AOPA Pilot Blog: Reporting Points

One of the many IAPs debuting with the start of the current FAA charting cycle today is the BNELE ONE Arrival (RNAV) to Hartsfield-Jackson Atlanta International Airport. This standard terminal arrival was designed to bring jets from the lower flight levels over Nashville and Memphis onto an approach to ATL.

The final waypoint on this STAR for arrivals landing to the west on Runway 26 Left or 26 Right is KEAVY, and like many waypoints today, there’s a story behind it.

Keavy Nenninger learned to fly while she was in high school by pumping gas into airplanes at Moontown Airport–a grassroots airport with a 2,180-foot grass runway just outside of Huntsville, Alabama. Ralph Hood wrote about her checkride in Flight Training magazine in the way that only Ralph Hood could write. She earned a degree in aerospace engineering from St. Louis University’s Parks College of Engineering and Aviation in 2010. There, Keavy was a member of the college’s flight team. She pursued a career in aviation, a passion that she lived and breathed. I met her once at a Women in Aviation conference and remember thinking, “Here’s somebody that’s going places in this industry.”

 Tragically, Keavy died July 23, 2011, in an aircraft accident in Maryland. “Keavy’s adventurous spirit was infectious and she died doing what she loved most–flying,” her obituary read.

Today would have been her 27th birthday.

Her friends will gather for a cookout at Moontown Airport on Saturday evening, May 4–not all that far, by air, from KEAVY, just northwest of Atlanta.

Yes, that’s what they’re doing at Purdue University in West Lafayette, Ind., these days–shooting pingpong balls at speeds faster than an F-16 fighter.

Mark French, a mechanical engineering technology professor, drew on his experience as an aeronautical engineer to create a device that blasts the lightweight, 2.3-gram balls through plywood or aluminum, or deeply dent steel. Online video shows the air-powered bazooka destroying pingpong paddles, VHS tapes, and a row of soda cans.

The secret? A pressure chamber connected to the vacuum tube via a convergent-divergent nozzle. “That hourglass-shaped nozzle is similar to what is used in fighter jets,” French said. “When the pressurized air rushes through the bottleneck, it accelerates to supersonic speed as it helps propel the ball through the clear PVC barrel.”

He says the supersonic speeds are surprising because the balls weigh so little, have such poor aerodynamics, and sport a high drag coefficient. The energy delivered is equivalent to a 125 mph fastball or a brick falling several stories.

Enough about the physics, click here to see the bazooka shoot supersonic pingpong balls through stuff. 

The two former DC-10 airliners modified for use as aerial firefighters by 10 Tanker Air Carrier (see “The New Rainmaker,” May 2012 AOPA Pilot) have seen a good bit of use during this year’s busy wildfire season–several of you have mentioned personally seeing the distinctive orange-and-white jumbo jets at low levels, battling blazes in the western states. (If you haven’t seen the “10″ in action, you can catch the video on AOPA Live.)

However, the company has been unable to secure an exclusive-use contract from the U.S. Forest Service, which it says is required for continued operation of the aircraft. There were reports during the summer that absent such a contract, the company might ground the aircraft before the end of the year. Now, the company is calling on supporters–through its Facebook page and an email campaign–to sign a petition to the Forest Service supporting use of the aircraft.

 The Forest Service is assessing which aircraft it will use to fight forest fires in the future, the company said. “This is our chance to persuade the USFS of the DC-10s’ unique ability to contain forest fires. But we need your help to show USFS Chief Tom Tidwell that we have widespread support.” The efficiency of the flying supertankers certainly is impressive–one can cover about the same amount of ground as four C-130s.

You can learn more, and sign the petition, by visiting this website. I was impressed by what I saw, both during my visit to 10 Tanker and on news videos. They’ve got my support.

 As we pause to remember and give thanks to our veterans, this year I am reflecting particularly on those who served in World War II, a population that sadly grows smaller every day. Few members of that modest “Greatest Generation” have a more compelling tale than the Tuskegee Airmen, the first black military pilots, who had to fight for the right and privilege to serve their country in combat from the pilot’s seat of a warbird.

That small group lost one of its leaders last Thursday with the death of Col. Herbert E. Carter (Ret.). Carter, 95, was one of the original members of the 99th Fighter Squadron and flew combat missions during the North African, Sicilian, Italian, and European campaigns of World War II.

The Tuskegee Airmen trained at the Tuskegee Institute–now Tuskegee University–in Tuskegee, Alabama. After the war Carter returned to the campus, where he served as a professor of air science and commanded the Air Force ROTC detachment from 1950 to 1955; he was a professor of aerospace studies from 1965 to 1969. When he retired from the Air Force, he served at Tuskegee as assistant dean for student services and associate dean for admissions and recruiting.

Carter was married for more than 60 years to Mildred L. Hemmons Carter, also a pilot who was counted among the Tuskegee Airmen. I once had the pleasure of hearing him describe their courtship during early 1942. They would arrange to meet over a lake near Tuskegee, she in a Piper J-3 Cub and he flying a much faster North American AT-6 Texan. They married before Carter deployed for combat; CNN ran a touching story on the couple after Mildred died in October 2011.

I believe the last time I saw Carter was during the summer of 2011, when Matt Quy visited Tuskegee’s Moton Field in his Stearman–one that was originally assigned to training of the Tuskegee Airmen–on its way to the Smithsonian Institution (you can see the video from that story here).

Godspeed, Mr. Carter–and thank you to all our veterans.

We all remember where we were and what we were doing 11 years ago today, on the morning of Sept. 11, 2001. Several of us shared those memories this morning, spurred on in part by the gorgeous, clear blue sky–just like the sky we saw 11 years ago.

Even after all these years, however, I’m intrigued by other accounts of that day. Today I read for the first time the 9/11 account of an FAA inspector who was then assigned to the FSDO at John F. Kennedy International in New York City, and posted today by airnation.net.

An interesting perspective and one I had not read before. Take a look and tell me if you agree.

We lost an aviation icon, and perhaps the country’s greatest space hero, with the passing of Neil Armstrong on August 25. Armstrong, 82, was the first man to walk on the moon; his statement, “One small step for man, one giant leap for mankind,” both summarized his accomplishment and underscored his modest personality.

Although Armstrong generally shunned the spotlight of publicity, he continued to fly, moving from a Beech Bonanza to the Cessna 310 that he recently sold. He told AOPA Pilot Editor in Chief Tom Haines in May that he was planning his next aircraft purchase. 

The New York Times reported that Armstrong died afterof complications from cardiovascular procedures, attributing the information to a statement from his family.

The statement is worth reading, and if it wasn’t written by Armstrong, it certainly was inspired by him:

“We are heartbroken to share the news that Neil Armstrong has passed away following complications resulting from cardiovascular procedures.

Do you see similarities with the following quotes attributed to Armstrong, which I nominate as his best:

“This is one small step for [a] man, one giant leap for mankind.”

“I believe that every human has a finite number of heartbeats. I don’t intend to waste any of mine running around doing exercises.”

“Pilots take no special joy in walking. Pilots like flying.”

It’s been a brutal wildfire season in the western United States. And fewer large air assets are available for firefighting since Aero Union’s Lockheed P-3 Orion tankers were grounded last year.

10 Tanker Air Carrier (see the May 2012 AOPA Pilot article here or view the accompanying video on AOPA Live here), has modified the Douglas DC-10 for use as an airborne firefighter. Both of its former airliners have seen some service during this year’s fires. (Evergreen Aviation has modified a Boeing 747 for use as a tanker but said it has not been activated for service by the Forest Service.)

10 Tanker has invested millions developing, demonstrating, and deploying its technology. But the company says that its business model is viable only if it gets an exclusive-use contract from the Forest Service. An exclusive-use contract would provide more financial stability by paying the company to have the aircraft standing by and ready for almost immediate dispatch (the contract provides an amount per flight hour, as well). However, 10 Tanker has only received “call when needed” contracts—there’s no guaranteed payment, but the company agrees to respond within 24 hours of a call if aircraft are available (in this scenario the hourly rate is much higher).

“If used properly, [exclusive use] costs the government less to get the job done,” said Rick Hatton, 10 Tanker’s president and CEO; the cost per gallon of suppressant delivered is significantly lower, and high volume combined with short turnarounds can put more suppressant on a fire quickly. Without a multiyear exclusive-use contract, he said the privately funded company may well have to ground the airplanes altogether.

Evergreen notes in its statement that one reason the 747 is not flying is that the U.S. Forest Service’s specification for Next Generation Air Tanker aircraft limits tank size to 5,000 gallons–the 747 can carry 20,000 gallons, and the DC-10 tanker’s capacity is 11,600 gallons. The situation has prompted both companies to ask the public to contact their representatives in Washington, D.C. and ask them to examine current Forest Service policies regarding what it calls very large air tanker (VLAT) aircraft.

The call to action on 10 Tanker’s Facebook page is direct, and blog posts elsewhere indicate that absent a more suitable contract, the company could ground the aircraft in November. People in several towns credit the orange-and-white tankers with saving their homes–and I expect that some of them already have written their senators and representatives. 

Some of you have seen the footage of a plane crash on YouTube that has gone viral on some of the social media networks. Although the three passengers apparently were not serious injuries, be advised that later in the video there are graphic images of the pilot’s more serious injuries.

The limited information accompanying the video says it took place in Idaho’s Frank Church River of No Return Wilderness, and that density altitude was an issue. As best as I can tell, this is the preliminary NTSB report, which doesn’t offer many details. Nevertheless, it’s a dramatic depiction of density altitude’s effects on an aircraft that does not appear to be lightly loaded.

I’d love to read a Never Again by the pilot in this accident. I’d also love to know what he thinks about the video posted by his passengers, who apparently all were videotaping the flight. At the time of this post, the video had 338,978 views.

It’s not often that my passion for aviation intersects with my interest in craft beer–but it did recently, in what turned out to be a rather sad way.

I was enjoying a can of G’Knight (yes, good beer now is available in cans), an imperial red ale brewed by the Oskar Blues Brewery in Colorado. (A rather tasty one, too, I might add.) On the can was a cryptic comment about the beer’s namesake–and an unassuming URL that looked like it could refer to an N number. As an aviation journalist I had to look it up.

Gordon Knight was a Nebraska native who flew Army helicopters in Vietnam, where he earned a Purple Heart. In 1988 he moved to Boulder and made the leap from home brewing to professional brewing. He also continued to fly helicopters–often as a aerial firefighter. Knight died 10 years ago today, at age 52, after his helicopter crashed while he was fighting a forest fire just outside of Lyons, Colorado. The registration of the helicopter he had been flying was N3978Y, anchoring the URL printed on the can.

Knight had worked at a number of Colorado breweries, but never Oskar Blues. Yet his peers in the brewery saw fit to name a beer for their colleague, who died while doing something he enjoyed–and while trying to make a difference. A gesture like that tells me a lot about a person.

Here’s to you, Gordon Knight. Even though we never had the chance to meet, it’s clear from what I’ve read about you that I would have enjoyed the opportunity. 

I was among the thousands of people who flocked to the National Air and Space Museum’s Udvar-Hazy Annex at Washington Dulles International Airport on Tuesday to see the arrival of the space shuttle Discovery.

For many of them, it was a bittersweet experience, and understandably so. It’s hard to imagine NASA without a space shuttle; for a couple of generations, the winged, reusable vehicle has represented the space program. But for me it also represented a first, and last, chance to see the veteran orbiter in flight–albeit on the back of a jumbo jet.

Back in 1984, as a newspaper photographer in Florida, I was credentialed for the launch of mission STS 41D: Discovery’s maiden flight. We set up remote cameras in the swamps near launch pad 39A (NASA mandated a buddy system for setting up remotes, to prevent local wildlife–particularly alligators–from creeping up on an unwary photographer). I even managed to snag a pass for the Fire Tower, then the closest that civilians were allowed during a launch (it ceased to be a media option after the Challenger disaster). I was standing on that tower on a hazy, humid Florida morning, squinting at the pad through an 800-mm lens, when the countdown was halted and the launch scrubbed.

I recall driving back down to Kennedy Space Center a week or two later for a second scheduled launch, which also was postponed. When 41D finally lifted off, I was out of state and missed the event. Later, I did get to see a shuttle launch, and it’s an experience I will always remember–the vibration as the shock waves slowly roll over you, so long after liftoff that it almost takes you by surprise. That wasn’t Discovery, however; the orbiter eluded me until its very last flight.

Carlos Rodriguez, decked out in a red, white, and blue jacket and hat, also was waiting for Discovery at Dulles Airport. He had traveled from Virginia to Florida, twice, to see Discovery lift off–and he, too, was stood up both times. Eventually he did get to see Endeavour launch, but he still wanted to see Discovery fly, and welcome the orbiter to its new home.

Discovery’s delivery to the National Air and Space Museum was uneventful, but as the spacecraft was landing, there was a little drama for those who brought along an aviation receiver. As the Boeing 747 shuttle transporter glided down the ILS to Runway 1 Right at Dulles, the pilot not flying radioed the tower controller that its NASA T-38 escort was fuel critical. Not missing a beat, the controller very professionally worked the jet past a row of news helicopters hovering just east of the airport, and brought it around for an expedited landing. We all appreciated the safe outcome, as well as the controller’s helpful updates on the orbiter’s location.