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#11
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Crazies At The Gliderport
Soaring magazine had an article a while ago summarizing a crash involving a dog in flight. Basically the dog was such a distraction that the pilot didn't notice spoilers open on tow, or off tow, or at all until impacting the ground. It was 1 pilot 1 dog in a 2 place glider. Maybe dog on lap of passenger might work.
John Cochrane BB |
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Crazies At The Gliderport
On Tuesday, February 25, 2020 at 1:11:06 PM UTC-6, John Cochrane wrote:
Soaring magazine had an article a while ago summarizing a crash involving a dog in flight. Basically the dog was such a distraction that the pilot didn't notice spoilers open on tow, or off tow, or at all until impacting the ground. It was 1 pilot 1 dog in a 2 place glider. Maybe dog on lap of passenger might work. John Cochrane BB It took about 45 seconds to bring up the NTSB aircraft-accident database and search for all reports containing " dog " -- 203 items in 21 pages. No, I've not read them all. Basically, even a normally well-behaved dog may panic in the strange environment of an aircraft, so dogs, cattle, mice, snakes, spiders, etc. need to be secured in a way that prevents interference with any control or operation of the canopy release or BRS... Dan Johnson |
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Crazies At The Gliderport
On 2/26/2020 10:54 AM, danlj wrote:
On Tuesday, February 25, 2020 at 1:11:06 PM UTC-6, John Cochrane wrote: Soaring magazine had an article a while ago summarizing a crash involving a dog in flight. Basically the dog was such a distraction that the pilot didn't notice spoilers open on tow, or off tow, or at all until impacting the ground. It was 1 pilot 1 dog in a 2 place glider. Maybe dog on lap of passenger might work. John Cochrane BB It took about 45 seconds to bring up the NTSB aircraft-accident database and search for all reports containing " dog " -- 203 items in 21 pages. No, I've not read them all. Basically, even a normally well-behaved dog may panic in the strange environment of an aircraft, so dogs, cattle, mice, snakes, spiders, etc. need to be secured in a way that prevents interference with any control or operation of the canopy release or BRS... Dan Johnson And further in the head-shakingly, gobsmacked, I can't believe what I'm seeing, temporarily-speechless vein, here's my dog meets glider story. Names 'redacted' to protect the innocent (dogs, I mean, mostly, ha ha!) So there we wuz at a glider camp in the rural wilds of the Texas panhandle, an annually-favored location for a bunch of Boulder/Front Range (CO) glider/club types to kick back from the locationally/situationally/traffically driven rigors imposed on those Joe Glider Pilots flying from Boulder's municipal A/P. We were in the home of the brave and the land of the free, where the buffalo used to roam, and - if the peach fuzz on Joe Landed-Out Glider Pilot's cheeks was still fresh - a local might even be so kind as to quietly advise JL-OGP that farmers and cowboys are different species, instead of pulling their hogleg for the ignorant insult of incorrect categorization. In Texas, a prudent man chooses his insults wisely. We effete Front Range city-boy weenies loved it not only for its XC-friendliness for wannabe XC types (no gliders harmed in in 20 years of OFLs; 1 gear-up - at the A/P - way back 1990-ish; uncounted XC careers launched), but - hell, boys! - we were in *Texas* where men are men and the 3 most common lies uttered by many of those men a 1) I won this belt buckle in the rodeo; 2) I made this snakeskin belt all by myself; and 3) I was just helpin' this here heifer across that bob-warh fence. And if he offered you a beer while making those claims, even better, cuz there ain't much future in calling a Texican a liar, nor ain't there no worse insult than refusing a freely-offered drink! While it's true you can pretty easily tell a Texican, it's also true you can't tell him much, so best not to waste your breath. So the locals tolerated us and our strange lies, while we pretended to like Lone Star Beer and maintained Coloradans and Texicans got along fine together in Colorado - no hard feelings on either side. Hell...we were on vacation, strangers in a strange land, whose biggest problems all week were figgerin' out how to fill in the few non-soaring hours that occasionally drearified our carefree existences. Sleep, breakfast, rig, wait for the day to pop, soar until we wanted to puke, land, eat dinner; rinse and repeat... Life was good. Once the club's 2-seaters began to put in regular appearances at the camp, even the problem of throwing a sniffer aloft vanished...instruction and such, you know. Life was now GREAT!!! Every morning the airport routine was the same..hang around in the only air-conditioned, tired, melting-slowly-into-the-WW-II concrete, pilot's lounge while keeping our beady eyes out for the day's first victim. Unvarnished self-interest always saw someone wandering out onto the ramp once it appeared Joe Guinea Pig self-identified and the protocol was to pretend to be only trying to help out (like that heifer!) outta the concerned goodness in one's heart. On the day in question, Mr. Just(-offering help if you want any, take your time, no rush) was me. Apparently someone was going to take the twin solo...no student or passenger in sight, just the presumed-pilot's boisterous, large, Weimaraner bouncing around. Apparently as one final act of kindness to ye mutt before being banishing it to a piece of string near a water bowl in the shade while JGP went off and did his thing, ye mutt is given what I presumed to be a few moments of rear seat time...sort of a doggy glider camp treat sort of thing I guessed. My wife is a dog lover; I've seen stranger indulgences granted many a mutt... Further bemused ponderation witnessed ye mutt being buckled in. So far JGP hasn't said a word to me about his intentions, nor have I asked; if you need my help, here I am sort of thing. Gradually it dawns on me that JGP almost-certainly intends to take aloft ye mutt, leaving me even more speechless than I already had been. Words like "Surely you jest!" begin forming in my skull, as my internal dynamic morphed to include the curiosity-killed-the cat wait-n-see possibility. Boys, we seemed to have a developing situation. We're at a low-key, expand-your-personal-boundaries, throw off your Boulder-imposed rigorosities, camp. Friends among friends, where greater experience is freely shared with any seeking to increase their own - safely of course. As the greater experienced glider pilot (at that time), I suppose you could argue it was my responsibility to speak up...once I was 100% certain that the bounds or reasonably-prudent silliness were abut to be exceeded, but - it's my story and I'm sticking to it - I WASN'T 100% certain, and not a word had been said between us. It seemed a shame to possibly harsh the morning buzz by jumping the gun, so to speak. In a deus-ex-machina moment, the tuggie broke the spell; he'd been watching from the air-conditioned lounge. A take charge kind of guy, he marches out and sez, "If you think I'm towing you with that dog in the back seat, it ain't gonna happen!" JGP, still silent, straightens up and - still without a word being uttered - gazes briefly at the tuggie with a look of, "Really?!?"...then proceeds - still silently - to undo doggie's straps. The tuggie and I exchange silent glances; I'm pretty sure we're gonna have a private "WTF were you allowing to happen out there?" conversation; no sense gratuitously publicly embarrassing someone. Dick - the tuggie - shakes his head once and returns to wait some more in the air-conned lounge; I remained a silent witness as ye mutt was banished to his string and the day's first tow was soon-enough made, with my hookup/wing-tip-running help. I'm still gobsmacked by the entire weird experience - it's almost an out-of-body, did this actually happen? fading memory by the time we launched JGP. I launched soon after and returned as usual around sunset; except for the few cheap (rhymes with 'dastard') glider pilots like myself who preferred to camp at the airport 7 miles outside of town, Dick had closed up shop and gone into town for the night. Next morning he buttonholes me. We have our "WTF was THAT all about?!?" conversation. I explained my perspective of events. ("Honest to God, Dick, no way was I going to help launch a dog...but until you 'broke the spell' the issue of 'does he really mean to?' was still in doubt!") We laughed about it for years. The JGP in question - so as I'm aware - never broached the situation topically with either of us, or anyone else, ever. Ye mutt was likely mollified with a few doggie treats. I have no idea if any other camp participants were even aware of that morning's curiouser-and-curioser situation. But the best part of the entire weird scenarios was that particular JGP subsequently grew (and continues to grow) his soaring skills to where he's one of Boulder's farthest-flying sailplane pilots each year, obtained his CFIG, and has created (and continues to support) some nationally-known and near-universally-used soaring software. He survived his decade of youthful foolishness with no life-threatening injuries. Man! Some of the really foolish things most of us have done and survived!!! (They're hilarious...except for those times they ain't.) Bob W. |
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Crazies At The Gliderport
On Wednesday, February 26, 2020 at 3:28:10 PM UTC-5, BobW wrote:
On 2/26/2020 10:54 AM, danlj wrote: On Tuesday, February 25, 2020 at 1:11:06 PM UTC-6, John Cochrane wrote: Soaring magazine had an article a while ago summarizing a crash involving a dog in flight. Basically the dog was such a distraction that the pilot didn't notice spoilers open on tow, or off tow, or at all until impacting the ground. It was 1 pilot 1 dog in a 2 place glider. Maybe dog on lap of passenger might work. John Cochrane BB It took about 45 seconds to bring up the NTSB aircraft-accident database and search for all reports containing " dog " -- 203 items in 21 pages. No, I've not read them all. Basically, even a normally well-behaved dog may panic in the strange environment of an aircraft, so dogs, cattle, mice, snakes, spiders, etc. need to be secured in a way that prevents interference with any control or operation of the canopy release or BRS... Dan Johnson And further in the head-shakingly, gobsmacked, I can't believe what I'm seeing, temporarily-speechless vein, here's my dog meets glider story. Names 'redacted' to protect the innocent (dogs, I mean, mostly, ha ha!) So there we wuz at a glider camp in the rural wilds of the Texas panhandle, an annually-favored location for a bunch of Boulder/Front Range (CO) glider/club types to kick back from the locationally/situationally/traffically driven rigors imposed on those Joe Glider Pilots flying from Boulder's municipal A/P. We were in the home of the brave and the land of the free, where the buffalo used to roam, and - if the peach fuzz on Joe Landed-Out Glider Pilot's cheeks was still fresh - a local might even be so kind as to quietly advise JL-OGP that farmers and cowboys are different species, instead of pulling their hogleg for the ignorant insult of incorrect categorization. In Texas, a prudent man chooses his insults wisely. We effete Front Range city-boy weenies loved it not only for its XC-friendliness for wannabe XC types (no gliders harmed in in 20 years of OFLs; 1 gear-up - at the A/P - way back 1990-ish; uncounted XC careers launched), but - hell, boys! - we were in *Texas* where men are men and the 3 most common lies uttered by many of those men a 1) I won this belt buckle in the rodeo; 2) I made this snakeskin belt all by myself; and 3) I was just helpin' this here heifer across that bob-warh fence. And if he offered you a beer while making those claims, even better, cuz there ain't much future in calling a Texican a liar, nor ain't there no worse insult than refusing a freely-offered drink! While it's true you can pretty easily tell a Texican, it's also true you can't tell him much, so best not to waste your breath. So the locals tolerated us and our strange lies, while we pretended to like Lone Star Beer and maintained Coloradans and Texicans got along fine together in Colorado - no hard feelings on either side. Hell...we were on vacation, strangers in a strange land, whose biggest problems all week were figgerin' out how to fill in the few non-soaring hours that occasionally drearified our carefree existences. Sleep, breakfast, rig, wait for the day to pop, soar until we wanted to puke, land, eat dinner; rinse and repeat... Life was good. Once the club's 2-seaters began to put in regular appearances at the camp, even the problem of throwing a sniffer aloft vanished...instruction and such, you know. Life was now GREAT!!! Every morning the airport routine was the same..hang around in the only air-conditioned, tired, melting-slowly-into-the-WW-II concrete, pilot's lounge while keeping our beady eyes out for the day's first victim. Unvarnished self-interest always saw someone wandering out onto the ramp once it appeared Joe Guinea Pig self-identified and the protocol was to pretend to be only trying to help out (like that heifer!) outta the concerned goodness in one's heart. On the day in question, Mr. Just(-offering help if you want any, take your time, no rush) was me. Apparently someone was going to take the twin solo...no student or passenger in sight, just the presumed-pilot's boisterous, large, Weimaraner bouncing around. Apparently as one final act of kindness to ye mutt before being banishing it to a piece of string near a water bowl in the shade while JGP went off and did his thing, ye mutt is given what I presumed to be a few moments of rear seat time...sort of a doggy glider camp treat sort of thing I guessed. My wife is a dog lover; I've seen stranger indulgences granted many a mutt... Further bemused ponderation witnessed ye mutt being buckled in. So far JGP hasn't said a word to me about his intentions, nor have I asked; if you need my help, here I am sort of thing. Gradually it dawns on me that JGP almost-certainly intends to take aloft ye mutt, leaving me even more speechless than I already had been. Words like "Surely you jest!" begin forming in my skull, as my internal dynamic morphed to include the curiosity-killed-the cat wait-n-see possibility. Boys, we seemed to have a developing situation. We're at a low-key, expand-your-personal-boundaries, throw off your Boulder-imposed rigorosities, camp. Friends among friends, where greater experience is freely shared with any seeking to increase their own - safely of course. As the greater experienced glider pilot (at that time), I suppose you could argue it was my responsibility to speak up...once I was 100% certain that the bounds or reasonably-prudent silliness were abut to be exceeded, but - it's my story and I'm sticking to it - I WASN'T 100% certain, and not a word had been said between us. It seemed a shame to possibly harsh the morning buzz by jumping the gun, so to speak. In a deus-ex-machina moment, the tuggie broke the spell; he'd been watching from the air-conditioned lounge. A take charge kind of guy, he marches out and sez, "If you think I'm towing you with that dog in the back seat, it ain't gonna happen!" JGP, still silent, straightens up and - still without a word being uttered - gazes briefly at the tuggie with a look of, "Really?!?"...then proceeds - still silently - to undo doggie's straps. The tuggie and I exchange silent glances; I'm pretty sure we're gonna have a private "WTF were you allowing to happen out there?" conversation; no sense gratuitously publicly embarrassing someone. Dick - the tuggie - shakes his head once and returns to wait some more in the air-conned lounge; I remained a silent witness as ye mutt was banished to his string and the day's first tow was soon-enough made, with my hookup/wing-tip-running help. I'm still gobsmacked by the entire weird experience - it's almost an out-of-body, did this actually happen? fading memory by the time we launched JGP. I launched soon after and returned as usual around sunset; except for the few cheap (rhymes with 'dastard') glider pilots like myself who preferred to camp at the airport 7 miles outside of town, Dick had closed up shop and gone into town for the night. Next morning he buttonholes me. We have our "WTF was THAT all about?!?" conversation. I explained my perspective of events. ("Honest to God, Dick, no way was I going to help launch a dog...but until you 'broke the spell' the issue of 'does he really mean to?' was still in doubt!") We laughed about it for years. The JGP in question - so as I'm aware - never broached the situation topically with either of us, or anyone else, ever. Ye mutt was likely mollified with a few doggie treats. I have no idea if any other camp participants were even aware of that morning's curiouser-and-curioser situation. But the best part of the entire weird scenarios was that particular JGP subsequently grew (and continues to grow) his soaring skills to where he's one of Boulder's farthest-flying sailplane pilots each year, obtained his CFIG, and has created (and continues to support) some nationally-known and near-universally-used soaring software. He survived his decade of youthful foolishness with no life-threatening injuries. Man! Some of the really foolish things most of us have done and survived!!! (They're hilarious...except for those times they ain't.) Bob W. Fantastic, just LMAO!!! Keep up the good work. |
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Crazies At The Gliderport
On Wed, 26 Feb 2020 13:28:05 -0700, BobW wrote:
Man! Some of the really foolish things most of us have done and survived!!! (They're hilarious...except for those times they ain't.) Bob W. Nice story! Here's a wild one I found last night: https://www.mirror.co.uk/news/world-...oment-chicken- swaps-coop-10295846 Happened in Austria, or so it seems -- Martin | martin at Gregorie | gregorie dot org |
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Crazies At The Gliderport
From the December 2019 issue of NASA’s Aviation Safety Reporting System Newsletter “Callback”
What’s in Your Back Seat? This private pilot had an interesting learning experience departing an airport near the DC Flight Restricted Zone (FRZ) with a dog in the rear seat. * I departed this morning on a Special Flight Rules Area (SFRA) flight plan, and my intention was to maintain 1,400 feet until [laterally] clear of [Class] B airspace, which would keep me clear of the Flight Restricted Zone and all [Class] B airspace. At approximately 1,200 feet in my climb, my dog, which had been harnessed in the back seat, leapt into the front passenger seat. In doing so, he hit the dash, somehow managing to clear my flight plan out of my Garmin 430. He pulled my GDL 39 out of the cigarette lighter (my backup navigation), he knocked my tablet (also my backup navigation) onto the passenger side floor, and he ripped the microphone port of my headset out at the connector. I didn’t initially realize that had happened, and I could still hear the radio because the listening port was still plugged in. In trying to keep my dog off of the controls, and flipping the autopilot off to hand-fly, I inadvertently made a climbing turn to 2,200 feet and may have broken into Class B airspace. Upon recognizing this, I immediately descended and made my initial radio call to Potomac. At the time, I thought they had acknowledged my call, but in retrospect, I don’t think they did. A few minutes later as I was still trying to re-trim the airplane, Potomac was trying to reach me, and it was clear to me they couldn’t hear me. It was at this point that I realized my microphone port had been unplugged, and the cord was now wrapped around my 50 pound dog, which was dead weight on top of it. I finally freed the cord and made contact with Potomac. In doing so, my concentration was broken, and when I looked at my position, I was either in or very close to violating the FRZ. I immediately turned around and again made contact with Potomac. At this point forward I stayed clear of Bravo and the FRZ. |
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Crazies At The Gliderport
On Wednesday, February 26, 2020 at 1:55:37 PM UTC-8, carbonprop wrote:
From the December 2019 issue of NASA’s Aviation Safety Reporting System Newsletter “Callback” What’s in Your Back Seat? This private pilot had an interesting learning experience departing an airport near the DC Flight Restricted Zone (FRZ) with a dog in the rear seat. * I departed this morning on a Special Flight Rules Area (SFRA) flight plan, and my intention was to maintain 1,400 feet until [laterally] clear of [Class] B airspace, which would keep me clear of the Flight Restricted Zone and all [Class] B airspace. At approximately 1,200 feet in my climb, my dog, which had been harnessed in the back seat, leapt into the front passenger seat. In doing so, he hit the dash, somehow managing to clear my flight plan out of my Garmin 430. He pulled my GDL 39 out of the cigarette lighter (my backup navigation), he knocked my tablet (also my backup navigation) onto the passenger side floor, and he ripped the microphone port of my headset out at the connector. I didn’t initially realize that had happened, and I could still hear the radio because the listening port was still plugged in. In trying to keep my dog off of the controls, and flipping the autopilot off to hand-fly, I inadvertently made a climbing turn to 2,200 feet and may have broken into Class B airspace. Upon recognizing this, I immediately descended and made my initial radio call to Potomac. At the time, I thought they had acknowledged my call, but in retrospect, I don’t think they did. A few minutes later as I was still trying to re-trim the airplane, Potomac was trying to reach me, and it was clear to me they couldn’t hear me. It was at this point that I realized my microphone port had been unplugged, and the cord was now wrapped around my 50 pound dog, which was dead weight on top of it. I finally freed the cord and made contact with Potomac. In doing so, my concentration was broken, and when I looked at my position, I was either in or very close to violating the FRZ. I immediately turned around and again made contact with Potomac. At this point forward I stayed clear of Bravo and the FRZ. I, many times, flew 205 pounds of Labrador Retriever, two separate packages, in a Cessna 340A from San Diego to Minden/Lake Tahoe. Soon as the engines started they both fell fast asleep. Only once, descending through the turbulence around Minden on Summer afternoons, did one of the labs ever come forward to offer any help. But they are trained so I just said "place" which means go lay down on your bed and he did. One other time, the other lab was awoken by turbulence and she just looked out window for a few minutes before going back to sleep. On all but two flights I did have another person on board to watch dogs. It all comes down to decision making. Do you know how your animal will behave, what is your plan if animal I snot calm... |
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Crazies At The Gliderport
On Wednesday, February 26, 2020 at 9:54:24 AM UTC-8, danlj wrote:
On Tuesday, February 25, 2020 at 1:11:06 PM UTC-6, John Cochrane wrote: Soaring magazine had an article a while ago summarizing a crash involving a dog in flight. Basically the dog was such a distraction that the pilot didn't notice spoilers open on tow, or off tow, or at all until impacting the ground. It was 1 pilot 1 dog in a 2 place glider. Maybe dog on lap of passenger might work. John Cochrane BB It took about 45 seconds to bring up the NTSB aircraft-accident database and search for all reports containing " dog " -- 203 items in 21 pages. No, I've not read them all. Basically, even a normally well-behaved dog may panic in the strange environment of an aircraft, so dogs, cattle, mice, snakes, spiders, etc. need to be secured in a way that prevents interference with any control or operation of the canopy release or BRS... Dan Johnson Imagine transporting an entire sled-dog team in a bush plane! They know how to do it. Tom |
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Crazies At The Gliderport
On Thursday, February 27, 2020 at 12:16:38 AM UTC-5, 2G wrote:
On Wednesday, February 26, 2020 at 9:54:24 AM UTC-8, danlj wrote: On Tuesday, February 25, 2020 at 1:11:06 PM UTC-6, John Cochrane wrote: Soaring magazine had an article a while ago summarizing a crash involving a dog in flight. Basically the dog was such a distraction that the pilot didn't notice spoilers open on tow, or off tow, or at all until impacting the ground. It was 1 pilot 1 dog in a 2 place glider. Maybe dog on lap of passenger might work. John Cochrane BB It took about 45 seconds to bring up the NTSB aircraft-accident database and search for all reports containing " dog " -- 203 items in 21 pages. No, I've not read them all. Basically, even a normally well-behaved dog may panic in the strange environment of an aircraft, so dogs, cattle, mice, snakes, spiders, etc. need to be secured in a way that prevents interference with any control or operation of the canopy release or BRS... Dan Johnson Imagine transporting an entire sled-dog team in a bush plane! They know how to do it. Tom Many moons ago, I was lucky to hitch a right-seat flight in an Antonov AN2. I asked the pilot how many people this thing can haul. He said 'officially, 12 - but in Russia, 19 plus all their goats!' Uli 'AS' |
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Crazies At The Gliderport
On 2/26/2020 2:38 PM, Martin Gregorie wrote:
On Wed, 26 Feb 2020 13:28:05 -0700, BobW wrote: Man! Some of the really foolish things most of us have done and survived!!! (They're hilarious...except for those times they ain't.) Bob W. Nice story! Here's a wild one I found last night: https://www.mirror.co.uk/news/world-...oment-chicken- swaps-coop-10295846 Happened in Austria, or so it seems Har! That's *one* way for chickens to get more throost! W&B? Depleted uranium in their feed pellets? Hey - it's all good! Bob W. |
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