|
|
 |
|
|
|
|
|
 Previous Item - Flying through the Cloud Pass
This will go to the previous thread in this topic. | 
Favorite option: If you want this item to be marked as a favorite, click on the black heart.
Memories of the Day |
|  Next Item - How to invite new members?
This will go to the next thread in this topic. |
|
|
|
 |
Dan Nickens - Sep 11,2006
Viewers
| Reply
|
| |
On a late summer day Jon Ladd and I were returning from Greenville, Maine to Florida in Ann’s Husky. One brilliant day we flew down the Hudson River through the city and saw the twin towers reflecting in the water. We almost made it home when the unimaginable intervened. In re-reading this today after five years have flown by, I still shiver at the tragedy so inflicted. From a posting made in September 2001 on the old SOS East Coast SeaReys:<br /><br /><br />There was one last leg to make. The weather briefer had his usual advice: “VFR (Visual Flight Rules) not recommended due to fog and low visibility.” There was a short window of opportunity between the fog and afternoon thunderstorms. That sounded familiar. There was more, however, this time.<br /><br />“There is a tropical storm developing in the Gulf. It is expected to start affecting the Florida peninsula by Wednesday night or Thursday morning.” It appeared to be a short window of opportunity for a southbound flight.<br /><br />Despite his dire opening, the briefer continued to say, “the coast is clear.” There was a chance to sneak down the coast and make it home by early afternoon. That was a chance Jon and I wanted to take.<br /><br />First we had to deal with the balky landing gear. An inspection of the hydraulic system showed that it was in dire need of fluid. Since there was no obvious leak, I assumed it was a slow one. It wouldn’t prevent us from getting home.<br /><br />The coast was our refuge. Thunderstorms lurked off shore. Low clouds, some extending to the ground, cloaked the land. We cruised above the shoreline in peaceful, calm air.<br /><br />After leaving the control zone around Myrtle Beach, I switched to the emergency channel. As expected it was quiet. There was nothing to interrupt our quiet survey of the coast.<br /><br />Out of nowhere a weak sounding voice came over the radio. “The National Airspace has been closed. All aircraft are directed to land at the nearest airport.”<br /><br />The message wasn’t repeated. There was no explanation or elaboration. That was all that was said. It didn’t make sense. No one had ever said those words to me or anyone else.<br /><br />Jon laughed, “Some idiot has got himself a handheld radio.”<br /><br />“Yeah,” I thought, “that got to be it.” I told him; “At 500’ we are in uncontrolled airspace. We’re below their radar and control.”<br /><br />Just in case it wasn’t a hoax, though, I tried to call Flight Service. At our low altitude we could only hope to listen over a local navigational beacon with recorded weather reports. The broadcast was reassuringly routine. It warned of bad weather in some out of the way place. “If there was a problem, they would broadcast it on the HIWAS hazardous weather advisory,” I noted.<br /><br />We laughed about all the possibilities: “World War III, nuclear weapons, terrorists in airplanes.” None of those things could be a reality to us sailing over the calm sea in our little fabric cocoon.<br /><br />About fifteen minutes later an air traffic controller broke onto the guard frequency. He sounded frantic as he tried to locate a military helicopter. He pleaded with it to contact him immediately on an UHF frequency or through Savannah approach control. There was a tone in his voice that sounded near panic.<br /><br />Out of curiosity I flipped the radio to the approach frequency. A curt controller was saying to another pilot, “The answers to your questions are NO! NO! And NO! The airspace is closed. You must proceed to the nearest airport.”<br /><br />The surprise was audible in the pilot’s response. She meekly replied, “Yes, sir.”<br /><br />The exchange was disturbing. Controllers were usually much more professional. I checked in, “Savannah Control, Husky N117AK with a question.”<br /><br />“Husky calling Savannah. The National Airspace is closed. You are directed to proceed to the nearest airport. Failure to do so will render your flight subject to interception. Say your intentions.” The voice was disembodied, dictatorial, and insistent.<br /><br />A child of the Cold War knows what to do: “duck and cover.” I now believed that World War III had started. The thought of turning and running home at low altitude flashed through my head. Then I remembered the vast military airspace between home and us.<br /><br />There really was no question of intention. The nearest airport was military; a target. We were not going there. “We will proceed direct Savannah.”<br /><br />Turning inland we were head on with the low, broken clouds. The controller’s instructions were terse and intense.<br /><br />My mind was focused on the problem of avoiding towers, navigating to an unexpected destination, and fear of the circumstances requiring a landing. At one point the controller directed me to look for airline traffic on approach. His message was garbled. I asked him to repeat his instruction.<br /><br />The response was completely unwarranted and unexpected. “Pay attention and we’ll get you on the ground safely. Then you will understand.” I had never heard a controller as vituperative. We were the only ones on the frequency. He wasn’t busy. There was no apparent excuse for his response.<br /><br />It made me mad. The controller had no way to safely get us on the ground. He wasn’t flying the airplane. “Traffic not visible due to clouds,” I spat back at him. The jet was on the ground when I saw it and reported it.<br /><br />After an uneventful landing we pulled into the local Fixed Base Operation. Two people motioned us to a parking spot: a linesman and badge-wearing man in dark clothes and a tie. As soon as the engine stopped the official-looking man with hot clothes under the late summer sun was at the airplane.<br /><br />The story he told was both a relief and unbelievable. There was no nuclear war. Multiple jets had crashed into the World Trade Center and the Pentagon. “Impossible,” I thought, “there must be some mistake.” Jon and I tied down the airplane and walked into the terminal area.<br /><br />Somber faces crowded around the television. I watched in disbelief as CNN replayed the Hollywood-like images of catastrophe. I was numb.<br /><br />There was to be an announcement at 11:00 concerning air traffic control. The report was that all airspace over the United States was closed until further notice.<br /><br />It finally dawned on me that we would not be flying again today. Even if a decision were made later to allow flights, the thunderstorms would keep us grounded. I walked quickly to the desk and got the last rental car available.<br /><br />Jon and I headed out of town towards the beach we had so recently flown over. The car was quiet, somber.<br /><br />I stopped at the first hotel in Savannah Beach. A few people stood in the lobby and stared at the images on the television. Everyone was grim.<br /><br />At lunch the beach side cafU was the same way. Everyone stared at the unbelievable story being told by the news people. There were no extraneous conversations. It was a deathly quiet place.<br /><br />As the afternoon waned, and the enormity of the attack became clear, a growing anger replaced incredulity. A run on the beach at sunset barely kept my emotions in check.<br /><br />The anger almost overflowed at dinner. Everyone we met had been quiet, meditative. A storm with jagged strikes of lightening raged outside the window, matching the mood inside.<br /><br />Jon and I said little. What could be said? When Jon spoke, however, it was something worthy of the occasion. “I feel like I lost a friend I just met. I’d never seen the Towers or the City the way we saw it this weekend. Now I’ll never see it that way again.”<br /><br />A group of five secretaries broke into the place with their laughter and irreverence. They ordered cocktails and proceeded to talk about banalities. “Are they from a different planet?” I asked. Jon just shook his head.<br /><br />Checking the Internet and e-mail before sleep brought no relief. The news was all bad. Some people apparently didn’t get it, though. Just like the women, they were clearly out of touch with the new reality. They posted notes about airplane construction techniques. There were postings about scheduling of fly-ins.<br /><br />“Maybe they have it right,” I decided. “It’s just a nightmare. It will be better in the morning.”<br /><br />Days I Will Always Know<br /><br />When last we met the sky was kind<br />The air was smooth and sunshine<br />Glowed golden upon the afternoon<br />That it was our last I didn’t know<br /><br />Across the water the space between<br />I looked through windows you to see<br />I’m sure you saw me in that time<br />Two just passing but we didn’t know<br /><br />Beneath the glistening facades and<br />Mirrors so reflecting I imagined<br />The person that you were unseen<br />That you ’n I could somehow know<br /><br />I smiled at you inside your glass<br />Thinking of how it must be in there<br />On a late summer afternoon to be<br />Sitting at your desk for all I know<br /><br />I felt a smile as you saw me pass<br />In recognition of a different path<br />With the great lark of flying past<br />Above the places you well knew<br /><br />What a grand day for ourselves<br />You in your so shining shrine<br />Brilliant in warmly waning light<br />A sight as splendid as any I know<br /><br />The moment burned in my mind<br />I in my place and you in yours<br />A shared time and space and<br />A site preserved for me to know<br /><br />A later day in disbelief I learned<br />How suddenly the days can change<br />And that you were so quickly gone<br />How could I ever imagine or know<br /><br />What devil could conspire and act<br />To wreck such burning terror<br />On your tall and shining tower<br />I can never comprehend or know<br /><br />The vision of your final crashing<br />Fills my mind with such sorrow<br />The quashing of your earthly life<br />Is a pain I now too well know<br /><br />Churning through the dark swirls<br />Of sadness rises deep abiding<br />Anger lust for vengeance now<br />As strong as I could ever know<br /><br />But nothing I can do will change<br />That damage now so damned done<br />No price enough for all that’s gone<br />This precept I must now know<br /><br />Perhaps a passing moment shared<br />On that dreamy September day<br />Will last forever in my mind and<br />That’s all you ’n I need to know<br /><br /><br />
| | |
|
John Robert Dunlop - Sep 11,2006
Viewers
| Reply
|
| |
Thank you Dan..
| | |
|
Bruce Bennett - Sep 11,2006
Viewers
| Reply
|
| |
Seems like this just happened..........yesterday! A very sad day indeed! Dan, thanks for again recounting what happened to you and Jon that day.....Sept 11th, 2001.<br /><br /> Judy
| | |
|
Jon Ladd - Sep 11,2006
Viewers
| Reply
|
| |
Dan, I went to the airport and flew the Searey today with the events of 9/11 in mind. The weather was even similar to that day five years ago when we were cruising down the beach having a great carefree time. How quickly things can change. The wounds are not yet healed and the memories are still fresh. The picture of the twin towers taken from the Husky two days earlier sits on my desk as a reminder.
| | |
|
Mark Alan MacKinnon - Sep 11,2006
Viewers
| Reply
|
| |
Since a teen I had dreamed of building and flying my own airplane. The dream was finally going to become reality when I placed my Searey kit order, sometime early in 2001. I was going to get the kit sometime in the fall. I was excitedly waiting for it's arrival when 9/11 happened. And it was like someone kicked me real hard in the gut. My excitement and enthusiasm for anything aviation-related just vanished. In regards to the kit, the timing was horrible. If I could have cancelled my kit order, I would have; I thought about it. But I had sent PA my $5000 downpayment and doubted if I could get it back; I didn't want to try. So the big crate arrived in October 2001, and I started building. But the enthusiasm wasn't there. I almost didn't care if it got done, and that's not like me. 9/11 really did a number on me back then, and it's taken a long time for me to recover. But it can never be quite the same as before.<br /><br />I also flew today. It was important for me to fly today. I had a great flight as I skimmed low over Pushaw Lake and waved back at the boaters and people on shore. I thought it was important to fly on the day no one could, five years ago.
| | |
| | |
|
|
|
|
|
|
| |
| |
- About Searey.us -
- Contact Searey.us -
|
- Privacy Statement -
- Terms of service -
|
Copyright © 2024 Searey.us & Brevard Web Pro, Inc. -
Copyrights may also be reserved
by posters and used by license on this site. See Terms of Service for more information.
|
| |
- Please visit our NEW
Chapter Place Website at: chapterplace.com or
Free Chapter Management Website at: ourchapter.org. Good for all chapters, groups or families. |
| | |
