Tom Horne Archive
So, power was dialed back to 63-percent torque. At the cruise altitude of FL280, fuel flow dropped to 40 gph, but true airspeed held at a respectable 250 knots. On the G1000′s multifunction display, the large map display showed our range rings–one was a dotted ring that showed where we’d have a 45-minute fuel reserve; a solid ring showed where the ship would hit bingo. Turns out that from Quebec this TBM could fly all the way to the Outer Banks of North Carolina and still have legal IFR fuel reserves. Not bad. Pull the power lever back to 34-percent torque and endurance goes to seven hours!
It wasn’t long before this 600th TBM was parked on the customs ramp at Bangor, Maine’s International Airport. Out came the customs officer, complete with sidearm, stern looks, and a few questions. Did I have more than $100,000 on me? I wish. Is that a Rolex? No, it’s a Breitling. Did you buy it in Europe? Nope, in the U.S. Any food aboard? Just a few chocolate bars. And on and on. The airplane’s paperwork was reviewed, and then we were officially released.
Big sigh. N600YR was now officially imported, and could be legally flown to its buyer in Salt Lake City. This was big news, because Daher-Socata needed to get paid for the airplane within a day and a half. That way, the check could be deposited before the bank closed on the specified delivery date.
Clearing customs also meant Margrit and I could go into the Bangor FBO and make ready for the remaining legs. But there was other business to attend to. Thanks to e-mail, Facebook, and telephone, my friend–and long-time freelancer for AOPA, Dan Namowitz–was waiting in the FBO lobby. And he had my socks. Finally.
The saga of the socks has a history that goes back 15 years. On February 1, 1996 I was ferrying a Piper Seminole from the U.S. to Thailand. On the first leg of the trip (destination: St. John’s, Newfoundland (CYYT)) the Seminole’s Janitrol heater gave up the ghost. Just west of Boston. It was a cold, dark night and the cockpit quickly became cold-soaked, along with my feet and hands. I tried mightily to get the heater going but no dice. Too much air going through it? Too little? Everything I tried failed.
But I figured I could withstand it for as long as it took to get to Bangor and its 10,000-foot-long runway, where repairs could be made. The closer I got to Bangor, the more critical the situation became. I couldn’t feel my feet, and my hands were so cold that I had trouble dialing up frequencies. I had to use the heel of my hand to make power adjustments.
I taxied to the FBO, shut down, and headed for the lobby. Ahhhh, warmth at last. I began to thaw out, but would sure need some nice heavy wool socks for the remainder of the trip across the Atlantic. That’s when I called Dan. No answer, so I left a voice mail. “Hey, it’s me. I’m at the FBO and need some socks or my feet will freeze off.” Something like that.
Then another phone call. To Margrit, for whom I was flying in those days. She agreed to repairs, of course, but I had to get the plane to a shop in Bedford, Massachusetts. So after warming up I got back in the Seminole and backtracked to Bedford where the Janitrol’s fouled plug was cleaned and the daggone thing was returned to service. I climbed back in, took off into the night, and flew on in glorious, heated comfort–all the way to St. John’s.
But I never got the socks. Over the years, Dan and I would joke about the long-lost socks, and a few staffers came to know the story. So the word was passed to Dan: N600YR will land at BGR at 10 a.m., with Horne aboard. I turned around in the FBO and there was Namowitz. With an L.L. Bean paper bag containing……..yes! Socks!
The circle has been completed, both sock-wise and airplane-wise. From Bangor the TBM 850 made its way west.
Job done! Another great crossing in another great airplane. I can’t wait to do it again.
The Keflavik airport used to be a U.S. Navy base back in the day, but no more. Even so, this misconception today keeps many GA pilots away from BIKF. Sure, it remains Iceland’s major international airport, but GA is welcome. The FBO there–South Air–is great. Thanks to Kef’s two 10,000-foot runways–and the four ILS approaches that serve them (thanks, Navy!)–Keflavik makes sense when the winds are up and the clouds are down. That’s one reason why we chose to land N600YR there.
For the next leg, the winds were forecast to be relatively light for the cruising altitude of FL280, so there was some thought as to whether the TBM could make it to Goose Bay (CYYR) non-stop. Problem was, the forecast at Goose (also known as the Happy Valley Airport) was for a chance of low-IFR conditions. If N600YR had to hold, then fuel could get tight. And night would be falling, along with temperatures and dew points. So the decision was made to make an intermediate stop at Narsarssuaq, Greenland (BGBW).
Yes, the storied Narsarssuaq, forever enshrined in aviation history by Ernest K. Gann’s Fate Is The Hunter. But unlike the white-knuckle rides that Gann (and thousands of other pilots serving in World War II, by the way) endured into what was then called Bluie West One, skies were clear for our arrival.
I have landed at Narsarssuaq many times, always using runway 7. Today I’d be flying a straight-in to runway 25. Winds were calm, an oddity here. Normally this procedure would be no big deal. But the issue was runway 25′s radical downhill slope, at two degrees. Doesn’t sound like much, but the runway drops 100 feet in elevation from threshold to stopway. I punched off the autopilot, rounded a ridge that identified the glacier that terminates near the approach end of the runway, and descended to final. I tried to grease it on, but flaring for a soft touchdown wasn’t a good technique. The more I floated, the more the runway dropped away, and I landed almost at midfield. Now that downhill slope is helping me roll toward the iceberg-strewn fjord at an alarming rate. Stand on brakes! Pull max reverse thrust! Finally I stopped the ship and taxied in for fuel. Lesson learned: major downhill runways can be bad news. Especially if you’re flying at 90-95 knots. And the AFM says to fly at 85. Best to plant the airplane early and firmly, then use everything you’ve got to stop. ATE from Kef to BGBW: 2+25.
During the fuel stop a lineman called us out to the plane. There in the strainer basket beneath the fuel caps was a small chunk of ice. It was a first for everybody on the scene. Guess that’s what happens when the temperatures at FL280 run -50 degrees Celsius. And yes, we used Prist, so who knows what caused the ice.
The winds, weather, and a fresh fuel load (292 gals) argued for the next leg to be a long one–about 800 nm to Sept-Iles, Quebec (CYZV). The chancy weather at Goose was avoided, and we’d be that much farther down the road. Interested in the routing? Get out your North Atlantic and Canadian charts, because here it is: BGBW – 59N50W – Loach intersection – Foxxe intersection – direct CYZV. After leaving uncontrolled airspace passing through 10,000 feet, the clearance had us going straight to FL280, which we did in just 18 minutes. It would have been less, but using the engine’s inertial separator for the climb through clouds deprived the PT6 of doing its best.
At altitude the ritual power setting was made: 95 percent torque–for a fuel burn of 53 gph. About halfway into this 3+50 leg both Margrit and I were feeling fatigued. It would end up being a 6.5-hour flying day, after all. Candy bars helped, though, and soon we were on the ILS for runway 9 with good (few 800, few 10,000, 2,800 overcast) weather. Then it was a tiedown at Trans-Sol Aviation, a visit with Customs, and a ride to the Hotel Gouverneur for a well-earned sleep-in. This would help me reset my biological clock to eastern daylight time, I hoped. (I used to use melatonin to enable a sleep-enforced time-zone change, but the wild dreams got to me.) Tomorrow: Back in the U.S.A.!
Between Stornoway and Aldan, an intersection off the south coast of Iceland, winds at 280 averaged 80 knots out of the southwest. But no problem. On we flew into the night, goundspeeds ranging from 265 to 289 knots. Meanwhile, true airspeed was 300 knots while burning 55 gph. So the sense of hardship that prevails so strongly when crossing in a piston single simply wasn´t there. What would have been a 7 hour ordeal in a Mooney or Cessna instead becomes a three hour jaunt in a TBM 850.
Now I´m at the lobby computer at the Northern Light Inn — nli.is–and it´s 815 Z on Saturday. The sun isn´t up yet and it´s raining like mad, something that began during the ILS approach to BIKF´s runway 02 last night. Plans are to leave around 930 but some coffee first to help me wake up. Meanwhile, there´s a surreal scene outside as steam from the adjacent Blue Lagoon hot spring and spa rises into its spotlights. The shuttle van will arrive soon and then it´s back into the murk for a trip to either famed Narsarssuaq, Greenland or a straight shot to Goose Bay, Labrador. Depends on winds, which are forecast to lessen in strength today.As always, more later.
Horne here. And by “here” I mean at Daher-Socata’s factory in Tarbes, France. I’m getting ready to deliver the 600th TBM to the United States–a trip that is set to begin tomorrow. This means flying yet another Atlantic crossing, but this time I won’t be alone. One of Daher-Socata’s favorite veteran ferry pilots–Margrit Waltz–will be my minder on what promises to be a memorable trip. Maybe you’ve seen Waltz’s image featured in Pratt & Whitney’s latest round of ads. Pratt touts her as one the company’s true believers, using the “PT6 proud” tag line as I recall.
In any case, the airplane–N600YR–is destined for an owner in Oregon. Our route will take us to Wick, Scotland and Reykjavik, Iceland on the first day. The second day will include stops at Narsarssuaq, Greenland and either Goose Bay, Labrador or St. John’s, Newfoundland. Then we’ll soldier on to Bangor, Maine to clear customs and wind up at AOPA’s home base at Frederick Maryland’s Municipal airport. Assuming no weather or other diversions of course.
Today was a fun day at the Daher-Socata plant. Daher-Socata’s director of product marketing Philippe de Segovia organized a photo shoot. A bunch of the company’s 1,000 or so employees were staged on the ramp so as to spell out the numerals ”600.” It was like herding cats, moving people here and there so as to make a good-looking three digits from photographer Thomas Jullien’s cherry-picker vantage point.
Customer relations officer Caroline Van Berkel gave me a tour of the plant. Much has changed since my last visit in 2007, when Daher-Socata president Nicolas Chabbert and I last flew a TBM850 to the States. Daher-Socata now has new capital equipment and is a major subcontractor for a number of aerospace companies. It makes nose cones and nose gear doors for Airbus’ A380s. It makes main landing gear doors for Airbus’ upcoming A350XWB, and belly fairings for A330s and A340s. Falcon 7X’s have their fuselages built here. Eurocopter EC532, AS355 Twinstar, and EC350 Astar fuselage assemblies are also made at the Tarbes plant. Daher-Socata has a new carbon-fiber tape-placement robot for making composite components, plus two large autoclaves and three smaller ones. And there’s been talk of some day making the TBM850′s fuselage of carbon fiber.
In a speech to employees, Daher–Socata president and CEO mentioned to need to emphasize safety. This, in the wake of an engine-failure accident last week. The crash took place after maintenance work and resulted in a forced landing on an Interstate highway near Daher-Socata’s North American home at the North Perry Aiport in Ft. Lauderdale. Pilot Alain Jaubert and mechanic Donato Pinto were injured, no people on the ground were hurt, and an investigation continues. “Safety comes first,” Mayer said. “Everything else comes after that. Mayer also said that parent company Daher will be opening a new product support and parts inventory facility in Marseilles, France.
That’s it for now. Stay tuned for details of the first two legs.
Meteorologist Theodore Fujita developed his Fujita scale in the 1970s, then refined it again in the 1990s to the current “EF” scale. The “EF” stands for ‘enhanced Fujita,” and it’s a damage scale. An EF-1 tornado has surface winds between 86 and 110 mph. The NWS adopted the EF scale, and assigned the following types of damage to EF-1 tornados: Moderate damage. Small barns and outbuildings damaged. Rooves ripped, mobile homes overturned, loss of exterior doors, windows and other glass broken.” All of that happened at Lakeland yesterday, plus a lot of downed trees and power lines.
The EF scale damage descriptors might also be expanded to include, “Tied-down airplanes may be flipped and destroyed, tents crushed, Porta-potties overturned, and signs uprooted.”
Though an EF-1 may sound like it’s low on the totem pole of tornado damage (and it is–the scale goes up to 28), its damage is awe-inspiring. It’s not something I want to ever live through again!
Now, a new European Aviation Safety Agency (EASA) proposal would end all that. No more reciprocation between the US and Europe, goes the plan. You might be able to get European validation of your U.S. pilot certificate right now. But in two years, if you want to fly in Europe you’ll have to earn one of their certificates. It would mean the end of a long, happy (until now) tradition of US–and European!–pilots flying GA aircraft for vacation and business purposes in Europe.
But wait, there’s more! EASA wants to rid the European Community of N-registered airplanes too. Soon, the common practice of Euro-pilots registering their airplanes with a US N-number will end if the proposals go through. Europeans realize considerable savings by flying airplanes with an “N-reg.” Lord knows they need to save as much as they can if GA flying is to continue, what with $20-per-touchdown landing fees and $8 per gallon fuel costs.
The impetus for all this xenophobic regulatory activity? Why, to garner more fees and pump up an already-Byzantine regulatory culture. Thanks to all those centuries of Kings, Queens, Lords, Barons, Viceroys, Dukes, “vons,” and landed gentry, Europeans seem not able to shake the inclination to submit to the state.
Pilot und Flugzeug, a German aviation magazine, has posted three scenarios on the potential outcome of the EASA proposals. Here’s a link to editor Jan Brill’s musings on the impact: http://www.pilotundflugzeug.de/artikel/2010-10-06/EASA_Rules_threaten_international_General_Aviation
As always, IAOPA and AOPA-US are on top of this issue. Let’s hope that this trans-Atlantic GA force rises to the task. Europe–well, EASA anyway–seems to hate GA. Let’s not turn the other cheek.
Pendleton used to be a World War II training base, but the Canadian government sold the airport to the 100-member Gatineau Gliding Club and now it’s a very nice airport community. Cabins, mobile homes, a clubhouse with in-ground swimming pool–it’s all there, nestled among the birches and pines of this rural site.
Photographer Chris Rose and I stayed in Smith’s house at Pendleton. In the 1940s it used to be the base commander’s residence. But last weekend it was home to Smith’s family and a visitor from Montreal–Francois Bougie. Bougie flew his Swift to Pendleton to watch us work gathering images for the story.
It’s easy to be taken in by the Cri-Cri. It’s cute on the ground, but can be aggressive in the air. As the videos will show. Bougie’s enthusiasm came with a Quebecois twist. Like most who live in Quebec, his patter could switch instantly from English to French-Canadian. Ditto Smith. I envy them this rapid-fire bilinguality.
Rose was all over the place taking his photos and videos. At one point he got on the roof of a hangar to get a straight-down shot of the Cri-Cri. Bougie was with him. When he saw the shot played back in Rose’s viewfinder, he exclaimed, “C’est du Nickel-Chrome, la!”
Say what? Smith and I were baffled by this phrase (it means, well, nickel-chrome, but is pronounced–no, shouted–with a heavy French accent). Turns out “nickel-chrome” is a popular phrase among the youth of Quebec. It means “super-duper,” “top notch,” “most excellent,” etc.
You guessed it, the phrase caught on. Soon, it was nickel-chrome this or that. Now it’s an in-joke among the dozen or so who watched the photo shoot. When you see the article and imagery, maybe you, too, will be moved to blurt out “nickel-chrome!” and flick away an imaginary cigarette with the mock disdain of a French-Canadian imitating a Frenchman from the continent.