NEW GUY NIGHT QUALS

Night Carrier Qualifications
A Navy pilot's tale of his first landing on the boat in the dark.

As the last guys finish their dinner, we all look at each other with similar
glances. Not a word needs to be said but everyone is thinking the exact same
thing. The expressions say it all. It's time to walk upstairs and play ball.
We've been preparing ourselves for this for years now, and it's what sets a
Naval Aviator apart from every other pilot in the world. If you can't do it,
the years of training leading up to this point are no good to you. As one of
our paddles said, if you can't succeed at this you're useless to us as a
Hornet pilot because we fly, and fight, in the dark. We have to go land this
thing on the boat Š at night.
We've all been behind the boat during the day. You do it in the training
command in the mighty T-45. It's nerve-wracking the first few times, but once
you get over the initial nerves and start getting the hang of operating
around the ship becomes a lot of fun. Day CQ in the Hornet was even better.
We'd all been here before and were looking forward to coming back. Landing on
the boat is what we do as Naval Aviators. It's one of the most amazing things
you can experience, yet it's one of the smallest clubs in aviation. It's
something you can20do well, but never perfect. Every single pass is critiqued
by the Landing Signal Officers (LSOs), and you're graded no matter what your
rank or who you are. Being good around the boat is what everyone prides
themselves on. Now it was our turn. Time to really join the club, and prove
that we can do this safely, with the sun down.
We all walk upstairs with the normal banter and ribbing that's become the
norm, poking fun at each other and cracking jokes. Up several decks we get to
our level and make our way to the ready room. On the television the deck
cameras are up and we can all see that it really is game time. The airplane
guard helo is gone (meaning airborne), and it's dark. How dark isn't quite
apparent yet.
I take one last look at the line up, double-check my jet assignment and walk
to maintenance control like I've done hundreds of times before this. A quick
flip through the book and a few jokes with the Chief gets me familiar with
prior gripes to possibly expect with my particular jet, then I head to the
paraloft. It's business as usual below decks. If you never get outside you
can really lose track of what the world out there is doing, but it's at the
forefront of my mind tonight. I suit up in my flight gear as normal, make
sure I've got my cl ear nighttime visor on my helmet, and I'm off. The walk
through the ship is very typical until I finally hit the catwalk hatch taking
me outside. It's dark.
I stand still for a second after securing the hatch to let my eyes adjust to
the darkness, and the hint of yellow sodium vapor lighting from the island.
It takes a minute to realize there is no adjustment. It's dark. The middle of
the ocean under a moonless sky is like the inside of a bottle of ink inside a
sealed vault. The best way to describe it is to walk into your closet with
all the lights in your house off, at night, then blindfold yourself.

As I step up the catwalk I realize the tail-end of a Superhornet is over my
head, as well as a 70-foot drop to the water to my left. They're packed like
sardines up here. They're also turning, and I need to get to the other side
of the deck. My senses peak out of pure self-preservation. I'm instantly
aware of everything going on within 50 yards of me, and it's a lot. I don't
need to walk into a prop or a tailpipe. Something else becomes readily
apparent. I'm getting wet. "What the .... ?" Well, if we're gonna do this,
might as well pull out all the stops.
As I step up to my jet, I eye it over as best I can in the dim orange
light.=2 0The airplane captain greets me in the dark, and introduces himself
with a salute and a handshake. There's actually a calming effect. Something
familiar. A familiar face from the beach. Whatever it is, the tension is
eased slightly as I do my abbreviated preflight. Abbreviated because the back
half of my jet is out over the side of the ship. Looks good from here, time
to man up and get out of the rain.
Canopy down, I'm strapped in, the jet is up and running with a solid INS
alignment and no real problems. Let's do this. "Tower, 303 up and ready,
38,000 pounds."
Okay Š done this too Š cricket, cricket. Damn, wrong freq. I get the
appropriate freq channelized and check-in with the Air Boss. Seconds later my
jet is swarmed by brown shirts breaking down all the chains and tiedowns. My
airplane captain passes off control to a set of yellow glowing wands (the
handlers) and gives me a salute with a "good luck" look on his face. Great,
was the nervousness that obvious? The handler gives me the signal to start
rolling forward, and with little twitches left and right squeezes me past a
few other jets on deck before handing me off to another set of wands down the
flight deck towards the catapult.
Several sets of wands later I'm parked behind the jet blast deflector (JBD),
which is up protecting me from the jet 20 feet ahead that's at full grunt
about to be shot off the front of the boat. I marvel at the choreography
that's gotten me to this point. Somehow I've managed to fit into this silent
dance (with two left feet) that is the moving of jets around a moving flight
deck, which is launching and recovering aircraft simultaneously, at night,
without a word ever being said, and mainly by guys and girls not even old
enough to legally drink.
As the JBD comes down, I double-check my trim settings, radar altimeter set
to alert me to any settle off the front of the ship, double-check my ejection
seat is armed, all radios, navaids and datalink are turned on. My three
multifunction displays are all set appropriately, and I continue to taxi onto
the catapult. I roger up the weight board for the jet's weight with a
circular motion from my little flashlight (too dark for hand signals) and the
holdback is attached to my nose gear. The holdback is what physically
restrains the jet from rolling forward at full power, but breaks free when
the catapult fires.
I spread the wings and continue to taxi forward to set the holdback. The lau
nch bar comes down, and I'm directed to roll forward a few more feet. Then
it comes Š the signal to take tension. With a familiar "thunk" I feel the
launch bar drop into the shuttle as I advance the throttles to full power.
The jet squats down under the strain of the engines, I wipe out the flight
controls and run through my take-off checks one last time; I'm also
rehearsing my "settle off the catapult" procedures should the worst happen,
and touching the ejection handle to make sure it's not folded under my leg or
something. With a check of the flight control page, the trim settings are
correct, no computer problems and check list complete; now a repeater of the
head-up display is brought up on the left MFD, a repeater of the attitude
indicator on the right. Should something happen on the cat I've got four
redundancies of the jet's attitude now staring at me. I should also add that
from the JBD coming down to me taking the catapult has all taken place in
about 25 seconds.

With the jet at full power, just shy of the afterburners, and a quick
triple-checking glance, I look left at the catapult officer and give him a
salute. Not really for him, he can't even see me, it's too dark. More so for
my own familiarity. With my pinky finger on the throttles I click forward the
exterior light master switch, and the deck comes alive with the light of the
form lights, red and green nav lights, and strobes. This is the official
salute that I'm ready.
Left palm open and pressed against the throttles (so I don't inadvertently
pull them back from the force of the cat shot), right hand up on the canopy
grip, and I press my head back against the seat looking forward down the cat.
The only light in front of me is the green cat status light. I'm about to be
shot into a black rainy sky, why? With that thought the jet squats again and
then it comes. WHAM! I slam the throttle to full afterburner and stare at the
airspeed to make sure I see three digits by the end of the cat stroke. Over
the span of the next 310 feet and roughly two seconds, myself and my jet have
accelerated to over 175 knots. At least that was the last speed I saw prior
to the jolt of coming off the front of the ship. It almost hurts. As the jet
rotates itself to a nice climb attitude I grab the stick, raise the gear and
pull the throttles out of blower. You know what? It's freakin' dark out here.

I make my airborne call and get switched over to marshal. Kind of like
approach control for the ship. I also realize that I'm in the weather, and
it's dark. This sucks. I check in and my marshal instructions are immediately
force-fed to me. "303 take angels 7, marshal mom's 310, expected final
bearing 124, expected approach time two one."
If th ey could see me right now, they'd probably wipe the drool off my chin
as my brain tries to remember what was just said. Amazed at myself for
actually catching all that, I climb to 7,000 feet and point myself northwest.
The marshal distance is a function of altitude to keep things simple. Add 15
to your marshal altitude. I've got my radar looking out in front of me, and
before long there are several hits on my radar in front of me, above and
below. It's the marshal stack. This is a good thing as it means I'm going to
the right place, those hits are my friends out there already established in
holding and I get warm and fuzzy. As I look down at my clock and speed up to
roughly 400 knots, I realize my push time is three minutes away, and I'm 30
miles away. Not gonna happen. I request a new push, and establish myself in
holding. For the next few minutes I've got "comfort time," which really is
just used to think about what I'm about to try and accomplish.
Something finally goes my way when I hit my marshal fix at exactly 22 miles
just as the clock ticks through my push time. "Marshal 303 commencing, state
7.4, altimeter 29.75." "Roger turn right 150." "Sweet," I think to myself.
Vectors means I don't have to fly the full arcing approach. As I descend I
keep checking my radar altimeter bug and rolling it down. More than a few
guys have lost track of=2 0what they were doing and flown themselves into the
water, after all, it's a dark black hole out here. Especially in the weather.
With a quick glance at my weight I see I'm a few hundred pounds above max
trap weight. Perfect, I'll arrive behind the boat right at max trap weight.
No need to dump gas to lighten up. As I get vectored behind the ship for a
datalink approach (an ILS of sorts), I level off at 1,200 feet and realize
I'm out of the weather. How can I tell? There's a light off to my left at
about 14 miles. I have to land on it.

They did studies in Vietnam, and guys had higher pulses and blood pressures
behind the boat at night after a mission than they did when they were getting
shot at. I now know why‹it's dark out here. There are a lot of things that
can go wrong. Back into the weather I go as I get a quick turn to final and
intercept the ACLS, which brings me down to about 1,000 feet before it drops
lock.
"303 negative needles, negative bullseye." This night just got better.
"Roger continue, reattempt lock on at 2 miles." "Yeah, sure," I say out loud
to myself, and I continue down using the tacan radial to navigate. Just then
I break out and see out in front of me a flashing red light, amongst the 12
or so lights I can see that comprise the postage stamp out in the distance
I'm supposed to land on. It's the laser20line up behind the boat telling me
I'm left of course, of course. Why drop lock on centerline? Well, I can solve
line up, there's a start. With a steady amber light telling me I'm lined up
with the ship now, I just work to get "on the ball." At a mile approach
finally just gives up with the ACLS.
"303, 3Ž4 of a mile, call the ball." "303 Hornet Ball, 6.9." With a calm
"roooger ball" the familiar voice of paddles takes the edge off a little. I'm
working the strongest crosswind I've ever experienced in my 25 trap career,
flying the ball out the left side of the canopy, rather than through the HUD
like normal. This sucks, and it's flippin' dark out here. As I fight line up I
can feel the burble that the ship's aerodynamic wake puts out as I approach
the ramp, and the ball reflects this as I try to fly my head through the
four-foot window it represents.
The "ball" is a yellow light between a set of green horizontal datums. It
represents your position to the appropriate glideslope. Above the datums
you're high, below you're low. At the start of the pass at three-quarters of
a mile, from full high to full low is about 21 feet of altitude. At the ramp
it's about four feet. Right at the wires, each cell of the ball represents
nine inches (so says paddles).
I bring on the power to stop the settle. As the ball starts to sag in close I
bring on more power and in my peripheral vision I can see I'm over steel. A
few split seconds and a few more power corrections as I stare down the ball
staring back at me and a familiar WHAM. I touch down with a rate of descent
of around 900 feet per minute, enough to destroy most other airplanes. I bend
the throttles over the stops going to full afterburner, but I'm greeted with
a familiar feeling of being slammed forward in my straps as I slow from 145
knots to zero in about two seconds. With the jet at a stop, and the blowers
still blazing, I throttle back and hear the one thing I reminded myself not
to do.
"Lights on deck." DAMN! Lights come off on deck at night. Lights on
indicates an emergency and I told myself to remember that. It's just not part
of the habit pattern during the day. At least not yet for me. This is all in
the two seconds since I've stopped of course, but I'm still irritated. With a
familiar yank backwards the wire drops away from the tail hook, I see some
yellow wands giving me the hook-up sign. I roll out of the landing area,
folding my wings and cleaning up the cockpit (resetting flaps, trim, my
radalt, etc).
Thirty seconds later I'm sitting behind the JBD, takeoff checks partly
complete, trim set, with the jet in front of me at full tilt ready to be
shot. Happy to still be alive, I think about the last pass, and how I can
better energize the jet, and where I need to make power corrections to fly a
better pass. Then the JBD drops, and some yellow wands in the darkness start
motioning for me forward onto the catapult. It's dark up there, and I have to
do this about a half-dozen more times. This is going to be a long night.
BY LTjg. Doug Masters



** Posted from http://www.teranews.com **

nice narrative........thanx......



On Dec 20, 6:44*am, "B.C. MALLAM" wrote:
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * *Night *Carrier Qualifications
A *Navy pilot's tale of his first landing on the boat in the dark.

As the last guys *finish their dinner, we all look at each other with similar
glances. Not a *word needs to be said but everyone is thinking the exact same
thing. The *expressions say it all. It's time to walk upstairs and play ball.
We've been *preparing ourselves for this for years now, and it's what sets a
Naval Aviator *apart from every other pilot in the world. If you can't do it,
the years of *training leading up to this point are no good to you. As one of
our paddles *said, if you can't succeed at this you're useless to us as a
Hornet pilot *because we fly, and fight, in the dark. We have to go land this
thing on the *boat Š at night.
We've all been *behind the boat during the day. You do it in the training
command in the *mighty T-45. It's nerve-wracking the first few times, but once
you get over *the initial nerves and start getting the hang of operating
around the ship *becomes a lot of fun. Day CQ in the Hornet was even better.
We'd all been here *before and were looking forward to coming back. Landing on
the boat is what we *do as Naval Aviators. It's one of the most amazing things
you can experience, *yet it's one of the smallest clubs in aviation. It's
something you can20do *well, but never perfect. Every single pass is critiqued
by the Landing Signal *Officers (LSOs), and you're graded no matter what your
rank or who you are. *Being good around the boat is what everyone prides
themselves on. Now it was *our turn. Time to really join the club, and prove
that we can do this safely, *with the sun down.
We all walk upstairs *with the normal banter and ribbing that's become the
norm, poking fun at each *other and cracking jokes. Up several decks we get to
our level and make our *way to the ready room. On the television the deck
cameras are up and we can *all see that it really is game time. The airplane
guard helo is gone (meaning *airborne), and it's dark. How dark isn't quite
apparent *yet.
*I take one *last look at the line up, double-check my jet assignment and walk
to *maintenance control like I've done hundreds of times before this. A quick
flip *through the book and a few jokes with the Chief gets me familiar with
prior *gripes to possibly expect with my particular jet, then I head to the
paraloft. *It's business as usual below decks. If you never get outside you
can really *lose track of what the world out there is doing, but it's at the
forefront of *my mind tonight. I suit up in my flight gear as normal, make
sure I've got my *cl ear nighttime visor on my helmet, and I'm off. The walk
through the ship is *very typical until I finally hit the catwalk hatch taking
me outside. It's *dark.
I stand still for a *second after securing the hatch to let my eyes adjust to
the darkness, and the *hint of yellow sodium vapor lighting from the island.
It takes a minute *to realize there is no adjustment. It's dark. The middle of
the ocean under a *moonless sky is like the inside of a bottle of ink inside a
sealed vault. The *best way to describe it is to walk into your closet with
all the lights in *your house off, at night, then blindfold yourself.

As I step up the *catwalk I realize the tail-end of a Superhornet is over my
head, as well as a *70-foot drop to the water to my left. They're packed like
sardines up here. *They're also turning, and I need to get to the other side
of the deck. My *senses peak out of pure self-preservation. I'm instantly
aware of everything *going on within 50 yards of me, and it's a lot. I don't
need to walk into a *prop or a tailpipe. Something else becomes readily
apparent. I'm getting wet. *"What the .... ?" Well, if we're gonna do this,
might as well pull out all the *stops.
As I step up to my *jet, I eye it over as best I can in the dim orange
light.=2 0The airplane *captain greets me in the dark, and introduces himself
with a salute and a *handshake. There's actually a calming effect. Something
familiar. A familiar *face from the beach. Whatever it is, the tension is
eased slightly as I do my *abbreviated preflight. Abbreviated because the back
half of my jet is out over *the side of the ship. Looks good from here, time
to man up and get out of the *rain.
Canopy down, I'm *strapped in, the jet is up and running with a solid INS
alignment and no real *problems. Let's do this. * *"Tower, 303 up and ready,
38,000 *pounds."
Okay Š done this too *Š cricket, cricket. Damn, wrong freq. I get the
appropriate freq channelized *and check-in with the Air Boss. Seconds later my
jet is swarmed by brown *shirts breaking down all the chains and tiedowns. My
airplane captain passes *off control to a set of yellow glowing wands (the
handlers) and gives me a *salute with a "good luck" look on his face. Great,
was the nervousness that *obvious? The handler gives me the signal to start
rolling forward, and with *little twitches left and right squeezes me past a
few other jets on deck *before handing me off to another set of wands down the
flight deck towards the *catapult.
*Several sets *of wands later I'm parked behind the jet blast deflector (JBD),
which is up *protecting me from the jet 20 feet ahead that's at full grunt
about to be shot *off the front of the boat. I marvel at the choreography
that's gotten me to *this point. Somehow I've managed to fit into this silent
dance (with two left *feet) that is the moving of jets around a moving flight
deck, which is *launching and recovering aircraft simultaneously, at night,
without a word *ever being said, and mainly by guys and girls not even old
enough to legally *drink.
As the JBD comes *down, I double-check my trim settings, radar altimeter set
to alert me to any *settle off the front of the ship, double-check my ejection
seat is armed, all *radios, navaids and datalink are turned on. My three
multifunction displays *are all set appropriately, and I continue to taxi onto
the catapult. I roger *up the weight board for the jet's weight with a
circular motion from my little *flashlight (too dark for hand signals) and the
holdback is attached to my nose *gear. The holdback is what physically
restrains the jet from rolling forward *at full power, but breaks free when
the catapult fires.
I spread the wings *and continue to taxi forward to set the holdback. The lau
nch bar comes down, *and I'm directed to roll forward a few more feet.. *Then
it comes Š the *signal to take tension. With a familiar "thunk" I feel the
launch bar drop *into the shuttle as I advance the throttles to full power.
The jet squats down *under the strain of the engines, I wipe out the flight
controls and run *through my take-off checks one last time; I'm also
rehearsing my "settle off *the catapult" procedures should the worst happen,
and touching the ejection *handle to make sure it's not folded under my leg or
something. With a check of *the flight control page, the trim settings are
correct, no computer problems *and check list complete; now a repeater of the
head-up display is brought up *on the left MFD, a repeater of the attitude
indicator on the right. Should *something happen on the cat I've got four
redundancies of the jet's attitude *now staring at me. I should also add that
from the JBD coming down to me *taking the catapult has all taken place in
about 25 seconds.

With the *jet at full power, just shy of the afterburners, and a quick
triple-checking *glance, I look left at the catapult officer and give him a
salute. Not really *for him, he can't even see me, it's too dark. More so for
my own familiarity. *With my pinky finger on the throttles I click forward the
exterior light *master switch, and the deck comes alive with the light of the
form lights, red *and green nav lights, and strobes. This is the official
salute that I'm *ready.
*Left palm open *and pressed against the throttles (so I don't inadvertently
pull them back *from the force of the cat shot), right hand up on the canopy
grip, and I press *my head back against the seat looking forward down the cat.
The only light in *front of me is the green cat status light. I'm about to be
shot into a black *rainy sky, why? With that thought the jet squats again and
then it comes. *WHAM! I slam the throttle to full afterburner and stare at the
airspeed to *make sure I see three digits by the end of the cat stroke. Over
the span of *the next 310 feet and roughly two seconds, myself and my jet have
accelerated *to over 175 knots. At least that was the last speed I saw prior
to the jolt of *coming off the front of the ship. It almost hurts. As the jet
rotates itself *to a nice climb attitude I grab the stick, raise the gear and
pull the *throttles out of blower. You know what? It's freakin' dark out here.

I *make my airborne call and get switched over to marshal. Kind of like
approach *control for the ship. I also realize that I'm in the weather, and
it's dark. *This sucks. I check in and my marshal instructions are immediately
force-fed *to me. *"303 take angels 7, marshal mom's 310, expected final
bearing *124, expected approach time two one."
If th ey could see *me right now, they'd probably wipe the drool off my chin
as my brain tries to *remember what was just said. Amazed at myself for
actually catching all that, *I climb to 7,000 feet and point myself northwest.
The marshal distance is a *function of altitude to keep things simple.. Add 15
to your marshal altitude. *I've got my radar looking out in front of me, and
before long there are *several hits on my radar in front of me, above and
below. It's the marshal *stack. This is a good thing as it means I'm going to
the right place, those *hits are my friends out there already established in
holding and I get warm *and fuzzy. As I look down at my clock and speed up to
roughly 400 knots, I *realize my push time is three minutes away, and I'm 30
miles away. Not gonna *happen. I request a new push, and establish myself in
holding. For the next *few minutes I've got "comfort time," which really is
just used to think about *what I'm about to try and accomplish.
Something finally *goes my way when I hit my marshal fix at exactly 22 miles
just as the clock *ticks through my push time. *"Marshal 303 commencing, state
7.4, *altimeter 29.75." *"Roger turn right 150." *"Sweet," I think to *myself.
Vectors means I don't have to fly the full arcing approach. As I *descend I
keep checking my radar altimeter bug and rolling it down. More than *a few
guys have lost track of=2 0what they were doing and flown themselves *into the
water, after all, it's a dark black hole out here. Especially in the *weather.
With a quick glance at my weight I see I'm a few hundred pounds above *max
trap weight. Perfect, I'll arrive behind the boat right at max trap *weight.
No need to dump gas to lighten up. As I get vectored behind the ship *for a
datalink approach (an ILS of sorts), I level off at 1,200 feet and *realize
I'm out of the weather. How can I tell? There's a light off to my left *at
about 14 miles. I have to land on it.

They did studies in Vietnam, *and guys had higher pulses and blood pressures
behind the boat at night after *a mission than they did when they were getting
shot at. I now know why‹it's *dark out here. There are a lot of things that
can go wrong. Back into the *weather I go as I get a quick turn to final and
intercept the ACLS, which *brings me down to about 1,000 feet before it drops
lock.
"303 negative *needles, negative bullseye." This night just got better.

On Dec 20, 8:44*am, "B.C. MALLAM" wrote:
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * *Night *Carrier Qualifications
A *Navy pilot's tale of his first landing on the boat in the dark.

It's time to walk upstairs and play ball.

I quit reading when he walked "upstairs" rather than top side.

"B.C. MALLAM" wrote in message ...
Night Carrier Qualifications
A Navy pilot's tale of his first landing on the boat in the dark.

Thanks for posting. Interesting.
(original whole story on r.a.m.n, I've added 2 ng for my questions)
I have a couple questions. Yeah, I'm totally ignorant on this.

A quick
flip through the book and a few jokes with the Chief gets me familiar
with
prior gripes to possibly expect with my particular jet, ----
As I step up to my jet, I eye it over as best I can in the dim orange
light.=2 0The airplane captain greets me in the dark, and introduces
himself
with a salute and a handshake. There's actually a calming effect.
Something
familiar. A familiar face from the beach. Whatever it is, the tension is
eased slightly as I do my abbreviated preflight. Abbreviated because the
back
half of my jet is out over the side of the ship.

About what is the standard ratio of number of available
pilots to number of available planes?
OK, so some rotation / change up of pilots to different
planes is done. Do they normally try to keep some
connection of same pilot to same plane?
About what is the likelyhood?

Canopy down, I'm strapped in, the jet is up and running ----
I get the ----- and check-in with the Air Boss. Seconds later my
jet is swarmed by brown shirts breaking down all the chains and
tiedowns. My
airplane captain passes off control to a set of yellow glowing wands
(the
handlers) and gives me a salute with a "good luck" look on his face.
Great,
was the nervousness that obvious? The handler gives me the signal to
start
rolling forward, and with little twitches left and right squeezes me
past a
few other jets on deck before handing me off to another set of wands
down the
flight deck towards the catapult.
Several sets of wands later I'm parked behind the jet blast deflector
(JBD),

Is the entire movement on the deck done
by the jet's own jet power?
When and for what, are the 'tractors' used?

(Even more basic ignorance) = Does the pilot
have ability to 'steer' his front wheels?

I see some
yellow wands giving me the hook-up sign. I roll out of the landing area,
folding my wings and cleaning up the cockpit (resetting flaps, trim, my
radalt, etc).

As with above, "hook-up" ??

Thirty seconds later I'm sitting behind the JBD, takeoff checks partly
complete, trim set, with the jet in front of me at full tilt ready to be
shot. Happy to still be alive, I think about the last pass, and how I
can
better energize the jet, and where I need to make power corrections to
fly a
better pass. Then the JBD drops, and some yellow wands in the darkness
start
motioning for me forward onto the catapult. It's dark up there, and I
have to
do this about a half-dozen more times. This is going to be a long night.
BY LTjg. Doug Masters

NO Kidding!!
Very first night carrier landing.
Then no time to debrief, review, reflect, learn, etc.
Right back at it to do bunch more!

"B.C. MALLAM" wrote in message ...
Night Carrier Qualifications
A Navy pilot's tale of his first landing on the boat in the dark.

Thanks for posting. Interesting.
(original whole story on r.a.m.n, I've added 2 ng for my questions)

OPPS! NOW I'VE ADDED 2!
I have a couple questions. Yeah, I'm totally ignorant on this.

A quick
flip through the book and a few jokes with the Chief gets me familiar
with
prior gripes to possibly expect with my particular jet, ----
As I step up to my jet, I eye it over as best I can in the dim orange
light.=2 0The airplane captain greets me in the dark, and introduces
himself
with a salute and a handshake. There's actually a calming effect.
Something
familiar. A familiar face from the beach. Whatever it is, the tension is
eased slightly as I do my abbreviated preflight. Abbreviated because the
back
half of my jet is out over the side of the ship.

About what is the standard ratio of number of available
pilots to number of available planes?
OK, so some rotation / change up of pilots to different
planes is done. Do they normally try to keep some
connection of same pilot to same plane?
About what is the likelyhood?

Canopy down, I'm strapped in, the jet is up and running ----
I get the ----- and check-in with the Air Boss. Seconds later my
jet is swarmed by brown shirts breaking down all the chains and
tiedowns. My
airplane captain passes off control to a set of yellow glowing wands
(the
handlers) and gives me a salute with a "good luck" look on his face.
Great,
was the nervousness that obvious? The handler gives me the signal to
start
rolling forward, and with little twitches left and right squeezes me
past a
few other jets on deck before handing me off to another set of wands
down the
flight deck towards the catapult.
Several sets of wands later I'm parked behind the jet blast deflector
(JBD),

Is the entire movement on the deck done
by the jet's own jet power?
When and for what, are the 'tractors' used?

(Even more basic ignorance) = Does the pilot
have ability to 'steer' his front wheels?

I see some
yellow wands giving me the hook-up sign. I roll out of the landing area,
folding my wings and cleaning up the cockpit (resetting flaps, trim, my
radalt, etc).

As with above, "hook-up" ??

Thirty seconds later I'm sitting behind the JBD, takeoff checks partly
complete, trim set, with the jet in front of me at full tilt ready to be
shot. Happy to still be alive, I think about the last pass, and how I
can
better energize the jet, and where I need to make power corrections to
fly a
better pass. Then the JBD drops, and some yellow wands in the darkness
start
motioning for me forward onto the catapult. It's dark up there, and I
have to
do this about a half-dozen more times. This is going to be a long night.
BY LTjg. Doug Masters

NO Kidding!!
Very first night carrier landing.
Then no time to debrief, review, reflect, learn, etc.
Right back at it to do bunch more!

"a425couple" wrote in message
...
"B.C. MALLAM" wrote in message ...
Night Carrier Qualifications
A Navy pilot's tale of his first landing on the boat in the dark.

Thanks for posting. Interesting.
(original whole story on r.a.m.n, I've added 2 ng for my questions)

OPPS! NOW I'VE ADDED 2!
I have a couple questions. Yeah, I'm totally ignorant on this.

A quick
flip through the book and a few jokes with the Chief gets me familiar
with
prior gripes to possibly expect with my particular jet, ----
As I step up to my jet, I eye it over as best I can in the dim orange
light.=2 0The airplane captain greets me in the dark, and introduces
himself
with a salute and a handshake. There's actually a calming effect.
Something
familiar. A familiar face from the beach. Whatever it is, the tension
is
eased slightly as I do my abbreviated preflight. Abbreviated because
the
back
half of my jet is out over the side of the ship.

About what is the standard ratio of number of available
pilots to number of available planes?
OK, so some rotation / change up of pilots to different
planes is done. Do they normally try to keep some
connection of same pilot to same plane?
About what is the likelyhood?

Canopy down, I'm strapped in, the jet is up and running ----
I get the ----- and check-in with the Air Boss. Seconds later my
jet is swarmed by brown shirts breaking down all the chains and
tiedowns. My
airplane captain passes off control to a set of yellow glowing wands
(the
handlers) and gives me a salute with a "good luck" look on his face.
Great,
was the nervousness that obvious? The handler gives me the signal to
start
rolling forward, and with little twitches left and right squeezes me
past a
few other jets on deck before handing me off to another set of wands
down the
flight deck towards the catapult.
Several sets of wands later I'm parked behind the jet blast deflector
(JBD),

Is the entire movement on the deck done
by the jet's own jet power?
When and for what, are the 'tractors' used?


for moving the planes when they aren't powered up.
deck storage, moving to the elevators, stuff like that.

On Dec 21, 10:35*am, Marine Airdale wrote:
On Dec 20, 8:44*am, "B.C. MALLAM" wrote:

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * *Night *Carrier Qualifications
A *Navy pilot's tale of his first landing on the boat in the dark.
It's time to walk upstairs and play ball.

I quit reading when he walked "upstairs" rather than top side.

I will yield to any experienced naval aviator (USN or USMC) regarding
vocabulary usage, but my impression was that many brown shoes enjoyed
using "non-nautical" terms, if for no other reason, then to aggravate
nearby black shoes. For example, I have heard of carriers being
referred to as "boats" and the flight deck being referred to as the
"Roof" on more than one occasion.

To all of you, a very Merry Christmas and best wishes for a happy new
year.

Take care . . .

John