Celebrating Seattle

It rains in Seattle. That's just what it does there and I'm used to it from numerous overnights. Imagine my surprise to awake with bright sun spilling onto my floor. How'd that get there.

Unfortunately I was working on this major web renovation and barely had time to explore the surprisingly sunny outdoors. But it sure was nice to sit, even briefly, in a sunlit foyer overlooking the hotel's pool. My flight was still a couple hours away, early enough to allow a breathtaking climbout in bright afternoon sun astride Mount Rainier.

Seattle is a hidden beauty, often cloaked with the rain clouds that keep it so green. Even after many dozen transits I've only seen the area unobstructed a few times. This afternoon would be one spectacular exception.

Our departure to Oakland took us south, just west of majestic Rainier and almost immediately over Mt. St. Helens' remains. Maps were rendered obsolete that explosive day in 1980 when she blew her top. It's easy to let your imagination roam as to the forces present then and presumably still working underneath. Even though I knew it wasn't likely to pop off without warning, here I was only a few miles above such a powerful pent-up force. Makes you think.

Looking down at Mount Rainer leaves me struggling to imagine the treachery endured by climbers. Their only motivation is to reach the summit. Not to trivialize it, because the challenge is as enormous as the accomplishment. But it's not for the view—that's available in far safer ways. It's not for the exercise, any gym can accommodate that. It must be the same trait that lures athletes into sports except that the opponent is uncaring earth and failure is fatal. Like any risk we take, I suppose, the personal reward exceeds the risk. Just different choices.

Ah yes, the camera.

Mostly I was busy peeking at our progress and taking pictures. This was Tim's "leg" (we typically alternate who flies each flight). There were many angles to capture and so much terrain to imagine myself powered paragliding over. Valleys wander hither and yon with landing fields aplenty. I can't wait to get the Enterprise into some of these areas. That Columbia River Gorge looks oh so inviting. One of these summers I'm gonna make it up here and explore.

Sin City

You'd never know that the construction industry is suffering a downturn if you glanced across Los Vegas' skyline. At least the crane companies must be thriving.

1) "Southwest 234, can you make it down from there?" SWA: "No problem, do you need us to keep the speed up?" Fortunately our philosophy and culture have moved beyond this somewhat cavalier attitude. 2) After arriving nice and early we got to wait and watch for the airplane on our gate. We cooled our heels in what air traffic control calls the "Paradise Pad." 3) Leaving was just as much fun as arriving. Here's a beautiful view of the strip.

Coming in here can be sporty. Normally we seat the flight attendants by about 10,000 feet but today strong northwest winds were churning a turbulent cualdron over the Red Rock Mountains. We had them secure everything well before and a good thing we did.

As we entered the clouds at 16,000 feet the winds were blowing 70 mph. Several minutes of pounding and only a few thousand feet later they were blowing 20 mph. That was some Rock and Roll!

The arrival was unusual in that we overflew the airport to go south then land to the north. Jets like landing into the wind as much as powered paragliders. My attitude towards this job is that mostly it's all varying challenges and opportunities. For one who likes flying it is frequently an enjoyable experience. This was no exception.

In some ways, we fly the 737 just like a paramotor. You're still controlling a craft in 3 dimensions, responding to G's and air disturbances, adjusting the power, fine tuning speed and direction and pitch to arrive at the desired point, the paramotorist's Frisbee or the jet pilot's touchdown zone. You target a jet touchdown about 1000 feet down the runway, on the centerline and tracking straight. Even in a paramotor you can track straight when landing in crosswind—the wing will be pointed upwind a bit but you twist your body to run in the traveled ground direction.

It feels good whether it's a 100 tons or a tenth of a ton.

Oakland

San Francisco and Oakland oppose each other on a beautiful arrangement of land and water. It's a highly peopled place connected by bridges and lit brightly at night in the sun's absence. Pixels of light, streaming white on one side and red on the other, flow through corridors of concrete that carry the cars. Such light defines these arteries as much as their surfaces do.

Dusk is pretty just about anywhere but this evening it was my pleasure to see it from the 737, rocketing up and around to the east from Oakland.

Hopefully you'll enjoy the pictures. I sure enjoyed the scenes they captured. I don't know how many magapixels a human eyeball has but a swiveling head and motion sure accentuates them.

I'm thankful for the experience.

1) Daylight view of San Francisco. 2 - 4) Dusk as the city lights start to take over where the sun left off.

A distant then close up look at Mt. Rainier from the southwest.

A distant and then close look at Mount St. Helens.

These mountains are west of Seattle. It's easy to think of the city as being on the western shore but it's actually quite a cruise to the open ocean.

This contrail was being left by an airplane cruising only a few miles ahead of us. You can clearly see the vapor being swirled in its wake.

The Captains view while awaiting a takeoff clearance on Las Vegas' runway 1R. The green symbology is our heads up display where the horizontal green line is an artificial horizon. It's a special glass pane that folds down from just above the captain's head.

This valley, just east of Oakland, CA has "paramotor me" written all over it.

Tim, who is nearing captain upgrade, endured my photog tendencies with aplomb. A good, safe time was enjoyed by all.