Got to land a King Air 90 today...

Great story! If a KA90 costs $900/hr to operate, I wonder how these guys
are chartering one for $775?
http://www.fargojet.com/charter_kingair-c90.htm

Mike
MU-2



"Jay Honeck" wrote in message
news:r5U%b.419957$xy6.2394396@attbi_s02...
And I'm still giggling, probably from sleep deprivation. Here's how it
happened:

Mary and I were at the inn yesterday, working desperately to get our new
Blackbird Suite ready for prime time -- it was booked for the weekend, and
we still had over 20 pieces of art to hang! (And you don't just hang 'em
on
a nail in a hotel suite.) Plus some plumbing, and touch up paint, and...

Into the midst of this chaos strolled Ron, our airport FBO manager, just
poking around and being friendly, hoping to see how all of our cool SR-71
stuff was coming together. Seemingly out of no where, he asked "How'd you
like to come along with me on a Part 91 charter flight tonight?"

Looking around the room to see if he was talking to me, I politely
declined -- there was just too much to be done here, and too little time
left to do it. Besides, I was a lowly VFR private pilot -- not even
multi-engine rated! Still, I glanced sheepishly over at Mary, who just
rolled her eyes and started laughing -- she knew as well as I did that
this
could be a "once-in-a-lifetime" opportunity. She shrugged and said
"Go!" --
and within minutes I was OUTTA there! :-)

The plan was deceptively simple: The King Air was owned by a
neurosurgeon,
and he had donated this flight to his alma mater (a small college in
Burlington, IA) for the use of their basketball coaching staff. They
needed
to fly to Omaha, NE, watch a high school basketball game, and try to
recruit
one of the star athletes to play basketball at their college. We'd go
pick
'em up, fly 'em to Omaha, cool our jets for a few hours, and then fly them
home -- simple!

One big hitch: The neurosurgeon needed his King Air left in Burlington at
the end of the day, so that he could depart for Florida the next morning.
(Today.) We, on the other hand, needed to get back to Iowa City somehow.

The solution? We would fly ourselves home, in the wee hours, in a rental
Cessna 150.

So, I was off to play charter pilot for the evening! Donning my best
leather jacket, plus shirt and a tie, I hoped that my appearance and calm
demeanor would mask my utter and complete incompetence from our
passengers.
I didn't even know how to lower the seat arm-rests, but they didn't need
to
know that! ("Hmmm...it must be jammed...")

Settling into the co-pilot's seat, I faced a bewildering array of dials,
switches, buttons, valves, and displays. Ron patiently explained
everything
he was doing to start the twin 550 horsepower turboprop engines, and I
grinned as I yelled "clear!" -- this was cool! The big paddle blades
slowly began to revolve until they were a complete -- but incredibly
smooth -- blur. Then, onto the other engine, and we were soon taxiing to
Rwy 12 for departure.

Ron decided to let me do everything, much to my surprise and glee.
Steering
the King Air took the expected amount of effort, but I zigged and zagged
down the taxiway anyway, over-steering the whole way. Before taking the
runway Ron went through a few basic emergency procedures which could
politely be summed up as "Keep your hands off of everything, and your
mouth
shut" in the event of an engine failure on take-off. Then a few more
switches were thrown to arm some automated systems, and we were trundling
out onto the runway.

Getting the plane aligned with the runway, he told me to simply apply
power
smoothly up to a certain percentage, and steer the plane down the
centerline -- he would call out airspeeds and rotation. As I did so I
apparently did it asymmetrically, cuz we started a gentle weaving down the
runway. Those 1100 horses really hooked up with the props, and within
seconds we were at rotation speed. Unexpectedly soon, I found myself
staring at the sky -- we were climbing out at 2500 feet per minute!

Our flight to Burlington was brief, but full of instruction. I felt like
I
was trying to drink from a fire-hose as I tried to figure out how (and
where) everything was and how everything worked. I hand flew the whole
way, and happily discovered that the King Air is surprisingly responsive
and
light on the controls. In fact, it didn't really feel too much different
than my Pathfinder, but things sure happened more quickly! We were
zipping along at 240 knots in no time at all, and before I had even time
to
think about it, Ron was talking me into the pattern for Rwy 13 at
Burlington.

For some reason I expected him to take the controls at a certain point,
but
it soon became apparent that he had more faith in me than I did in myself.
He worked the power while I flew the pattern, and -- other than making a
bigger pattern -- I found the King Air to be surprisingly easy to horse
around. Getting that big pig to slide down the glideslope was a real
pleasure, and that sturdy landing gear made for a pretty decent landing,
if
I do say so myself. I could feel myself sitting up a little straighter in
the seat as I taxied to the ramp, but I gladly let Ron take the controls
when we got too close to some big (and expensive) obstacles.

Those wings stick WAAAY out there.

A few other observations about the King Air:

1. It's actually louder in a King Air cockpit wearing standard headphones,
than without them. The non-ANR headphones attenuate the high end, and
leave
the low frequency thrumming of those big propellers, beating the air just
inches away. Without the headphones, all you hear is the hissing of the
pressurization.

2. If you're thinking about renting one of these puppies, they cost $15
per
MINUTE to operate. That's a cool $900 per hour, boys and girls.

3. It's strange to be flying "Balls to the wall" all the time, when you're
accustomed to pleasure flying. Since turbo-props are so incredibly
expensive to operate, all emphasis is on getting up, and down, quickly.
All
descents are at red-line, and -- since it is pressurized -- you don't have
to worry about anyone's inner ears. There's no site-seeing going on in a
King Air, that's for sure. (I now understand why so many of these guys
come
blasting into the pattern from all sorts of odd angles.... Time really IS
money for them.)

4. You can't easily pre-flight a King Air as thoroughly as you can a Spam
Can. Heck, you can't even see the gas caps until you're in the cockpit,
making it pretty hard to visually inspect your fuel. Of course, the fuel
gauges actually work in a King Air.

Once we picked up our passengers, my fun was over for a while. With the
paying folks in back, we were all business, and I simply observed the
goings
on with my hands in my lap. I couldn't even help with the radios, since
they were Collins brand and of a type I'd never used before. So, I helped
with squawk codes and clearances as best I could, made sure the passengers
had cold pop and were warm enough, and we were soon cruising in the flight
levels, racing into the setting sun at 250 knots. What a way to spend an
evening!

Landing at an incredibly busy Eppley Airfield was "interesting," as we had
to side-step at the last minute from Runway 14L to Runway 14R. This put
us
into the wake of a 737, and I was really glad that Ron was doing the
flying.
Within minutes our passengers were enroute to their game, and we found
ourselves with several hours on our hands -- what to do?

What else do you do in Omaha -- you find STEAKS -- lots of steaks!
Borrowing the crew car we were soon in old Downtown Omaha, eating the best
16-ounce ribeye I'd ever tasted at the Upstream Brewery
(http://www.upstreambrewing.com ) Omaha beef is the very best, and we
could cut our steaks with a fork.

(Incredibly, Mary and I had visited this restaurant several years ago
when
we had flown in for a visit to the Strategic Air Command Museum. Ron and
I
had simply randomly followed the airport staff's recommendation, and I
wound
up back at the very same restaurant!)

After a couple of hours of pleasant conversation, we had solved all the
world's problems and were working our way back to the airport. We then
killed another 45 minutes shooting the breeze with other line-pilots, all
awaiting their charges. Sitting in a big lazy boy, watching the "Hitler
Channel", chewing the fat with fellow pilots -- could it get any better?
:-)

Soon our passengers returned, and we were thankful that it was a "school
night" for them -- they weren't in a "Party Mood" that might have delayed
our departure by several more hours. Within minutes we had picked up our
clearance from an obviously bored and lonely controller, and we were soon
clawing our way back up into the flight levels at better than 2000 feet
per
minute. Cleared direct to 21,000 feet, we soared eastbound through a
crystal-clear, moon-lit sky at better than 300 knots, as comfortable as I
am
right now. The air was smooth, and from our lofty vantage point we were
able to see the lights of Omaha, Des Moines, Cedar Rapids, Iowa City, and
a
zillion other smaller towns, all at once. It was incredible.

Our arrival at Burlington was uneventful, and we found ourselves taxiing
up
to a completely deserted terminal building. Burlington has daily regional
airline service, but they obviously roll up the sidewalks after 10 PM --
cuz
we had the place entirely to ourselves.

Bidding our fares a good night -- they had been a fun, undemanding
bunch --
we scurried to the T-hangar where our good Doctor's little 150 was
awaiting.
The temperature had dropped into the 20s, and we weren't dressed for being
outside for long. Our fatigue and the late hour had us shivering as we
discovered -- much to our horror -- a padlocked hangar door! The doctor
had forgotten to leave his hangar door open for us...

What to do? It was pushing midnight, in a strange town, with a closed FBO
and terminal, and we had no way home. The only place we could get warm
was
back in the King Air, so we lowered the air stair and clambered back
aboard
the still-warm airplane. Ron fruitlessly tried calling all of his
contacts, but no one would answer. My mood sank as I contemplated a cold
night in Burlington...

Suddenly a small car pulled up beside us, and honked his horn. Our
neurosurgeon had been stuck in emergency surgery, and had driven straight
to
us, still wearing his scrubs! He apologetically unlocked his door,
thanked
us for our patience, and sped off to re-join his colleagues at the
hospital.

Now, I may very well be the only pilot in the world to have never flown in
a
Cessna 150. With over 800 hours, and nine years of flying, I had simply
never had the pleasure, having simply skipped straight into 4-seat
aircraft
from the get-go. So, it was something of a shock to discover just how
SMALL
they really were! Ron weighed in at over 250 pounds, and I'm pushing
190 -- so we were well over gross.

Worse, in order to get my door closed I found that I had to turn sideways
toward Ron, put my arm behind his seat, and practically hug him. We're
good
friends and all, thankfully, but I sure don't see how you could actually
learn to fly in one of these things. One thing's for su After 20 hours
I'll bet you're REAL good friends with your CFI!

Taxiing out to the runway for departure, I couldn't help but marvel at the
contrast. I had just landed in an aircraft with literally every bell and
whistle, from a coupled autopilot, to radar, to a strike finder, to TCAS.
Now, I was rolling in a clapped out little 1967 Cessna 150, with a run-out
engine, a single VOR and a single COM radio. What an amazing change of
pace!

Starting down the runway, we were all noise and little progress. The poor
thing just wouldn't leave Mother Earth! After a 3000 foot roll, we
finally
broke ground into a wobbling, anemic 200 fpm climb. Like the "Little
Engine
That Could" we chugged into the sky, and I was never more aware of the
huge
number of lit antennas in the area. They were EVERYWHERE, and mostly
above
us!

Straining on up to 3000 feet, we were able to forego the VOR and simply
fly
toward the lights of Iowa City, clearly visible on the horizon. With a
respectable tail-wind, we were in Iowa City in 30 minutes, with Ron trying
to figure out how to land something so slowly. It was our worst landing
of
the day, and we both had to laugh. It was 12:30 AM, and I was glad to be
home.

Ron, who does this all the time, was facing another 30 minutes on the road
to find his bed. I don't know how he does it.

5:30 AM came mighty early today. But I wouldn't have traded last night
for
anything!
--
Jay Honeck
Iowa City, IA
Pathfinder N56993
www.AlexisParkInn.com
"Your Aviation Destination"