Short Final

Short Final

Heard on Denver approach frequency

Approach: Great Lakes One Twenty Three, traffic six o'clock, two miles, 1000 feet above you, a 737.

Great Lakes: Approach, Great Lakes One Twentv-Three, if I told you I could see him, I'd be lyin'.

Approach: If you told me you could see him, you'd be my mother, 'cause you'd have eves in the back of your head.

Short Final

Overheard recently at BWI:

Baltimore Tower: Cirrus 123, your remarks section says you're an Indy fan.

Cirrus 123: Well, no not really, I'm originally from Baltimore, and you know how that story goes.

Baltimore Tower: You're a Ravens fan then?

Cirrus 123: No.

Baltimore Tower: Ah. A Colts fan, wherever they happen to be?

Cirrus 123: Yeah, that's a good way of putting it.

Short Final

Returning to Princeton, New Jersey in a Seminole, I was proudly clipping along at 140 knots and can only assume that my deep voice and professional-sounding tone led to us appearing to be more than we were:

Seminole Two Two Eight: "New York approach, Seminole Two Two Eight, 5,000."

Approach: "Seminole Two Two Eight, Morristown altimeter 30.08. Proceed direct Solberg, maintain 5,000. Were you given any speed restrictions? If so, you can resume normal speed."

Seminole Two Two Eight: "Direct Solberg, 5,000, Two Two Eight. And we're a Seminole. This is normal speed."

Short Final

Returning to Republic Airport in Farmingdale, N.Y., on New Year's Day, I heard the following exchange between the tower controller and the pilot of a Piper Arrow:
Arrow: "Republic tower, Arrow Three Four Five, eight miles north, inbound with India."
Tower: "Arrow Three Four Five, report right downwind Runway 32."
Arrow: "Any chance we can get a straight in?"
Tower: "You said you were north didn't you?"
Arrow: "Yes, seven miles north."
Tower: "Arrow Three Four Five, the only way I can give you a straight in for Runway 32 is if you turn north and continue for about 24,000 miles."
Arrow: (momentary silence) "Uh, okay, sorry, Happy New Year..."

Twas The Night Before Christmas — Aviation Style

Twas the night before Christmas, and out on the ramp,
Not an airplane was stirring, not even a Champ.
The aircraft were fastened to tiedowns with care,
In hopes that come morning, they all would be there.
The fuel trucks were nestled, all snug in their spots,
With gusts from two-forty at 39 knots.
I slumped at the fuel desk, now finally caught up,
And settled down comfortably, resting my butt.
When the radio lit up with noise and with chatter,
I turned up the scanner to see what was the matter.
A voice clearly heard over static and snow,
Called for clearance to land at the airport below.
He barked his transmission so lively and quick,
I'd have sworn that the call sign he used was "St. Nick".
I ran to the panel to turn up the lights,
The better to welcome this magical flight.
He called his position, no room for denial,
"St. Nicholas One, turnin' left onto final."
And what to my wondering eyes should appear,
But a Rutan-built sleigh, with eight Rotax Reindeer!
With vectors to final, down the glideslope he came,
As he passed all fixes, he called them by name:
"Now Ringo! Now Tolga! Now Trini and Bacun!
On Comet! On Cupid!" What pills was he takin'?
While controllers were sittin', and scratchin' their head,
They phoned to my office, and I heard it with dread,
The message they left was both urgent and dour:
"When Santa pulls in, have him please call the tower."
He landed like silk, with the sled runners sparking,
Then I heard "Left at Charlie," and "Taxi to parking."
He slowed to a taxi, turned off of three-oh
And stopped on the ramp with a "Ho, ho-ho-ho..."
He stepped out of the sleigh, but before he could talk,
I ran out to meet him with my best set of chocks.
His red helmet and goggles were covered with frost
And his beard was all blackened from Reindeer exhaust.
His breath smelled like peppermint, gone slightly stale,
And he puffed on a pipe, but he didn't inhale.
His cheeks were all rosy and jiggled like jelly,
His boots were as black as a cropduster's belly.
He was chubby and plump, in his suit of bright red,
And he asked me to "fill it, with hundred low-lead."
He came dashing in from the snow-covered pump,
I knew he was anxious for drainin' the sump.
I spoke not a word, but went straight to my work,
And I filled up the sleigh, but I spilled like a jerk.
He came out of the restroom, and sighed in relief,
Then he picked up a phone for a Flight Service brief.
And I thought as he silently scribed in his log,
These reindeer could land in an eighth-mile fog.
He completed his pre-flight, from the front to the rear,
Then he put on his headset, and I heard him yell, "Clear!"
And laying a finger on his push-to-talk,
He called up the tower for clearance and squawk.
"Take taxiway Charlie, the southbound direction,
Turn right three-two-zero at pilot's discretion"
He sped down the runway, the best of the best,
"Your traffic's a Grumman, inbound from the west."
Then I heard him proclaim, as he climbed through the night,
"Merry Christmas to all! I have traffic in sight."

Author unknown

Short Final

We were flying from Chatham, Massachusetts to Nantucket with flight following from Cape approach. The weather was marginal VFR with heavy haze and reasonably poor visibility when out of the mist we heard this on the air:

Cape approach: "Cessna Four Five Six, are you aware that you are heading toward a restricted area?"

Cessna: "No, I wasn't aware of a restricted area. What's in there?"

Cape approach: "It's some type of microwave installation."

Cessna: "Yup, I see a tower ahead."

Cape approach: "That's the tower I want you to miss. If you fly near that tower, it could ruin all your equipment, and you'll never have anv children."

Cessna: "Roger that. Turning now..."

Short Final

We were in our Seneca performing the pre-takeoff run-up at Orlando Executive Airport when we heard this exchange on ground control frequency:

Cessna: Orlando ground, Cessna Two Three Four, clear of the active.

Ground: Cessna Two Three Four, taxi to the ramp.

Cessna (still on ground frequency but thinking he'd switched to unicom 122.95): Executive Air...ah, this is Cessna Two Three Four...we're going to need some gas.

Ground: I've got plenty of gas, but I don't think it'll work very well in your airplane. Try Executive Air on 122.95.

Short Final

Overheard while flying practice approaches at Sioux City, Iowa:

Tower: "Skylane Eight Seven Charlie, cleared for the approach; caution, waterfall in the area."

Short silence, presumably while the Skylane pilot questioned passengers on the transmission.

Skylane: "Eight Seven Charlie, say again?"

Tower: "Skylane Eight Seven Charlie, cleared for the approach; caution, waterfall in the area."

Again, short silence.

Skylane: "Ah, cleared for the approach, but what do you mean by the waterfall caution?"

Tower: "Waterfall, you know: Ducks and geese...Waterfowl."

Short Final

Overheard in the vicinity of Buchanan tower in Concord, Calif.:

Cessna: "Buchanan tower, this is Cessna One Two Three, seven south of Buchanan, 2000 feet, request transit, northbound."
Tower: "Cessna One Two Three, transition approved. Report clear."
Half minute pause, and then: "Tower, this is Cessna One Two Three; where is Clear?"

Short Final

Returning to Princeton, N.J., in a Seminole, I was proudly clipping along at 140 knots and can only assume that my deep voice and professional-sounding tone led to us appearing to be more than we were:

Seminole: "New York approach, Seminole Two Two Eight, 5,000."

Approach: "Seminole Two Two Eight, Morristown altimeter 30.08. Proceed direct Solberg, maintain 5,000. Were you given any speed restrictions? If so, you can resume normal speed.

Seminole: "Direct Solberg, 5,000, Two Two Eight. And we're a Seminole. This is normal speed."

GNS-series navigators revolutionized air navigation.

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