Decision Height to be published!

I have just signed a contract to publish "Decision Height" under the tentative title, "Faith is the Hunter: A Pilot's Flight Through the Literary Skies of Ernest Gann." I'm excited to be working again with Wordcrafts Press, who published my 2022 novel, "The Restless Earth." Release Date is May 1, 2025. 

The new book will be a memoir of my 25 years with United, but it's be a memoir with a new slant on Ernest Gann's "whims of fate." It contains much material from the Decision Height blog as well as new writing. Here is the introduction page:

 

WHAT THIS IS ABOUT

 Pondering the loss of over 100 of his friends and acquaintances to aircraft accidents, best-selling novelist and pioneer airline pilot, Ernest Gann felt compelled to explore the power of “luck,” or the lack of it, in their deaths and in his own life. Ruminating in his 1978 autobiography, A Hostage to Fortune, he wrote, “Luck had obviously been in control, and the exploration of its power became the underlying theme of this [his] book. I called it Fate is the Hunter and had no idea it would become a classic in the aviation world if only because there had never been a similar treatment of the subject.” Nearly 75 years since its first publication, Fate is the Hunter continues to sell and still sits reverently in the most exalted spot on the bookshelves of countless aviators. 

Like Gann I struggle with the words luck and fate. They’re untamed, intemperate words that smack of chaos and hopelessness. Yet, as a professional pilot and a Christian, I’m assailed by them again and again. They lurk in the recesses of my consciousness, grinning, nodding, winking at every turn of peril or graciousness that has come my way. “Told ya,” they say. “We’re in charge here. Next time it might go the other way for you.”

Luck and fate are words that are so ingrained in the culture of aviation I can’t shake them. My Bible doesn’t mention luck but speaks of fate as certain physical death for all. The optimists among us say there is a reason for everything—that nothing happens by chance. A very successful businessman once told me luck was hereditary. My high school coach told me a man makes his own luck, which seems to be the prevailing creed.

But if that's so, then what of the two pilots who collided in mid-air? One made it home. One didn’t. Did the one who died not work hard enough to secure his luck? And good luck was visited upon other one due to his hard work? What was the reason? I’m a simple man. These things are for philosophers and theologians. When I try to read them my head swims. I also happen to be the “other one.”

In my 25 years of airline flying, and more in military metal and sport planes, Fate is the Hunter has been my constant companion, and to a lesser extent the works of Richard Bach and Antoine de Saint-Exupéry. I ponder these preeminent writers mostly on the long, quiet, night flights, which are the times in which they did their best thinking and subsequently their best writing. What intrigues me the most about them is their seeming trust in those mystifying words, fate, luck, fortune, and destiny. I’m not sure if Gann and the others have the answers right, or if they have answers at all. But they dare ask the questions. I can only be content to fly in their wake while pondering my own place, fate, and fortune in God’s grand scheme. This account is my journey with them.

 

As I look back on the years that I was actively posting to Decision Height--and enjoying it much--I now see there was more of a reason for it than my enjoyment. It was the groundwork for the most important writing project I have ever undertaken. I greatly look forward to sharing these new perspectives with my Decision Height followers. 

Stay tuned.

 

Greetings Decision Height followers, if I have any left after these past several years. I want to let you know I have a new book out, a novel published by Wordcrafts Press and available in hard cover, paperback and e-book from all the major online outlets. See the link below.

The book Decision Height is nearly finished and I expect to be searching for a publisher (if not the same one) by summer's end. The book will contain much new material as well as the best of the blog.

I really enjoyed posting to Decision Height almost on a weekly basis, and I wish I could have continued it, but after retiring I found it difficult to continue relating to that former life pushing heavy aluminum through the flight levels. 

Thank you all. More later.

Alan

Go to alancockrell.net and click on "NEW" 

Or click here: Alan Cockrell

Mongoose V

The long holding pattern over Lake Winnebago turned into an hour, and still there was no word from OSH tower as to when we would be allowed to land. Guys began to complain about running low on fuel. Mongoose ordered a fuel check. Each of the 12 aircraft reported how much time he had left till “Bingo.”

“Bingo” is the call you make when you are down to enough fuel to fly to your airport and land with 30 minutes left. But in our case, we didn’t know yet whether our airport was the one we could see 10 miles away (Oshkosh) or some other airport a greater distance away. Prudence dictated that our Bingo call be based on another airport.

A discussion developed between a few aircraft on where to go. In the briefing Mongoose had said that Fond du Lac (FLD), 20 miles south was the best alternate. FLD was an over-flow airfield for Oshkosh. 

But now we realized that with OSH being closed, many more aircraft inbound to OSH would divert to FLD. Thus FLD might be saturated. A 12-plane formation showing up there with no notice to the tower could produce a nasty situation. 

Appleton airport and Sheboygan were suggested, and Appleton was settled upon as the Bingo airfield. Mongoose had the seriously hectic job of mitigating this radio discussion, while leading the formation, while monitoring OSH tower with his other radio.

Aircraft were in different fuel states. Some had taken off with less than full tanks. Some planes had more fuel capacity than others. Mongoose identified the guys who were in the most serious trouble and those who had at least 30 minutes before Bingo. Then one guy said, “I’ve got five minutes to Bingo!” Mongoose told him the tower was about to open the airfield again. He called for all of us to switch to OSH tower frequency.

All 12 of us checked in on tower frequency. The tower controller was talking to some vehicles on the ground and some other aircraft. He told Mongoose that we could land in five minutes. Mongoose told the flight leaders to go into echelon and prepare for a 360 degree overhead pattern. The tower controller said, “NO! NO OVERHEADS, PERIOD! WE ARE TOO BUSY FOR THAT!”

Mongoose said, “Okay, but that’s the quickest way we can get these planes on the ground.”

The tower said, “I don’t care how you do it, but no overheads!”

This was highly unusual, as overheads are commonly used for arriving warbirds at AirVenture. Now Mongoose had a serious problem on his hands. There is no efficient and reasonably safe way to spread 12 planes out in a long string so as to land one at a time, and do it in radio silence and without pre-briefing it.

Mongoose began issuing instructions to us as to what he wanted us to do. The tower controller turned even more irate. “RED STAR FLIGHT I NEED THIS FREQUENCY. QUIT TALKING ON IT!”

Mongoose was ‘once a fighter pilot’ (as the saying goes) and these were fightin’ words. I could imagine his face flashing through shades of rubicund. He stepped up his voice. “TOWER, I’VE GOT TO CONFIGURE MY FLIGHT FOR SINGLE SHIP STRAIGHT-IN APPROACHES. THERE ARE NO HAND SIGNALS FOR THAT!’

Tower: “I DON’T CARE HOW YOU DO IT, JUST DON’T BOTHER ME RIGHT NOW! YOU’RE ALL CLEARED TO LAND RUNWAY 27.”

Mongoose wisely backed-down and issued one quick order. "Take spacing for straight-ins." We all knew what he meant, but many details were necessarily left out. We would have to use our own judgement.

Somehow the flight managed to string its self out and turn toward the airport. The second group of six was still in front of us, so I got a good view of Mongoose in front of me and the six in front of him. Since we never briefed this possibility (And why? Who could have anticipated that the tower would not cooperate?) our intervals ranged from a couple hundred feet to a quarter mile. It was a FUBAR affair if I’ve ever seen one.

With our leader in the middle instead of out front where he should be and wanted to be, we must have looked like a ragged bunch coming in at so many different intervals. And, without pre-briefed guidance, guys flew at different airspeeds and began throwing out their gear at all different points along the approach. This of course created even more problems as portions of the line inevitably bunched-up. 

Some started S-Turning to keep their spacing from getting too close. S-Turning is a good way to increase your spacing between you and an airplane in front of you, but it can create a dangerous situation because you tend to get slow, your bank angle increases, and thus so does your stall speed. This is why S-Turns are prohibited on the normal arrival route into AirVenture.  

We had no choice but to do it, and the tower didn’t care—he probably was too busy with whatever else was demanding his attention. (Runways 35 left and right were still closed due to the accident.)

I put my gear down and checked for three green and pressure. I looked ahead and checked Mongoose’s gear. It was down. Then I looked at the guy in front of him, who was nearing the runway.

His was up.

Recall from the previous post, this was the guy who got too far out, lost sight and broke out. We thought he had crashed into the water. I was about to press my mic button to warn him when I heard Mongoose warn him.

When a guy is about to land gear up, you don’t take that extra second or two to remember his call sign, you just yell the first warning that comes to your mind, and you yell it loud. “CHECK GEAR! CHECK GEAR! CHECK GEAR!” Mongoose yelled. Of course everybody in the flight instinctively checked their gear, including the guy who needed to hear it. It was then that I saw him commit his third mistake of the day. Instead of powering up and going around—as he should have—he put his gear down very close to the runway, from my perspective, and landed.

We all got down safely and taxied back to our spots. I shut down and looked over at Mongoose. He looked back and shook his head like a resigned tutor over a hopeless pupil.

Back at the warbird tent the debriefing was heated and long. Accusations flew. Fingers pointed. A guy sitting behind me told me, “Why did you throw your gear out so soon? I almost ran up your ass!”

I turned to him. “To keep from running up the ass of the guy in front of me!”

Mongoose told everybody to calm down. He pointed at the guy who almost landed gear-up and grinned. “Dude, you owe me big!”

Embarrassed, the guy tried to smile. “You’re right, Rich. I’ll buy you beer the rest of your life.”

Then Mongoose turned somber and reviewed the proper break-out procedure when you lose sight. That was Mongoose’s way. He always criticized with constructive instruction. He never condemned or scolded.

Finally, the debriefing cooled down and ended. I rejoined my friends from my old pilot training class, who were standing at the door of the tent and listening. I spent the rest of the day with them walking around the grounds, looking at planes and watching the airshows. We did a lot of ruminating about old times. We would stop at a plane, tell an old story, laugh and go on.

Despite the botched formation I enjoyed myself that day as much as any in my life. And it was only Day 1 at Oshkosh.

 

Taxi out and run-up

Mongoose IV

I realize that writing a story in installments, as I’m doing, loses readers when I wait so long between posts. Apologies and promises to be more prompt. Here’s the continuation of Mongoose.

Twelve pilots took their seats for the briefing. Most of them had back-seat riders sitting in. Backseaters are not allowed in official airshow events, but since the show did not formally begin until 1pm we were allowed to take them. Mongoose would lead the flight on the annual veteran’s hospital memorial fly-over. He broke the group into two flights of six aircraft. He would lead at the point of the first six. I was number two on his wing. Alabama Girl’s owner, Mike, would go in my back seat. My friend Dave from Tucson would ride with Mongoose. The briefing lasted half an hour and then we went to mount up.

As I was strapping in, something happened that was damned near a déjà vu experience for me. A golf cart bearing a couple of AirVenture workers stopped and they yelled up to me. “Stand down. The airport is closed. We’ve had a crash.” I looked around and saw the other pilots dismounting.

I immediately remembered that day years ago at an airshow near Birmingham. We were mounting up for the opening fly-over—eight ships, with Mongoose leading. I was about to put on my helmet when I happened to look to my right just in time to see a departing Bonanza roll abruptly left and nose into the ground. I yelled to Mongoose who was mounting up that I had just seen a crash. We all dismounted and took our van to the air boss’ stage. He verified what I saw.

The Bonanza was one of several planes that had been flying passengers on short hops all morning. The passengers paid a small fee that went to a charity. The Bonanza pilot was trying to get in one last flight before the airshow started. Later, we learned he ran out of fuel. He kept his nose too high, his airspeed bled quickly and he stalled. He and his passengers—a dad and a youngster—were killed. The wife and mother saw it all.

The vision of the Bonanza going down has joined a sinister repertoire in my memories that replay from time to time, and I suppose I will never be rid of them. I was glad I didn’t see the crash at Oshkosh. A “Breezy” had crashed on runway 36R. Later we would learn it was fatal for its pilot, who inexplicably lost control while landing. This seems to be a common scenario at AirVenture. Pilots get so distracted by the world showcase airshow and all its glitter and busyness and forget to control their airspeed.

If you’ve seen a Breezy you know that there is no protection

Breezy

for the pilot in an impact because there is no cockpit. I once flew one. I was sitting far out on the front end of a long boom with only a few instruments clustered in front of me. The engine is a “pusher” mounted aft of the tandem seats. Even though I was strapped in, I was so scared to bank the plane I tended to skid it around turns with rudder. That very plane crashed a couple of years later killing its owner.

An hour later Oshkosh’s east-west parallel runways opened. 36R remained closed for the accident investigation. We mounted up. Taxiing out, we took the 12 Yaks and Nanchangs down “fighter row” with jets of many ages and makes parked just a few feet on either side of our wingtips. I thought a brake failure here would do some expensive damage to those parked jets. I watched my air pressure very closely.

We took off into a gloriously blue sky, joined up and headed northwest to the VA hospital complex. We made two passes over it with smoke. In the briefing we were told to look good because the fly-overs would be telecast throughout the hospital. After the fly-overs there would be no time for further play because the delay was pushing us against airshow time. Mongoose headed for home plate. Ten miles out we switched to tower frequency and got more bad news. Oshkosh airport was once again closed.

The tower was not clear in telling us why. Whether it had to do with the previous accident or a new one, we didn’t know, but I suspected something new had happened. Mongoose took us overhead the field and out over Lake Winnebago to wait out the closure.

The wait was too long. We burned deeply into our fuel circling the lake. Guys got tired and butt-sore. We were all in loose formation to minimize the fatigue. Mongoose called the tower about every ten minutes to get an update. Each time the tower told us he had no information. Each time the conversation between Mongoose and the tower got testier. It was clear that the frustration in both our leader and the tower was building.

After a few circuits my flight—the one Mongoose was leading—lapped the flight behind us and settled in behind them. Most of us had spread out a few hundred feet, but one guy in the flight out front was out about a quarter mile. This irked me because I had to constantly keep turning my head away from my leader in order to keep the roamer in sight. A guy who strayed that far out is liable to do anything—he bears watching.

As time and our fuel burned on I became more peeved at that guy and even at his flight leader for not ordering him back in. I tried to remember who he was. He might be that new guy who showed up. He was relatively young, and the questions he asked in the briefing revealed his newness to formation operations. Suddenly Mike yelled, from the back seat, “WHAT THE HELL IS HE DOING?”

I looked back toward the guy. His plane was in a steep bank away from the formation diving toward the water. I saw him get smaller and smaller, then disappear. Someone else in the formation told the front six leader that his number six had gone down.

A few long seconds later number Six came up on the radio, flustered. He had lost sight of the flight and broken out. We all knew he lost sight because he was too damned far out. Furthermore his breakout procedures were non-standard and dangerous. His flight lead coached him back in and told him to stay closer.

I took in a deep breath, shifted uncomfortably in my seat and told Mike, “I think we are in for a very interesting and hot de-briefing.”

But before our wheels touched terra firma—wherever that might be—more fit would hit the proverbial shan. Stay tuned.

Me in front and Mike in back of Alabama Girl, smoking up the Wisconsin skyscape.

Photo taken by Dave in Mongoose's back seat over the VA hospital.