70 | SEPTEMBER 2019 FLYINGMAG.COMJUMPSEAT A Stowaway Cat and the Sounds of Silence
I walked back out to the airplane,
checked that the belly-pod latches were
secured, climbed aboard and yanked
the entry door closed. Our empty flight
home was uneventful. Completing
the shutdown parking checklist, we
removed our David Clarks. It took only
a moment before the captain and I
exchanged puzzled looks. Yup, we werehearing the cry of a feline in distress.
The poor animal had never been off-
loaded in Orlando. Great.
Our lone Lakeland ticket agent was
more interested in her drive home
than reuniting the owner of an upset
cat. Reluctantly, she did locate the
owner/passenger. Apparently, because
of a mechanical delay earlier in the
day, the woman had missed her con-
nection and was remaining in Orlando
at a motel until her rebooked f light
departed the following morning.
But I had a solution. Rather than
hiring a taxi service, I offered to
deliver the furry stowaway via my
own car for half the price. My moti-
vation involved a little guilt for not
having rechecked the aft baggage
compartment. Extra beer money for
a poor, starving commuter copilot
wouldn’t hurt either—my monthly
salary was $750. For whatever
reason, it became an uphill battle
over the course of a month for the
$50 requested as reimbursement
from the airline, but eventually, I
prevailed. More important, I was
gratified to have reunited cat and
passenger despite the high-pitched
complaints emanating from within
the pet carrier on the drive to
Orlando. Memories.
Once the weather indicated it
was a go for an airplane launch to
Sun ’n Fun, I began the process of
reviewing the rules of the road fora Lakeland arrival and departure.
The concept of having to maintain
100 knots—because that was the
appropriate speed category for the
Arrow—seemed slightly foreign to my
psyche. But I needed to get over my
retired 777 airline self.
Beyond the big picture were the
various turning points. It seemedsimple enough. Smoke stacks over
Lake Parker. Interstate 4. Golf course.
Cake tower—whatever the heck that
was. V-shaped building. Blue-roofed
airport terminal. Runway/ taxiway.
Green dot. Orange dot. And all of
this was to be accomplished with
radio silence. Simple. What could
possibly go wrong?
The “expect heav y traffic” phrase
was probably an understatement, so I
was pleased to have installed ADS-B
via a Garmin GTX 345 transponder
two years ago. Aware that my reten-
tion rate is not what it used to be, I
downloaded the entire notam onto the
Books app of the iPad.
Feeling relatively prepared, I
pointed myself and the magenta line
toward the VPKR waypoint, initially
contacting Daytona Beach Approach
for f light following. Orlando Class B
clearance was a nonissue, the con-
troller accommodating my altitude
request without hesitation.
With the arrival ATIS offering only
static, and the departure ATIS offer-
ing only a litany of departure instruc-
tions, the only source for weather
was EFIS. And the only arrival
instructions were being announced
periodically by a controller on the
approach frequency. The instructions
were slightly nonstandard, alerting
aircraft to report one mile east of the
Lake Parker smoke stacks.
My dilemma was that “report”meant to audibly announce, but no
one was breaking with radio silence,
so I wasn’t going to be the first admon-
ishment. Approaching the smoke
stacks, I anxiously awaited my turn
to rock my wings. Apparently, my
rocking was premature; the control-
ler must have identified two other
airplanes before me, which I found
disconcerting in that I hadn’t visually
acquired the targets f loating around
my GNS 430.
After receiving a compliment to my
superior wing-rocking skills, the con-
troller instructed me to fly directly to
the cake tower and then to the run-
way, once again an alteration of the
published notam. But no worries, I
adjusted without issues.
Once tuned to the final approach
controller’s frequency, I heard, “Low
wing over the cake tower, lower your
gear.” Initially patting myself on the
back for actually identifying what
really appeared to be a giant cake, I
def lated slightly. The landing gear
should have been lowered earlier as
per the notam, eliminating an element
of risk for the event. That being said,
my airline-pilot brain has difficulty
dragging the wheels in the slipstream
and burning extra fuel. My bad.
Entering a brief downwind, I was
soon instructed to turn directly to
the orange dot on the taxiway that
was substituting as a runway for the
event. The last instruction was to
land “on or after” said dot. The con-
troller was pleased enough with my
27,000 hours of turning airmanship to
offer an accolade.
With the eyes of every attendee at
Sun ’n Fun watching ( yes, I’m delu-
sional), I managed to accomplish an
almost praise-worthy touchdown.
Whew. Despite the 33 volunteers with
ref lective vests and orange wands,
taxiing went slightly awry when a
guide’s errant signal pointed me else-
where. Eventually, I arrived at the
preordained general aviation tiedown
spot without scars.
I shut down the airplane, thinking:
“An arrival without uttering one
syllable? Cool. Why couldn’t the
sounds of silence have been possible
during my career?”IT TOOK ONLY A MOMENT BEFORE THE
CAPTAIN AND I EXCHANGED PUZZLED LOOKS.
YUP, WE WERE HEARING THE CRIES OF A
FELINE IN DISTRESS.