In yesterday\u2019s blog, I touched on the peculiar sense of solitude found only in flying alone.\u00a0 I have spent my fair share of flight time flying solo.\u00a0 In my Part 135 days, I was alone from Sunday night to Friday morning in the skies of the southeastern United States hauling checks to Atlanta, Miami, Pensacola, Jacksonville, Charleston, and other destinations.\u00a0 Each night, I typically crammed six to eight hours of flying into a 12 hour duty period.<\/p>\n
All of my solo flights before or since pale in comparison to one flight I flew in the Navy.\u00a0 This particular flight is truly The Solo Flight<\/em> of my life.<\/p>\n The boat is about half way between California and Hawaii.\u00a0 The mission is to go out and map all the surface contacts within 700 miles of the ship.\u00a0 The Air Plan calls for a launch about 45 minutes before sunset giving us an easy day catshot with a night trap. \u00a0This promises a dying light on the western horizon which will help with spatial orientation.<\/p>\n We brief and the air wing is ready to go.\u00a0 We suit up and man the airplanes.\u00a0 As a section (two aircraft flying together in formation), we are assigned different sectors around the ship to patrol.<\/p>\n As it comes closer to launch time, things start happening quickly on the flight deck.\u00a0 As each pilot finishes their pre-taxi checks, he calls up and ready.\u00a0 As I listen on the frequency, an odd thing happens.\u00a0 The Tomcats go down.\u00a0 Unless we make changes very quickly, we will not be able to cover all the sectors around the ship.<\/p>\n The next thing I know, my lead pilot calls me on the tactical frequency and splits the flight.\u00a0 He tells me to cover our original area to the north; he will take the sector assigned to the Tomcats.\u00a0 I could not believe we were going to go out and fly \u201calone.\u201d<\/p>\n Before long, the yellow shirts are directing me to Cat 2. \u00a0I rogered the weight board, and got ready.\u00a0 Shortly afterward, the force of the catapult shot presses my helmet back against the headrest and I am on my way north.<\/p>\n I climb to altitude and get away from the ship. \u00a0I begin looking for surface contacts.\u00a0 As I drone north, I am in awe.<\/p>\n The sun is setting to the west and all around me all I can see is water.\u00a0 After a while, the ship is 400 miles behind me, Hawaii is 1000 miles to my left, and California 1000 miles to the right.\u00a0 This is the absolute definition of solitude.<\/em><\/p>\n I do not believe I have ever been so alone in my life.\u00a0 There is me, God, the sky, the sea, the A-7, and that wonderful TF-41 turbofan engine turning tens of thousands of rpm behind me.\u00a0 As long as the turbofan continues to turn, life is good.\u00a0 However, if it stops, I know I will have a full night in the open waters of the Pacific.<\/p>\n The TF-41 keeps turning and on the way back to the ship, I connect with the tanker, taking on extra fuel.\u00a0 I spend minimal time in marshall prior to my push time and before I know it, I am back aboard the ship.<\/p>\n After all these years, occasionally, I will dream of this particular flight. \u00a0Only, now I know I am never really alone.\u00a0<\/p>\n -30-<\/p>\n \u00a9 2010 J. Clark<\/em><\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":" In yesterday\u2019s blog, I touched on the peculiar sense of solitude found only in flying alone.\u00a0 I have spent my fair share of flight time flying solo.\u00a0 In my Part 135 days, I was alone from Sunday night to Friday … Continue reading