Flight to Kirksville - Conclusion
“East Texas Ground, November Niner Eight Four Eight Uniform, at KRS, taxi for takeoff VFR southbound, with information Bravo,” I radioed.
“November Niner Eight Four Eight Uniform, taxi via taxiways November and Mike to runway 17, full length,” Ground Control radioed back. “Say your requested altitude.”
“Four eight uniform, thirty-five hundred feet. Taxi to runway 17 via November and Mike”.
Easing the throttle forward, I moved the Cheetah out of her spot, heading for taxiway November which was almost in front of us. We crossed runway 17/35 and then turned left on taxiway Mike which ran the full length of 17/35. As we rolled down the length of the taxiway, Ground radioed:
“November Niner Eight Four Eight Uniform, squawk 2331. Contact Departure on 133.1 after takeoff.”
“Squawk 2331” I said while hurriedly dialing in the transponder code and taxiing, “One thirty-three one for departure.” I scribbled down the departure frequency quickly on my kneepad, irked that Ground did what controllers often do, i.e., feed you that kind of info while you’re doing a critical task (like taxiing) that they must somehow interpret as “having nothing to do”. At the time, I didn’t plug the numbers into my radio because it only can track two frequencies at a time (other than those programmed in). That meant I had to write it down or run the risk of forgetting it since I also didn’t have Connie trained well enough to help me with that yet.
As we approached runway 13/31, I had confused myself since I really hadn’t grasped what the controller was telling me by “full length”. So, I called him back and asked him if I was cleared to taxi to the end of 17 and he replied I was and repeated the “full length” statement. That time, I got it.
Sometimes, I struggle a bit at controlled fields figuring out where to do my run-up and complete the takeoff checklist. Especially in a single-piloted operation, I feel like performing them on the fly as I taxi out is just not a smart thing to do. Most of the time, I find some spot close to the runway “hold short” lines to do it all; but the more I fly at controlled fields, the more I am trying to get it all complete before I call for taxi. I’d rather not block a large jet for takeoff while I’m doing all that, nor do I like taking my eyes off them for even a second while they’re close by. While such a scenario wasn’t a problem at Longview, I still had performed the run-up and completed the takeoff checklist before taxi while sitting on the ramp at KRS.
We hit the end of the taxiway and stopped at the hold short.
“East Texas Tower, November Niner Eight Four Eight Uniform, ready for takeoff VFR on runway 17,” I radioed.
“Niner Eight Four Eight Uniform, cleared for takeoff runway 17. Maintain runway heading after takeoff. “
The Cheetah danced up onto the runway as I pushed the throttle up and kicked left rudder and touched the left brake to spin us left onto the runway. As the nose arched around, I smoothly pushed the throttle in full so I had full power by the time the nose swung to centerline. A touch of right brake to keep us straight and then the rudder was effective, and I was dancing on the rudders to keep us pointing straight down the runway. At 60 mph, I pulled back on the yoke, rotating the nose to takeoff attitude, and a second later, the airplane lifted off the ground.
“Niner Eight Four Eight Uniform, contact departure,” the tower radioed.
“Wilco. Switchin’.”
I hit a button on the radio and the departure frequency popped into play.
“Departure, Niner Eight Four Eight Uniform’s airborne,” I said.
“Roger, Four Eight Uniform,” the controller replied. “Confirm you’re at nine hundred feet.”
I glanced at the altimeter. The little hand was smack on the nine.
“That’s affirm,” I radioed back.
The controller turned his attention to a couple of other airplanes, some also departing and some coming back for approaches. We continued climbing straight ahead and south, leveling off at thirty-five hundred feet. I set us up in cruise. As expected, we had pretty strong winds out of the south and were making just a little over 95 knots over the ground. I said “as expected” since whenever I go cross-country, the winds almost always swing around to push on my nose. It’s a curse, I tell you!
Nacogdoches was our first checkpoint. I had told Connie we would evaluate the weather at each point along the way and land if it looked like it wasn’t worth continuing. We were about thirty miles out of Longview when East Texas Departure cut us loose, giving us the Center frequency in case we wanted it but telling us to squawk VFR. I changed the transponder code back to 1200, thanking the controller for his help.
As we approached Nacogdoches, I could see what looked like an airborne wave ahead at our altitude, a rolling, thin mass of grey. Pulling the throttle back a little, I let the nose drop and watched the wave expand into a ceiling, the one being reported by the automatic weather stations. We dropped down to a little under three thousand and leveled off there while I dialed in the automated weather broadcast for Lufkin ahead. The weather there was about the same. Pulling the ATIS frequency for Houston Intercontinental airport off my sectional, I dialed that in on our second radio, but we got nothing. We were too far away.
As courtesy and safety demanded, I notified the world of our position and our intent to overfly the Nacogdoches airport. No one answered us or called their own position, so it was a fairly safe bet we were the only ones poking around underneath the overcast. I didn’t have touch the heading to head onward to Lufkin. We motored through the sky looking at the hills and trees not that far below, checking the charts carefully for any towers that might show up with us.
Soon, Lufkin’s airport was just off our right wing. I left it there as I headed straight for the Lufkin VOR. Connie and I chatted a moment about our experiences there; the runway we had landed on was under construction and the one that had been down when we were there was open. But, unlike when we had last been there and followed a silent Grumman Tiger into the pattern, there was no one in it today.
We flew over the top of the Lufkin VOR and jogged slightly east. I switched to GPS over to point us to the Daisetta VOR while tracking outbound, at least at first, using Lufkin’s. We edged downward a little bit more; the ceilings were starting to collapse as the forecasts had said they would.
In a few minutes, we were almost abeam Houston Intercontinental Airport, so I gave the ATIS another try and got it. It was reporting ceilings at 2000 feet, and we were down at 1600 or so, so I lowered us another hundred feet to make us legal. We were still too far out to get the Pearland automated weather on the radios, so we pressed ahead hoping the ceilings didn’t get much lower. I needed at least 1500 foot ceilings to be legal.
I had flown this route several times but usually much higher. The last time I had come through this area so low we were sneaking out of Houston amidst some thunderstorms. I hadn’t noticed like I did then how hilly the land was. I tended to think of it as fairly flat and indeed it appears that way at three thousand feet but not at fifteen hundred.
Zeroing in on Daisetta, we flew over the top of it and then turned slightly west to angle underneath the Class B airspace rings and head for Baytown’s airport. We were starting to see city now, and that meant petroleum plants on this side of Houston. I recognized the one just northeast of Baytown’s airport as we flew over it, then called our position over the Baytown Unicom frequency. The Cheetah showed no sign of recognizing the place even though it had been its home; my first flight in the Cheetah had been from there. Its previous owner, Eugenio, and I had flown out to the south and flown a few turns and stalled the airplane before flying it back to the field. I was okay with everything about the airplane but it’s climb performance. I wound up getting a pilot’s handbook and running down the exact temperature and pressure at the time we flew (using tools at Weather Underground on the web) and calculating its expected performance parameters. After doing that and talking to some folks about repitching the prop, I got okay with pressing ahead with a purchase. The pre-sale inspection came next.
Ahead I could see the outlines of the northern end of Galveston Bay, the tall spires of the Fred Hartman bridge, and the eastern edge of the Houston coastline beyond. Knowing what course I wanted to fly, I aligned the nose with the coastline so we would intercept it just south of Kemah. I set the GPS to show me the LaPorte airport so I would know exactly where it was so we would stay clear of it.
As we angled down the coastline, a rainshower was washing the bay down to our left. Its light spray hit our windscreen until we turned east angling southwest over Clear Lake. We were listening to Houston Approach’s frequency on the radio for other traffic, and I could see the huge expanse of Ellington Field across the lake and beyond NASA’s campus to our left. Flying just south of some oil tanks the rest of Wesbter, we crossed the four lane ribbon of Interstate 45 as I kept NASA Road 1 off my left wing, my way of visually staying clear of Ellington’s airspace. I could see Pearland’s Airport off the nose and to our right, and I angled toward it as I throttled back a little and descended from fifteen hundred feet toward the airport’s 800 foot pattern altitude. The winds were favoring runway 14, so I called us as “maneuvering for a right downwind for 14 right” as I rolled right and throttled back to finish our descent and slow us down. I like to fly at 80 mph on downwind until approaching a point abeam my landing point when I slow us down to 75, the correct speed for a no-flap approach.
We rolled into base and then onto final, aligning ourselves with the newly rebuilt taxiway that was our runway while the runway was being rebuilt. I flew a full flap approach to touchdown and turned off at the first exit without a hitch. We taxied back to our little “carport” and spun the airplane around in front of it so I could push it back later. I shut us down, relieved we had been able to get in despite the weather.
“We’re home,” I said, after shutting the engine down and turning off the mags and Master Switch.
“November Niner Eight Four Eight Uniform, taxi via taxiways November and Mike to runway 17, full length,” Ground Control radioed back. “Say your requested altitude.”
“Four eight uniform, thirty-five hundred feet. Taxi to runway 17 via November and Mike”.
Easing the throttle forward, I moved the Cheetah out of her spot, heading for taxiway November which was almost in front of us. We crossed runway 17/35 and then turned left on taxiway Mike which ran the full length of 17/35. As we rolled down the length of the taxiway, Ground radioed:
“November Niner Eight Four Eight Uniform, squawk 2331. Contact Departure on 133.1 after takeoff.”
“Squawk 2331” I said while hurriedly dialing in the transponder code and taxiing, “One thirty-three one for departure.” I scribbled down the departure frequency quickly on my kneepad, irked that Ground did what controllers often do, i.e., feed you that kind of info while you’re doing a critical task (like taxiing) that they must somehow interpret as “having nothing to do”. At the time, I didn’t plug the numbers into my radio because it only can track two frequencies at a time (other than those programmed in). That meant I had to write it down or run the risk of forgetting it since I also didn’t have Connie trained well enough to help me with that yet.
As we approached runway 13/31, I had confused myself since I really hadn’t grasped what the controller was telling me by “full length”. So, I called him back and asked him if I was cleared to taxi to the end of 17 and he replied I was and repeated the “full length” statement. That time, I got it.
Sometimes, I struggle a bit at controlled fields figuring out where to do my run-up and complete the takeoff checklist. Especially in a single-piloted operation, I feel like performing them on the fly as I taxi out is just not a smart thing to do. Most of the time, I find some spot close to the runway “hold short” lines to do it all; but the more I fly at controlled fields, the more I am trying to get it all complete before I call for taxi. I’d rather not block a large jet for takeoff while I’m doing all that, nor do I like taking my eyes off them for even a second while they’re close by. While such a scenario wasn’t a problem at Longview, I still had performed the run-up and completed the takeoff checklist before taxi while sitting on the ramp at KRS.
We hit the end of the taxiway and stopped at the hold short.
“East Texas Tower, November Niner Eight Four Eight Uniform, ready for takeoff VFR on runway 17,” I radioed.
“Niner Eight Four Eight Uniform, cleared for takeoff runway 17. Maintain runway heading after takeoff. “
The Cheetah danced up onto the runway as I pushed the throttle up and kicked left rudder and touched the left brake to spin us left onto the runway. As the nose arched around, I smoothly pushed the throttle in full so I had full power by the time the nose swung to centerline. A touch of right brake to keep us straight and then the rudder was effective, and I was dancing on the rudders to keep us pointing straight down the runway. At 60 mph, I pulled back on the yoke, rotating the nose to takeoff attitude, and a second later, the airplane lifted off the ground.
“Niner Eight Four Eight Uniform, contact departure,” the tower radioed.
“Wilco. Switchin’.”
I hit a button on the radio and the departure frequency popped into play.
“Departure, Niner Eight Four Eight Uniform’s airborne,” I said.
“Roger, Four Eight Uniform,” the controller replied. “Confirm you’re at nine hundred feet.”
I glanced at the altimeter. The little hand was smack on the nine.
“That’s affirm,” I radioed back.
The controller turned his attention to a couple of other airplanes, some also departing and some coming back for approaches. We continued climbing straight ahead and south, leveling off at thirty-five hundred feet. I set us up in cruise. As expected, we had pretty strong winds out of the south and were making just a little over 95 knots over the ground. I said “as expected” since whenever I go cross-country, the winds almost always swing around to push on my nose. It’s a curse, I tell you!
Nacogdoches was our first checkpoint. I had told Connie we would evaluate the weather at each point along the way and land if it looked like it wasn’t worth continuing. We were about thirty miles out of Longview when East Texas Departure cut us loose, giving us the Center frequency in case we wanted it but telling us to squawk VFR. I changed the transponder code back to 1200, thanking the controller for his help.
As we approached Nacogdoches, I could see what looked like an airborne wave ahead at our altitude, a rolling, thin mass of grey. Pulling the throttle back a little, I let the nose drop and watched the wave expand into a ceiling, the one being reported by the automatic weather stations. We dropped down to a little under three thousand and leveled off there while I dialed in the automated weather broadcast for Lufkin ahead. The weather there was about the same. Pulling the ATIS frequency for Houston Intercontinental airport off my sectional, I dialed that in on our second radio, but we got nothing. We were too far away.
As courtesy and safety demanded, I notified the world of our position and our intent to overfly the Nacogdoches airport. No one answered us or called their own position, so it was a fairly safe bet we were the only ones poking around underneath the overcast. I didn’t have touch the heading to head onward to Lufkin. We motored through the sky looking at the hills and trees not that far below, checking the charts carefully for any towers that might show up with us.
Soon, Lufkin’s airport was just off our right wing. I left it there as I headed straight for the Lufkin VOR. Connie and I chatted a moment about our experiences there; the runway we had landed on was under construction and the one that had been down when we were there was open. But, unlike when we had last been there and followed a silent Grumman Tiger into the pattern, there was no one in it today.
We flew over the top of the Lufkin VOR and jogged slightly east. I switched to GPS over to point us to the Daisetta VOR while tracking outbound, at least at first, using Lufkin’s. We edged downward a little bit more; the ceilings were starting to collapse as the forecasts had said they would.
In a few minutes, we were almost abeam Houston Intercontinental Airport, so I gave the ATIS another try and got it. It was reporting ceilings at 2000 feet, and we were down at 1600 or so, so I lowered us another hundred feet to make us legal. We were still too far out to get the Pearland automated weather on the radios, so we pressed ahead hoping the ceilings didn’t get much lower. I needed at least 1500 foot ceilings to be legal.
I had flown this route several times but usually much higher. The last time I had come through this area so low we were sneaking out of Houston amidst some thunderstorms. I hadn’t noticed like I did then how hilly the land was. I tended to think of it as fairly flat and indeed it appears that way at three thousand feet but not at fifteen hundred.
Zeroing in on Daisetta, we flew over the top of it and then turned slightly west to angle underneath the Class B airspace rings and head for Baytown’s airport. We were starting to see city now, and that meant petroleum plants on this side of Houston. I recognized the one just northeast of Baytown’s airport as we flew over it, then called our position over the Baytown Unicom frequency. The Cheetah showed no sign of recognizing the place even though it had been its home; my first flight in the Cheetah had been from there. Its previous owner, Eugenio, and I had flown out to the south and flown a few turns and stalled the airplane before flying it back to the field. I was okay with everything about the airplane but it’s climb performance. I wound up getting a pilot’s handbook and running down the exact temperature and pressure at the time we flew (using tools at Weather Underground on the web) and calculating its expected performance parameters. After doing that and talking to some folks about repitching the prop, I got okay with pressing ahead with a purchase. The pre-sale inspection came next.
Ahead I could see the outlines of the northern end of Galveston Bay, the tall spires of the Fred Hartman bridge, and the eastern edge of the Houston coastline beyond. Knowing what course I wanted to fly, I aligned the nose with the coastline so we would intercept it just south of Kemah. I set the GPS to show me the LaPorte airport so I would know exactly where it was so we would stay clear of it.
As we angled down the coastline, a rainshower was washing the bay down to our left. Its light spray hit our windscreen until we turned east angling southwest over Clear Lake. We were listening to Houston Approach’s frequency on the radio for other traffic, and I could see the huge expanse of Ellington Field across the lake and beyond NASA’s campus to our left. Flying just south of some oil tanks the rest of Wesbter, we crossed the four lane ribbon of Interstate 45 as I kept NASA Road 1 off my left wing, my way of visually staying clear of Ellington’s airspace. I could see Pearland’s Airport off the nose and to our right, and I angled toward it as I throttled back a little and descended from fifteen hundred feet toward the airport’s 800 foot pattern altitude. The winds were favoring runway 14, so I called us as “maneuvering for a right downwind for 14 right” as I rolled right and throttled back to finish our descent and slow us down. I like to fly at 80 mph on downwind until approaching a point abeam my landing point when I slow us down to 75, the correct speed for a no-flap approach.
We rolled into base and then onto final, aligning ourselves with the newly rebuilt taxiway that was our runway while the runway was being rebuilt. I flew a full flap approach to touchdown and turned off at the first exit without a hitch. We taxied back to our little “carport” and spun the airplane around in front of it so I could push it back later. I shut us down, relieved we had been able to get in despite the weather.
“We’re home,” I said, after shutting the engine down and turning off the mags and Master Switch.
posted by Andy Foster at 7:51 PM
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