Sharing

I'm due for lots of updating, but allow me to skip through a year or so of posts to bring you this one.

I was pondering what aviation is "about" the other day.  I had plenty of time, since I was waiting for some weather to clear up on what ended up being a cancelled trip.  It struck me that it pretty much all comes down to sharing.  I don't mean the "sharing economy" that's received so much press as of late (Uber, Lyft, AirBnB, etc).  I mean actually sharing, as in receiving no benefit other than the joy of the act.  

Take Rich and Ginger Davidson, for example.  I've unabashedly stolen this photo from Ginger's profile so I hope she'll forgive me.  Rich flies for an international cargo carrier for a day job, and Ginger, as far as I can tell, is the master and commander of Lee Bottom Flying Field.  When she's not acting as a beekeeper, she's fixing equipment and maintaining the airport.  While many of us believe that owning a private airport would be a dream come true, you need only talk to these two to realize that it's a massive undertaking.  

For many years, Rich and Ginger hosted a fly-in at their airport.  The annual Wood, Fabric, and Tailwheels fly-in was a well-known, well-attended, and well-respected event that was welcome to everyone, but always boasted a healthy contingent of unique aircraft.  I had wanted to go for quite some time when, in 2012, a tornado struck the airport and caused substantial damage.  The process of claiming insurance was frustrating at best, and Rich and Ginger elected to cancel the fly-in for 2012 and 2013.  They held a few smaller events in-between, but the workload of managing the airport and recovering from the tornado damage was more than enough to keep them overworked, so the fly-in remained offline.  Then, in late June, they announced that they had signed up for the punishment of once again hosting an event.  This worked well for me, since I was unable to attend Sentimental Journey for the first time in five years, and I figured I needed someplace to go.  As such, I put the Lee Bottom fly-in on my calendar (blindly, I might add, since I didn't do any research in advance--just figured I should be there).  

Hosting an event like the Wood, Fabric, and Tailwheels fly-in (switched to Wood, Tailwheels, and Fabric fly-in for 2014, so it could be shortened to "WTF" for multiple reasons) is no small feat.  There are costs to be fronted before anyone is at your door ready to hand over money.  There are myriad tasks and details to consider and coordinate in addition to the full-time-job(s) of managing an operating airport.  And moreover, there are only two people and Rich is on the other side of the world half the time.  So, why do they do it?  Well, it's certainly not for the money.  The price of admission to WTF 2014 was, frankly, one of the best deals in aviation.  If you attended Oshkosh in the last five years and later admitted to having a good time, do not complain about the cost of attending Lee Bottom's event.  

Yet, complaints were received.  One such complainer was outraged that he should pay for someone to look at his airplane.  The audacity!  Whatever he flies, I'm sure it is so amazing that people routinely line up at his hangar to fork over some cash to lay eyes upon the mythical machine.  Having coordinated a smaller event (Cub Convoy in 2011) that received little to no complaints, yet was still a load of work, I could understand if Rich and Ginger threw up their hands and said "Forget it" and elected to become aviation hermits.  

You see, the event isn't about making money.  It's about sharing.  Rich and Ginger open their incredible airport up to play host to a wide variety of airplanes and their people.  In turn, the pilots share their airplanes with each other and the community, and the community shares its people.  

To cut a long story short, I was unable to make it to WTF 2014.  I sulked for a while as I sat pondering my options.  I could turn around and head straight home, or I could mosey over to Hartford, Wisconsin, and show off the Oklahoma Kid to my parents and longtime friends.  I chose Door 2.  Things weren't working out quite as I had wanted, but I was determined to do something with the time, so I turned towards home (and picked up the one tailwind of the entire trip).  

Even the bugs were fighting headwinds.

The neat thing about returning to your roots is that it's like putting a comfortable old sweatshirt on.  It feels like you never left, just that you were on a trip for a while.  You're soon joking around and catching up, while sharing stories and trading jabs.  In my case, I got to show off my recently-purchased airplane to the people responsible for my involvement in aviation.  There is something very, very cool about being able to come full circle and share your airplane with the people who first shared theirs.  

Sharing the Cub with my little brother!

Then, someone is offering you a hangar, a ride into town, help holding the airplane at the gas pumps in the wind.  You get to be the pilot you once helped when you were on the other side of the equation.  You get to see the up-and-coming youngsters at the airport with the same gleam in their eyes as you once had--and you realize that the money is secondary.  Sharing your passion with your family (biological and airport) is worth it.

She fits!  It wasn't without some finagling, but the Kid had a roof over her head while in Hartford.

It was hard to grouse forever with this view.

So go on--go out and share your passion.  Share your airplane with the community.  Share your time with organizations that could use the help.  And for goodness' sake, fly your airplane to an aviation event--don't drive.  

--Amy

Waiting for the next adventure!

Funny How Life Works Out

I've debated about telling this story but I think the time has come because I have realized how things have worked out to make my charmed life possible.

In February of 2009, I interviewed for a scholarship for my multiengine and/or instrument rating.  The policies of the organization allow a candidate to apply for two scholarships only.  When in the interview, I was asked which other scholarship I had applied for.  I replied that I had selected one for a seaplane rating.  The response was, "Why did you pick that?"

"Because it is something that looks like fun that I have always wanted to do, and it would be a new experience," was my response.

This sharp reply answered: "Why would you bother doing that?  You'll get the rating and no one will ever rent you a seaplane so it's worthless."

I didn't know it at the time, but it was a catalyzing moment for me.  Never before had I felt like everything I was doing in aviation was so wrong.  I have always been of the opinion that we each have our niches and desires to explore.  It just so happens that my niche does not include a Boeing 737 or Learjet.  It is partly because of this interview that I have come to terms with my status as a puddlejumper.  I've embraced the title and revel in all that it means.  It is who I am, and I have recognized over time that there is absolutely nothing wrong with it.

Fast forward 2.5 years later.  I was personally contacted by the renowned world leader in aircraft float manufacturing (which also has world-class services like maintenance, paint, interior, and avionics) to apply for a position as marketing manager.  After much hemming and hawing over where I would work after graduation, I accepted the position.  In January, I began interning to get a handle on things.  In May, I started full-time under the tutelage of the outgoing marketing manager.  In September, I assumed full responsibility for the company's marketing department, including two employees.

Let's think about that for a minute.

I was called by a market leader to apply for a job they wanted me for.  I secured full-time employment well before graduating and moved straight into a fabulous job.  At 23, I now manage other people and oversee the marketing department of a world-recognized company.

The most satisfying part?

My boss informed me that "it is part of your job to know how to fly floatplanes."

That's right.  It's part of my JOB to get my seaplane rating.

It turns out following the beat of your own drum has a funny way of working itself out.  I feel so incredibly lucky that some days it is hard to believe it's all real.  Of course, there are still plenty of challenges and frustrations, but then I sit back and think about all the people--respected professors and industry professionals--that told me I'd never get a job doing what I was interested in.  Now I get to smile and say "I DID IT!!!!!"  No matter where things go from here, I have proven to myself that I am perfectly ok just the way I am.  It's ok that I don't want to fly for an airline.  It's ok that I will always prefer little fabric-covered airplanes with the little wheel in the back.  It is what makes me who I am, and no one can take that beautiful fact away from me.

I owe immeasurable thanks to the many people that encouraged me along the way, gave advice, lent a sympathetic ear, and prodded me along.  I can't say enough about the amazing experience I have had in aviation and I am thrilled to be able to work in this industry and help others discover just how awesome it really is.

Thanks for all the support and friendship--I hope I have made all of those friends and mentors at least a little bit proud!

A very lucky girl,

--Amy

Community

Every day, I am reminded how incredibly fortunate I am to have the world's best network of friends.  Not surprisingly, many of them are involved in aviation (though certainly not all), which emphasizes one of aviation's most appealing aspects--that of the sense of community.

Not everyone can find a friend that knows someone to answer just about any question that comes up, yet this is common in aviation.  What's even more awesome is that I have many people I can call and prod for advice or just to chat.  I'm like the Travelocity gnome--I never roam alone ;)

So, airplane friends, thanks for being there.  Thanks for the advice and open ears and head-clearing services.  I know my friends will always be there, whatever far reaches of the earth we get flung to.  With such a widespread smattering of friends, it is fun to realize that I can be at home almost anywhere in the country.  I count myself very lucky to be able to be a part of this community and hope that we are all doing our share to introduce others to this unique atmosphere.

Just had to share and say thanks.

In Love With the Moment

It strikes me that we as humans fixate on moments, and for good reason.  Moments are more than an event; they are a feeling, an emotion.  As I reflect on the awesome experience I have had through my involvement in aviation, I can't say that I really had a moment where I knew instantly that I wanted to fly.  I do, however, remember snippets of flights like they were yesterday, and I am of the belief that we as a community must help other fall in love with moments.

A few favorites from this year involved the trek to and from Lock Haven, Pennsylvania.  On the way out, my friend Dave in his PA-11 and I in Little Airplane stopped in Knox, Indiana for the night.  We had stopped at Knox on the way back from Lock Haven in 2011 and had had a great stay with couches available and even a shower.  This year, we arrived about 30 minutes prior to sunset (which is a world record for Dave) and tied the airplanes down.  As we each checked in with family members, I sat down on the ramp under Little Airplane's tail and took in one of the more perfect evenings I've ever experienced.  The pavement was pleasantly warm, the remaining rays of sunlight warmed my face, and the view was spectacular.  I can't remember what I said or how long I was there, but this image has been burned into my brain forever.

As far as I can tell, this image should appear in the dictionary next to the word "perfection."

Later in the evening, we took the courtesy van to town and picked up Chinese food to go.  There is nothing quite like picnic tables at an airport with takeout food, a good friend for company, pleasant weather, and only the sound of crickets and the rotating beacon making its rounds.  Absolute heaven.

Another great moment from the Lock Haven trip was on the way back.  We ran out of daylight and picked an airport that can only be described as the best option available.  I am sure it had great facilities but there was no way to utilize them.  With no cab service in town and the nearest restaurant (and restroom) 3 miles away, we got creative and called Domino's (this did not solve the second problem, but that is another story).   Again, we plopped down on the ramp and had our dinner leaning up against tundra tires watching the world go to sleep.  We popped the tents and settled in for the night, departing before the FBO ever actually opened.

These moments are by no means glorious.  In fact, they're sort of crude and rudimentary.  They're not fancy.  But they are things that, to me, epitomize the barnstorming mindset of aviation.  You get up, point the nose in the direction you'd like to go, count to a given number of hours, and then poke around for a fuel stop.  It's delightfully unsophisticated and freeing.  

Essentially, these moments are about finding your place.  For me, it is somewhere in an eternal summer with an airplane that has the little wheel in the back at a grassroots airport as I wander about somewhere.  I suppose if I could accurate convey what I feel I'd be miles ahead but I can only really show you.  So here are a few pictures that make me smile.

This one is special because it shows Little Airplane as a Sun 'n' Fun 2011 Survivor.  

On the way home from SNF11.  Loved the light on the hills.

Flying the first love.  

Love the light.  Love the subject more.

She's got a few injuries left here, but she's surveying her kingdom.

Hanging out while Aaron Tippin flies the Super 18.  It was a tough job.

A sweet gentleman gave me a 4-leaf clover for good luck in the spot landing contest.  Apparently I had already won with Little Airplane by then but it was cute :)

View from a nap

I think it's full!

Feels like living!

First solo in a Pietenpol.  A tremendous privilege!

Basking.

Show her the pancake, let her get the scent, then proceed to nearest pancake breakfast.  Works every time.

On to the next great adventure.

Who, ME???

A girl can dream.

I feel like the luckiest person in the world every time I look out and see this.

IFR, Cub style.

My chariot awaits.

Which one, which one?  I can't choose!

Fueled up and off to find adventure.

The Reader's Digest Update

1. In August 2010, I began an internship with a company called Dakota Cub Aircraft (www.dakotacub.com).  I worked there part-time until the summer of 2011, when I interned full-time.  I continued working part-time through May 2012.
2. I survived Sun 'n' Fun 2011, but one of the two Super 18s we flew down there did not.  The one I flew down survived and flew back home.
3. 21Y did not make it to Lock Haven 2011, but I flew one of the Super 18s available via my internship and defended my honor and regained my spot landing title.
4. I graduated on May 5th.  Now accepting donations for student loan payments.
5. I began a new job at Wipaire on May 8th as a marketing project manager and am drinking from the proverbial fire hose in terms of learning!  May get a chance to earn my webbed feet sometime too.  

Told you it was the Reader's Digest version.

--Amy

Can You Be Too Safe?

For those of you who have followed along before, stay tuned for updates.

One of the most encouraging things I have read in aviation to date has been the FAA's review of FAR 23, which governs the certification of small aircraft.  Over the years, FAR 23 has grown more extensive, mostly from the business jet sector, and these higher requirements have trickled down as far as the single-engine piston market.

Perhaps it's because most of my experience is in vintage aircraft, but I can't help but think that CAR 3 airplanes are still safely operating today, 60-70 years after being certified.  I'm certainly not saying that the safety improvements made in the past decades haven't been worthwhile, but I have to wonder if imposing the costly Part 23 process on small aircraft manufacturers has really saved any lives.  Airplanes are lasting way longer than we ever thought they would; in fact, I'm willing to wager that a higher percentage of 70-year-old airplanes are still in operation compared to 70-year-old cars.  Mr. Piper was even quoted as saying the lifespan of a J3 would be 7 years--and the aircraft was essentially designed to be disposable after that expected period.

Yet, here we are, with thousands of J3s and their descendants safely puttering around.  You can argue their lifespan has been lengthened by safety developments spurred by Part 23, and that by now the aircraft is probably nowhere near original, but the fundamental design has proven solid.  Are we really gaining something by imposing draconian certification measures?  Or are we simply discouraging innovation and smothering sales?  Few other industries have as strong of a used product market as aviation.  A strong used market makes new sales difficult, which means cash flow is minimized and innovations take longer to come to market or never make it at all.

Now, I'm not advocating planned obsolescence, but rather saying that, if manufacturers were free to pursue new developments more cheaply, they could and would respond more rapidly to market forces and capture customer attention better.  Personally, I have no problem if the guy down the hangar row buys a new airplane every year.  Increased new aircraft sales create a more competitive and, therefore, cheaper, used market which keeps older aircraft more accessible.  Consumer needs coupled with tastes and preferences drive aircraft purchases.  A cheaper, more streamlined certification process allows manufacturers to be more nimble in responding to changing tastes and preferences to better appeal to today's consumer (read: draw more people into aviation).

Essentially, aviation faces the conundrum of the mature domestic market.  Growth is not occurring or occurring at such a slow rate it hardly counts as growth.  Producers want to create products they can sell, but doing so is so costly that manufacturers elect not to pursue projects or new manufacturers never emerge due to these high costs.

The review of Part 23 will hopefully reduce the cost and time required for certification such that new products can be developed more cheaply and designed to meet more reasonable standards.  Aircraft design has reached a state where structural failure is exceedingly rare, and airmanship continues to be the most lacking factor in improving flight safety.  With that said, have we created an illusion of safety through expensive and unnecessary certification procedures?  Have we been taught to rely upon product design more than our own skill?  Has Part 23's primary accomplishment been to stifle innovation and new product release, while creating a product overbuilt and overpriced?

Food for thought.

--Amy

The Adventure

It's certainly been a while since I've been here. I've given all the excuses, busy with work, school, etc., but now the words are pooling in my head and they need a way out.

Things have changed a lot in the past year. Some things for the better, some still to be determined. There have been challenges and triumphs of course, but also a fair amount of soul-searching.

I'm graduating this [rapidly approaching] May. Now what?

A relationship I thought was going to last a lifetime fizzled out (mutually, and we're still friends). All the things I thought I knew and I thought I wanted are now in question.

So I start this school year alone in many ways. I'm in an apartment by myself, which is, of course, a double-edged sword. I love the privacy and space, but I do miss the social aspect. I'm forcing myself to embrace the solitude to really think about who I am, who I want to be, what I want to do, and where I want to go.

"If I were smart" is a phrase I've been thinking and saying a lot lately. If I were smart, I'd be an air traffic controller. If I were smart, I'd go to work for an ad agency. If I were smart . . .

And I guess here's a realization--it's not that I'm not smart enough to do the above. It's that, in some way, I'm not ready to do that. I've been spoiled by the experience of aviation and I'm not ready to sit down and have it take a back seat.

By all measures, that's not a well-advised stand to take. The wise thing to do would be to take a good-paying "normal" job, save up for my airplane, a house, a car, etc., and put money away for retirement. However, this is part of what has led me to where I am. I'm not ready to give up having my little yellow airplane to have a house. There's nothing wrong with those goals--I'm just not prepared for them yet.

So I sit back and take solace in the advice of a corporate pilot I know. "Experience these things while you're young," he said to me. "Because otherwise life happens, and you sit back and wonder where the time went. I always figured I'd finish college, and I still want to go to Alaska and be a bush pilot. There's always time to find jobs like this."

And then I ponder a little more and recall this quote by Mark Twain: "Twenty years from now you will be more disappointed by the things that you didn’t do than by the ones you did do. So throw off the bowlines. Sail away from the safe harbor. Catch the trade winds in your sails. Explore. Dream. Discover."

I have the world's best friends and myriad opportunities to chase around in airplanes. So let's go, let's wander outside the comfort zone--no, let's barrel right through it and see where we end up. There's plenty of time to work but not an abundance of time to explore and experience. Here's to the adventure :)

--Amy