tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-62886196777847455862024-03-13T19:54:21.110+08:00The Collective Consciousnesshobbit1964http://www.blogger.com/profile/04030529322509686268noreply@blogger.comBlogger148125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6288619677784745586.post-46167135926446980942023-09-01T18:24:00.000+08:002023-09-01T18:24:52.461+08:00Oh Lord Please Don't Let Me Be Misunderstood<p style="text-align: justify;">I swear my intentions were good. I am safety trained with more than 30 years experience in safety work whether in flight safety or health, safety and environment issues.</p><p style="text-align: justify;">In such spirit, I am a keen participant in the base's Hazard Hunts and my safety hazard and reportable incidents quota for both 2022 and 2023 are healthy.</p><p style="text-align: justify;">Such was the eager spirit with which I attended the Hazard Hunt as periodically organised by our local HSE Department, 21 August. We assembled first for the FOD Walk, when we marched along our helicopter parking bay at Bay 27 Terminal 2, doing a ground sweep for Foreign Object Debris to prevent possible ingestion into the aircraft engines and the costly resultant, Foreign Object Damage.</p><p style="text-align: justify;">After the glamourously named "pungut sampah" was over, our HSE Executive broke us up into groups for the hunt. We were supposed to look around our working areas and offices for various hazards, such as fire extinguishers lacking the periodic checks and annotations, exposed electrical wires, outdated notices, first aid kit expiries and the like.</p><p style="text-align: justify;">In so small a working area as ours, I had reached my saturation level in hunting down hazards. Over the preceding year I had reported 5 hazards during my first Hazard hunt in KK and set myself rather above my quota for the first quarter of 2022.</p><p style="text-align: justify;">So on this fateful day I did my walkabout with my group comprising the HR Exec and the HSE Exec, both feisty ladies. I wandered into the passenger briefing room and looked around. Nothing valid. To the pantry and well, dingy as it was, it remained spotless so again, nothing. I caught up with the girls in the admin office, meaning the HR Exec's domain and found them rifling through a medical box. The were methodically silent and isolated two vials of clear liquid.</p><p style="text-align: justify;">"Sanitiser, Cap. Expire already" they explained. I swear I would never have thought of rummaging through the admin office save for what immediately meets the eye. I go about my business treating individual offices as....well, private spaces.</p><p style="text-align: justify;">Just outside the admin office was a Break Glass Call Point. It looked dated and unreliable. On looks alone.</p><p style="text-align: justify;">"This seems odd ya?" I mused while opining at the HR Exec. "The glass seems to be in contact with the background, and doesn't even feel like glass. There is no striker for breaking the glass." My finger ran over the centre of what felt like a plastic cover sitting on the call point, hoping to feel the reassuring stud of the alarm button behind it. I shook my head at her and said, "Nah, I wouldn't be surprised if this were a dummy call point."</p><p style="text-align: justify;">And right then, to my horror and embarassment the plastic cover cracked and the alarm went off with a loud, continuous and rather outraged ring.</p><p style="text-align: justify;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjmxQ12Rl0c1p1mRk0ScI7UuCaLZ9JCGMXYbW4FkhgX1p0yszC6bUbzBbb2YsB3J3OLQYMT9Hxrjru4oVF_rgu2bp2dSooRjzS6zWlZsfCamtS0LOkPueLlRHxLc9iwCtn9o4WIN9VyGwvtXkJ1TPxhHga-ZCAkj4bkimXO5dc8EHns92OHKset6xHgYek/s498/flee-for.gif" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="326" data-original-width="498" height="261" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjmxQ12Rl0c1p1mRk0ScI7UuCaLZ9JCGMXYbW4FkhgX1p0yszC6bUbzBbb2YsB3J3OLQYMT9Hxrjru4oVF_rgu2bp2dSooRjzS6zWlZsfCamtS0LOkPueLlRHxLc9iwCtn9o4WIN9VyGwvtXkJ1TPxhHga-ZCAkj4bkimXO5dc8EHns92OHKset6xHgYek/w400-h261/flee-for.gif" width="400" /></a></div>It may as well have been a Untited States nuclear launch, because the Pavolvian response of everyone in sight pouring out of their individual offices was as unstoppable as it was irreversible. As I walked towards the Aviation Security desk to confess, I beheld the enormity of what I had done. This wasn't just my company boys and girls evacuating. I watched with my face turning ever deeper shades of scarlet as offshore passengers, our neighbouring company staff and pilots and virtually everyone in the terminal inclusive of janitors went obediently towards the assembly point. It was as if everyone had fled for their very lives. Which would have been rather the point of the whole drill.<p></p><p style="text-align: justify;">The AFRS boys met with me, relieved that their panic was merely at the hands of a bumbling nitwit. "Panik bah saya tadi Cap!" they sighed and followed up with giggling. This only delayed my face from returning to its usual pallor. They were happy and satisfied at such a simple cause for the alarm and had nothing more for me. Having owned up to being the culprit, I joined the rest at the assembly area to be accounted for. The magnitude of my bumbling hit me for a second time as I saw our neighbouring company's Flight Ops Manager, Chief Operations Officer, Chief Exec Officer, <i>et al</i>, blinking uncomfortably under the glaring sun at their designated assembly point.</p><p style="text-align: justify;">Aviation Security met with each group's coordinator and checked the head count. All was rapidly settled and then we were allowed to disperse.</p><p style="text-align: justify;">But the meighbour's pilots, who were also my former squadron mates, took it in gentemanly good humour.</p><p style="text-align: justify;">"Hey, Captain Jeff, I heard something about this captain, entah siapa he is lah, who triggered the fire alarm. We are under audit now, with all the auditors watching so many of us panicking. But I will do him a favour and cover him, entah siapa he is, if you help me cover with makan-makan for us lah..."</p><p style="text-align: justify;"><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh6_2MdaiNJlS2cCLrswz6gCeDYUUx_ll7A84dXB9hsvM5Acv01tQA5COC3kwh0upRel96t_f-3pzOeAwFFrA6bt6H5OCUXMzDWrd9-45z-jGuU3gFHvbs8Q4u_8JVkYcEhIpKeGPhefF7Ldtwe8-G5PSaqaP2YAK52QuPLc_m0LM5jH8Xa08q2MlglVZI/s1156/7ca98290-14d9-47ac-8781-8b7d1d9e317b.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1156" data-original-width="867" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh6_2MdaiNJlS2cCLrswz6gCeDYUUx_ll7A84dXB9hsvM5Acv01tQA5COC3kwh0upRel96t_f-3pzOeAwFFrA6bt6H5OCUXMzDWrd9-45z-jGuU3gFHvbs8Q4u_8JVkYcEhIpKeGPhefF7Ldtwe8-G5PSaqaP2YAK52QuPLc_m0LM5jH8Xa08q2MlglVZI/w300-h400/7ca98290-14d9-47ac-8781-8b7d1d9e317b.jpg" width="300" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><i><b>A Break Glass Call Point, with shattered glass. This is at Kokol Hill Resort and was not my fault.</b></i></span></td></tr></tbody></table></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="text-align: left;">I will say this: we are at a point when the company's existence in KK hangs in the balance. State politics has dictated to us that come 2024, in the spirit of Malaysia Madani, only state owned aviation companies shall operate the privilege of offshore oil and gas flights. I am very possibly witnessing my last days in my beloved Kota Kinabalu.</span></p><p></p><p style="text-align: justify;">So it appears that triggering the alarm may have been the last thing I do in Sabah.</p>hobbit1964http://www.blogger.com/profile/04030529322509686268noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6288619677784745586.post-27834699481922752462023-04-21T17:31:00.127+08:002023-04-26T09:52:04.991+08:00The Double Six Tragedy Report<p><br /></p><p><br /></p><p></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhFuVVBv6CO5rTgK0OvJvLiwGYEUL50ZzSBAQ9g3l3Xt4Z_HmcxYk0m3FUwFAdli08Ej6EgFsH2HKeNPdqQrHqRDwR1zSUQoOfwrE5lPdxoQYZWXFBMSZVOXbwmWCVjtlQJlDNxMWIdoMFyaNB9vYeEqxcF-Zd5WXteFaatWvJuw81ztyDhgqRODW1q/s698/2014022.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="465" data-original-width="698" height="426" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhFuVVBv6CO5rTgK0OvJvLiwGYEUL50ZzSBAQ9g3l3Xt4Z_HmcxYk0m3FUwFAdli08Ej6EgFsH2HKeNPdqQrHqRDwR1zSUQoOfwrE5lPdxoQYZWXFBMSZVOXbwmWCVjtlQJlDNxMWIdoMFyaNB9vYeEqxcF-Zd5WXteFaatWvJuw81ztyDhgqRODW1q/w640-h426/2014022.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><i>The Double Six Tragedy. Pic source: The Star</i></span></td></tr></tbody></table><p></p><p><a href=" https://www.mot.gov.my/en/aviation/reports/n22b-nomad" target="_blank"> https://www.mot.gov.my/en/aviation/reports/n22b-nomad</a></p><p style="text-align: justify;">I received the link above from my La Sallian classmate on 12 April 2023.</p><p style="text-align: justify;">47 years ago on 6 June 1976, my classmate's father perished in what is now known as the Double Six Tragedy, in the waters of Sembulan, where now stands a monument to this mishap.</p><p style="text-align: justify;">I am not writing this to add to the furore of netizens dissing the declassified report on the air accident as "full of holes", although I used the very same words myself upon reading it. I am also fully cognisant of how this is a sacred matter, one where many are bereft. This tragedy be trebled then, that something of personal pain is also of such enduring public interest, to say naught of stale political expedience.</p><p style="text-align: justify;">I am simply recording my thoughts, as an aviator, on a report which seems incongruent to anyone who knows the discipline and has even the most basic understanding of the science known as the principles of flight. </p><p style="text-align: justify;">Let me vent here. And I will vent beginning with how dead men can't talk.</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhEBAk7JbOmI-M-j9Yv5UGFcSonUUY3EdRjd5SsaD1CMMRyjKCjx8jWpWNRK_wT5hHGBOOJEsMlPyIJ7nW_7YmZ07xG2zqz-432VYmdxXI7Ul7zP82L_5dQUnA-5zoX8dussE2AtJZUgwlxkI4QyEA-mSpRBY2ybV9qBRCYd-l_v_oLkfYCB0bH64vm" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="245" data-original-width="772" height="203" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhEBAk7JbOmI-M-j9Yv5UGFcSonUUY3EdRjd5SsaD1CMMRyjKCjx8jWpWNRK_wT5hHGBOOJEsMlPyIJ7nW_7YmZ07xG2zqz-432VYmdxXI7Ul7zP82L_5dQUnA-5zoX8dussE2AtJZUgwlxkI4QyEA-mSpRBY2ybV9qBRCYd-l_v_oLkfYCB0bH64vm=w640-h203" width="640" /></a></div><p style="text-align: justify;">I find such statements insufferable. First of all, it is summarily judged that the pilot was of "poor performance". While there is a slew of questions over such a blanket judgement, I will home in on a singular item: the pilot was <i>licensed</i>. That's the bit of paper or laminate you need to drive, to practise law, medicine or any professional trade in exchange for a salary. The same applies to the flying discipline for the purpose of commercial air transport. A regulatory body, then called the Department Of Civil Aviation, now the Civil Aviation Authority of Malaysia, governs the issuance and periodic endorsement of a pilot's license after his skills are tested in the air and on the ground on a host of subjects and medical fitness <i>every year</i> <i>for the rest of his employed life</i>. </p><p style="text-align: justify;">During the examniations, the pilot either performs (and thereby his license is issued-<i>noob</i>- or renewed-<i>recurrent</i>) or doesn't (and his license is supended). Neither the Ministry nor the Department (now called the Authority) will allow any "pilot of poor or marginal performance" to carry a license bearing its logo and signature of its Director-General what more if your'e making your money off it. Therefore that opening statement in the report is fundamentally flawed.</p><p style="text-align: justify;"> <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEi5NBbhKKN0jjmgLUMjWBkycVddzczEMmeOJUEzbnOc8s8C9ngRH66oOgQEJ4KRqQrTEtGXe8qB4WvwEI503C1LPUT1NRe-I3RAwCQN8xh1qAhdtlGXZwdWG4AZcQewvOAqWQ4IscPXgPbdwSDyklkeS_josyDcos8qDJXkb5Y_TXGdXroKSCch8tTI" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img alt="" data-original-height="137" data-original-width="725" height="120" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEi5NBbhKKN0jjmgLUMjWBkycVddzczEMmeOJUEzbnOc8s8C9ngRH66oOgQEJ4KRqQrTEtGXe8qB4WvwEI503C1LPUT1NRe-I3RAwCQN8xh1qAhdtlGXZwdWG4AZcQewvOAqWQ4IscPXgPbdwSDyklkeS_josyDcos8qDJXkb5Y_TXGdXroKSCch8tTI=w640-h120" width="640" /></a></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="text-align: left;">Interesting, isn't it? Done with the Captain, on to the Second Pilot. If the copilot loaded (or as the report alleges, overloaded) the aft baggage hold, could he if still living, verify this veiled accusation? He wasn't on board the ill-fated aircraft. Should he not want to clear his name of being part of the weak links in the overall failures leading to such a number of fatalities? Did he subsequently progress in his career in the same company or another airline and have his part in this quietly fade into his past? </span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="text-align: left;">Let's allow the conspiracy theories and urban legends of the 70s run wild here: the way it looks now, he joins the list of rather suspect surviving and demised ex ministers as those who were by divine or nefarious intervention, having dodged the bullet by not boarding the aircraft at the final few moments before departure. If they were suspected of foul play, he could too. Although it was his captain's decision to fly solo instead of dual pilot, being struck off the <i>operating crew</i> pairing cannot be so casual an acquital. Indeed, the response of Datuk Donald Mojuntin towards this report in that it raises more questions than it doth answer, is pertinent.</span></p><p style="text-align: justify;">The third item put forth here is the aircraft configuration. This has to do with how an aircraft is configured (set up) for a particular phase of flight eg take off, cruise, descent and in this case finals approach to land.</p><p style="text-align: justify;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEj8vOiBdDWw96rkpLPXfeJBfiKJk0ZD7rY0okFXCpOznmPa7Zd8FiW_9pwhoW1deVNV4uu_KSjfmjY5jZsFguHr44aXgmvkTm1YObF6m6c0Xgw6SzP6fXuDbeHA5uP1XRM0QQPbiMH0b_82A8FSvRS8evUxpaMq6TKip3CiWkOPFjbT6AflsQboFvDh" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="356" data-original-width="723" height="317" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEj8vOiBdDWw96rkpLPXfeJBfiKJk0ZD7rY0okFXCpOznmPa7Zd8FiW_9pwhoW1deVNV4uu_KSjfmjY5jZsFguHr44aXgmvkTm1YObF6m6c0Xgw6SzP6fXuDbeHA5uP1XRM0QQPbiMH0b_82A8FSvRS8evUxpaMq6TKip3CiWkOPFjbT6AflsQboFvDh=w640-h317" width="640" /></a></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">The allegation here was that the aircraft configuration favoured nose-up (positive pitch) moments on its approach to land which as the flight progressed towards threshold runway 20, were compunded with the aft baggage hold overload, conditions favouring stall.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">Yes, almost every aircraft whether fixed wing or rotary wing, as a function of passenger and freight loading and position affect where the centre of gravity sits during the course of flight. During this time, the centre of gravity can move forward or aft with fuel consumption, repositioning of passengers in their seating arrangement or refuelling during a stop on ground, for most uneventful flights. The next time you're listening to the safety and emergency briefing on board MYAirlines, pay attention and you will find this bit relevant.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">This is usually limited to a range, often measured in milimetres, called the CG margin. Almost every aircraft is a fun fact: I have been made to understand that the Boeing Vertol Chinook has a negligible CG margin because of its dual main rotor design. The CG can be anywhere between those two and the aircraft will preserve its balance.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgHsumCu1guf6EQOsWSLTbqG2WOe8t9U95xKzRMq8TRBKaqiXUIRs90nLfynsd_p6I8-OpOAqviC_tGFFr0clDKuh1Ikydkefhbqnt70_tQf15OGz_-e37v6QzxoG1P9BkGElg8lWPiJ13hl2AI23VgIlLZXstc_hMolJUp7ejeKpP93rAIwCog3P0j/s318/download%20(1).jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="159" data-original-width="318" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgHsumCu1guf6EQOsWSLTbqG2WOe8t9U95xKzRMq8TRBKaqiXUIRs90nLfynsd_p6I8-OpOAqviC_tGFFr0clDKuh1Ikydkefhbqnt70_tQf15OGz_-e37v6QzxoG1P9BkGElg8lWPiJ13hl2AI23VgIlLZXstc_hMolJUp7ejeKpP93rAIwCog3P0j/w640-h320/download%20(1).jpg" width="640" /></a></div><br /><div style="text-align: justify;">If the CG moves too far forward or conversely too far aft, the aircraft will, respectively, have predominately nose down or nose up moments respectively as it interacts with the Centre of Pressure (CP) located coarsely for this narrative, where the wings are since CG and GP now form a "couple", creating "moments". Yes, this is still aerodynamics and not dating tactics.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">To put it rather unscientifically, the CP is the string from whence the weighing scale is <i>Lift</i>-ed, and the CG is where the <i>weigh</i>t sits in the tray, and the counterweight can be.....configuration? So in this pedestrian visual, the closer CP and CG are, the more stable the loading and the more latitude with config. Just don't quote me on this, it is tough staying away from aerodynamic jargon! Or maybe it isn't a bad simile, since as the report shows, with the CG so far aft from CP, config did make things worse.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg9OmienEXZMihiifWf1sTEC25KVEnV8ulc9Wy2L0Bm6pA_BVzYokxKwirtpVe2cFcEr3FzOOBCjpV5PO_t26cPk19Mp44icwGygFwhYH9BHkCglVQoFSrRAqq0-baYQvQh-u0xy98DT5lIBq8iFNVrRvO1pn29NlS7Ol50gVjmIaoG-wCemxQxRzo2/s500/s-l500.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="443" data-original-width="500" height="284" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg9OmienEXZMihiifWf1sTEC25KVEnV8ulc9Wy2L0Bm6pA_BVzYokxKwirtpVe2cFcEr3FzOOBCjpV5PO_t26cPk19Mp44icwGygFwhYH9BHkCglVQoFSrRAqq0-baYQvQh-u0xy98DT5lIBq8iFNVrRvO1pn29NlS7Ol50gVjmIaoG-wCemxQxRzo2/s320/s-l500.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i><span style="font-size: x-small;">A bad comparison, but it will serve.</span></i></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><div style="text-align: justify;">Loading is important therefore to keep the CG margin as close as possible to the wings where lift is made, so that lift acting mostly upwards does not form too strong a "couple" with weight which mostly works towards the earth. The couple is further managed via <i>configuration</i> peculiar to phase of flight.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">In this argument, the CG being too far aft, would mean that for certain low airspeeds, such as an approach to land, the aircraft's wing surfaces will be tilted upwards close to the angles at which stall will occur. Combined with a malfunctioned stall warning horn, and a "steering yoke" which had physical contact against its forward travel limit, the captain would neither have recognised an impending stall due to the absence of aural warning, nor would he have been able to recover the aircraft because the steering yoke could no longer be pushed forward to "unstall" the wings. In short: a perfect shitstorm.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjj-9ADtSE6psMaKsuODYz00PYKuY8AFeN_5SOzocHdQUu2JrQbUWc545c7aS79cUfAlT1-6rkfDSAEcsY_A_Fy5p2wbD4et4pFLRRRRY67FpJvTt5c5m56caXEqy84PT1BS8795TENdhDEs-GnROP5YZMk9zabIBrUHZzt1BnEN2Y2_x6DBosLonta" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="270" data-original-width="762" height="226" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjj-9ADtSE6psMaKsuODYz00PYKuY8AFeN_5SOzocHdQUu2JrQbUWc545c7aS79cUfAlT1-6rkfDSAEcsY_A_Fy5p2wbD4et4pFLRRRRY67FpJvTt5c5m56caXEqy84PT1BS8795TENdhDEs-GnROP5YZMk9zabIBrUHZzt1BnEN2Y2_x6DBosLonta=w640-h226" width="640" /></a></div></div><p style="text-align: justify;">The description of eyewitness accounts and the configuration as described in the report point towards a low-altitude stall on approach to land, and with tale telling of a wing dip, stall can rapidly develop into an incipient spin. A few details of the report are rather telling.</p><p style="text-align: justify;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEic3LDKvqp3xyiOSkBboa4rWB6z50QWM3Dxp28I5dViHxrYOT_olOETftDeKqsAMvNSGQULM2mFYiZIi-1T9INwp2e2o9GGlNcD2cj1O5lVgZtwjoTZVBDsV-Rlt1ZV2PB0zcuNEdcNyZB17lsa0e9-koPijrziPvedHesU_XOo1OVjzVT14mVCWqDd" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="138" data-original-width="693" height="128" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEic3LDKvqp3xyiOSkBboa4rWB6z50QWM3Dxp28I5dViHxrYOT_olOETftDeKqsAMvNSGQULM2mFYiZIi-1T9INwp2e2o9GGlNcD2cj1O5lVgZtwjoTZVBDsV-Rlt1ZV2PB0zcuNEdcNyZB17lsa0e9-koPijrziPvedHesU_XOo1OVjzVT14mVCWqDd=w640-h128" width="640" /></a></div><br /><div style="text-align: justify;">The "threshold" to Runway 20 at that time is located adjacent to the today's location of thr Bulatan Bed-and Breakfast hotel as compared to today where it is a hundred metres or so opposite Sunny Supermarket or on the other side of the runway, through the corner window of Ma Pitz, it csn be viewed panoramically. 5676 feet before the threshold as the crash point places it almost a mile away from Bulatan along the same axis. Not quite where the monument is today at Grace Point, but well, close enough, yes? However, with the wreckage ponting away from Runway 20, on a heading of 20 degrees does indeed indicate it had spun to face the north.</div><p></p><p style="text-align: justify;">Evidently the report reads the way any standard accident report would. There will be the chronology of events, scrutiny of the aircrew, documents, aircraft, engineering practices and deviations from procedures.</p><p style="text-align: justify;">I have no issue with that.</p><p style="text-align: justify;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEh3bgCk57CDFbxGedHpV4-FE1D2qba2q0SQ2ts5voJ-MRaoPigIVrUrnp0lowHA2BMUK--TFqMpCh5M38LEdB0JWyTOtelAwI1yZIeLISWXJZ6z-gIya0mNcIwlWfDCO_uwQouxt-feExLURZ5lknSJ-WppbbFkHvt4MarZK_dBgutal4El-hJian15" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="366" data-original-width="772" height="304" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEh3bgCk57CDFbxGedHpV4-FE1D2qba2q0SQ2ts5voJ-MRaoPigIVrUrnp0lowHA2BMUK--TFqMpCh5M38LEdB0JWyTOtelAwI1yZIeLISWXJZ6z-gIya0mNcIwlWfDCO_uwQouxt-feExLURZ5lknSJ-WppbbFkHvt4MarZK_dBgutal4El-hJian15=w640-h304" width="640" /></a></div><br /><div style="text-align: justify;">However, with reference to the above, I am doubtful that any captain would neglect the basic duty of drafting out a proper trim sheet (c of g margin chart) before flight. That is simply a bread and butter issue of any captain worth his salt. Suggesting that he also deliberately violated the aircraft limitations by overloading the baggage hold is another departure from the norm which I cannot rest well with. Limitations are life! </div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">I say this in comparison to how reading through the report shows that the company and its pilots had become lackadaisal in adherance to their own company operating manuals. This is because there are post-holders in any company, also licensed pilots, who are there to ensure compliance to both Civil Aviation Regulations and company Operating Manuals. They become extra temperamental whenever the Authority comes around annually to audit the company before its operating certificate is renewed. </div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">To allege that a cavalier attitude had overtaken an entire company seems a stretch to me. No aviation service provider should have been allowed to survive a shitstorm like this if such deep-set systemic failures and negligence found its way into paper, let alone a crash killing half the state cabinet ministers and its Chief Minister.</div><p></p><p style="text-align: justify;">The bit about having to fly Instrument Flight Rules for VIP flights does puzzle me. The meteorological conditions of the time of flight were pretty damned good. A 30 kilometre visibility range would not "require" IFR when his reported cruise and rejoin for landing altitudes were 5000 and 3000 feet respectively. With but 2/8 or "few" clouds at 1500 feet and 3/8 or "broken" clouds at 2000 feet conditions to fly visually with the abundance of ground references for navigation rather than by IFR were satisfactory indeed. Anyway, submitting a flight plan under IFR does not mean a pilot is stuck with IFR as he can still fly visually all the way to landing. It was merely in the company's operating manuals that VIP flights require an IFR flight plan. I believe that this was emphasised to indicate deviations from procedures and the absence of a monitoring system to ensure compliance, underscoring the systemic failures aready discussed.</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="text-align: justify;">In all probability maybe all that was alleged in the report was actually true, in that litmus, irrefutable </span><span style="text-align: justify;">and throroughly forensic principle known as </span><i style="text-align: justify;">"whaaaaat if</i><span style="text-align: justify;">"!</span></div><p style="text-align: justify;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEj8qtaFRMayIxH9T7QdNfibcrg6Pk8b4lc5HJO8aFHyI-44GdykGNUQJJvjIoqc2ap3EaIxvauHgczEGQ9hZP7UAKDvq7G4cp0Kl1RsODoc7JyCUGT7nHFEdu4YqUAVWP2keYYe2iAZBqNIImckeZv7NOvoTR0Fb6nMfrJy10corsnnoA1cgP_aCAZD" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="47" data-original-width="669" height="45" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEj8qtaFRMayIxH9T7QdNfibcrg6Pk8b4lc5HJO8aFHyI-44GdykGNUQJJvjIoqc2ap3EaIxvauHgczEGQ9hZP7UAKDvq7G4cp0Kl1RsODoc7JyCUGT7nHFEdu4YqUAVWP2keYYe2iAZBqNIImckeZv7NOvoTR0Fb6nMfrJy10corsnnoA1cgP_aCAZD=w640-h45" width="640" /></a></div><br /><div style="text-align: justify;">What-ifs are obviated in commercial airlines, beginning in 1967, when Flight Data Recorders and Cockpit Voice Recorders were made mandatory equipment for flight. These "black boxes" which are actually painted day-glo to aid crash site retrieval, provide all the data necessary to piece together the aircraft configuration and performance parameters up to the point of mishap. The cockpit voice recorder of course will tell us what the pilots were dealing with along the same time frame. These have aided aircraft accident investigations immensely. It is both tragic and convenient that mandatory eqiupment is reported as not quite so in the case of the Nomad. Why was this not pointed out as a non compliance in the report, is also curious. The omission of the device should have been reported as gross negligence instead of the slap on the wrist (hardly) it appears to be as reflected in the report.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">I can only speculate that this regulation was bypassed because Penerbangan Sabah was not really an "airline" per se. It was a state-affiliated charter aviation service, so I am not certain of what waivers it may have been granted.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">Those of us in the industry are well aware of the fact that even with the digital aids of the FDR/CVR, the complete picture of the line up to an air accident is not complete. It may come close and yet something crucial can be missed. But to not have one at all, is to fire rockets blindfolded.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">And in that spirit, I'll be the devil's advocate in pondering the possibility that this may not even have been a political conspiracy and perhaps was simply a commercial one.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">An aircraft plagued with incidents and mishap can easily see its removal from the aviation scene. For instance, the Eurocpter (now Airbus Helicopters) EC225 was a very viable offshore helicopter but in 2016 and onward, a series of mishaps led to the aircraft being removed from the North Sea Oil aviation scene. It led to the Malaysian Helicopter Services closing shop in Kerteh as worldwide, offshore boys made it clear via their workers' unions that they never wanted to set foot in a 225 ever again.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><a href="https://verticalmag.com/news/norway-h225-crash-report-recommends-changes-to-super-puma-type-design/">https://verticalmag.com/news/norway-h225-crash-report-recommends-changes-to-super-puma-type-design/</a><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="text-align: justify;">Therefore the report would serve the business continuity of the companies operating the Nomad, whether local or at the manufacturer's home country. The OEM would also find it in their interest if the blame could be laid squarely on the shoulders of the hapless captain. The last flight I know of involving a long-range sortie for the Nomad was the BODEVAC for the late Captain Sahaimi of Sabah Air after his Bell206B crashed in Sibu during the state elections of 2011, my account in the link below. Even if we count from 1976 till 2011, that's a healthy 35 years for all parties staying afloat. Hence when there are many interested parties and possibilities, a smoking gun is easier to conceal.</span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="text-align: justify;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="text-align: justify;"><a href="https://hobbit1964.blogspot.com/2011/04/incomprehensible.html" target="_blank">https://hobbit1964.blogspot.com/2011/04/incomprehensible.html</a><br /></span></div><div><span style="text-align: justify;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="text-align: justify;">I didn't ever expect that the declassifying of the report would reveal a smoking gun. How genuine it is that the baggage recovered from a mangled wreck would correctly have been in place and intact just as it was before flight at the forward and aft cargo holds and thereby point directly to bad loading, </span><span style="text-align: justify;">calls for quite a bit of faith in the printed word. I find it hashed up and rather speculative</span><span style="text-align: justify;">.</span></div><div><p style="text-align: justify;">The problem is this: for decades we have been fed with the idea that this report is the Grail which will prove some convoluted Federal Government-led conspiracy against the state. Vote-fishing can get ugly when parochial politicians keep hankering for the release of classified materiel, dragging their electorate with them as if the release thereof will lead to a momentuous grand revelation of how the state has been a victim of a colonising Federal Government. It's the shortest path to an equally short lived statesmanship. </p><p style="text-align: justify;">But having seen what I have, declaring either one side as being the good guys cannot be further from my intent. For the same reason, I see no reason to exonerate the insidious players of that day. Besides, colonisation requires collaborators. It is rare for an entire government to be inherently evil save perhaps, for juntas. But common it is for individuals in a governent however benevolently said government may posture itself, to infest the halls of power with venom. I'm not saying there was no conspiracy. Just saying that proof of it isn't in the pages of this report. </p><p style="text-align: justify;">If those clamouring statesmen play-actors sincerely want to pursue the truth, they could, instead of politicising the report, call for a forum comprising existing Nomad pilots to review the report. There is a Nomad aircraft languishing on the tarmac of Layang Layang Aviation right now. Where are her pilots? Either the aircrew open up a can of worms requiring further clarification of the report, and points us in the direction of the actual Grail, or they concur with it and all of us, poltician and concerned citizen alike will have to forever hold our peace.</p><p style="text-align: justify;">For it doesn't take an air accident investigator to conclude, that if anything over the Double Six Tragedy is being hidden, concealment was secured well before that ill fated Nomad hit the waters of Sembulan.</p></div>hobbit1964http://www.blogger.com/profile/04030529322509686268noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6288619677784745586.post-52233067509122386572023-04-15T16:23:00.008+08:002023-04-15T16:27:18.775+08:00Cap-Incap<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='320' height='266' src='https://www.blogger.com/video.g?token=AD6v5dzWg9X4ufPFgK6sC1fpk2Tp-9tliQOLwKLFgXCW3dBVAzp1h-hTZopBBpMWbeg2XM6fAUR1IQjY67pgxs-DAw' class='b-hbp-video b-uploaded' frameborder='0'></iframe></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">Flying over a coral bed en route to Malikai</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">20 March 2023. I had been flying quite a bit with other captains after being left hand seat qualified. </div><p></p><p style="text-align: justify;">It was my second consecutive day of flying with Captain Sow. We were scheduled for two sorties to Gumusut Kakap. He was a senior captain and could sign for the aircraft but yet command from the left hand seat. So, even though I was supposed to fly as a copilot clocking First Pilot hours, he made me sit on the right for both sorties. A bit of early morning confusion as I had already strapped into the left hand seat. However, I could understand that he may have wanted to have more of a chill day and allow the right hand seat pilot face the landings as the prevailing winds for the day favoured the right hand seat pilot at Gumusut.</p><p style="text-align: justify;">I remember that when I was cutting my teeth as an offshore copilot in Kerteh, my senior captain in the company I served under at the time tested me on what I would do if the other pilot was incapacitated. We in the industry call it Pilot Incap. The cause could be food poisoning, loss of consciousness, cardiac arrest or narcolepsy for all we know. Verbal diarrhea is not included. That is a captain's perpetual ailment as far as copilots are concerned.</p><p style="text-align: justify;">Having had some background in flying at the time as an ex Nuri pilot, I gave the senior captain the usual academic verbiage. Well, I would observe the pilot's responses to my advise, or his deviations from procedures or stabilisations in flight. Once sure he was incpacitated, I would verbally challenge him twice. If his being frozen in time and space persisted, I would take over control, secure his limbs away from flying controls, have him strapped firmly and immovably in his seat and get the old bird home. You know...<i>.that</i> old nutshell.</p><p style="text-align: justify;">Pilot Incap is a favourite Line Check question and it repeats during the License checks and operator's Checks, the periodic exams which determine that we are competent to hold a license with which we earn our keep.</p><p style="text-align: justify;">Why on earth is it relevant here? Because from clock-in, Captain Sow had been coughing and sneezing quite worrisomely. That on its own was not alarming, as he wore his N95 and as did I, albeit of a different manufacturer. I had also taken my second booster shot, so Covid was not my first source of fear.</p><p style="text-align: justify;">However, in flight, signs of his aforementioned <i>training narrative</i> were interrupted by coughs and sneezes taking a back seat to what I perceived as pauses to swallow down before he constructed his next sentence. </p><p style="text-align: justify;">"Are you having a mint, sir?" I asked.</p><p style="text-align: justify;">"Why, you want one, ah?" he offered.</p><p style="text-align: justify;">"Thank you sir, but I can't. Sugar sir. <i>Sugar!</i>" I replied in jest, and also in attempted disguise of my concerns. Should he suddenly have a sharp intake of breath to shoot out a sneeze, I feared for where that mint might lodge.</p><p style="text-align: justify;">My Pilot Incap training did not ever include reaching over to the left hand seat to perform the Heimlich.</p><p style="text-align: justify;"><br /></p>hobbit1964http://www.blogger.com/profile/04030529322509686268noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6288619677784745586.post-46583205344562681932023-03-14T09:51:00.007+08:002023-03-14T10:04:12.133+08:00Taken For Granite<p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='320' height='266' src='https://www.blogger.com/video.g?token=AD6v5dxXL_89lesRYR5b_DHL2h1HnrQmQQD3drQkG1OFPo-aiIPL9I_Q_F7T_hHQQ_EbRK-xz2IDmh3cxMBiRJvxow' class='b-hbp-video b-uploaded' frameborder='0'></iframe></div><h3 style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-weight: normal;"><i><span style="font-size: x-small;">Look! A helicopter with afterburners!</span></i></span></h3><p><span style="text-align: justify;">Swiftly have we arrived at the end of the contractual date for the northeast monsoon. Although the weather and trade winds remain characteristically NE, the Monsoon Contract ends on 15 March, and the company eases up on constantly being at the behest of clients signatory to said contract. Or....as in real life, not!! Yeah, we are at their behest, monsoon or no.</span></p><p style="text-align: justify;">About the midway point of February till the beginning of March, the weather improved from apprehensive with promises of heavy thunderstorms both offshore and recovery to home base any time past 1400H, to scenically and dramatically romantic. Indeed there was one day towards the second week I was blessed with a day full of rainbows.</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='320' height='266' src='https://www.blogger.com/video.g?token=AD6v5dyStaRZr-hXXWHgpCf2aSlltTvJ_FCLS2BLGOIyKjhrSVIgKvEOYT6H_-nrlVNjRvui8dUo0pi7W0oSlJ30gA' class='b-hbp-video b-uploaded' frameborder='0'></iframe></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><i><span style="font-size: x-small;">Being chased by rainbows, all the livelong day</span></i></div><p style="text-align: justify;">I have been privileged to fly with a few captains with me in the copilot's seat as I am left hand seat qualified ever since my recent check ride. This allows the home base to pair me with a captain when copilots are unavailable due to illness, simulator training in the peninsula or courses thereat. </p><p style="text-align: justify;">I have found this to be quite revealing, giving me an insight as to whom amongst them want to play the instructor although they are not, and who sees themselves as standing shoulder to shoulder with me in spite of my cockpit flaws, which confessed or not, we all carry. No, these aren't traits of young captains alone. There are copilots who also want to play at being instructors while I'm in the right hand seat. I couldn't see all this when I was a mere copilot and no, not even as a captain. But flying as a left hand seat pilot has truly been amusingly enlightening.</p><p style="text-align: justify;">Therefore my days have been anything but dull of late. I am realy beginning to enjoy this, although whenever I jump to the left hand seat, the first sortie takes some getting used to as I instinctively reach out my left hand to twiddle knobs and engage switches only to find that there are none, and I have to employ my right hand to fulfil my crew duites. This is something which is rather common across the board with all who are dual-seat qualified and so far it has made demands that I tweak my mental flying and planning for approaches offshore. </p><p style="text-align: justify;">It is good to see how I am such a creature of habit in expecting to see the helideck on my right when it will in fact be on my left. It is good that I have learned not to take my landing briefs to my partner pilots for granted, having to describe that my baulked landing at a helideck in case of emergencies will be to break right instead of breaking left. Yes, the prattling of this brief can happen the other way around too, when after a few days of flying left hand seat I return to the captain's seat. I am learning once again, that even at this stage, with one foot in the retirement grave, I must never take anything in flight for granted.</p><p style="text-align: justify;">What else has been happening? Well, two RTBs, or turn back to base due to minor emergencies. The first was due to a generator failure at just about 30 miles out. Yes, the remaining generator can support the consumer loads of the aircraft by linking up through a tie-switch, but being 30 miles to home base and 70 miles to destination rig, plays other considerations as prudent. The second was radio failure on the overwatch frequency, also at about 20 miles outbound. In both cases, we elected being close to and returning to home base with all its attendant support as the better choice than possible costly and convoluted recovery at an offshore installation. The minor misadventure now and then is a polite wake up call to never walk to the cockpit thinking it's just another day in paradise.</p><p style="text-align: justify;">Even if it is, let's not take that for granted.</p><p style="text-align: justify;"><br /></p>hobbit1964http://www.blogger.com/profile/04030529322509686268noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6288619677784745586.post-13852408679039956672023-01-05T08:44:00.004+08:002023-01-05T08:50:44.023+08:00Happy New Year<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi5j2EjY2-uua-FMLNl-HnOGieQXaJXH7xSsxnSGQ_bVHS0-q2d8AZ4uigIV-Nuw97Xo9K8byiiWXH8pO_APGfpDNUjOWtyrXRGKB07uTsSqHjRBMejTcVhIn89XBPCcmy2RIhVX1RNovzwJVD74cvh2Usa24m2QB4DRYU48VoVXGYo10ipqQ-LwBF6/s1000/thumbnail.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="563" data-original-width="1000" height="360" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi5j2EjY2-uua-FMLNl-HnOGieQXaJXH7xSsxnSGQ_bVHS0-q2d8AZ4uigIV-Nuw97Xo9K8byiiWXH8pO_APGfpDNUjOWtyrXRGKB07uTsSqHjRBMejTcVhIn89XBPCcmy2RIhVX1RNovzwJVD74cvh2Usa24m2QB4DRYU48VoVXGYo10ipqQ-LwBF6/w640-h360/thumbnail.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">Me first born on one end, the potentiates in the middle and moi on the other end, for The Sound Of Music.</span></td></tr></tbody></table><p style="text-align: justify;">I have had an interesting end to 2022.</p><p style="text-align: justify;">Ever since my initial captaincy skill test on 01 January 2021, my License Proficiency checks are always scheduled in December although my expiry is in January. Christmas celebrations hung in the balance to say nothing of New Year's Eve. Which is alright, being in an operational trade, this gets taken in stride. All it means is that year end requires the occasional sacrifice and the perennial juggling.</p><p style="text-align: justify;">This time, my days off-roster fell neatly from 19 December to 28 December, with my LPC programmed from 27 to 29 December. Not half bad! There was no need to mourn the loss of a few days off as this meant I could travel early to <i>Semenanjung</i> Malaysia and Christmas would be with my little hobbit children.</p><p style="text-align: justify;">All went well indeed, inclusive of the LPC, which being done in the simulator, is accepted as a generous serving of humble pie. In my experience, rare is the pilot who enjoys check rides in the simulator. The ones who do, are known as training captains and designated flight examiners. The rest of us, endure it. </p><p style="text-align: justify;">After enduring my license renewal then, came the assuaging night with the kids in Istana Budaya attending The Sound Of Music concert. It was good, driving back home late at night, yakking garbage around the dining table in post mortem of the actors and singing. It gave me only two hours of sleep before my wake up time for my flight back to Kota Kinabalu. Ah, but for moments like this, we sacrifice sleep, which we can catch up on during the two hours plus in flight. And here is where it can all go belly up.</p><p style="text-align: justify;">I was programmed for night MEDEVAC standby for 31 December. I booked an early morning flight, at cost because that's how airlines are at festives. Shuffling on board to my row, I find an elderly couple in the same row with the husband in my window seat. I stood there waiting for some courtesies. Instead the wife asks, "Oh this is your seat is it?" </p><p style="text-align: justify;">That the question had to be asked was telling beyond measure. I answered "It's fine. Keep it."</p><p style="text-align: justify;">I realised five minutes later that I had made the right decision. Seated behind the husbdand was his grandson. I'm sure you know the type: 9-ish years of age, with the international-school Yank accent not quite dominating the subsurface Oriental intonation. The kind who keeps insisting at the top of his voce "Mummy, can you buy <i>this</i> for me? Mummy!! What are you buying for me Mummmyyyyyy!!!!" Why oh why do airlines provide in flight retail? Mummy was no better. Everytime she got in or out of her seat behind mine, she'd pull down on my seat back like she was Tom Cruise scaling a desert cliff. Her brat then started thumping the back of his grandpa's seat to not much reprimand. Every time he had to be taken to the headroom, he'd stomp his way to the amenities and back.</p><p style="text-align: justify;">No I am not done. </p><p style="text-align: justify;">Then came the piece de resistance: the in flight meal. You will get the pun later. To get our paid for meals, we have to provide our boarding passes as where it would be indicated that we purchased a meal. I did as instructed, but realised as the trolley traveled aft, that I hadn't had my boarding pass returned. I pinged the flight attendant and asked for my boarding pass, the one I printed myself on an A4, which would be required at the arrivals immigration booths for my passport to be stamped.</p><p style="text-align: justify;">There was much hemming and hawing as the flight attendants tried to hunt down my boarding pass. They couldn't locate it. Finally a desperate idea: one flight attendant asked the window-seat-hijacking husband for his boarding pass. The strip-type printed at the airport kiosks. He reached into his pocket and pulled out three items: his pass, his wife's and my folded A4. The flight attendant asked him "Is that a boarding pass?", pointing at the folded A4. </p><p style="text-align: justify;">And he replied "No"!!!</p><p style="text-align: justify;">I told the flight attendant to check the A4 for my name. Finding <i>JEFFREY </i>printed on it, she apologised to me in profusion. I told her that it's not her problem, but who takes something which he knows isn't his, keeps it without owning up and then when checked, denies everything?</p><p style="text-align: justify;">It was interesting to watch two generations of inept parenthood in one cabin and what was bequeathed to the third. I could not fully fault the child. Happy New Year you lot. I mean it the way CeeLo Green sang <i>Forget You</i>. </p><p style="text-align: justify;">And no, I didn't catch up on any sleep.</p><p style="text-align: justify;"><br /></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><br /></p>hobbit1964http://www.blogger.com/profile/04030529322509686268noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6288619677784745586.post-91012412304333995962022-11-14T12:35:00.009+08:002022-11-15T05:20:09.602+08:00The 11-11 Sale That Wasn't<div style="text-align: justify;">Time flies. Not neccesarily when you're having fun.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='411' height='342' src='https://www.blogger.com/video.g?token=AD6v5dwVB_Bl_rAUMVHhTgKcBPQR86Asf5i2W0_hj2cJwKCtxxfU7wwUpw_tGeilZDTKnPPSvUP-sZ--ldTvmnVFtg' class='b-hbp-video b-uploaded' frameborder='0'></iframe></div><br /><div style="text-align: justify;">The tangled tumbleweed of time has indeed run off hastily as I contend with nasty weather, nasty weather and nasty weather. There were times we would head out, and just five minutes before establishing on finals to a helideck, we would observe a squall line waiting for us over the deck on the weather radar, comfirmed by the helideck radio operator. Those were the mornings when reading the temporary changes in weather on the Aviation Weather Channel always read nasty changes impending the 0300GMT onward, I'd walk out on the tarmac to consider my chances of recovery to the airfield.</div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi_Yrp3Tzy8LMlufp_TZnUBRp69xWcjt-N7m1dCeV4caT9X_a34EYvIw-vxueJSGNRMfGtpJfcsN8rG1an_XVVFTI8cRH6N24YYxb4YCqRJvkwejSwZ7Cd1tSUJWC4rGbhE7rJ_y-nFA0z20sNolxoyLh2ZGosJbW42roWwS0pqW_yV4Nz2kl9Pcxko/s1213/thumbnail%20(4).jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="646" data-original-width="1213" height="341" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi_Yrp3Tzy8LMlufp_TZnUBRp69xWcjt-N7m1dCeV4caT9X_a34EYvIw-vxueJSGNRMfGtpJfcsN8rG1an_XVVFTI8cRH6N24YYxb4YCqRJvkwejSwZ7Cd1tSUJWC4rGbhE7rJ_y-nFA0z20sNolxoyLh2ZGosJbW42roWwS0pqW_yV4Nz2kl9Pcxko/w640-h341/thumbnail%20(4).jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Gumusut Kakap and the three generator exhaust stacks visible.</td></tr></tbody></table><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">Two cyclones hit the Philippines over the October-early November span, causing widespread squalls over the operational area. Gumusut Kakap being a rather peculiar rig, stands offset from the prevailing winds. Therefore, whenever the winds are not Northeast or Southeast and dangle betwixt the two, the winds carry the hot exhaust gases from their turbine generators onto the deck, resulting in potential power losses to the helicopter in approach to land on deck. The company tries to cater to the client requirements for crew mobilisation by imposing a payload penalty to mitigate the power losses. However, there are times when the stronger winds carry a heap more of these gases in for any weight penalty to be safe for approach and the landing has to be aborted.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='461' height='383' src='https://www.blogger.com/video.g?token=AD6v5dx7OneX2jiFhlkh6KXko4yGmFqmnFrLcX1uktVNNlLhMpM9RoJkF-PPKcChDR24jAMUKB17NxSi18JemKYaaA' class='b-hbp-video b-uploaded' frameborder='0'></iframe></div><br /><div style="text-align: justify;">It would seem that I have developed a reputation for baulking the landings when wind velocities over the deck have stayed within such prohibited quadrants. Almost as a result, I have had to write show cause letters to Offshore Installation Managers explaining why I refused to land at a particular helideck, or why I delayed a scheduled departure. While I see no direct relationship in any of the company organisational charts linking a line pilot to OIMs, there is a bit of play-ball to engage in occasionally for good corporate relations especially in the spirit of contract renewal. My explanations have never been responded to. That is hardly surprising because when asked to do so, it is a deliberate and duressed move on my part to detail all the aviation factors involved in the decision arrived at by use of the "aircrew decision making process" in crew resource management. Fellas, always use the wood against those who do not belong in trees. Thus, the clamouring for a pilot to pen show cause letters to non aviators has for now, taken a hiatus.</div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj7P2F2AVwGT98pqZKQgdIE5UtskdQUFw_vU1BSZDLDybgGgddO2KKqRzkgGLI9mIWA9CbUfAV_3SpftojuLEXZ8x5Rk2u-WJzJJxutL30wx4pKEd3SFi-fZ1VXWHQ3SWCSECha0pdpaOKzx2FRTrpb6Qt9FbdwXcax2jJti_AMHgpo6V49UiOo49Vc/s839/thumbnail%20(8).jpeg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="430" data-original-width="839" height="328" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj7P2F2AVwGT98pqZKQgdIE5UtskdQUFw_vU1BSZDLDybgGgddO2KKqRzkgGLI9mIWA9CbUfAV_3SpftojuLEXZ8x5Rk2u-WJzJJxutL30wx4pKEd3SFi-fZ1VXWHQ3SWCSECha0pdpaOKzx2FRTrpb6Qt9FbdwXcax2jJti_AMHgpo6V49UiOo49Vc/w640-h328/thumbnail%20(8).jpeg" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Submarine!!!!</td></tr></tbody></table><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">So it was with Gumusut Kakap on 11 November. My copilot and I, upon receiving the manifest and navigation log, read with some interest that it was at the maximum weight for the airfield departure. No weight penalty in consideration for possible changes in wind velocity was applied. True, the Platform Status Report showed wind to be coming in from a very amiable 080 degrees at a breezy 4 knots. But to tempt matters to go wrong with all three gas turbine generators running, a minor pick up in wind strength and a swing into the prohibited quadrant at full all up weight, would make these all look rather ill considered. However, there was no real requirement to apply the weight penalty seeing that on paper, winds were fine and dandy and with that, we set off!</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">I had already settled on a downwind position at 500 feet, running abeam of Gumusut all ready to make a right hand turn to approach the helideck when the radio call came in from Gumusut: <i>Cap, wind now in prohibited sector at above ten knots. I surrender to Cap lah want to land or not.</i></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><i><br /></i></div><div style="text-align: justify;">In the spirit of Hugh Grant's PM character in Love Actually, I had already decided, "<i>Not to. But we will have to be clever." </i></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">First, I transmitted: "Gumusut R/O, we have not applied the weight penalty for the wind velocity. Never mind, we will make an orbit or two to see if we can make the landing based on the observed wind strength."</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">I then dutifully executed two orbits around Gumusut. We both knew that we had black and white orders in the carry folder on board the aircraft detailing that a landing cannot be done under the prevailing conditions. We transmitted to Gumusut that we would be returning to base. The passengers were briefed en route to Kota Kinabalu once we were comfortably in the cruise.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">After landing, I noted that there was no email from the OIM asking for a show cause letter. I mean, come on!!! Asking for the self explanatory would show the email originator as an imbecile. Instead, the same task was assigned to me for the next day. Rather a cat-and-mouse affair of passive-agression.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='320' height='266' src='https://www.blogger.com/video.g?token=AD6v5dydyteeiZQROj3pkaT-3nJRDpJ5tvgqs-ZNDJ0PVPGMMknUsx4rRLrxNDjYjyfu49TRMRIBgGOrJrqo2NKaWg' class='b-hbp-video b-uploaded' frameborder='0'></iframe></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="text-align: justify;">Again, my copilot and I perused the flight details. Interesting! A ten percent weight penalty had been imposed! What's this? Wherefore this exercise in caution? The PSR indicated winds from 080 degrees again, at 4 knots. Everything was looking handsome so off we went.</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">It seemed a nice enough day. As per the Rain Alarm website, actual weather was mild, with en route cloud formations peppered along the flight path. 40 miles inbound to Gumusut the descent was commenced. Again, as the winds were for the right hand seat pilot, I settled there on downwind and at the appropriate distance with the helideck at about my 4:30 by clock code, I executed the turn to finals approach for Gumusut . As I started the run-in to the helideck, a large puff of white fumes emanated from one of the exhaust stacks. I grinned. Any form of smoke, to a helicopter pilot, is the best wind velocity indicator he can ask for. The fumes drifted away from the helideck itself, so I knew that the landing would be free from hot exhaust-incurred power losses. After touchdown, I called in to the radio operator asking where the smoke had come from. <i>That's from the compressors Cap! </i>came the enthused reply. He seemed excited that the landing was made and that his work could proceed without his OIM getting on his back.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">And so I radioed back: "Gumusut, next time I fly here under winds in the prohibited sector I will ask for that smoke, alright?"</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">The terrified reply came in:" Adoi Cap! I cannot do that again!!!!"</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">Damn!</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='355' height='295' src='https://www.blogger.com/video.g?token=AD6v5dzMrJ1seVmk8hG_450LqYeBdbCRgV8diJc-ex3ytEVwMtoUeJDtj3d7cd_vzheBEUzZVKY7uD_WWIRgk7gM3A' class='b-hbp-video b-uploaded' frameborder='0'></iframe></div><br />hobbit1964http://www.blogger.com/profile/04030529322509686268noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6288619677784745586.post-39114474115431410632022-08-14T12:35:00.007+08:002022-08-14T14:37:57.153+08:00Not To All Airmen<p style="text-align: justify;">Back in KK again I seemed to be flying with only two of three copilots over my entire cycle. Predominantly I have been paired with Josh since the August roster had us both on the same duty cycle. I suspect that a quiet arrangement has been made so that one of these who is waiting for captaincy, promised in December, not be paired with me till he passes off to the right hand seat. I congratulate the self proclaimed fixer for swinging operational scheduling in his favour. May he live long and prosper.</p><p style="text-align: justify;">The past week was made of rainy mornings and delayed take offs. As the afternoon flying crew, I watched the skies to anticipate the kind of day I would have with unfinished sorties landing in my lap. Normally this meant that things would spill over into the weekends, therefore it was a busy first week, this August month.</p><p style="text-align: justify;">Then came 9 August 22, and four out of five planned sorties for the day were for Kebabangan, just 25 minutes each way. That's a form of respite, really. Slated for the morning sorties just as the weather turned sunny, again with Josh, I wound up the engines for a nice calm beginning of the day, managed to do the mandatory engine power assurance checks before take off and set up for lame gossip in cruise with him.</p><p style="text-align: justify;">Things seemed to be on a predictable course till returning to Kinabalu airspace. After checking in with Kinabalu radar for the approach into the airfield, we both realised that we had a very long day ahead of us. There was another aircraft, a calibrator, tasked with measuring the accuracy of the instrument approach radio aids at every airfield in the country, hogging the entire airspace within 12 miles radius of the KKIA runway thresholds both ends of the runway. A sample of the radio chatter went like this:</p><p style="text-align: justify;">Calibrator, in very English white trash accent: <i>Radar, we will commence the ILS and VOR sequences for runway 20, from sequence Charlie to sequence India in 2 minutes. Clear the airspace for us.</i></p><p style="text-align: justify;">Radar controller: <i>Oscar Victor Romeo, you may commence sequence Charlie in plus seven minutes sir, I already have two aircraft on the ILS approach runway 20.</i></p><p style="text-align: justify;">Calibrator, in increasingly trashy accent:<i> Radar, we have to complete all sequences from Charlie to India, Otherwise, it will be pointless to calibrate Kinabalu Airport. Do not interrupt our sequences.</i></p><p style="text-align: justify;">Radar controller<i>: I know sir, but I also have my sequence to take care of.</i></p><p style="text-align: justify;">The exchange went on. We were getting closer to Pualu Sulug, the gate-in to Kinabalu Tower. Anticipating that the white boy would persist in being a dick, and hogging both the radio and the airspace, we slowed down to 80 knots, still at 3000 feet inbound, to prevent congesting the airspace at handover point. Josh and I kept looking at each other in half dismay, half anger. This kind of radio chatter was extremely unbecoming of any pilot, being rude to controllers and hogging the airspace like a playground bully. We speculated at the possibility that he was a fighter jock before "buying" his commercial pilots license.</p><p style="text-align: justify;">While Josh was manouevreing an orbit overhead Pulau Sulug for safe separation from other inbound traffic, Kinabalu Radar got smart. He cut short the chatter with the calibrator by saying: <i>Oscar Victor Romeo, contact Tower on 1183</i>.</p><p style="text-align: justify;">Nice!!! Just <i>tai-chi</i> the little gwailo turd along to Tower! He was tower's baby to handle and it was not easier on him than on radar as we learned from the radio chatter after being handed over in the approach sequence.</p><p style="text-align: justify;">Eventually, it was our turn to land. Refueling was swift and before long and a quick instant coffee after, we were ready to run the second sortie to Kebabangan. We pattered through the start check list and then when it came to the start-up clearance call, Kinabalu ground replied, <i>WS322, expect start clearance after time 25 due to calibrator</i>. Josh looked at me for a decision: it was 0917H. I told him we would wait 5 minutes and make a second start up call at 0923H.</p><p style="text-align: justify;">And so we did. This time, Kinabalu ground replied, <i>WS322 expect start clearance at time 35 due calibration in progress</i>. The cockpit temperature rose. <i>Kinabalu ground we cannot be held on ground indefinitely.</i></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><i>I know sir but we have to let the calibrator finish all his sequences.</i></p><p style="text-align: justify;">There was nothing I could do was there? I informed Heli Ops through their radio channel that the flight could not commence due to the calibrator. About that moment, I heard Kinabalu ground call <i>9-mike Hotel Lima Papa, Kinabalu Ground??? </i>Kinabalu ground was trying to contact Hevilift, probably to update them on start clearance time.<i> </i>I glanced right to the Hevilift Sikorsky76 in its parking bay, and noticed that it was empty. So I called out on ground frequency: <i>Kinabalu ground, Hotel Lima Papa have left their aircraft after being held on ground for too long. I will inform the pilots that you tried to contact them. </i>I felt vengefully smug.</p><p style="text-align: justify;">I shut off the electrical supply to the aircraft and instructed the passenger handlers to lead the boys and girls to the passenger lounge. I marched quickly over to Hevilift's parking bay and spoke to Captain Arief, the nice lad I used to fly with in Kerteh under Malaysian Helicopter Services. After telling him about the exchange with Kinabalu ground, we both agreed to attempt the next start at 0940H. I then marched into flight ops office to once again pore over the NOTAMs to see if this calibration was announced in case I missed it during my first pre flight self brief. NOTAMs by the way, are Notices To Airmen, rather like a heads-up pertaining to airfield and airspace activities by adjacent operators and agencies. Neither the ops officers nor I could find any NOTAM pertaining to the calibrator.</p><p style="text-align: justify;">Sigh. Once more into the hot cockpit at 0935H, ready to request start at 0940H. It seemed almost scripted when Kinabalu ground replied to our call with: <i>WS322, expect start clearance time at 0955H.</i></p><p style="text-align: justify;">Oooh, the exasperation! <i>Ground, is there an airspace closure in effect?</i></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><i>No sir, just calibration in progress.</i></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><i>Are you saying we are not even cleared for start up pending clearance to destination?</i></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><i>WS322 standby for start clearance. Hotel Lima Papa, clear start for Sumandak Bravo. WS322, clear start for Kebabangan.</i></p><p style="text-align: justify;">Fast forward to the end of the second sortie.</p><p style="text-align: justify;">After landing, as I walked into the pilots' room to finish off the post flight paperwork, the Pilot In Charge and the afternoon crew were there raucous with heated gossip. I wished them a hearty afternoon above their voices and they reciprocated. To begin with. Then Captain Jay turned over the NOTAM pages and pointed out, in fine print: <b>runway 02 and 20 under calibration</b>. The PIC then proceeded to explain what I already knew, that when a calibrator was in the airfield, everybody's sortie would be held to his whims and fancies. I know, he was just expressing his sympathies, but I was feeling a touch embarassed. I love it when being miffed is justified, and that justification had suddenly vapourised. The fact that the entire ops room boys and girls and my copilot had missed it too, was not admissible consolation.</p><p style="text-align: justify;">I understand now, that there is an alternative meaning to the acronym NOTAM.</p>hobbit1964http://www.blogger.com/profile/04030529322509686268noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6288619677784745586.post-61881978493514880822022-08-02T18:49:00.003+08:002022-08-02T20:17:53.492+08:00I Will Remember You<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiokputb8ElMCUcfS1WgzG8_Mbyx_FtzHRLyH1R85Fjg7HpTcji22sv9S9AKmHkuir3PtkF4MQpr7gJjVGP6VYkKZmDz2E_6ENLTw_ulGEXHU9sH9i24MwgCYJuWYeJH0uxp7b-NYeWzWwbRZAjY7UIg45BMqQB1J3dxf2J0kLScyB3pn6y91Wyw06l/s3146/20220802_080520%20(1).jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1471" data-original-width="3146" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiokputb8ElMCUcfS1WgzG8_Mbyx_FtzHRLyH1R85Fjg7HpTcji22sv9S9AKmHkuir3PtkF4MQpr7gJjVGP6VYkKZmDz2E_6ENLTw_ulGEXHU9sH9i24MwgCYJuWYeJH0uxp7b-NYeWzWwbRZAjY7UIg45BMqQB1J3dxf2J0kLScyB3pn6y91Wyw06l/w640-h300/20220802_080520%20(1).jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Runway 20 departure, right turn to Kebabangan and this view. Breathless.</td></tr></tbody></table><p style="text-align: justify;">Paradisical.</p><p style="text-align: justify;">The weather this morning was.</p><p style="text-align: justify;">A good start to a working day is typified by this. Good weather, deep blues of these shores, the sweet greens, that majestic mountain watching over us loyally come what may. Aerodrome traffic so docile that your'e not waiting your turn for departure. Visibility so good that you can see the smoke rise from your destination rig a hundred and four nautical miles away. For a moment, it ceases to be a job, but a gift. A two-sortie day became a cinch, even though the first sector was to Kebabangan which entailed a breathalyser test, which touchwood, I have not failed to date, because I am a good hobbit.</p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgDgow9MJTH_Tje2oEf5zCQVCPSkF260msOGmaLPsMhaSJVBb063D7PZIdFdHA6LyOJ6nr61PAft6t-XyyBUr6iK0wjJTudi7zG4r6FU7BbnA6vVxXLUjM5X4RL4Yn1yVE1LPWVj8_pcXWjOwHwT2MZX9-V4FgWe5ZloHThN85K_fUKDU4SkG9TIA21/s1376/20220802_105930%20(1).jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="729" data-original-width="1376" height="340" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgDgow9MJTH_Tje2oEf5zCQVCPSkF260msOGmaLPsMhaSJVBb063D7PZIdFdHA6LyOJ6nr61PAft6t-XyyBUr6iK0wjJTudi7zG4r6FU7BbnA6vVxXLUjM5X4RL4Yn1yVE1LPWVj8_pcXWjOwHwT2MZX9-V4FgWe5ZloHThN85K_fUKDU4SkG9TIA21/w640-h340/20220802_105930%20(1).jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Maersk Viking</td></tr></tbody></table><p style="text-align: justify;">Better still, I was flying with First Officer Josh, whose handling skills were so spot-on, I needn't have had my hackles on end the way I would with the ones who say much but deliver little. I was also poised to enjoy the following day as a noon pilot, meaning I could get smashed tonight and be none the worse for it on the morrow, breathalyser or no.</p><p style="text-align: justify;">On another unrelated glance, I'll take the liberty of disagreeing completely with John Heywood, because there are days when I feel that his immortal quip that it's an ill wind that blows nobody any good, can be peverted to the mean the complete opposite.</p><p style="text-align: justify;">For example, this paradisical day was quiet about what manner of grim news awaited me on my veteran's group chat after landing from my first sortie. Lt Col (Rtd) Fajim Juffa callsigned Pejam, perished in a fatal crash in a Piper trainer aircraft about 2000H last night. And I cannot, remembering him in these pages from an earlier blogpost, allow myself to be remiss by not remembering him once again, for all the days which these pages exist.</p><p style="text-align: justify;">Pejam, I'd do it again if I could and you know well what I mean. I shall never forget what we shared on the eve of Hari Raya Puasa 2004. Yet I also know the injustice of holding you away from your better self beyond this life, even if it is merely in my recollections of you.</p><p style="text-align: justify;">Be at peace at home, with our comrades, Pejam. Send them my regards. I shall see you when I cross unhurriedly over.</p><p style="text-align: justify;"><a href="https://hobbit1964.blogspot.com/2010/02/how-to-rescue-fighter-jock.html" target="_blank">https://hobbit1964.blogspot.com/2010/02/how-to-rescue-fighter-jock.html</a><br /></p>hobbit1964http://www.blogger.com/profile/04030529322509686268noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6288619677784745586.post-8514693474622093652022-08-01T21:27:00.003+08:002022-08-01T21:29:15.605+08:00The Honeymoon Is Over.<p style="text-align: justify;">I am not unaccustomed to the months slipping through my fingers like sand between one blogpost to the next, and that they have done since I got here in KK. Unlike the way it was in Kerteh the past year, it was because I didn't fly enough. The converse is the reason for my negligence this time. One eventful sortie after another seems to crush one week rapidly into the next in merciless succesive collision. I do not regret this. I already know that I would never wish to return to the way things were. Reminiscence carries no comfort here.</p><p style="text-align: justify;">I have gradually slipped into a bit of a comfort zone with being the captain now. I am more familiar with the copilots. The one who tries to over control the captain. The one who seems ill prepared for flight and slurs in his radio calls, but who actually has it all together, with situational awareness and motor skills I cannot argue against. The one who asks ridiculous questions in flight to test the captain's replies. Yes, a wonderful mixed bag, and when you finally fly with people who were once copilots along with you, there are personality traits which start to crawl out from under their woodwork. Some are frauds. Some yet, are true to none but themselves. I love the insights I have gained. I am sure they in turn, are doing a Brutus on me in their own selected company.</p><p style="text-align: justify;">But I will have one takeaway from these four months. I cannot write in arrears what I owe this blog. What I put down here requires a freshness of recollection and perspective. It cannot be Herodotusian. Therefore I will try, now onward, to write when I am still in the event. It is indeed as it is with life itself. You have to be present. Or else you could miss it all from blinking too many times.</p><p style="text-align: justify;">You have my apologies, The Collective Consciousness. I will be more nurturing. Because at last, the captain's honeymoon is over.</p>hobbit1964http://www.blogger.com/profile/04030529322509686268noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6288619677784745586.post-16111314918758317862022-04-14T18:09:00.005+08:002022-04-16T00:46:59.560+08:00The Recalcitrant Transponder<p style="text-align: justify;">It was 9 March, with two rigs to fly to. The first was to Malikai, not even 30 minutes from Kota Kinabalu. It was still only a fortnight since my promotion, and just my third offshore sortie with a copilot into whose hands I was going to trust my life whenever the approach to a helideck favoured the left hand seat pilot. This does require some acclimatisation. At time of writing, I am comfortable with the concept. It took me a very short time because the manning levels here in KK present me with only 4 copilots whose judgement I would have to yield to.</p><p style="text-align: justify;">The winds were still north easterly. Malikai was the copilot's landing with the prevailing wind from the north east. It looked like it was going to be a predictably routine day. Since there were only two sorties, or sectors, we continued at an unhurried pace about our business with refuelling and the pre flight paperwork for the second sortie to Maersk Viking, the new kid on the block adjacent to Gumusut Kakap. </p><p style="text-align: justify;">This was to be the captain's landing, therefore the take off and outbound flight fell to me. All went well till upwind after initial take off and KK Tower handed us over the Kinabalu Radar. After the initial check in with Radar, the controller seemed unusually quiet, while paying attention to the other traffic under her purview. I prompted the copilot ( I'm making an effort to use third-person references in the interest of privacy) to request direct track to the destination from her. The controller then came back saying "WS, you are not radar identified. Turn left heading 2-9er-0 for Maersk Viking."</p><p style="text-align: justify;">OK, I noted. Our transponder doesn't seem to be readable by Air Traffic Control. I checked the Control Display Unit and saw that the the Transmit cursor was blinking happily, indicating that the transponder was indeed, transmitting. Depressing the Ident button on the line select keys, I called in to the Radar Controller and declared I was squawking ident. This would ordinarily provide an identification detail on the radar scope in KK Approach. However the Radar controller came back saying "WS, negative, you are not radar identified."</p><p style="text-align: justify;">I wasn't exactly frazzled, since I understood that positive seperation and air traffic services could still be provided procedurally if KK Radar could not "see" us. It would just require a little more work tracking us by making annotations on a "flight strip", that little piece of paper with a summary of our flight plan where the air traffic controller could monitor our progress. If I am mistaken, the sages of aviation can correct me.</p><p style="text-align: justify;">At about 30 miles outbound, albeit a touch early, KK Radar called in and transferred us to Labuan Radar. The check in with Labuan Radar also revealed us as not radar identified. However, the controller continued to direct us to Maersk VIking and instructed us to call ready for visual descent.</p><p style="text-align: justify;">As we went on our merry way, I made a cursory check on the Minimum Equipment List. There was nothing definitive in it about a Return To Base should the transponder fail. In fact for all internal indications in the cockpit, we were flying with a serviceable transponder! </p><p style="text-align: justify;">On our return leg to Kota Kinabalu from Maersk Viking, I considered our radar visibility to other aircraft in our shared airspace. We listened to various radio transmissions from fighter aircraft and helicopters from the army, navy and air force in chatter with Labuan Radar. They were prepping for military exercises over Labuan waters for the next day. I decided that after the return to KK under procedural control, I would snag the aircraft. It would not be right to leave the transponder unattended to by the engineers with sorties coming up the next day in such proximity to the airspace being used for the exercise. Hazardous. Flight safety first!</p><p style="text-align: justify;">I expect that I gave the engineers and the Base Flight Safety Officer a bit of a long day that afternoon for having snagged the aircraft and raising a flight-technical incident report. The aircraft was rendered serviceable for the next day and as far as my checks with KK Helibase went, the crew of the following day flew unhindered by the transponder. I was a touch smug. Affirmation!! Vindication even!</p><p style="text-align: justify;">Then came 11 March. I was due for a single sortie that morning. Fridays and weekends are rather low key. The destination rig was Malikai. Nice for a Friday, just an hour and some minutes and then home. However, once again, upwind from Runway 02 Kota Kinabalu, checking in with Kinabalu Radar brought a repeat of "WS, you are not radar identified." Squawking ident was to no joy. However, Malikai was just another twenty minutes out and in relatively safe airspace. The revenue flight continued under procedural control to its conclusion and post landing I had a word with the engineers. I snagged the aircraft again and raised another incident report.</p><p style="text-align: justify;">The engineers were baffled at the recurrence. Another late evening. The following morning, ground functional checks using their test kits showed that the transponder was indeed active. But seeing that they also had a scheduled leak check to carry out with the rotors running, they had me summoned for an engine ground run. Running through the checklist items, I attempted a check with Kinabalu Tower for the transponder. And of course I was not radar identified. After shutdown, I brought this up with the engineers, with a rather grave tone of voice. I did not snag the aircraft, hoping that they could resolve this out of the books.</p><p style="text-align: justify;">One of them postulated that perhaps the transponder works only in flight. I did not raise an argument because theoretically we should be detectable to other aircraft even on ground. I had seen the amber "traffic" annunciator flash on screen often enough. If I am mistaken, the sages of flight can reeducate me.</p><p style="text-align: justify;">The chief enginner called for a flight test. Great. That would put the matter to rest, wouldn't it? Arrangements were made, flight plans were filed and soon we were up in the air with two engineers in the cabin to watch and hear the proceedings. As soon as we were airborne, I called in to Kinabalu Radar:"Confirm we are radar identifed?"</p><p style="text-align: justify;">"WS, you are radar identified upon passing 200 feet."</p><p style="text-align: justify;">We spent 25 minutes on the downwind leg to accommodate other arrivals and soon were back on the ground, happy and confident that an engineering breakthrough would see the flight of the coming week executed without a hitch. Indeed, I was scheduled for the next day for two long flights into Labuan waters where radar control was imperative.</p><p style="text-align: justify;">As it would happen, the very next morning after getting airborne for Gumusut, the radio chatter from Kinabalu Radar was "WS, you are NOT radar identified......"</p><p style="text-align: justify;">Yes, it seemed to be me, not the aircraft.</p><p style="text-align: justify;">And yes, I got chewed up on the return to base by both Radar and Tower. Kinabalu Ground was the only friendly voice that day.</p><p style="text-align: justify;">Some days, you can just never win.</p>hobbit1964http://www.blogger.com/profile/04030529322509686268noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6288619677784745586.post-83999666082136768472022-02-27T15:17:00.033+08:002022-02-27T19:42:19.461+08:00No Schradenfreude<p style="text-align: justify;">My rant about being abandoned in the field couldn't have possibly been taken as a hint, could it?</p><p style="text-align: justify;">It was just that: my rant. It was not directed at anyone. If I had known that a rant could effect a change of luck I would have ranted seven months ago.</p><p style="text-align: justify;">But,for now, an expression of thanks is in order.</p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhsPt_HZEPTWSFS2BWHOFWjQhH_3WL2RPPPWph-lMwRdLwxhhFCZKca0rrs4w0RI2abTGdGdvhdQbGYG5-a6g9M-y65RBI-Wsr2JKf9yOlQ1QRSF2jM6DkwTsR1nN6100aXiwNtIIJadvK0nT5vBPjUCIK7ttlTpbDPLjl6Qzz8CNu5YbPY_6SZVCTa=s4624" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2084" data-original-width="4624" height="288" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhsPt_HZEPTWSFS2BWHOFWjQhH_3WL2RPPPWph-lMwRdLwxhhFCZKca0rrs4w0RI2abTGdGdvhdQbGYG5-a6g9M-y65RBI-Wsr2JKf9yOlQ1QRSF2jM6DkwTsR1nN6100aXiwNtIIJadvK0nT5vBPjUCIK7ttlTpbDPLjl6Qzz8CNu5YbPY_6SZVCTa=w640-h288" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>I love the vista</i></td></tr></tbody></table><p></p><p style="text-align: justify;">My thanks to all the local Captains, who, seemingly, after a lengthy period of wondering when I would be promoted and consequently shoulder some of the workload, launched a covert operation. With no regard to their personal safety, voluntarily and valiantly did they expose themselves to and as a result, were found positive for, Covid19, both asymptomatic or with mild symptoms. Or so my story goes in snarky vein.</p><p style="text-align: justify;">If not for this courageous lot causing the rapid drop in availabe pilots for duty, I wonder if I ever would have been called up to assume right hand seat command duties with immediate effect. The email was at long last issued, on my employment as a Captain, and I owe them all a debt of gratitude.</p><p style="text-align: justify;">Or a <i>nasi lemak bungkus</i> and <i>teh halia</i>.</p>hobbit1964http://www.blogger.com/profile/04030529322509686268noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6288619677784745586.post-60790950920977186472022-02-12T12:42:00.154+08:002022-02-27T14:48:09.650+08:00Night Deck Landing At Kebabangan<p style="text-align: justify;">The month is February 2022.</p><p style="text-align: justify;">I think I allowed myself a touch too much euphoria at what may have been a change of luck a year plus ago as a candidate for the command course. I was infatuated. Like many of those smitten, I stopped being careful, and had forgotten that career progression has very little to do with me, but has everything to do with what the lords desire. It isn't<i> personal</i>. As is the case with anyone in the aftermath of a bad crush, an odd wisdom remains. That once we recognise that our ranking generals have abandoned us in the field, it hastens the fact that we must, inevitably, soldier on.</p><p style="text-align: justify;">Thus passed the year since the initial skill test. It is more than high time to recognise the writing on the wall, and move on. After all, the ink is written in my own blood, sweat and tears.</p><p style="text-align: justify;">There is a life to live, and a whole year squandered is its own injustice, to mention naught of parallel injustices to which reparation will not be seen. There is, after all, a new place to readjust to: Kota Kinabalu and her peculiar charms.</p><p style="text-align: justify;"></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEh0mqi13Qs3AeH9b7wTXoEFjJlNaNFo7OBWZYhjuU0dVfZXN6jy-2tCzdRkDhSdkvVbysueaXVaqboiQme6MmxbI77B852GICA1dT6mgFN5TSR3EjU_hpbuUaAeKhukJsF5_37ZAGRwzc0nacodghZGCo5X-hAnVspFoxfVYbl_v_tWRbUnTEEuY7-B=s1156" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><i><img border="0" data-original-height="1156" data-original-width="867" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEh0mqi13Qs3AeH9b7wTXoEFjJlNaNFo7OBWZYhjuU0dVfZXN6jy-2tCzdRkDhSdkvVbysueaXVaqboiQme6MmxbI77B852GICA1dT6mgFN5TSR3EjU_hpbuUaAeKhukJsF5_37ZAGRwzc0nacodghZGCo5X-hAnVspFoxfVYbl_v_tWRbUnTEEuY7-B=w300-h400" width="300" /></i></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>When in KK, grab a bite at Limau and Linen, Signal Hill. Heartstoppingly recommended</i>.</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><div style="text-align: justify;">There are three offshore helicopter service providers here, one foreign, one state-linked and one I am serving in. The 16 offshore destinations here have been carved up between the three for equity's sake. We fly to Kebabangan, Gumusut Kakap and Malikai. A new kid will be joining us in the playground, and at time of writing sits in Likas Bay, for port health clearances after sailing into our waters, before heading to her drilling site, hopefully close to Gumusut Kakap. Which will mean profitable flying hours!</div><p></p><p style="text-align: justify;"></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhNJ2cmARfMoZloMji1FIv6tphEM6Evpver1psVe0Nz6r44lml7VAHQPQf1ntr0CSh2ItbW-B6voaYXUNXQIFUoCsJb7lR4e-CXYqd_QYw0sT0ny26pG6-HE2mDgxo2PNygYehKyt3Ki41UzpFV9Aea51sDA8zJ3n_XpmOunJJojHIlmz50EBpChTZk=s443" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><i><img border="0" data-original-height="304" data-original-width="443" height="275" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhNJ2cmARfMoZloMji1FIv6tphEM6Evpver1psVe0Nz6r44lml7VAHQPQf1ntr0CSh2ItbW-B6voaYXUNXQIFUoCsJb7lR4e-CXYqd_QYw0sT0ny26pG6-HE2mDgxo2PNygYehKyt3Ki41UzpFV9Aea51sDA8zJ3n_XpmOunJJojHIlmz50EBpChTZk=w400-h275" width="400" /></i></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Maersk Viking as seen from Likas Bay on 11 Feb 2022</i></td></tr></tbody></table><p></p><p style="text-align: justify;">The rigs are all very nearby, most within 25 minutes flight time one way, with only Gumusut sitting an hour away in Labuan's waters. I clocked a healthy 31:50 hours in January. I was hoping to repeat this amassing, and had forgotten the retardant to that steeplechase: being night qualified for Night MEDEVAC standby. No, I am not lamenting. Merely confessing to and correcting a memory lapse.</p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjFhzdrsMnZDVOtjL5uT8_Sp5RGM5AdutzGNpy7Ouf90zVpYOhoB_xBDPHHja_upX4yw0ebitMFHCFXYOOuCEEr8s3kdjEm6pCK__4TrH0pDIkzljgXl96c1lv69bUXNfS_oM3qlM_h8xv1fJaDD2YNhwdJIoyg5awCUtAzqh3o5WyEEKuJU4JIQKbD=s783" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><i><img border="0" data-original-height="511" data-original-width="783" height="418" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjFhzdrsMnZDVOtjL5uT8_Sp5RGM5AdutzGNpy7Ouf90zVpYOhoB_xBDPHHja_upX4yw0ebitMFHCFXYOOuCEEr8s3kdjEm6pCK__4TrH0pDIkzljgXl96c1lv69bUXNfS_oM3qlM_h8xv1fJaDD2YNhwdJIoyg5awCUtAzqh3o5WyEEKuJU4JIQKbD=w640-h418" width="640" /></i></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Gumusut Kakap. Pic courtesy of the web</i></td></tr></tbody></table><p></p><p style="text-align: justify;">I was scheduled for the NDLP on 3 Feb 22. Th pre flight brief was conducted dutifuly by the Senior Training captain, who noted that my last NDLP was in September 2020. I concurred. I had not seen the night offshore vista since that date, as it was on the corner of the monsoon of 2020. The understanding in Kerteh remains, that where possible, once the Monsoon Contract launches, typically 15 November of a typical year to 15 March of the following, NDLPs are to be conducted on simulator. Which is also a point of contention as the final quarter of the year is also a scramble for slots in the simulator. And as fate would have it, I lapsed my recency come December whereupon I was sent for the command course and the rest is....well, social engineering.</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='320' height='266' src='https://www.blogger.com/video.g?token=AD6v5dwRUhKun1-1LZB1s0H1gllM0sfM2cbu5_BruX60o4KksDl8ZxlxNWp241qMNOH3ITHbqz2RrZEXWU_mZ8qkbQ' class='b-hbp-video b-uploaded' frameborder='0'></iframe></div><i><div style="text-align: center;"><i><span style="font-size: x-small;">To market, to market and to land on a rig! Note how PFLNG follows the viewer in the background</span></i></div></i><p></p><p style="text-align: justify;">And therefore, it was with much nervousness (yes, after the musings of the preceding paragraph) that I walked out to the aircraft at 1822H, last light on that date according to met office.</p><p style="text-align: justify;">We went through the uneventful start and taxi, and were airborne from Kota Kinabalu International Airport to Kebabangan at 1845H, in darkness save for a toenail clipping of a crescent moon heralding the Chinese New Year. As is required of the NDLP check for a pilot who has lapsed night recency, I plotted the Airborne Radar Approach waypoints into the FMS, prattled the approach chart brief to my training captain and let the matters unfold as mentally flown, with minimal hiccup.</p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEj6rsRR0rVad_x23FtHYyz88mj1l-Y0cQBX8VSVUNAKIW2sF2K5OPVSgQrNbo4DxiFgPzL9VGC2T9gk-7kxgMGS1wHt1O09h02Wv-YW-BFbiKvo15hZPMh0TBbho9NDo1CRl5AVrfVMlEmRMWrxsMbz8jeDR3FmfXG5y-Xp95DFmFd_LEXJJkKyp4Gr=s640" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><i><img border="0" data-original-height="320" data-original-width="640" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEj6rsRR0rVad_x23FtHYyz88mj1l-Y0cQBX8VSVUNAKIW2sF2K5OPVSgQrNbo4DxiFgPzL9VGC2T9gk-7kxgMGS1wHt1O09h02Wv-YW-BFbiKvo15hZPMh0TBbho9NDo1CRl5AVrfVMlEmRMWrxsMbz8jeDR3FmfXG5y-Xp95DFmFd_LEXJJkKyp4Gr=w640-h320" width="640" /></i></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Kebabangan in daytime. Pic courtesy of Shell's website.</i></td></tr></tbody></table><p></p><p style="text-align: justify;">Finally, there she sat ahead of me on final inbound course, plotted from the prevailing wind as reported on the Platform Status Report. Kebabangan. The night vista was enchanting, the offshore installation's lights bright and reflecting off the waves in the dark waters below her. When everything looked good to me, I called out to my training captain, "Going off the upper modes. Running in." </p><p style="text-align: justify;">The flight director was clicked into standby and the rest of the approach was hands-on. The radio operator's report that wind was at 15 knots gusting to 22, became apparent at various points in the glide path. I would find my airspeed suddenly dropping to commital speed, losing 5 to 7 knots in a second and having to readjust. The same was happening with the rate of descent, 300 feet per minute at one instance and suddenly zero at another. But if Kebabangan asked for a dance, we dance, yes?</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='320' height='266' src='https://www.blogger.com/video.g?token=AD6v5dw0tlGIPX030UfvNhp-0gbJXKSlceb7cQdAwuLRb7VIMtIPtgW1n-i4aVMa692f3LPbSG2DUHrSTkLORZn82w' class='b-hbp-video b-uploaded' frameborder='0'></iframe></div><span style="font-size: x-small;"><div style="text-align: center;"><i>Home again, home again, jiggedy jig!</i></div></span><p></p><p style="text-align: justify;">The touchdown came sooner than my hesitations would entertain. I had another 2 circuits to complete for my 3-landing recency. The dances on the next 2 approaches persisted even with in-flight patter from the left, but everything was well within limits. Handover to the other captain was done on deck and his 3 circuits ensued. Finally the training captain had a go, and we tracked back for KKIA at 2145H. He clocked an ILS approach via ADMUS and in we went to the ops room for the debrief. Which was all rather amicable.</p><p style="text-align: justify;">I am now night qualified for the next 3 months. Not half bad for a lapse of 20 months. Or rather, about bloody time!</p>hobbit1964http://www.blogger.com/profile/04030529322509686268noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6288619677784745586.post-3531151971033340072022-01-10T10:48:00.002+08:002022-01-10T10:52:04.242+08:00A Hobbit in East Malaysia<p> </p><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEg7pW8DbX903zmgnHypssIpuR_SZcrWBaQcsKamIkDS-E9l10tM_EjrRq9NWHWpfLybv9L-yoSAbHKNGcZLaC7EhcTgaN5wo4DWUidSaIYw4pWCawudpt5ryB63HzasIrSp4DsKgTFvUepA7YB8LEjT_5Jl_Dpd8RplMKP-vdQZpdVGjzbzA7K6zIDJ=s1080" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1080" data-original-width="1080" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEg7pW8DbX903zmgnHypssIpuR_SZcrWBaQcsKamIkDS-E9l10tM_EjrRq9NWHWpfLybv9L-yoSAbHKNGcZLaC7EhcTgaN5wo4DWUidSaIYw4pWCawudpt5ryB63HzasIrSp4DsKgTFvUepA7YB8LEjT_5Jl_Dpd8RplMKP-vdQZpdVGjzbzA7K6zIDJ=w640-h640" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Farewell, Kerteh. Farewell 2021.</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><p></p><p style="text-align: justify;">It is officially my 14th day in Kota Kinabalu. While parochial preoccupations in Kerteh raged back and forth, a captain in Kota Kinabalu base threw the towel in to seek his fortunes elsewhere. I was nominated to take his place. Hence, here I am.</p><p style="text-align: justify;">I take it that this is my retirement posting. The way the company sees it, I only have till my 60th birthday before I occupy the top of the heap. I really think it is a blessing undisguised.</p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjb3vEerBxRhRmfoYUf79Gm0ZDPSVIncT91GeprplROYASAEBf9uAipON8ikRQX0br9MUUH0OmyBeFzD83S_X9YDdHo5htly4g5VSb1eduf_M5ZJrXcoUOK7nuph_kUPw9SQDGwVBY2V1EwgcVSwoHjaUcANVyuXP5rlIIVYhAz1vKO5MYu7D-bz7po=s1080" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1080" data-original-width="1080" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjb3vEerBxRhRmfoYUf79Gm0ZDPSVIncT91GeprplROYASAEBf9uAipON8ikRQX0br9MUUH0OmyBeFzD83S_X9YDdHo5htly4g5VSb1eduf_M5ZJrXcoUOK7nuph_kUPw9SQDGwVBY2V1EwgcVSwoHjaUcANVyuXP5rlIIVYhAz1vKO5MYu7D-bz7po=w640-h640" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Good morning Kota Kinabalu. Hello, 2022.</td></tr></tbody></table><p style="text-align: justify;">There is a pace of life here which is detuned from what I am used to. The mornings in the apartment are hushed. Noise begins closer to lunch with the voices of boisterious kids and couriers from Grab and Food Panda trailing up and down the stairs. Trees stand right outside the window and the visiting birds are a reassuring sight. I have begun sleeping through the night again, although I wake at a quarter to six without an alarm, in tune with the arrival of dawn. As I used to, here in this same town, as a ten-year old.</p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEiRk1zVfG_XuvbzhHqMuZ_p-oaBaMWYVFIHgq8y0JLhMXozAXVEJBNEyhtxPfBxMG-mfiWPo_GyZYiAXoVsoc_Kx7R2nVYv17qxMXntisVFbJlvanwUwakEEv3q5bdxnTxhbFMEOkvjPpoluU3ZywLCn9yNC7m9FBUF4NvCGgNDjBe_bQL8XEJxqsFM=s1631" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1018" data-original-width="1631" height="399" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEiRk1zVfG_XuvbzhHqMuZ_p-oaBaMWYVFIHgq8y0JLhMXozAXVEJBNEyhtxPfBxMG-mfiWPo_GyZYiAXoVsoc_Kx7R2nVYv17qxMXntisVFbJlvanwUwakEEv3q5bdxnTxhbFMEOkvjPpoluU3ZywLCn9yNC7m9FBUF4NvCGgNDjBe_bQL8XEJxqsFM=w640-h399" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">A sparrow preens in the warming day</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><p style="text-align: justify;">The first ten days were spent in laborious expectancy for the endorsement of my Sabah Work Pass. I couldn't legally do anything job related till that sticker got affixed onto my passport.</p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgPoEWYNM8rGOz7H0vhC7PrOLCB8a426zqG5xzb7_dnNW80pzzisr-tSJjwOU_rUD4zGXSEbKCPx0Aw2rv0I7wVUyG4yiRqGFLn4VdMGCSX4JtvWt9hw7HJxAV2uEa9AsCnRgqXG0fLbL9KbF0OzsOEOj-PJLTEeuOW4XH3PYmEL2_s76w41NUY-eby=s4624" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2084" data-original-width="4624" height="288" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgPoEWYNM8rGOz7H0vhC7PrOLCB8a426zqG5xzb7_dnNW80pzzisr-tSJjwOU_rUD4zGXSEbKCPx0Aw2rv0I7wVUyG4yiRqGFLn4VdMGCSX4JtvWt9hw7HJxAV2uEa9AsCnRgqXG0fLbL9KbF0OzsOEOj-PJLTEeuOW4XH3PYmEL2_s76w41NUY-eby=w640-h288" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Rejoin for runway 02 via Pulau Sulug. That little smudge below the coastline.</td></tr></tbody></table><p style="text-align: justify;">At long last the base email announced the endorsement was passed at 1600H on 6 Jan 2022. It was swiftly followed by line training on the morrow with three continuous sectors, twice to Malikai, just 30 minutes away, with once to Gumusut under the Labuan Radar airspace taking an hour each way. I was a tad headspun on the first sector. After the luxury of a heliport all to myself, the contention for air traffic clearances and the Gatling-speed radio chatter in Kota Kinabalu International Airport was disorienting. By the second sortie, my internal filters began to function and day's end saw me handling the RT unsupervised. My training captain was not thoroughly displeased with me, although when he saw me climbing up the aircraft and jumping back down to ground during pre flight checks, he teasingly yelled out at me to the amusement of the KK ground crew,"Oi old cock!! No jumping!! Your think your'e still young is it?"</p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEh-9q8dDLNiQwKal_T_6rhpkwi7IJybq2FkrP0-keMOZVLLnM55pO97wrbQm7UPeg_BN5WiQRgccrWhBA9RWPRpUl7AMEvtK81_VDcAPMtBJkpGrrJHBXhOmu9PL4bG43jxRj8Itr2eBhNFyEkmzXdu4QvRLRTefSZjZJRS3CX1ozrc_1I-pO-GR0XK=s4624" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2084" data-original-width="4624" height="288" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEh-9q8dDLNiQwKal_T_6rhpkwi7IJybq2FkrP0-keMOZVLLnM55pO97wrbQm7UPeg_BN5WiQRgccrWhBA9RWPRpUl7AMEvtK81_VDcAPMtBJkpGrrJHBXhOmu9PL4bG43jxRj8Itr2eBhNFyEkmzXdu4QvRLRTefSZjZJRS3CX1ozrc_1I-pO-GR0XK=w640-h288" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Pulau Mengalum sitting midway between KK and Malikai.</td></tr></tbody></table><p style="text-align: justify;">Three sectors. The first rotor engagement was at 0800H. The final shutdown was at 1505H. I clocked 5:55 in block time. I was plumb tuckered out, but an extremely happy puppy. I have 2 days of line training before my line check under the Senior Training Captain. Then, if the company deigns to award me my rank, I am free to fly with the copilots. We'll see how that fares.</p>hobbit1964http://www.blogger.com/profile/04030529322509686268noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6288619677784745586.post-65064131327295307812021-10-12T11:23:00.002+08:002021-10-12T11:25:14.826+08:00I Heard A Good One Today...<p></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-zPHt0LRRaVE/YWTucKfepzI/AAAAAAAAG0A/h_UlEhY0hP4IhfXMH2FWDSM8tf2rtITtQCLcBGAsYHQ/s1080/a9d077b2-c0d9-4236-a4a9-bce6ee9882f5.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="608" data-original-width="1080" height="360" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-zPHt0LRRaVE/YWTucKfepzI/AAAAAAAAG0A/h_UlEhY0hP4IhfXMH2FWDSM8tf2rtITtQCLcBGAsYHQ/w640-h360/a9d077b2-c0d9-4236-a4a9-bce6ee9882f5.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Rotor track and balance alongside Petronas family quarters. A beautiful day with multiple greens and several blues.</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><p></p><div style="text-align: justify;">Yes, I am negligently overdue with a blog post. I have no real alibi save for the bewildering company social media policy which makes the degree of transparency I exercise in this blog, an arbitrary one. However I am certain that only a few wandering spirits linger here and with that consolation, I continue to tread water.</div><p></p><p style="text-align: justify;">After the nostalgic ferry flight to my favourite city, Kota Kinabalu mid-May, I returned to Kerteh to continue my pursuit of the ever elusive 100th hour promotion prerequisite, under supervision of training captains. I did have one contractual requirement to attend to, one I abhor, called the Offshore Passport medical check. When aviators are subject to a regulatory annual medical check known as the aircrew medical under an Aviation Medical Examiner, why we are further subjected to a secondary medical requirement seems both redundant and questionable to me. None of us will ever operate a crane or torch or metal cutter on an oil rig. Yet, because the oil and gas clients can apply pressure on the helicopter service providers, offshore pilots continue to be held ransom to offshore panel doctors who sometimes prescribe medication contrary to what any Aviation Medical Examiner would ever prescribe to an aircrew. Well, since the Pandora Papers do not cover these insiduous machinations, there is little that is being done to safeguard an offshore pilot's medical wellbeing.</p><p style="text-align: justify;">Whilst I digress, I needed to vent.</p><p style="text-align: justify;">I dutifully submitted myself to the examination protocol. And to my blood-curdling horror, two mornings after whilst I was happily on my 5-hour road cruise back home for my ten-day off cycle R&R, I received the call from the clinic summoning me back for an audience with the doctor as my blood test results had shown me to be diabetic.</p><p style="text-align: justify;">I was at 97 hours to my 100 tally. Again, I digress. But I was, and still am, shattered by that monolithic impediment to what meagre ambitions I held towards captaincy.</p><p style="text-align: justify;">The hiatus in my blog posts simply indicates that many events and their ramifications are now troubled waters under the bridge.</p><p style="text-align: justify;">Since the initial grim news with an Hb1AC of 10.2, I chased it down to the offshore limit of 7.9 in six weeks. My latest check after an additional ten weeks has it standing at 6.0. The journey and what I did does not require elaboration in keeping with the spirit of this blog as I see it.</p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-3YCJzGy5bHw/YWT6rj3htWI/AAAAAAAAG0I/r4LIfI_CNPQJx8ljufBZ4XJ5Ro716UR1ACLcBGAsYHQ/s1080/69590be6-9aba-4ecb-a01d-3f352ffc441b.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="608" data-original-width="1080" height="360" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-3YCJzGy5bHw/YWT6rj3htWI/AAAAAAAAG0I/r4LIfI_CNPQJx8ljufBZ4XJ5Ro716UR1ACLcBGAsYHQ/w640-h360/69590be6-9aba-4ecb-a01d-3f352ffc441b.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Returning from offshore to meet with rain over the airfield. An instrumented approach ensured I was recurrent on my ratings.</td></tr></tbody></table><p style="text-align: justify;">Having cleared the OSP with the standard one-year validity, I continued my dash to the finish line and completed my 100 hours at the end of July. The paperwork took less than 48 hours to compile and submit. I wrung my hands for another one month to allow for bureaucratic hysterisis pending approval of my rank.</p><p style="text-align: justify;">The news was indeed dismal. I was not to be promoted till the onset of the monsoon due to budgetary constraints. My coursemate, who sat for the First Pilot skill test with me in January, was promoted a fortnight after completing his 100 hours mid June. The melody and lyrics of What A Difference A Day Makes seems a satirical serrated blade thrust into my morale and sense of justice.</p><p style="text-align: justify;">Till my promotion materialises. if ever it does, I can only fly offshore when a training captain is available to occupy the left hand seat. That, and engine ground runs with the rare but occasional flight test. My monthly hours have plummeted to an hour and a few minutes for the past two months. I will not be surprised if I attend my next proficiency check with neither additional first pilot hours nor shouldering the rank. Nor would I be surprised at what would lie ahead were there no such thing as the North East monsoon.</p><p style="text-align: justify;">And that's when I heard a good one on one September morning on a supervised offshore flight. Another training captain was waiting for his copilot to prepare the navigation log before shooting off to his destination rig, with an ETD simultaneous to mine. My destination, though, was a shorter one, with a divergence of 60 degrees between us. Feigning concerns over in-flight route crossings and conflictions, he began to broadcast unsolicited advice as follows:</p><p style="text-align: justify;">"Jeffrey, since our planned take-off time is the same, for traffic separation, you can take-off first. But to make sure we arrive staggered, you must not exceed 80 knots throughout."</p><p style="text-align: justify;">I was not in the mood to entertain banter with anyone in my state, so I just nodded without further enquiry. Disappointed that I had not picked up the cues from his priming, he continued:</p><p style="text-align: justify;">"If anyone asks you why you deviated from cruise speed and flew 80 knots all the way, you tell them it's because you are waiting for your rank and would be happy if they put the rank on you when you arrive back from offhsore."</p><p style="text-align: justify;">It put a smile on my face for all of five minutes. </p><p style="text-align: justify;"><br /></p>hobbit1964http://www.blogger.com/profile/04030529322509686268noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6288619677784745586.post-84433220634129706942021-05-16T22:04:00.015+08:002021-10-12T11:34:00.985+08:00There And Back Again 2<p> </p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-wmN4ZE_wZUo/YKEDpQVLkfI/AAAAAAAAGtc/-wnelh6TG2wwu3jAKGlfli9Ntb04TRRigCLcBGAsYHQ/s1080/thumbnail%2B%25287%2529.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="498" data-original-width="1080" height="295" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-wmN4ZE_wZUo/YKEDpQVLkfI/AAAAAAAAGtc/-wnelh6TG2wwu3jAKGlfli9Ntb04TRRigCLcBGAsYHQ/w640-h295/thumbnail%2B%25287%2529.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Sunrise, sunrise</td></tr></tbody></table><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: arial;">I couldn't have asked for finer weather on the morning of 9 May 21. We had Sahoor ready for us to take away from the kitchen at 0515H, so that we could have our tummies settled before the long dark through Moria, that stretch of open sea that awaited us. Grab drivers were available by 0645H and two shuttles took care of our needs for social distancing in public transport on this sun-up ride to the airport. Justice, or in this case, Covid19 SOP needs to be seen to be done, right? </span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: arial; margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="810" data-original-width="1080" height="480" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-VY2bD0vlIgo/YKEFQW9_2wI/AAAAAAAAGtk/Cxkvue0w1-kXqB1yHfL9OG2VbWtlO7fnACLcBGAsYHQ/w640-h480/thumbnail%2B%252813%2529.jpg" width="640" /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></div><span style="font-family: arial;"><div style="text-align: justify;">I accompanied LAE Shahir as he attended to the pre flight prep whilst my two copilots loaded their cardio vascular systems with enough nicotine to last the three-hour ride sans smoko breaks on the first jaunt of the day. I gave Senai Tower a call on the phone, requesting start-up clearance on their landline to conserve the aircraft internal battery power for the engine start. Delightfully, start and air traffic clearance for the departure were confirmed over the phone. Business was off to a very promising beginning. Neil, the courageous one to brave the crossing with me, was still puffing on his e cigarette before sensing the rest of us were rearing to go. Internal battery start was a little hot on the turbine temperature, but steadied as rapidly as it rose. Taxy clearance for the Kong Kong 2 departure was obtained, and we rolled to the runway centreline for the kind of take off into a view no money could buy.</div></span><p></p><p style="text-align: justify;"></p><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-UWKyt-ra3Vo/YKEG04kNBoI/AAAAAAAAGts/N_IbDJY90dcPiB-5ajIg4WdRCq2EP6MawCLcBGAsYHQ/s1080/thumbnail%2B%25286%2529.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><img border="0" data-original-height="498" data-original-width="1080" height="296" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-UWKyt-ra3Vo/YKEG04kNBoI/AAAAAAAAGts/N_IbDJY90dcPiB-5ajIg4WdRCq2EP6MawCLcBGAsYHQ/w640-h296/thumbnail%2B%25286%2529.jpg" width="640" /></span></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: arial;">The view, the view, the view!</span></td></tr></tbody></table><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></div><span style="font-family: arial;"><div style="text-align: justify;">As we tracked on the instrumented departure to Kong Kong and set course to HOSBA, the vista of Johor Baru and the city-state of Singapore unfurled before our eyes. The Traffic Collision Avoidance System showed us what a busy airspace Singapore air traffic controllers were deconflicting. The air traffic control officers were friendly and courteous. On the easterly heading for Kuching, we were offered a cruise level of 5000 or 7000 feet. We gladly accepted 5000 feet so that the engines' power index could be kept within calmer limits at altitude. Transponder codes were puched in and soon we were enjoying the cruise. Singapore's silhouette passed us on the right. I managed to identify Seletar, where I was trained in airfield fire fighting and rescue way back in 1991. Nostalgia and wonderful weather conditions. Days like these make the job seem amply worthwhile. </div></span><p></p><p style="text-align: justify;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='320' height='266' src='https://www.blogger.com/video.g?token=AD6v5dzal69PK1a6VySNghBjQ-FEhe0glVrtMhOmSRGPjoMOgUFBhb7w7YhmPeGW8D1kcfpBJgwvCh6MYdQZ5jyqVQ' class='b-hbp-video b-uploaded' frameborder='0'></iframe></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: arial;">A jumbo cuts across our nose</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: arial;">Soon, we lost sight of all land. Now and then a distant island would pass us on the right, rugged, untouched and rather Bali Hai. The weather remained persistently pristine. Far into the horizon were little cumulous fronts floating serenely above the mirrored sea. We would pass through one front, and another would wait ahead, like some game of airborne hurdles. We looked around at each other with just one question on our minds, since everything else was so fine, only one item remained with an unticked box. Neil articulated it: "I hope everone's bladders are still holding out." No sound from the engineer. He didn't have a headset. "I'm good!" came back Sharvind through the intercom from the cabin. To ripple everyone's optimism, I just said, "Well.......we'll see."</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: arial;">Just after TOMAN, Singapore Radar buzzed in "9MWAH, do you have HF?" Ah, the moment of reckoning! I pointed to the SATCOM, and on cue as we had discussed, Neil answered "Negative, Singapore Radar. We have SATPHONE as included in the flight plan."</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></div><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-gKzGONswfn4/YKERAf7uotI/AAAAAAAAGt0/pL6hpt9BInYZmBbLLTxpSq4A46MQB5bqACLcBGAsYHQ/s1024/thumbnail%2B%25289%2529.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1024" data-original-width="768" height="640" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-gKzGONswfn4/YKERAf7uotI/AAAAAAAAGt0/pL6hpt9BInYZmBbLLTxpSq4A46MQB5bqACLcBGAsYHQ/w480-h640/thumbnail%2B%25289%2529.jpg" width="480" /></span></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: arial;">I'm at a payphone<br /><br /></span></td></tr></tbody></table><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: arial;">"In that case, 9MWAH contact Singapore ATC on 65 and thereafter 65431629."</span></div><p></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: arial;">SATCOMs are always a bit of the roll of the dice. However, after a few attempts and bad lines, Neil did manage to get through, and I assured Singapore Radar that all was well. Subsequent position reports were managed through the SATPHONE, all the way to ATETI whence we were instructed to contact Kuching Radar.</span></p><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-5TpYaBYXq4g/YKEUPeQsvLI/AAAAAAAAGt8/dbDS6WzPu4oioqv3BqM9o5GmiX2pf974gCLcBGAsYHQ/s1080/thumbnail%2B%25284%2529.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><img border="0" data-original-height="498" data-original-width="1080" height="296" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-5TpYaBYXq4g/YKEUPeQsvLI/AAAAAAAAGt8/dbDS6WzPu4oioqv3BqM9o5GmiX2pf974gCLcBGAsYHQ/w640-h296/thumbnail%2B%25284%2529.jpg" width="640" /></span></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: arial;">Ok, it has been 2 hours 30 already. I need a view change. And a fire hydrant/tyre</span></td></tr></tbody></table><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: large;">Just at that very cloudy handover point, whilst checking in with Kuching Radar, I cheered through the intercom: "Tiara! Tiara!" Sharvind came forward, peering between the front seats through the polyethelyne barrier and called out "Laaaaaannnnd ahoy!"</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></div><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-MpaD2gdWL7E/YKEVadGPTnI/AAAAAAAAGuE/tzz65PlxOfAz7WOSAGukZUQBMpY-_lKMQCLcBGAsYHQ/s1080/thumbnail%2B%25285%2529.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><img border="0" data-original-height="498" data-original-width="1080" height="296" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-MpaD2gdWL7E/YKEVadGPTnI/AAAAAAAAGuE/tzz65PlxOfAz7WOSAGukZUQBMpY-_lKMQCLcBGAsYHQ/w640-h296/thumbnail%2B%25285%2529.jpg" width="640" /></span></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: arial;">Then you break cloud and the glorious sight of land greets you<br /></span><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;">It was only upon sighting land that I knew, my bladder would hold out till touchdown at Kuching! I began feeling rather positive about the remainder of the journey. 25 minutes over land and a few dog-legs later, Kuching airfield came into view. I declared airfield in sight and brought her in for touchdown, taxy and requested refuelling at the General Aviation apron. No sooner the rotors had stopped turning, everyone made a beeline for the gents, and saw to the paperwork after. There was a minor hiccup with the flight plan from Kuching to Miri, but it was quickly resolved with a call to the vigilant Duty Captain at home base. On terra firma, the emptiness of missing second breakfast and the call of elevenses became audible. Nothing that a quick sprint to the McD in the terminal wasn't able to fix!</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;">Within good time we wrapped up post flight and pre flight, the same landline clearance for start-up was obtained and again, off we set for Miri. It was another hot start, but well below transient limits. I was told that Kuching's ATC was cantankerous, but they were in fact, as amiable as I've found them to be during "my RMAF days, what what!" </span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;">Our flight planned route was one I had specifically chosen from Miri via Tanjung Manis and Mukah. Only four heading changes. ATC was accommodating but we had to call abeam Bintulu and Sibu as other lesser aircraft opererators were plying the parallel routes and they needed our position reports for safe air traffic separation. After passing Mukah, we spent much of our time over larger expanses of water. With the coastline far to the right, we were clear of other traffic and the radio chatter fell to a minimum. There was some weather build up over the coast, but cruising along at 1500 feet, "feet wet" kept us in clear skies and horizon, affording us a pleasant VMC view till the sunny touchdown at Miri.</span></div></td><td style="text-align: center;"></td></tr></tbody></table><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></div><p style="text-align: justify;"></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="498" data-original-width="1080" height="296" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-6GzvlBL_vnQ/YKEZqHlEHvI/AAAAAAAAGuc/GYwQgw22w7Mv7bWMDzfRo-_N_5XK70yVQCLcBGAsYHQ/w640-h296/thumbnail%2B%252816%2529.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" width="640" /></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Loading up the waypoints on the FMS</td></tr></tbody></table><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-6GzvlBL_vnQ/YKEZqHlEHvI/AAAAAAAAGuc/GYwQgw22w7Mv7bWMDzfRo-_N_5XK70yVQCLcBGAsYHQ/s1080/thumbnail%2B%252816%2529.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: arial;"></span></a></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Again, LAE Shahir worked promptly with the engineering boys at Weststar Miri Base on the refueling and turnaround checks. Sharvind, who was to fly the final leg, ie Miri to KK, took advantage of base support's ground power unit to load up the subsequent waypoints for the trip. Meanwhile, Flight Ops Miri had already obtained approved flight plans for our final leg</span></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;">Miri was not altogether busy that afternoon, so start up and taxy to line up for take off was as uneventful as it was unimpeded. The route to KK was again, one I picked, right from memory of <i>Ops Jaga Kawan</i> when I'd fly the Nuri down to Miri from Labuan and back for the army's troop changeovers and resupplying their needs into Bario and Ba' Kelalan. Sharvind was the left hand seat pilot for this leg whilst Neil was in the cabin enjoying the view. We crossed Batang Baram, passed abeam Anduki and looked down over Tasik Merimbun. Just before leaving Brunei airspace, Neil pointed out his dad's village passing below us at Batu Danau. Looks like everyone gained some good on this trip. Exactly as we had anticipated when we got the news.</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-CFBFrCXXdW0/YKEeAln0rLI/AAAAAAAAGuk/PsG_VMxL37kx7LPDXksWCYtiEY27yAtGQCLcBGAsYHQ/s1024/thumbnail%2B%252810%2529.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1024" data-original-width="768" height="640" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-CFBFrCXXdW0/YKEeAln0rLI/AAAAAAAAGuk/PsG_VMxL37kx7LPDXksWCYtiEY27yAtGQCLcBGAsYHQ/w480-h640/thumbnail%2B%252810%2529.jpg" width="480" /></span></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: arial;">If our engineer is happy, evryone is happy<br /><br /></span></td></tr></tbody></table><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-family: arial;">Passing overhead </span><span style="font-family: arial;">Neil's hometown, Li</span><span style="font-family: arial;">mbang, Labuan began to drag into view. I was a copilot here from 1997 till 2001. I made Nuri captain here and was posted to KL Base as a line pilot from 2001 to 2005 during which I had my missing-after-ejection fighter pilot rescue and my stint in tsunami-ravaged Acheh. Then after paying my dues in MINDEF for three years, I was glad to be posted back here again as Squadron Exo from 2008 till I quit the air force in 2010. No, Adam Levine, you </span><i style="font-family: arial;">don't</i><span style="font-family: arial;"> get to sing that adulteration of Canon in D minor at the expense of </span><i style="font-family: arial;">my</i><span style="font-family: arial;"> memories! Not on my watch!</span></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></div><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-s_jDnLfleGI/YKEfS30ez5I/AAAAAAAAGuw/TzOaZRtVHm0PpVSTunswJZE2Ie-ZsxReQCLcBGAsYHQ/s1012/thumbnail%2B%25288%2529.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1012" data-original-width="810" height="640" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-s_jDnLfleGI/YKEfS30ez5I/AAAAAAAAGuw/TzOaZRtVHm0PpVSTunswJZE2Ie-ZsxReQCLcBGAsYHQ/w512-h640/thumbnail%2B%25288%2529.jpg" width="512" /></span></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: arial;">Abeam Kinarut, KK airfield in sight!</span></td></tr></tbody></table><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;">It was with some ruefulness that I noted the retrogade path Labuan's oil and gas scene had taken of late. The waters just off the coast of Victoria to Pulau Daat had turned into a vessel and jack up rig graveyard. Hmmmm. Gazing at Labuan with more pleasant recollections, I buzzed Labuan Radar to convey my best regards to No 5 Squadron and set my sights back to the waypoint of Kuala Penyu which pointed towards KK.</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-CGWavG91-vU/YKHbjB4yLsI/AAAAAAAAGvA/LFE1VV-oqMACM9G_GM9HsbLSGqtA1vt_wCLcBGAsYHQ/s1737/thumbnail%2B%252817%2529.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1019" data-original-width="1737" height="376" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-CGWavG91-vU/YKHbjB4yLsI/AAAAAAAAGvA/LFE1VV-oqMACM9G_GM9HsbLSGqtA1vt_wCLcBGAsYHQ/w640-h376/thumbnail%2B%252817%2529.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Four jack up rigs huddled together in the watery graveyard, reminiscing on better days past</td></tr></tbody></table><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><span style="font-size: medium;">It was nearing 1700H when we finally lined up on finals runway 02 Kota Kinabalu. The long journey was just beginning to gnaw at me, but the sight of KK gave me second wind for the grand finale. We shut down the aircraft and handed her over to the Base Manager KK, with much relief. He on his part, had most hospitably arranged the KK CIQ stamping of our passports with Immigrations at his Flight Ops after which we were swifly whisked to The Promenade Hotel for the night courtesy of his base transport. Yes, as the Covid19 SOP would have it.</span></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;">A check on the company email while milling at the hotel reception showed us that our flight tickets for our ride back to KLIA and then onward to Kuala Terengganu were uploaded for printing and scheduled for the following morning. I'd like to make a special mention over a Ms Hyzol (pronounced Hazel) of the front office at The Promenade, who did us the great favour of printing said tickets that night itself on our request. God bless!</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;">The job was done. And I had an excellent team making this a success.</span></div><div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><p></p></div>hobbit1964http://www.blogger.com/profile/04030529322509686268noreply@blogger.com10tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6288619677784745586.post-7784290633374018462021-05-15T21:00:00.003+08:002021-05-17T10:15:30.108+08:00There And Back Again 1<p></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-igC3r3OWJ1M/YJ-vb7TBrxI/AAAAAAAAGtI/oWQMuy0pb1wB_Y19EqL12usV1TT95TbiQCLcBGAsYHQ/s1080/thumbnail%2B%25283%2529.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="498" data-original-width="1080" height="296" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-igC3r3OWJ1M/YJ-vb7TBrxI/AAAAAAAAGtI/oWQMuy0pb1wB_Y19EqL12usV1TT95TbiQCLcBGAsYHQ/w640-h296/thumbnail%2B%25283%2529.jpg" title="The Ferry Flight Crew Before Departing Kerteh" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The ferry flight crew before starting-up for departure from Kerteh. LAE Shahir, SFO Sharvind, moi and FO Neil</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><p></p><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;">It was with both excitement and trepidation that I received the news early in the first week of the month that I was to ferry an aircraft from Kerteh all the way to Kota Kinabalu via Senai, Kuching and Miri. Excitement at flying for the first time with copilots, excitement at heading to Kota Kinabalu, the town I grew up in, excitement at the prospect of flying through my old East Malaysian operational playgrounds from my air force days. Trepidation? Over pretty much the same things, so new into the right hand seat. But I had a history to fall back on, and to see how much of that reliance held true.</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;">The ferry flight was initially scheduled for 15 May 21, but with misgivings over the impending Aidil Fitri celebrations mired with a rising Covid19 pandemic infectivity crossing the 3000 persons a day rate, it was decided that flying off a week earlier would be prudent.</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='320' height='266' src='https://www.blogger.com/video.g?token=AD6v5dz4i22rs45Ljqd__yGVqfbvzkSuM6O66OpcyGWbxXEc2jLqLHrjMP08dCsQFY24t43gZmQNT70gD3XNdnK1DQ' class='b-hbp-video b-uploaded' frameborder='0'></iframe></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Leaving Kerteh</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><span style="font-size: medium;">The planned route was from Kerteh to Senai first, on 8 May 21 for a night stop. Then, for a bright and early departure on 9 May 21 from Senai on a direct track through Kong Kong, HOSBA, TOMAN, OBGET, NIMIX, ATETI and MOXUN, thereafter to land at Kuching for refuelling. The next stop would be at Miri, refuel again and finally deliver the aircraft to Kota Kinabalu Base.</span></div><p></p><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-xR73GJMWX10/YJ-17ilG3lI/AAAAAAAAGtQ/MjWkD0qeB9MhPBOCdOm7sFeYBw1PUyk1wCLcBGAsYHQ/s1024/thumbnail%2B%25281%2529.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1024" data-original-width="768" height="640" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-xR73GJMWX10/YJ-17ilG3lI/AAAAAAAAGtQ/MjWkD0qeB9MhPBOCdOm7sFeYBw1PUyk1wCLcBGAsYHQ/w480-h640/thumbnail%2B%25281%2529.jpg" width="480" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="text-align: left;">Passing by the east coast reporting points of Pekan and Mersing<br /><br /></span><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="text-align: left;"><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="text-align: center;">There was of course the initial mad scramble to get the swab tests done, the prerequisite to obtaining entry into Sarawak and Sabah, getting authorised travel requests, cross-border police permits and accomodations, all </span><span style="text-align: left;">thanks to Covid SOPs</span><span style="text-align: center;">. We got them all sorted from 24 hours before till about 20 minutes to scheduled departure. </span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="text-align: center;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;">We gathered at Flight Ops at 1400H for a preflight brief. <span style="text-align: center;">While we loitered in the Flight Ops room waiting for the various legalities to filter in, our very concerned Chief Pilot hung around with us so that he could bid us a proper farewell and safe flight.</span> At last, we had our General Declarations, state entry-exit permits, police permits and a To Whom It May Concern letter to facilitate the exisiting documents. My dutiful copilots took custody of the documents for later evidence of legal transit and we ran a final ticking off of our self made checklist before feeling satisfied enough to step down to the flight line office. We were ready to roar at 1435H.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">I caught up with our sole Licensed Aircraft Engineer who would be riding on board, and the crew headed out onto the tarmac together. Snapshot by the starting crew, we then clambered in to get the show on the road. Sharvind was to be the first to fly with me. We lined up on the runway for the daily power assurance check, and then started our 2 day sky trip with a take-off and climb to 5000 feet as per flight plan. Weather was very bright and hot, and we were unanimously grateful for a serviceable aircond. After passing abeam Kuantan we descended to 2000 feet for the scenic view, and thus we flew past Pekan, Nenasi, Mersing and all the way dodging minor clouds and terrain gleefully till touchdown at Senai Airport. After shutdown and securing the aircraft for the night, we headed to Perth Hotel, just beyond the airport fences, for preparatory sleep for the long haul awaiting us at sunrise.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">Corrine Bailey Rae, there are other reasons for having trouble sleeping. The morrow was going to be the moment for truth for me; my first crossing from the peninsula to East Malaysia, my first time since the command course that I would be flying with copilots as opposed to with training captains as I was still under line supervision, my first dealing with Singapore's stringent air traffic control in an aircraft not carrying HF radio for the crossing, and on a route directly over the sea for three straight hours. Going over all these in my head, sleep only came at 0300H.</div></span><span style="text-align: left;"><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">This was going to be, not a test of faith, but bladder control.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">More in the next post.</div></span></span></td></tr></tbody></table>hobbit1964http://www.blogger.com/profile/04030529322509686268noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6288619677784745586.post-30359108500051878402021-01-28T13:44:00.004+08:002021-01-28T16:31:01.631+08:00Hey Diddle Diddle<p></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-C_tAUuZ4XrM/YBI3C9QhbmI/AAAAAAAAGpw/xPDgrXSdePMN8jOUh08TMfa0e74h8tpkQCLcBGAsYHQ/s1080/thumbnail%2B%25286%2529.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="550" data-original-width="1080" height="326" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-C_tAUuZ4XrM/YBI3C9QhbmI/AAAAAAAAGpw/xPDgrXSdePMN8jOUh08TMfa0e74h8tpkQCLcBGAsYHQ/w640-h326/thumbnail%2B%25286%2529.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: #fcff01;">Finals approach, West Desaru MOPU on 15 Jan 2021. First flight of 2021. First flight Right Hand Seat.</span></div><span style="color: #fcff01;"><br /><br /></span></td></tr></tbody></table><span style="text-align: justify;">I have been away from this blog for 6 months. That's not a good show in a realm where each flight day is always eventful, and yet, I have been swamped by a lethargy which self discipline could not override. I simply could not muster the spirit to write with any anecdotal conclusivity.</span><p></p><p style="text-align: justify;">It's not only that Covid19 has inundated the entire planet, but that closer to home, and many aviators will agree, things do not look altogether prospective even with the buzz of a vaccine on the horizon. This isn't about a lack of gratitude at still holding down a job, as we can all readily acknowledge that unemployment is a parallel epidemic on its own, holding hands with Corona like the dish that ran away with the spoon. It is rather an indication of the climate hovering over Kerteh for the indefinite present. Rumours of downsizing and who's next haunt the hangar while all hands on deck, from boss to janitor, move on from day to day, some prayerfully and some others yet, slanderously.</p><p style="text-align: left;"></p><div style="text-align: justify;"><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-djEZ2lYrA40/YBI8uT_FtQI/AAAAAAAAGqI/ae2nt6WdeGE4nN4KUh-i8ty32O8CxaLGwCLcBGAsYHQ/s2015/130103433_10158689418259242_8491831981703659557_o.jpg" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2015" data-original-width="2014" height="400" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-djEZ2lYrA40/YBI8uT_FtQI/AAAAAAAAGqI/ae2nt6WdeGE4nN4KUh-i8ty32O8CxaLGwCLcBGAsYHQ/w400-h400/130103433_10158689418259242_8491831981703659557_o.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: #fcff01;">HAZMAT ready fo a PUI flight</span></td></tr></tbody></table>Over the past number of months, a few incidents have occured to break the monotony of skipping from payday to payday. Amongst the more interesting of those was my last carriage of two PUIs from MTC Ledang, an offshore vessel on 9 December. I had gone outbound garbed in a HAZMAT suit <i>et alia</i>, and later at night was celebrating the little adventure over dinner and drinks with my colleague Niel, when the ominous call came from my Chief Pilot telling me that those two boys tested positive for Covid19. That didn't stop either Niel or I from downing the last drop of soju, but both of us were called by Ministry Of Health representatives later in the unholiest hours of the night to notify us to be prepared to be quarantined. By late morning, Niel was whisked away to a quarantine centre in Marang. The MOH deemed that since I was in full HAZMAT suit, gloves, and remained in the cockpit protected by the cockpit barrier, I did not fall into the definition of "close contact" and could be left unattended to till someone higher up the payscale decided that I needed government branded TLC. I am glad to announce, that nobody loved me.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">The rest of the year took a rapid swing like a tail rotor drive failure, to change my Christmas hols. I was unexpectedly assigned together with a colleague, to ground classes and simulator training spanning from 21 Dec 2020 to 3 January 2021. Yes, any course which runs from one year to the next cannot be trivialised. While I rued the lost time with the family initially, and for only nanoseconds, I realised that I had other ghosts to exorcise. Returning to the same classroom where I had been two years back, unreeled the trauma and ensuing phobia of my initial course.</div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-9PV4nSMwn50/YBJHkjTVQLI/AAAAAAAAGqU/W-_3COjVKbwrHMaJfyWrPz8qDK3ZVKg2QCLcBGAsYHQ/s697/thumbnail%2B%25288%2529.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="343" data-original-width="697" height="314" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-9PV4nSMwn50/YBJHkjTVQLI/AAAAAAAAGqU/W-_3COjVKbwrHMaJfyWrPz8qDK3ZVKg2QCLcBGAsYHQ/w640-h314/thumbnail%2B%25288%2529.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: #fcff01;">Hey Captain Alfredo! Who's The Coolest Guy now? Please read https://hobbit1964.blogspot.com/2015/10/the-coolest-guy.html</span></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><div style="text-align: justify;">With a rather different outcome to the course this time, I surmise that we are not be held ransom to our past forever. I have it on good authority that anyone who sets his hand to the plough and then turns to look backward isn't fit for the Kingdom Of Heaven. Just like flying from the right hand seat, sometimes all we need, is a change of perspective. </div><p></p>hobbit1964http://www.blogger.com/profile/04030529322509686268noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6288619677784745586.post-10355553170122176612020-06-07T10:04:00.008+08:002020-06-07T20:14:02.184+08:00Virulence<h1 class="quoteText" style="background-color: white; color: #181818; font-family: merriweather, georgia, serif; font-size: 14px; font-weight: normal; line-height: 21px; margin: 0px 0px 15px; padding: 0px;">
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<i>Is it not a strange fate that we should suffer so much fear and doubt for so small a thing?---JRR Tolkien.</i></div>
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Small as it may be, the current virus has tossed the entire world into disarray.</div>
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In somewhat viral irony, it became the very Trojan Horse for our political quagmire and the collapse of a democratically elected government. I won't wax political. I'll just say that I find the entire affair rather slutty.</div>
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Meanwhile, back at work, as a segment of both, the nation's oil and gas industry as well as the transportation sector via aviation, business continued, but it was rather business as unusual.<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-R1OwzDk8IG4/Xs-lliOQh6I/AAAAAAAAGjA/3fYQgOZWRvUjMX9qIwybk4VBtA7g-4QOACPcBGAYYCw/s1600/thumbnail%2B%252813%2529.jpg" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="998" height="320" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-R1OwzDk8IG4/Xs-lliOQh6I/AAAAAAAAGjA/3fYQgOZWRvUjMX9qIwybk4VBtA7g-4QOACPcBGAYYCw/s320/thumbnail%2B%252813%2529.jpg" width="199" /></a></div>
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It was a bit scary at first, when at the turn of the year, company small talk revolved around pilots having to fly suspected Covid19 carriers. I did wonder what this would entail. Covid19, at January's end, was almost someone else's worry. If we shut our eyes tight enough, we wouldn't get it. We had faced lots of weird viruses and epidemics and yet not everyone was affected by the Nipah virus, the Coxsackie hand-foot-mouth disease of 1977 which seemed to favour young kids, or the SARS of the new millennium. However, the virulence of Covid19 meant that within days of the February 24th collapse of the government, its wildfire had spread far and fast enough to reach the further fringes of offshore helicopter aviation around the world. No matter if we buried our heads in the desert sand, this one would not pass us overhead.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">As things would have it, my first Covid19 Person Under Suspicion (PUI) extraction was on March Friday the 13th. The route was to Angsi Alpha, relatively nearby. The myth and fluff of the pandemic had me trepidated for a while, but I had been in these situations countless times and I decided to throw myself into it. The sortie was rather uneventful, and upon landing from the mission, I was to return home straight away and self-quarantine till the PUI's Covid19 test results came forth. After three days of being a complete slob, the group chat text revealed the PUI had tested negatively and I resumed work without hesitation. As the days passed, PUI extractions continued steadily, alternating between increasing frequency and being sporadic, like heaving breaths of the pandemic itself. The company slowly evolved the Covid19 Protocol. Eventually, the wearing of decontamination suits became optional, which set my mind at ease. </div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">I realise that I was fortunate to be assigned such duties as to carry PUIs safely back to shore where they can be provided the appropriate medical intervention as may have been neccessary. Nothing about that privilege needs elaboration.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">We are all well aware that Covid19 is embedded in our communities for the long run. From Leonardo, the current OEM of the AW139 to the company's engineering arm, accruing to the initiating documents from the OEM, plans are under way to install a cockpit-cabin barrier to enhance the current Covid19 aviation social distancing in flight. Our maximum passenger load now stands at six, which is half the seating capacity. This has made life easier, since the seats occupiable are already designated. I no longer have to haggle with the Helideck Crew to restrict any passenger load less than eight pax strong to the first two rows only, keeping the centre of gravity somewhat centred in order to preclude any instance of a tail-down moment upon lift off. Some days, we win some.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">Flight scheduling seems to have plunged off a graphical precipice. Upon the end of the monsoon contract during which the sortie board often reached 22 flights per day, we now see the busiest days having only 4 flights. An influx of new pilots without offshore experience into home base Kerteh has further curtailed how often I get to go up in the air. Priorities mean that they get assigned flights more often on the offshore sectors of lenient clients who don't prerequire 50 hours of offshore experience, after which they become eligible to fly for any of the snooty clients we serve. Pilots with ample offshore hours, therefore, literally have to take a backseat for now. I thought clocking 33 hours in April was bad. I clocked 7.15 hours in May. Some days, we lose a few. I say this even with the neccessary gratitude of being employed.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">Yes, I know I am not the only one in the boat. So we keep on rowing through these treacled times. I say a small prayer for my bretheren in the fixed-wing aviation world who bear with the deeper scourges of the virulence of these days. May they glide to a soft landing soon.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div>
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hobbit1964http://www.blogger.com/profile/04030529322509686268noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6288619677784745586.post-22461405228092189812020-03-15T11:58:00.000+08:002020-03-15T15:09:27.976+08:00Zero Dark 45<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-msC_UbeQUb8/Xm2nU1H_s6I/AAAAAAAAGfE/-KmUP40L8mkUINpgTHydOL4h_O079omIwCLcBGAsYHQ/s1600/88191359_10157919076639242_737688571850260480_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="922" data-original-width="922" height="400" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-msC_UbeQUb8/Xm2nU1H_s6I/AAAAAAAAGfE/-KmUP40L8mkUINpgTHydOL4h_O079omIwCLcBGAsYHQ/s400/88191359_10157919076639242_737688571850260480_n.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Angsi Alpha at 0045H</td></tr>
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Night Standby. That is a rostered MEDEVAC standby duty that many a pilot here would volunteer to be placed on. Over the years from 2014 when I joined the company till this very night, there were about ten MEDEVACs (medical evacuations). Probabilities being on the low, with the Scrooge fisted reluctance on the part of clients which preferred their infected offshore boys hitch a ride on an existing flight under the IDOM (infectious disease, offshore management) rather than declare a dedicated MEDEVAC at a premium, normally meant that a pilot on night standby from 2200H till 0800H the next morning, has a pseudo off day, not having to come in to work and instead binge watch Netflix with one ear open for an ominous phone call in the wee hours of the morning.</div>
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I have never volunteered for night standby. And on the night of 27 February 2020, on the stroke of 2200H, I set my ringtone to loud and began tossing about in bed in anticipation of the customary early morning flight of 0715H following an uneventful night standby. My mind had just wandered off enough to court slumber when the phone rang. Seeing the Flight Operations Officer's caller identification, I went into scramble mode. Apparently some chap on Angsi Alpha had developed an alarmingly rapid pulse rate and warranted a night MEDEVAC to Kuala Terengganu hospital.</div>
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<a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-_Vm5KfpAhXk/Xm2nm4R9d0I/AAAAAAAAGfM/F092UtRSe8UR2avs4pr0SmjeMS8GwCNSwCLcBGAsYHQ/s1600/thumbnail%2B%25288%2529.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em; text-align: justify;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1080" data-original-width="499" height="400" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-_Vm5KfpAhXk/Xm2nm4R9d0I/AAAAAAAAGfM/F092UtRSe8UR2avs4pr0SmjeMS8GwCNSwCLcBGAsYHQ/s400/thumbnail%2B%25288%2529.jpg" width="183" /></a></div>
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The call had come in at 2225H. I jumped into my prepared flying suit and grabbed my headset and flight bag. I jiffied down 5 floors of the apartment and was soon at breakneck speed to the Planners' room at the terminal building, arriving at 2305H. Not bad, considering that the ketum-swigging motorists I encountered on the road refused to be outdone by an Elantra-driving MEDEVAC pilot trying to get airborne ASAP in order to save a life.</div>
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My aircraft captain turned up at 2315H (I smirk). The aircraft was fuelled up and the starting crew ready at the terminal at 2330H, and about ten minutes after that, the tower air traffic controller turned up and had fired up the radio comms. We were in business!!</div>
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Seeing that the prevailing winds favoured the copilot's approach to Angsi Alpha, after start-up, the controls were handed over to me for the outbound leg. I took the aircraft out to the runway, brought the good girl into a hover and carried out the take-off. Passing 1500 feet, a left hand turn and we were on course to the rig.</div>
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I love night flights. The weather enroute was a notch cloudy, and the night time vista is always somewhat calmer, less frenetic than daytime flights. You're not jousting with other helicopters to and from the rigs for airspace, altitudes, traffic separation or getting a word in edgewise on the radio for range calls amidst the flurry of company gossip crowding the company chatter channel.</div>
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This being my approach to the rig, I advised the captain that I would opt for an airborne radar approach (ARA). This is where a procedural step down and distance markers to the finals approach would be used with the weather radar returns providing the positive marking of said distances, up to an abort point if deck visibility were to fall below 1 mile to the helideck. However, seven miles before Angsi, I could see the rig glimmering like a jewel in the distance, and continued visually to complete the night deck landing without incident. It was 0045H at touchdown.</div>
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The aircraft captain left me at the controls, rotors running, to use the mens' room below the deck. I stayed in communication with the helideck radio operator and enquired into the status of the patient. The RO asked me how many minutes I could spare till fuel became critically low. I looked at the gauges and said "Ten minutes." Well, we had much more than that, but I hadn't the liberty to use the men's room with my captain below deck who seemingly had no intention of resurfacing even after 30 minutes had passed. I had to reserve bladder capcity, so the earlier we lifted off the earlier I could seek relief. The RO checked in with me on the fuel state at regular intervals and ten minutes was my just as regular answer.<br />
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Half an hour had passed. I asked the RO if the captain was anywhere nearby because I wanted to relay the fuel state to him, but the RO did not have him in sight. I guess he was having a coffee. Forty minutes passed. The RO checked in with me again, and I told him that the critical fuel level would be reached in five to seven minutes idling time. I understood the constraints: heart case patients had to stabilised before being put through the rigours of a flight. The RO bemoaned the fact that this was taking longer because just before being lifted up in the stretcher, the patient began gesticulating that he didn't want to leave and have his friends shoulder his workload. I don't know if it was the medication or comradeship, but it was getting ridiculous.</div>
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But, thankfully, on the dot of 7 minutes later, i saw stirrings at the staircase folding gates, and led by the captain, the medical attendant and the stretchered patient made their ambling way to the aircraft. After ensuring that the patient was secure in the aircraft stretcher with the medical attendant reassuringly beside him, the captain then came into the cockpit, assumed control and we lifted off into the night on our merry way to Kuala Terengganu. While he flew this leg, I handled all the communications with the air traffic controller at Kuala Terengganu and coordinated the rendesvous point for the ambulance. The captain carried out the approach and landing and we taxied our way through unlit taxiways to the flying club apron where stood the awaiting ambulance. After application of brakes and idling the engines, I got off to coordinate the ambulance to a safe distance outside the rotor disc. And this is where the word "expeditious" vapourises into the night air. The ambulance staff cleverly stopped outside the periphery of the running rotors as per my hand signals. But they expected me to direct them as to how to handle the patient. Equally clueless, the medical attendant kept looking at me for instructions on how to off-load the patient. Lads, this is where you step in and perform your functions. Were this a military operation, yes, the aircrew steer the entire mission. But on civvy street, a pilot is just that: an operator of an aircraft. He is not to interfere with or assume control over another specialist's function.</div>
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In the end, the medical attendant, after running short of ideas, yanked the oxygen mask off the patient, unbuckled his restraints and made him clamber over the on-board stretcher and hop onto the ambulance's gurney. The ambulance staff were still standing agape as if this MEDEVAC were a spectator sport. Once they were all clear from the aircraft, I strapped in, called for taxi and take-off clearance, and I set back to Kerteh at 4000 feet for an instrument approach from overhead Kerteh's VOR station to a safe landing at our home airfield.</div>
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It was 0300H at touchdown on the tarmac at Kerteh. After submission of the paperwork at flight ops office, I did the unthinkable and drove to the landmark pride and joy of Kerteh, depending on whether or not some comedic boycott is in session: McDonald's. A cup of salted caramel and my first sampling of <i>nasi lemak McDonalds</i> concluded the proceedings of the morning, and I spent the rest of the morning being an unregistered zombie.</div>
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And I still never will volunteer for night standby.</div>
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hobbit1964http://www.blogger.com/profile/04030529322509686268noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6288619677784745586.post-17660925821662421792019-06-09T20:04:00.003+08:002019-06-09T22:11:29.234+08:00Please Forgive Me, Mr Randy Newman<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-x-xgtB0CuHA/XPzyK4VPR8I/AAAAAAAAGas/d7wG9V3-hXMVYQz5tM8NNR-B6quQPo6cACLcBGAs/s1600/800px-GustaveDore_She_was_astonished_to_see_how_her_grandmother_looked.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="559" data-original-width="800" height="446" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-x-xgtB0CuHA/XPzyK4VPR8I/AAAAAAAAGas/d7wG9V3-hXMVYQz5tM8NNR-B6quQPo6cACLcBGAs/s640/800px-GustaveDore_She_was_astonished_to_see_how_her_grandmother_looked.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Engraving by Gustav Dore</td></tr>
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Y<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><i>ou've got a frenemy</i></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><i>You've got a frenemy!</i></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><i>When </i></span><i style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Zakir Naik is drooling in your bed</i></div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><i>And </i></span><i style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Mazlee is more Mr Neuman instead</i></div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><i>Just remember it's all in your head</i></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><i>When you've got a frenemy</i></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><i>O, you've got a frenemy</i></span></div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Courtesy of Google images</td></tr>
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<i style="font-family: verdana, sans-serif;">You've got a frenemy</i><br />
<i style="font-family: verdana, sans-serif;">You've got a frenemy</i></div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><i>East for the east, so you stay on the West</i></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><i>We're not racists, we're simply the best</i></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><i>We'll behead you like we did to the rest</i></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><i>Yeah, we will aramaiti</i></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><i>When we toast to our frenemy!</i></span></div>
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<i style="font-family: verdana, sans-serif;">While eagles and sparrows</i><br />
<i style="font-family: verdana, sans-serif;">Can't be bedfellows</i></div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><i>They never fly eye to eye</i></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><i>Remember feathers can only fit pillows</i></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><i>Premier or prince will greet the </i></span><i style="font-family: verdana, sans-serif;">Reaper guy</i></div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><i><br /></i></span></div>
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<i style="font-family: verdana, sans-serif;">With polling years ahead</i><br />
<i style="font-family: verdana, sans-serif;">Don't wish the PM dead</i></div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><i>Or curse the plans LGE has made</i></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><i>Just love your frenemy</i></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><i>Yeah, you've got a frenemy!!!!</i></span></div>
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hobbit1964http://www.blogger.com/profile/04030529322509686268noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6288619677784745586.post-41555044808945849172019-04-10T19:08:00.002+08:002019-04-10T20:52:16.013+08:00A Day Without Fire<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-MnTx2KWatwo/XK3Ld-MGdNI/AAAAAAAAGZM/YSN5MOb58Qot9QmPYRy48RrfSktpbGk2gCLcBGAs/s1600/20190228_154340.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1274" height="640" src="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-MnTx2KWatwo/XK3Ld-MGdNI/AAAAAAAAGZM/YSN5MOb58Qot9QmPYRy48RrfSktpbGk2gCLcBGAs/s640/20190228_154340.jpg" width="508" /></a></div>
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And there you have it!</div>
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A No 1 Fuel Tank indicating zero. No fuel, no combustion, flame out!<br />
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I enjoyed this particular incident because it's not every day that anyone can jokingly claim that they flew back to mainland on an empty tank. Too many fingers would point at you for bad fuel planning, bad airmanship and a host of other skull-impacting insults. </div>
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But you would also see the amber captions which traces the fault to a No 1 Fuel Probe, which is like the fuel sender in the No 1 Fuel Tank. Faulty sender means faulty fuel quantity indication.</div>
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With 310 kilograms of fuel in the No 2 tank and a connecting flange sitting above the 228 kilogram level between No 1 and No 2 Fuel Tank, hydraulic laws would mean that the fuel would equalise between tanks. This means that the No 2 tank indication was equal to the fuel in No 1 tank till the fuel drops below 228 kilograms in No 2 tank.</div>
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It was an interesting day, having theory being demosntrated in real life, and trusting the whirly bird to get us home.</div>
hobbit1964http://www.blogger.com/profile/04030529322509686268noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6288619677784745586.post-73395963624207804022019-03-10T17:17:00.000+08:002019-06-13T06:10:14.223+08:00Thank The Monkey<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-teL-m6Kw1KI/XITNi4pAxlI/AAAAAAAAGYk/ygpMDBo57cEu2trDLFneNmgxXbGjAN0FgCLcBGAs/s1600/20190308_185754.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="480" src="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-teL-m6Kw1KI/XITNi4pAxlI/AAAAAAAAGYk/ygpMDBo57cEu2trDLFneNmgxXbGjAN0FgCLcBGAs/s640/20190308_185754.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
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That's the guy.</div>
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One of many which line the lane to the airport. They sit there at lunch and tea time, waiting for handouts from passers by or to watch the wild boar nuzzle for goodies between the roots and shoots along the very same road.</div>
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We know what good parents our Malaysians are when they feed these creatures from their parked cars for an evening of family amusement in ditchwater dull Kerteh, insisting on tossing the food scraps onto the middle of the road where the simians become a road kill hazard when the more humane option would be to toss the food on the grass, right where they are parked, engines running.</div>
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I ran over one of these one evening after a long day at work as I was heading back to my apartment. Of course I was remorseful, till five minutes after, when I heard painfully loud groaning noises emanating from my front suspension <i>which I had already changed</i> two days before, closer to home. Further investigations at a my regular mechanic's centre in Kuantan, not Kerteh, revealed that the suspension replacement was carried out with incorrect suspension mounts. Lesson to self was to stick to one reliable chap instead of the closest at hand. And the epiphany was that if hat little fella hadn't dashed right into my driven path at the last possible moment no matter how I tried to avoid him, I may never have discovered the hidden hazard in my suspension.</div>
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Looks like the only morally right thing to do, in spite of remorseful roadkill, is to thank the monkey.</div>
hobbit1964http://www.blogger.com/profile/04030529322509686268noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6288619677784745586.post-10680735123682238372018-04-07T10:36:00.003+08:002018-04-07T10:41:32.968+08:00The Fog's Liftin' , The Sand's Shiftin'<div style="text-align: justify;">
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-4aClkUq-HKc/WsgsP_FLDFI/AAAAAAAAGVQ/YLhJgUJhqoAYm_E-LoZnDr6qsNRi8lUGACLcBGAs/s1600/thumbnail1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="810" data-original-width="1080" height="480" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-4aClkUq-HKc/WsgsP_FLDFI/AAAAAAAAGVQ/YLhJgUJhqoAYm_E-LoZnDr6qsNRi8lUGACLcBGAs/s640/thumbnail1.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Passing the Terengganu Crude Oil Terminal en route to Tender 9</td></tr>
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Many a time I've wondered whether nurturing this blog is relevant.</div>
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I've been made to acknowledge that people no longer bother with reading blogs. There is no time to yield for the purpose. Micro-blogging stole the show for a while and its flavour is now a mere aftertaste. </div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-XOiq3JVB728/WsgsvFOuHiI/AAAAAAAAGVY/hSqkrRgvJUQmw1EKLQO1slTtIMZiZnXOACLcBGAs/s1600/thumbnail3.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="810" data-original-width="1080" height="480" src="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-XOiq3JVB728/WsgsvFOuHiI/AAAAAAAAGVY/hSqkrRgvJUQmw1EKLQO1slTtIMZiZnXOACLcBGAs/s640/thumbnail3.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Outrider</td></tr>
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Corporate restrictions become more and more a reflection of the nation's muzzling regime, rendering even one's simple and private pleasures of self-expression painfully constricted.</div>
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However, to paraphrase Billy Joel, even "if you said goodbye to me tonight, there would still be music left to write".</div>
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And therefore, here I return after nigh a year of sporadic blog posts and absenteeism.</div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-2b_acLN5xZg/Wsgs-c4_m-I/AAAAAAAAGVc/FlTPAq74xoAW1dvvkjivimHXgrMjWigCQCLcBGAs/s1600/thumbnail4.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="810" data-original-width="1080" height="480" src="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-2b_acLN5xZg/Wsgs-c4_m-I/AAAAAAAAGVc/FlTPAq74xoAW1dvvkjivimHXgrMjWigCQCLcBGAs/s640/thumbnail4.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Post-monsoon surface streaks: looking more like scum than plankton</td></tr>
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I have had an alteration of job description.</div>
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I now hold a secondary post in the base as Base Flight Safety Officer. </div>
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As a result I have to do an amoeba split between flying and safety management.</div>
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I have done this before. Back in my RMAF days ( rings of Fowler, doesn't it?), I was either Squadron safety Officer or Base Flight Safety Officer, bang from the start of my flying duties. This time around, the familiarity of taking on a job shunned by everyone else is an ample serving of same old, same old.</div>
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It's a year now since I took on the appointment. I've reached the borderlines of hypertension and diabetes. My intake of coffee has spiked tremendously in direct correspondence to my blood sugar and cholesterol while sleep apnoea startles me into unwelcomed wakefulness at odd hours of the night. </div>
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I feel <em>old</em>. Too little butter scraped over too much bread?</div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-LsgAnK-_MAs/WsgtWSj7khI/AAAAAAAAGVg/NPmv0_4KAPQR3asf8haB_bzsS8AS6ztKwCLcBGAs/s1600/thumbnail2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="810" data-original-width="1080" height="480" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-LsgAnK-_MAs/WsgtWSj7khI/AAAAAAAAGVg/NPmv0_4KAPQR3asf8haB_bzsS8AS6ztKwCLcBGAs/s640/thumbnail2.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Cruising past the ever distinctive Tapis Romeo</td></tr>
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However, when I do get to fly, I feel human again. The self awareness that age is no longer on my side makes each hour I am airborne all the more a treasure to be savoured. Forget what Hollywood has done, having the laity believe that flying is <em>romantic</em>. The grotesque spin-off from this is the ever ubiquitous notion that <em>pilots are sexy</em>. I work with a lot of pilots, and <em>uuurrghhhh</em>, they are <em>NOT!!!!!!!!!! </em>The fact is, some of them are barely sensible, let alone clever. </div>
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Then when management starts prowling around like ravenous carnivores to ensnare those desperate for career progression to keep their families fed, you discover whole new world of deceit and loathing, mostly towards others and sometimes self, when you catch a glimpse of what you've turned into as you pass an importune mirror.</div>
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Anyone who is a mere link on the chain of employees cannot lay claim to knowing fraudulence if he's not had to sleep with upper management. </div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-aOYHgK5vbLc/Wsguc3L1OxI/AAAAAAAAGVw/o30jpBSMC4cUHP57aicaLtR9A7QATkx-ACLcBGAs/s1600/thumbnail7.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="705" data-original-width="1013" height="444" src="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-aOYHgK5vbLc/Wsguc3L1OxI/AAAAAAAAGVw/o30jpBSMC4cUHP57aicaLtR9A7QATkx-ACLcBGAs/s640/thumbnail7.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">You think translations form Oriental languages are funny? Meet Hai Yang Shi You....later!!</td></tr>
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Back to Billy Joel, likewise, shall I continue this labour of love, which is to do what I love: writing. It is not for popularity that I started this, but rather that my mind needs to empty itself periodically and for all I know this hammering away at the keys is what tempered my blood pressure for the many years I have been involved in the mired career of aviation. </div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-sRcpD80WG94/WsgtwNypf2I/AAAAAAAAGVk/dcNCkkZLL6Qv95e1A6JAWzWJw2TQsZjDACLcBGAs/s1600/thumbnail5.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="810" data-original-width="1080" height="480" src="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-sRcpD80WG94/WsgtwNypf2I/AAAAAAAAGVk/dcNCkkZLL6Qv95e1A6JAWzWJw2TQsZjDACLcBGAs/s640/thumbnail5.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Tracking outbound through Lane 4, Kuala Kerteh below.</td></tr>
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And as ever, the sights from the cockpit are an unfailing reward.</div>
hobbit1964http://www.blogger.com/profile/04030529322509686268noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6288619677784745586.post-75250549606013060272017-06-16T23:28:00.001+08:002017-06-22T09:52:55.737+08:00Serve To Lead<div style="text-align: justify;">
I have been away from this blog for much longer than I had intended.</div>
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I return to it in no happy spirit.</div>
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The death of a gentle soul, T Nhaveen, beaten and sodomised, raises many questions on the complete collapse of our moral fibre as a people. We had earlier the matter of Officer Cadet Zulfarhan, beaten and burned till he succumbed to his injuries. This has brought to focus the bane of our society. Bullying.</div>
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It does not fall as a sign of the times, or a trait of millenials.</div>
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Gauging from the outcry against these incidents of abuse against our humanity, very few people are unacquainted with some form of bullying or its other manifestations.</div>
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The incidence certainly does not justify the practise.</div>
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My alma mater, the Royal Military College in Sungai Besi, in particular Cadet Wing, was a place that had its own practice of applying pressure and organised violence in shaping future military officers. It no longer exists as a college for Officer Cadets, having aspired to mature into an academy, which it did as Akademi Tentera Malaysia. In its place now stands the Malaysian National Defence University or UPNM.</div>
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The recent meaninglessly tragic death of Officer Cadet Zulfarhan had many of us from that alma mater questioning what on earth had metamorphosed from the usual ragging we were familiar with into unequivocal murder. And many an Old Putra of Boys Wing RMC voiced that "We Are Not UPNM" on social media. </div>
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Indeed, the two entities are separate. The disassociation is not unjustified. I am not an OP, but having spent two life-changing years in RMC, I understand how we all believe that this would not have happenned under our roof.</div>
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I identify and resonate with this belief.</div>
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Ragging, as we knew it in RMC, was part of a larger system applied to newbies, Putras in Boys Wing or Officer Cadets in Cadet Wing alike, intended to deconstruct with surgical brutality. But right in the wake of that, would ensue reconstruction. As we were all trained by the army in RMC, I will openly say that the army was professional in breaking you first, then rebuilding you into a better version of yourself in terms of being a military officer.</div>
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I am no apologist for the practise of ragging. I do not support it in the public or private institutions of higher learning. That's because none of those are institutions of training for the management of violence. Graduates thereof will not be counting on each other for your survival on the battlefield. They will leave with their scrolls in their hand to fill up various job appointments which will have little to do with each other. The military on the other hand, is a close-knit organisation purpose built for the management of violence. I do not believe that you can breed a soldier by wearing kid gloves. There you have it. It has been said. It has indeed, been done.</div>
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But the kind of ragging I faced with my batchmates, whom I fondly call "Squad", was not concealed from the eyes of our instructors. Nobody was isolated from the rest and personally victimised away from observation by superior officers. If one erred, everyone would suffer. Everyone would have their knuckles bleed on the gravel then bake in the heat of the tarmac which made the parade square. Or clean the corridors of our seniors' company line with abrasive detergent and the skin of our backs. Or whatever ingenuity they could conjure to produce discomfort. The "starlight", "hammerlight" or "tongkat-light" were samplings of these. This is not a passage to describe the proceedings, and the life in RMC is far too rich to be captured in a blog post. But what needs to be said is, everything was done with flair. If the picture isn't clear, allow this to elucidate you: that after a ragging session was over, we juniors would be seated in a line on the floor, while at one end of the corridor a senior officer cadet would be boiling us tea in a bucket, while at the other end, another senior and most times a rank holder of Senior Cadet Sargeant or Senior Cadet Corporal, would be passing along packets of cigarettes for us to smoke. The spin-offs from military ragging were cooperation, quick-thinking as a group, comradeship, conforming to rank, maintennance of morale and much much more.</div>
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Yes, there were seniors who did occassionally "take it too far". Those were caught, and paid for it. Even commissioned officers who were caught or reported for ragging would be discharged if found guilty. Because we were raised in it, we had an eye for what constituted "corrective training", and what was going beyond reason. I respect the military I served in for having such a clear demarcation through experience and its justice system.</div>
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The fact is, ill-treatment of a junior officer (junior officer being subject to further interpretations under the Armed Forces Act 1972) remains an offence under military law. We were told, "You can order a soldier to march forward to his death, but you may not lay a finger on him". Well, of course there were always deviations from this rule, but the rule still stood.</div>
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While many of us servicemen, of today and of the past can recollect such days with a touch of humour entwined with nostalgia, this trip down memory lane can never enlighten us on the justifications for what happenned to Officer Cadet Zulfarhan. </div>
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For just as ragging is intended to deconstruct and subsequently reconstruct, without control, it becomes a beast bent on the sole purpose of destruction.</div>
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A murder has been committed.</div>
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We are in serious need of introspection and reparation.</div>
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I cannot help but see parallels in the way political entities have outsourced the culture of bullying to NGOs which discriminate and torment segments of our society who do not conform to their understanding of gender, orientation or religious practise. Differences will exist, with or without our approval, but to be inhumane to those who are merely different from us but do not harm us cannot elevate us to higher moral standing.</div>
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Until we come to our senses and decide that bullying should never be a mechanism for carving the electorate, we will fail to set the right example for the various microcosms of our society, down to our schools, whose only pursuit should be the moulding of young minds to be future stewards of this country.<br />
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Let us remember that it is in giving that we receive. It is in restraint that we liberate the truth. It is by serving that we show our leadership.</div>
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If we don't get this corrected, I wonder what manner of stewards we shall mould, and more significantly, what manner of country it will be that they inherit.</div>
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<br />hobbit1964http://www.blogger.com/profile/04030529322509686268noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6288619677784745586.post-29816899213516363702016-11-12T11:35:00.001+08:002016-11-17T21:48:31.185+08:00Temperature Variations<div style="text-align: justify;">
There is an old joke, sourced before the ubiquity of mobile phones and Google/Web MD that goes somewhat like this:</div>
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A doctor gets a phone call in his clinic bright and early in his workday, from a rather irate husband. "Doctor, what is this I hear from my wife about how you were rude to her last night? We've been with you for 12 years, with our kids from when they were born. Of all things I never expected you to use foul language on my wife for goodness sake!"</div>
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The doctor's brow furrows in strained recollection. "This is Vincent right? Right.....well perhaps there is some explaining to do on my part, and no less on the part of your wife, in the cold light of morning. If you remember I told you I would be outstation for a few days. Last night I had just survived a very long day on the east coast, drove back five hours in horrid traffic and blinding rain. If you understand that the monsoon has set in and I arrived at home drenched from the pit stops I had to make in the torrents and no let up on the weather on this side of the country. You do remember the weather last night yes?"</div>
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Vincent's silence suggested acquiescence. "What was my welcoming committee then at two in the morning but the phone ringing off the hook. As I fumbled in my satchel for my key ring I realised that I had probably dropped them at some pit stop and I had now no way of getting into my home, way past midnight. And there went the phone incessantly. I realised that now I had no choice but to break my way in, so I whacked the kitchen window panes with my satchel and all this while with the phone ringing after every disconnect. As I reached for the latch I cut my palm. Making my way in bleeding and clambering over the kitchen sink is no nimble feat either Vincent. Can you feel me on this?"</div>
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"Yes, doctor I can a bit." </div>
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"Then bleeding my way to the phone in the darkened hall, I manage to pick it up before the next disconnect to hear your wife asking me how to use to use a thermometer. Through clenched teeth to mask my pain, so that she wouldn't think I'm screaming at her, I merely told her."</div>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-YMcsyDYJey0/WCaDrF_srtI/AAAAAAAAFmU/wBq8-CC-1WAVplte881D50EPDa1sDKJfQCLcB/s1600/20161003_160348%255B1%255D.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-YMcsyDYJey0/WCaDrF_srtI/AAAAAAAAFmU/wBq8-CC-1WAVplte881D50EPDa1sDKJfQCLcB/s640/20161003_160348%255B1%255D.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Rain-obscured finals approach to Runway 16</td></tr>
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With that thought in mind, the monsoon seems to be heralding its arrival in fits and starts, with the calm between them growing gradually more brief with each passing squall. What this means is that my cycling programme gets adversely affected. Along with the fewer night qualified crew for night MEDEVAC standby, I have been placed on day flying in the noons to proceed with night standby in rather perpetual motion. My monthly tally of hours clocked in flight is beginning to suffer. So it will till more crew are made current for night deck landings by the ever busy training captains.</div>
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The mornings are often wet with rain that began the night before. So it was yesterday as I gazed out from the rear balcony, assessing the likelihood of taking that 20km ride and coming back in one piece amongst the substance-infused drivers of the Kerteh metropolis. It wasn't raining, just wet roads and I realised that with the monsoon set to reign supreme for half a year, or so it feels for that duration of the worst 6 weeks of any monsoon, I had to go the wet road route rather than being baptised on every ride.</div>
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And so I set off boldly in my longjohns and skeletal patterned vest. Turning in to the Kijal coastal roads, things still looked like they would hold till I completed the remaining 14km home. Optimism can be myopic can't it?</div>
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Then the turn towards Al-Safinah's resort and restaurant through the rural lanes brought the coast and the fir lines into view. The sky and the sea were both black. The headwind over the single-lane bridge to the beach told me I would not get back without being soaked.</div>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-WdUtKSLXiHw/WChl-L-4p6I/AAAAAAAAFm0/I300I8tS3qUeTyQJUaqXBuZxb5q-oecpgCLcB/s1600/20161113_082844%255B1%255D.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-WdUtKSLXiHw/WChl-L-4p6I/AAAAAAAAFm0/I300I8tS3qUeTyQJUaqXBuZxb5q-oecpgCLcB/s640/20161113_082844%255B1%255D.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Ye Olde Bridge and Telekom Dish</td></tr>
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Then it came down before I completed crossing the bridge. I often braved the rain because it is all part of being a cyclist. Today though I was to learn that I cannot take the rain for granted. As the initial pelts seeped through the spandex, the first sign of a difficult ride was that my riding glasses fogged up. Normal difficulty degree. Cold mornings, misty mornings, all do that. Pffft.</div>
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It took only 30 seconds before the sky lost all restraint and it just came bawling down. My eyes stung like I had been trapped in teargas. Hey, I know what that is like because I had done riot control training under the Public Order module in RMC. Blinking didn't work. The rain kept washing sweat from my scalp straight into my eyes and it was really painful. I started meandering as I cycled single-handed and tried shaking my glasses out to clear the nasty elixir out of the lenses. Realising the hazards of riding this way if a car should approach from my 6 o'clock, I stopped at the Telekom dishes, wiped the glasses with my wet gloves and rubbed my eyes with my fingers in windshield wiper fashion. Relief. Continue!!</div>
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However, the moment I was moving again, the cycle of forward motion, rain and sweat repeated. Perhaps the design of these Limar glasses pooled the water-sweat mix over my eye sockets and kept stinging and blinding me. I refused to relent. I <em>would</em> complete this ride without stopping aside for shelter!! I groaned and gasped in pain and pushed on.</div>
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As I passed Pantai Penunjuk and approached the Moslem graveyard, my cell phone began ringing...off the hook if there was one. Pedalling against pain and anxiety at what this untimely call could portend, I found a safe spot on the roadside just next to the graveyard gates where most people parked when they were out in better weather tending the graves.</div>
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I picked up the call by dabbing through the clear plastic of the top tube bag to the capacitance touchscreen, immediately hitting the speaker icon thereafter. It was the voice of the morning's duty Operations Officer.</div>
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"Cap!! Cap where are you? Can you come in now for immediate flight for Exxon?"</div>
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I suddenly had the intense desire to explain how to use a thermometer.</div>
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hobbit1964http://www.blogger.com/profile/04030529322509686268noreply@blogger.com0