Cap-Incap

Flying over a coral bed en route to Malikai

20 March 2023. I had been flying quite a bit with other captains after being left hand seat qualified. 

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.

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.

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....that old nutshell.

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.

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.

However, in flight, signs of  his aforementioned training narrative 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. 

"Are you having a mint, sir?" I asked.

"Why, you want one, ah?" he offered.

"Thank you sir, but I can't. Sugar sir. Sugar!" 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.

My Pilot Incap training did not ever include reaching over to the left hand seat to perform the Heimlich.

Taken For Granite

 

Look! A helicopter with afterburners!

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.

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.

Being chased by rainbows, all the livelong day

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. 

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.

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. 

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.

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.

Even if it is, let's not take that for granted.

Happy New Year

Me first born on one end, the potentiates in the middle and moi on the other end, for The Sound Of Music.

I have had an interesting end to 2022.

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.

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 Semenanjung Malaysia and Christmas would be with my little hobbit children.

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. 

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.

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?" 

That the question had to be asked was telling beyond measure. I answered "It's fine. Keep it."

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 this 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.

No I am not done. 

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.

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. 

And he replied "No"!!!

I told the flight attendant to check the A4 for my name. Finding JEFFREY 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?

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 Forget You. 

And no, I didn't catch up on any sleep.

The 11-11 Sale That Wasn't

Time flies. Not neccesarily when you're having fun.

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.

Gumusut Kakap and the three generator exhaust stacks visible.

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.

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.

Submarine!!!!

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!

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: Cap, wind now in prohibited sector at above ten knots. I surrender to Cap lah want to land or not.

In the spirit of Hugh Grant's PM character in Love Actually, I had already decided, "Not to. But we will have to be clever." 

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."

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.

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.

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.

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. That's from the compressors Cap! 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.

And so I radioed back: "Gumusut, next time I fly here under winds in the prohibited sector I will ask for that smoke, alright?"

The terrified reply came in:" Adoi Cap! I cannot do that again!!!!"

Damn!

Not To All Airmen

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.

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.

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.

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:

Calibrator, in very English white trash accent: 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.

Radar controller: Oscar Victor Romeo, you may commence sequence Charlie in plus seven minutes sir, I already have two aircraft on the ILS approach runway 20.

Calibrator, in increasingly trashy accent: 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.

Radar controller: I know sir, but I also have my sequence to take care of.

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.

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: Oscar Victor Romeo, contact Tower on 1183.

Nice!!! Just tai-chi 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.

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, WS322, expect start clearance after time 25 due to calibrator. 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.

And so we did. This time, Kinabalu ground replied, WS322 expect start clearance at time 35 due calibration in progress. The cockpit temperature rose. Kinabalu ground we cannot be held on ground indefinitely.

I know sir but we have to let the calibrator finish all his sequences.

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 9-mike Hotel Lima Papa, Kinabalu Ground??? Kinabalu ground was trying to contact Hevilift, probably to update them on start clearance time. I glanced right to the Hevilift Sikorsky76 in its parking bay, and noticed that it was empty. So I called out on ground frequency: 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 felt vengefully smug.

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.

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: WS322, expect start clearance time at 0955H.

Oooh, the exasperation! Ground, is there an airspace closure in effect?

No sir, just calibration in progress.

Are you saying we are not even cleared for start up pending clearance to destination?

WS322 standby for start clearance. Hotel Lima Papa, clear start for Sumandak Bravo. WS322, clear start for Kebabangan.

Fast forward to the end of the second sortie.

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: runway 02 and 20 under calibration. 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.

I understand now, that there is an alternative meaning to the acronym NOTAM.

I Will Remember You

Runway 20 departure, right turn to Kebabangan and this view. Breathless.

Paradisical.

The weather this morning was.

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.

Maersk Viking

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.

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.

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.

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.

Be at peace at home, with our comrades, Pejam. Send them my regards. I shall see you when I cross unhurriedly over.

https://hobbit1964.blogspot.com/2010/02/how-to-rescue-fighter-jock.html

The Honeymoon Is Over.

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.

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.

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.

You have my apologies, The Collective Consciousness. I will be more nurturing. Because at last, the captain's honeymoon is over.

The Recalcitrant Transponder

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.

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. 

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."

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."

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.

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.

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! 

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!

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!

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.

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.

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.

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?"

"WS, you are radar identified upon passing 200 feet."

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.

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......"

Yes, it seemed to be me, not the aircraft.

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.

Some days, you can just never win.

No Schradenfreude

My rant about being abandoned in the field couldn't have possibly been taken as a hint, could it?

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.

But,for now, an expression of thanks is in order.

I love the vista

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.

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.

Or a nasi lemak bungkus and teh halia.

Night Deck Landing At Kebabangan

The month is February 2022.

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 personal. 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.

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.

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.

When in KK, grab a bite at Limau and Linen, Signal Hill. Heartstoppingly recommended.

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!

Maersk Viking as seen from Likas Bay on 11 Feb 2022

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.

Gumusut Kakap. Pic courtesy of the web

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.

To market, to market and to land on a rig! Note how PFLNG follows the viewer in the background

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.

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.

Kebabangan in daytime. Pic courtesy of Shell's website.

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." 

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?

Home again, home again, jiggedy jig!

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.

I am now night qualified for the next 3 months. Not half bad for a lapse of 20 months. Or rather, about bloody time!