To stash some cash, we’ve decided to open an account at President’s Choice Financial. It’s been strange so far.

Like several banks, they offer an online application process. Several weird things though: they asked for a lot of credit-oriented information, when frankly we don’t need any more credit. I obliged.

A few days later, we received e-mail back, instructing us to contact their call centre, in order to proceed with the application. Er … but all the relevant information that could be sent by telecommunications was already sent. Still, I called. As is typical with telephone-based customer service systems nowadays, there was a deep menu of options, none of which included talking to an employee. So I improvised with the “my card was lost and stolen” option. Ring!

What the dude on the other end had to tell me floored me. He advised that filling in the application online, or even via the telephone (another option mentioned on the web site), was a mistake. To save time, one should head to a “pavilion” (little retail outlet in a nearby supermarket) and start all over. He was not referring to the face-to-face identification formality that I expected, but outright disposing of the online application, and filling in a brand new paper form.

That is simply stupid. If the bank’s own people are going to tell prospective customers that they wasted time typing in information into the bank’s own system, then perhaps that online system shouldn’t exist in the first place.

Reading this story makes me want to reconsider dealing with them at all.

Juimiin has recently placed a subscription to the famous journal Nature. While it’s oriented toward practicing scientists, it also supplies fodder for TV talking heads. What it does not supply, is satisfaction of regular delivery.

In a pattern vaguely reminscent of the hotel soap joke, this putatively weekly publication has instead delivered issues on a schedule roughly as follows:

week	issues expected	actually delivered
1	1	1
2	1	0
3	1	0
4	1	2
5	1	0
6	1	1
7	1	3
8	1	0
9	1	8

The astute observer will notice the difference between columns two and three. A university library may not much care, as long as their collection is complete. But a private citizen, reading this stuff for interest, can’t be expected to handle material with such ebbs and flows. Each issue is something like a hundred pages of dense scientific text. One has to pace oneself to consume so much of the stuff.

Customer service has been contacted several times. They don’t seem to realize the attraction of the recycling bin that their irregularity begets. They try to “help” by sending back-issues that may at one point have been missing, but refuse to cancel the remainder of the subscription. Maybe they will one day achieve regularity with some publishing laxative of the sort that The Economist uses so successfully. Until then … sigh.

Imagine a huge cake, with nice creamy icing at 2000 ft, sitting over a city. Now imagine the cake proper being invisible, leaving only a paper-thin wafer of cloud suspended above. That’s what we flew in/near/through a couple of times yesterday. Wonderful sight. I was not able to see the wingtip vortices we were surely producing in the layer.

Juimiin realized the reason for my recent rash of culinary disasters.

As long as the dish corresponds to the general algorithm:

• slice ingredients,
• intermingle,

• apply heat if needed,

I can handle it. Thankfully this covers a wide range of foods, like cheesecake, stew, soup, casserole, and of course the tuna melt sandwich.

But if it’s more complicated, like it requires more than one stage of heating or intermingling, or some special technique of manipulation, I am a hazard. I go from one defeat fearlessly to the next, barely stopping to dispose of the casualties. I overdose pizza with cheese – I overdose everything with beef and paprika. I undercook stir fry noodles. I overcook vegetables. I ruin dish after dish. I search for my next target of food wastage, and effortlessly destroy it at the next opportunity. I am an inchworm on an infinite string of failures.

For god’s sake, don’t ask me to cook anything “complicated”.

Eric has psychic powers.

This morning, within the space of five seconds, he moved laterally two feet, and downward about three feet, past an insurmountable obstacle. He tried to disguise his powers by acting like he scaled over his crib’s walls, bruising his subnasal spot, then producing a shocked wail at the subsequent hard landing. But in fact he just teleported.

A recent pair of Hope Air missions have let me experience a wide spectrum of instrument flying occurrences.

fly-though plane wash

In the typical drizzly fall weather, flying in clouds means flying through rain. Enough time and enough rain do wonders to clean off bug splats from the windshield. More than that, and the wings have a chance at a rinse. Even more, and we may have a hard time seeing out. A serious, long-lasting downpour can become a problem, eroding propellers and paint. Luckily GXRP had several rounds of the thorough-wash level of rain.

cruising in the sunshine, landing in glum

The simplest kind of IFR flying involves a visual departure, climing through a thin layer of cloud, cruising above in the sunshine for a while, then descending through the layer for a visual approach. Newly rated pilots enjoy these flights since they are pretty and not too challenging. I haven’t had many of them, until one of the subject flights, when I collected quite a burn on one shoulder from about 90 minutes of solid sun. The blanket of cloud not far below just helped reflect even more light back up.

At ground level, it was glum, gray, damp, drizzly, and to a non-pilot, quite possibly depressing.

departure queue jumping

Departing a non-radar airport IFR can test one’s patience, as faraway controllers must dedicate large spans of airspace to individual aircraft. Trying to leave Timmins on the 4th was particularly tiresome due to the conduct of others in the system.

I was first in the queue to depart, and almost received a clearance, when apparently some other airborne aircraft suddenly wanted to divert there. So I was put on hold until that plane was to come down. Then two other aircraft started up behind me, and because the weather was something like OVC008, also were waiting for IFR clearances. At some point, the dude in the rear had the clever idea to depart VFR and pick up his clearance airborne. Yes, pretend-VFR in OVC008 conditions, in not-entirely-flat terrain in class E controlled airspace. To my surprise, the controller approved it. Then of course the other dude also asked for and got it, and off he went. In each case, they were originally cleared to stay VFR for 20 miles. Yet in each case, the IFR controller gave them their clearance within a minute after take-off. From listening on several frequencies, it was obvious that their queue-jumping flight paths actually blocked me even longer on the ground, and there was no other traffic in the immediate area after all. This was rude of both the pilots (who almost certainly broke VFR limits) and the controller.

zigzagging between thunderstorms

I was eager for an early take-off during that same Timmins return leg, because a broad bunch of thunderstorms was between me and Toronto. The route was squeezed between a big fat L from the west/south, and a bit fat V from the east, with all the little branches blooming CBs. With the weather equipment on GXRP, I was able to plot a decent course between these dangerous areas, even advising the controller and one of the two queue-jumping dudes about my observations. Despite the elevated anxiety level during this maneuvering and rerouting, it was great to have all the equipment work, be consistent, and let me make sense of them. Here is a picture of the wall of storms, once I passed it, and another of the sunset.

contact approach at night

The delayed takeoff lead to a delayed arrival in Toronto that evening. The weather was misty, threatening to turn foggy. Because of the intended rush, I did not refuel in Timmins, leaving reserves of fuel close to minimum for the return flight. So several unfortunate conditions were developing by the time I was to arrive home: darkness, fogging up, gradual fuel discomfort. I did not want to do any unnecessary maneuvering – a full instrument approach into home base would have taken another fifteen minutes or more.

Luckily, even in very misty conditions, it is possible to tell apart Lake Ontario’s water from the lit-up shoreline. Crossing near Oshawa was a good time to ask for a contact approach, and follow the shoreline home for the final 20 miles. The sun had already set, and it took a lot of squinting to keep the water/land boundary in view. But a few minutes of squinting and GPS map confirming, I arrived at home. In the last few minutes, I heard that several airports went down to IFR conditions – strangely the Island was the last one still VFR that night.

There was even a flight student or two doing circuit practice in those terrible conditions. My hat’s off to their instructors, who must have deemed the increased risks worth the extra education under stress.

switching to VFR … temporarily

Jumping forward a week, returning from a trip to the Sault, my copilot and I decided that cruising above the clouds (see above) was too boring. Weather observations confirmed that VFR was possible all the way home. So about half way there, just over the Bruce peninsula (YVV VOR), we cancelled IFR, and dove down under the clouds to fly home low. The clouds were not that high – just a little beyond VFR minima, so we had to swerve around little airports, taller towers, and the like. But it was fun being on our own (not having to get an IFR controller’s approval for every turn), and to see trees, cows, cars so up close.

Up to twenty minutes before arrival, weather observations at the island indicated reasonable VFR conditions. But as we approached Buttonville, a sudden wall of low cloud enveloped entire Toronto. Proceeding further south was impossible VFR. So we sheepishly asked to get our IFR clearance “back” – or rather a whole new one. The radio was abuzz with people suddenly being unable to land at airports that until minutes ago were clear. That leads us to …

full autopilot-driven GPS+ILS approach

ILS precision approaches give the best chance of landing in crappy weather. Trouble is, there are not that many ILSs installed in the Toronto area, other than the ten or so at Pearson, one at Hamilton, and … one at the Island! But the one at the Island is special – only aircraft with special avionics are allowed to take that one, and the minima are not as low (advantageous) as usual (360 ft AGL instead of 200 ft).

The avionics requirements for this approach are roughly: a recent IFR GPS with some special features, a coupled autopilot, in addition to the ILS receiver. Since this past summer, GXRP has had all this equipment. This approach was special in that this was the first time that all that equipment came in not just handy, but necessary. We actually went a little farther than we had to, and let the autopilot fly the entire approach until short final. That darned old thing worked perfectly too. It was a wonderful feeling to have all that equipment, installed at great expense, work together to enable a landing at home base under difficult conditions (OVC005, 1.5SM). Without that equipment, I like others would have had to give up landing at home, and go to Pearson or a lot farther out.

missing

Only a few types of events enccuntered in serious IFR were not experienced during these flights:

• equipment malfunctions
• involuntary rerouting
• icing

• significant turbulence

I’ve had each of these happen before, thankfully in isolation, and they were not much fun.

FChE: … cracks some bad joke …
Juimiin: “Does humour run in your family?”
FChE: “No, humour runs from our family.”

There is some controversy about how pilots should track “actual instrument time”, a somewhat vaguely defined term in Canadian regulations.

Actual instrument time is primarily required for licensing purposes to maintain IFR currency, which in Canada requires 6 hours of simulated or actual instrument time each six months. No currency – no can go IFR. Instrument time is also needed for certain higher level pilot licenses/ratings, in particular the ATPL (airline transport pilot license). Pilots on a professional (ATPL) track need to log hours like mad in order to compete with other wannabes. They sometimes adopt the most liberal conceivable interpretation to meet/exceed the minimum requirements and apparent experience. Since there is no physical record of the weather conditions surrounding a particular airplane on a particular flight, there may be little evidence available to contradict a habitual exaggerator.

As I understand it from all the various Transport Canada publications (CARs, AIP, study guides), “actual instrument time” is that time where, because of actual weather conditions, reference to instruments is necessary to maintain control of the airplane. As such, it is at most the “air time” – the amount of time the airplane spends in the air instead of just taxiing around on the ground. (By the way, it is the accumulation of this same air time that dictates maintenance schedules in Canada.) Time spent in bright blue air, far from clouds, would not count toward “actual instrument time”.

I have heard of other (mis)interpretations of the “actual instrument time” term. Some suggest that any time flown on an IFR flight plan counts, even in VFR weather conditions. Some suggest that flight (“engine-on”) rather than air (“flying”) time is limiting. Some suggest that any IFR flight that involved touching cloud even momentarily, counts in its entirety. I say “wishful thinking”. If you don’t need to constantly scan the the instruments to keep the plane upright, you’re not flying on instruments, and you can’t log instrument time. There is a small side question as to whether one may log instrument time during conditions that, even though technically VFR, still require instrument scanning. Such conditions include flying over a slanted weird cloud mass, during dark night, or with mist-blocked horizons. I believe it is legitimate to log such time, if instrument scanning was genuinely required.

For what it’s worth, the US FAR rules (61.51(g)(1)) define the same “instrument time” concept thusly:

A person may log instrument time only for that flight time when the person operates the aircraft solely by reference to instruments under actual or simulated instrument flight conditions.

I believe this definition meshes with mine up above. I wish Transport Canada would adopt it, and also cover the “side question” above about logging instrument time in putative VMC.

UPDATE: A local pilot acquaintance called Transport Canada, and they appear to agree with me, but frustratingly, didn’t point to a specific piece of regulative text to explain.

American politics is as intertwined with news media as it is here. I haven’t followed the Plame outing story much, but its climax today has funny elements.

The US Attorney investigating the issue has released an indictment of an aide. A close reading of the indictment text indicates a weird confusion between testimony itself, and about testimony about a conversation. Huh?

While the investigation was about how Plame’s CIA employment status was made known to reporters, it has turned into how Libby has testified to the grand jury about conversations with the reporters! There is apparently a dispute about what he told them (whether he told them that the Plame information came from other reporters, or whether he was the unqualified originator). The indictment claims that Libby told the reporters the information in the second form, where Libby testified that he used the first form. Presumably, the reporters’ notes would be used as evidence in this “he said / she said” dispute.

It’s a lot like Martha Stewart’s recent conviction for lying to federal investigators looking into her stock deals, not for the stock dealing itself.

The indictment turns bizzarre at some points. They charge that Libby told reporters that he didn’t personally know about Plame’s status, when in fact he had known. They are in fact charging him for possibly lying to reporters: count 2 (4.b), count 3, count 4 (3.b). That is absurd – bald-faced lying to reporters is not against the law. In fact it can be quite a good idea sometimes.

I’ve owned a Pontiac Aztek for some time. Now almost four years into its life, some stranger struck up a conversation about it.

He asked “What model year is that?”, I replied “2002”. Bombshell: “It looks like it just rolled off the show floor.”.

OK, he didn’t exactly say that it looked attractive. And in fact the car just came out of a good thorough wash / repairs at Brennan. But still, someone saying something good about this odd-looking vehicle? It reminds me of an earlier editorial by my colleauge Vlad Makarov, who saw Big Yellow Car (license plate “ELASTIC” of course) in our office parking garage. With a sweet Russian accent, he said “It is so … ugly … but I just can’t stop looking at it!”.

I still like this funny car. It has some problems, but it’s a comfortable, reasonable with fuel, sturdy 4-wheel-drive widget. And its name is similar to our airplane.

Yesterday I got to spend a day flying with angels, committing only a minor act of metaphor misuse. I carried some, and some helped us on our way.

The family flew to Chicago yesterday for a day trip. The excuse was the temporary reunification of a recently married couple who, for work reasons, have to live apart for a while. The angels on board the plane were therefore my lovely wife, boy, and another wife (but not mine).

A regular reader may perk up at the above and ask … “lovely … boy? but don’t you usually complain?”. Yes, I usually do. I think I would still advise couples against kids, for the sake of their own sanity. But during yesterday’s trip, Eric behaved .. angelically. He was all smiles, all talk, all curious, and mostly asleep during the airborne portions. These five extra hours of sleep perhaps bore some relationship to his absolutely charming behavior yesterday.

The weather gods were as content as we get around here. Calm air, awesome visibility, friendly controllers, an airplane in good health, humming nicely for two and a half hours As usual, we got underway 30 minutes later than I had hoped, an angelic customs officer lady at Chicago Midway let us pass without more than a little frown. Attentive line crew and office folks at the Million Air FBO had a rental car ready, and off we went.

Traffic on the Saturday was light, except for a nearby train intersection with faulty lift-gates. We drove past the corpse of Meigs Field (thanks, “Richard M. Daley, mayor”), into the towering downtown. We met up the other half our reuniting couple, and after a few minutes, packed up for a walk by ourselves to leave them alone. This area was lively with a throng of people not unlike that by Toronto’s ferry docks. There were more black and spanish folks in the mix, which was nice to see.

After a few hours, we had to head back to the airport to return home. As in the morning, we got airborne significantly later than I planned, and suddenly it was in doubt whether we’d arrive in Toronto in time before the island airport’s nightly shutdown. Several american and canadian controllers let us shave minutes off the trip by zooming directly toward Hamilton. There, an amazingly quick customs turnaround was made possible by Canpass folks grudgingly issuing a clearance number by phone instead of a visit. Less then ten minutes after landing, we were back in the air, racing for home.

It turned out that the racing was absolutely necessary. We landed literally one minute before the tower controllers went home for the night (9:45 PM). Had any of the en-route controllers failed to be utmostly helpful in letting us cut corners, we would have had to land elsewhere in Toronto and hitch a ride home. But in every case, their ephemeral voices said “approved”, “cleared direct …”, “descent at your discretion” … “keep your speed up”, … “cleared to land”. We ran off the plane, packing it up only partly, to get onto the ferry and to drive home.

It was along day that could have been derailed at many points. Instead we made it, elated and exhausted.