a long security line and had to throw out your shampoo bottle because it was too large and you can’t read simple instructions. The outrage! They’re after you, aren’t they? Some lady had the gall to bring a baby on YOUR FLIGHT and it cried half the time. Your trip to Cancun was ruined.The sun didn’t come out once. Remember that time when those morons in the cockpit diverted to another airport because of fog? FOG? What were they thinking? You had a connection to make! Don’t forget about that old plane that didn’t have a TV for your 2 hour flight, you had to read a magazine like some kind of neanderthal. The indignity of it all. Flying is the WORST!

After all, you’re only hurtling through the air at 600 miles per hour in a precision built aluminum tube powered by engines that Kings would have traded kingdoms for 100 years ago to learn their secrets. You’re only looking down from 7 miles up at a view our ancestors would have considered nothing less than god-like. You’re only traveling distances in hours that would have taken humans 5000 years ago generations to cross. 

You know what’s the real miracle here? It’s not flying. Bernoulli's principle takes care of that. The real miracle is that people have found a way to turn what is undoubtedly one of the greatest human achievements ever and find a way to get angry about it. To sit like a Greek god in a sky chariot and find a way to hate everything about it. Shut it. 

So next time you’re getting that urge to complain about that flight delay, or to whine about how your food wasn’t salty enough, just picture Charles Lindbergh, Wilbur and Orville Wright and Amelia Earhart standing in front of you. They hate your guts right now for being such a wimp, and you deserve it.  

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Why burning planes make me feel better than ever about flying.

It’s easy to get scared. It always has been. When the news lights up with stories and pictures of planes engulfed in flames, our imaginations run wild with the panic that a situation like that might cause in ourselves. Think about it, a few days before I wrote this, 2 separate jets in two different places suffered severe fire damage, American Airlines Flight 383 with an uncontained engine failure and Fedex Flight 910, with a landing gear collapse leading to a horrific chain of events that resulted in the aircraft being burned to the point of being written off. A few months earlier on August 3, 2016 Emirates Flight 521 crashed on landing after an unsuccessful aborted landing and burned itself into a wreck of conflagrated metal of frightening proportions. Three separate incidents. Three different aircraft from two different manufactures. Three different airlines and airports. 

Three successes. Yes, Successes. Despite the tragic and heroic loss of firefighter Jasim Issa Mohammed Hasan who died during an explosion of the Emirates aircraft while fighting the resulting fire, the outcomes of these three aviation nightmares is remarkable. Yet not unexpected. The fact that 3 large fuel-laden aircraft burned after accidents while all 472 passengers and crew went home to their families is a testament to the outstanding professionalism, safety standards and quality built in to modern aircraft.

Wait! Did I say “modern”? Yes I did. The Emirates 777 was 13 years old, the American Airlines 767 was also 13. The FedEx MD-10F was 44 years old. 44 years old. Why is this significant? Because it shows that despite these aircraft being older than many of the cars we drive, certainly older than the computers we probably use, and definitely older than your cell phone, we can depend on these machines and the people who fly them to get us home safely. The concert of players behind the scenes, from highly trained flight attendants who are the first line of defence to passengers when disaster strikes, to the fire fighting personnel who respond in seconds when needed the most give us confidence that if the highly unlikely ever does happen, chances are that you will go home that night. 

Many travellers look at flight attendants as nothing more than sky waiters, at pilots as glorified bus drivers, at aviation mechanics as grease monkeys. Yet these people and more practically guarantee a safe flight to you within the powers of human capability. Did you ever thank the crew that cuts the grass beside the runway? Or picks up garbage? Checks the taxiways and runways for little bits of tires and trash blown in on the wind? You should, they protect the engines from ingesting anything that could threaten your safety. 

What about the never sleeping eyes in the tower? The fire fighters dressed and ready to go 24 hours a day? The security officers at the ready? The maintenance crews keeping the runway lights, the radars and equipment ready at all times? Every one of these people and more make flying the safest way to travel the world has ever seen.

Yes, accidents still happen despite our best efforts to prevent them. Yet you can rest assured that a dedicated group of professionals stands ready to intervene at a moments notice to keep disaster at bay, with their lives on the line if called upon just like Mr. Hasan did in August.

Fear is often a choice if it comes down to it. So look at the facts and the track record of modern aviation and make your choice. You know where to find me, it’s window seat or bust.                                    -James Pindera-      

[finspottr]

The Search for a piece of history.

I love old machines. Old machines with history. Inanimate objects that somehow still breathe with stories and people and lives they touched. Not everyone is sentimental, I get that. Yet some of us attach ourselves to things in ways that can be a strong as family. Your first old car, your grandfather’s pocket knife, a note left from a loved one or a plane you’ve never even touched. 

I was only 5 years old when Captain Bob Pearson made his now famous unpowered decent into the long unused (for aircraft anyway) airport in Gimli Manitoba, Canada. With incredible skill Captain Pearson and First Officer Maurice Quintal saved 69 souls aboard including their own when Air Canada’s new Boeing 767-200 ran out of fuel at 41,000 feet. (Read more here: https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Gimli_Glider)

Over 33 years have passed since that fateful day. After a long career, that old 767-200 Registration C-GAUN now rests in the Mojave Desert, her bones being picked apart for scrap. Keychains have been made out of her skin for sale to collectors (http://planetags.com/). I considered buying one and may still, but somehow it isn’t enough for me. 

So tonight after doing a little digging and emailing, and way to much procrastination I finally sent an email to a keeper of the boneyard in the Mojave. I’m asked about buying a piece of her to keep. Perhaps to sculpt in a personal way in a tribute to piloting skill and aviation history that I feel is better presented than by a key-chain. I guess it’s important for me to get one of her bones that hasn’t been cleaned as it were, not processed and sanitized and stripped of its spirit. I feel connected to this machine and I cannot bear the thought of it becoming beer cans and aluminum siding in its next life. I wish she had stayed in Canada, sent to a museum or displayed proudly to be visited, but that ship has sailed. 

I just hope I’m not too late and that somehow one of the Gimli Glider’s bones can come home and stay with my family forever. Stories come alive when people can connect with the past in a tactile way. Touch is a powerful thing. I sure hope this works out. I’ll let you know...