America the Beautiful
Long, long ago, in the days of steam gauges and paper
sectionals (for you Gen Z pilots that means no glass cockpit, no iPad, no
Foreflight), a few confident Navy commanders on the West coast laid down a
challenge.
The year was 2008. Each
was responsible for 7-9 SH-60B aircraft.
Built in the early 1980s to dominate both the surface and depth of the
oceans, the Sea Hawk carried radar, forward-looking infrared, electronic
countermeasures, hellfire missiles, sonobuoys, 800 lbs of Atari-era processing
equipment, torpedoes, a magnetic anomaly detector and a handful of flares – on a
good day.
On an average day we carried maybe three of these things, no air conditioning, and whatever sound proofing panels remained from the aircraft’s youth.
Someone decided that the cutting-edge Osh Kosh Air Venture airshow
might want to display these beauties and the gauntlet was thrown: Which squadron could get two airworthy
SH-60Bs from San Diego to Wisconsin?
I found myself leading the planning of this cross-country
for our squadron. We had recently
received some kind of electric mapping software – most likely an early version
of Foreflight – but no one really knows what it could do because the printer it
came with never worked, therefore we could never get the information from the training
room to the aircraft for practical use.
The training room did have, however, the gift of square
footage. And I happened to also be
babysitting four midshipmen who were hoping to have their Top Gun dreams come
true this very summer.
“You: I
need all of these chairs pushed to the edge of the room and stacked up.”
“You: Find a yard stick.”
“You: Find some working
white board markers.”
“You: Go find some tape.”
(Yes, I’ve been bossy since long before 2008, but I do get
stuff done.)
I found all the sectionals needed for our route of flight
and taped them together on the floor: One big map from California to Wisconsin.
Then we marked off 100 nautical miles on our yard stick and
measured the distances required to steer South of the Rockies and stop for
military contracted fuel every 3.5 hours along the way. We called these out to the midshipman wielding
the white board marker and each of them learned how to manually calculate time
and fuel.
Our squadron commander came in to see how the planning was
going. I sensed his surprise at my
method and smelled skepticism over the JP-5 remnants baked into his flight suit.
I looked that man square in the eye and said, “Skipper,
would you like to jump into the sectional with me – you know, like in Mary
Poppins?” And we walked together from San
Diego to Osh Kosh, briefing every meticulous detail along the way.
This planning was well worth the reward. We swapped out crews in Wisconsin – and yes,
both of our helicopters made it there in 2.5 days - so I got to fly out commercial and pilot one
of the aircraft 2.5 days home. But not
before spending a few awkward days at the air show with squeaky brakes, and two
aircrewmen who were in the middle of some kind of ongoing Culver’s cheese curd
eating contest between each other.
(Barf)
Our flight home began over the green farms of Wisconsin, then
the helicopter route through Chicago – looking up at the Sears Tower –
and state by state we watched America change landscape from less than 1,000
feet above ground level all the way home.
I remember when we left green behind us and flew over thousands of Texas
oil rigs. I remember what a bummer it is
to get stuck in El Paso for weather. I remember
that I was a few months pregnant, and wasn't sure if I was going to keep flying as long as the flight doc said I could. And I remember cutting through the desert mountains
West of El Centro on the home stretch.
Less than three years later, pregnant a 2nd time,
I was tracking flights and checking pilots in and out on the radio from my 9-month
perch at the flight school duty desk.
The other pregnant female instructors (there’s a story for another
chapter) and I had pretty much taken over the duty by that point to free up the
guys for more flying. It seemed to work
out for everyone, given biology and the needs of the job.
A flight student walked through and gave me a
double-take: “Ma’am? Were you stationed in San Diego?
…. Did you ever make midshipmen tape sectionals together on the floor and manually
calculate time and fuel for 2,000 miles?
I was one of those mids.”
