Pushing It

Tracy Thurman thurmantracyt@gmail.com

Zooming around in the dark in the dimly lit cockpit of a 510 Thrush is about as much fun as anyone should have without being charged for it. Nights when the air is cool and smooth are the payoff for those nights when it isn’t. Now and then, when flying back to the runway, I’ll fly up to a thousand feet or so, just to see the splashes of lights of the small towns around where I get to fly. They remind me of hands-full of old coins and precious stones, gold, silver, rubies, and emeralds, strewn on a deep, black velvet tablecloth.

All the humanity going on there, people living out their lives. Some are loving, some are fighting, some are hoping for a better day tomorrow, while others are celebrating the day they had. Meanwhile, we’re all spinning around on this giant spaceship called Earth, circling the sun and watching the moon. We’re just doing what we do. Good, bad, or otherwise.

When the wind gets a bur under its saddle, it’s a different story. Flying at night is one thing. Flying in the wind is one thing. Flying in both gets to be way too much like work. The wind on the field and the wind in the turns are sometimes two totally different things. They can often be different directions and velocities. It’s like dashing across the interstate with an arm load full of groceries. Dodging to the left, until you get halfway, then dodging back to the right. All while trying not to break the eggs or smash the bread.

It was such a night I was flying with an old hand in the business. There could have been a tornado ripping across the field and he would have taken it in stride and not wobbled more than two feet off his line. An odd air current tore crossway on the runway just about ten feet above the ground. I was straining on every takeoff and landing with gritted teeth, trying to keep all of the airplane pointed in the same direction at the same time. Turns at the field were an exercise in opposites. Downwind turns were wide and shallow, like an arcing bend on a roller coaster gaining momentum all the way. Get the airplane pointed in the general direction, present the wide part to the wind and hang on as you scoot around the curve. Up wind turns were spritely little hops letting the propeller chew its way in while the wings carved their way through. It’s a laborious way to fly.

I was on the last load of the last field and missed my initial turn by a long shot. Pulled away and attempted the turn again. Same result. I blew past it, muttered something derogatory about the light bar’s ancestry and gave it yet another try. The radio squawked in my helmet. Apparently, I was falling miserably behind. “What are you doing over there?” I wrestled with the controls and lined up on the awkward pass and pointed my way across the field. “If I knew that, I’d be done by now!” I snapped back. I was getting flustered, worn out, and downright mad. I was beginning to question the sanity of the guy who signed off on my pilot’s license.

Eager to get done, I was rushing my turns. Fighting the elements and arguing with the airplane. No one can outfly the weather and we can’t make the airplane do what it can’t do. That doesn’t stop some of us from trying though.

I finally made my last pass. Cleaned up the ends and headed back to get a rinse load. My partner had already cleaned out and was by this time tying down his airplane back at the airport. In all my haste and aggravation, I had caused myself twice as much trouble and anxiety. If I had just backed it off a notch or two and flew smoothly instead of fighting with it, I probably would be tying down at the airport as well.

Many times, I think we get ourselves in predicaments we could have avoided if we’d just been smart enough to stop pushing on a door clearly marked “Pull”.

We all have some mighty long days. Or nights, depending on your schedule. I know at the beginning of the season we’re chomping at the bit to get in the seat. About midway through, when the acres pile up and the schedule gets long, we have many days when we’re looking forward to “parking that damn thing”.

But you and I know, even on the long, hot, dusty, aching back days, we wouldn’t trade it for anything else.

One thing I’ve learned working with the pros, is the same old story about the Tortoise and the Hare. Slow and steady wins the race. The fact is, it’s not slow at all. It’s just a steady, smart way of flying and doing the job without bashing your helmet against a brick wall. Fly the airplane, do the work, and relax. There’s no need to fight your way through a flight schedule. It’s completely counterproductive if not downright dangerous.

How many times have we disregarded basic rules while trying to force the airplane into a swath we missed while pushing a lousy turn? “Wings level over the wires.” “Ball in the center.” “Don’t skid the airplane through the air.” Now you’re really frustrated because you’ve wasted even more time and air space by chasing a rat through the air when you should have just taken an extra second or two setting up your turn. Perhaps you should have made the decision to abandon the pass and try again way back when you realized you’d already screwed it up.

Pilots have to be ahead of the airplane. Ag pilots have to be way ahead of the game. By the time you’re halfway through your turn, you should already be visualizing your field entry. By the time you’re halfway across the field, you should already be seeing your shut off, pull up and entry into your next turn. When you find yourself figuring all this out as it happens, it’s time to extend your turns and give yourself a little more space. Widen the margins out a bit so that you’re not pushing yourself or the airplane against the wall. It takes a little discipline and diligence to identify your situation and do something about it. It’s one of those things that separate the professional pilots from the others. “Slow is smooth. Smooth is fast.”