Years ago on a prop plane flight over the West Coast, I could see the analog altimeter through the opened curtains of the cockpit. Yes, it was a time before we needed un-breachable steel doors to protect pilots from terrorists. On this short flight, the pilots never closed the drapes behind them, and because the plane was so small, I sat with the same view the pilots had.
Anyway, as we approached our destination, I could see the altimeter spin backwards like a dial on the time machine in the eponymous 2002 film. We hadn’t flown much higher than 17,000 feet on the way from Medford to Portland, so I could also generally gauge the descent by my approximate knowledge of the elevations of Cascade volcanoes outside my window. During the descent the rapidly spinning hands on the altimeter revealed in numbers how rapidly we approached the ground. As we neared the airport, I grew curious about the accuracy of the instrument. I wondered how the pilots compensated for variations in air pressure. Surely, that parameter has to come into play. My own pocket altimeter works on the principle that ties altitude to pressure. I had used that instrument to demonstrate the relationship between the air and topography to college students during single-day drives from the Outer Banks to Mt. Mitchell in North Carolina. But I always assumed that my own calibrations might produce a small error, even when I used a United States Geological Survey benchmark at some starting site. What if, I wondered, the pilots’ altimeter is off by ten feet? Were we in for a hard landing or a touchdown at the end of the runway?
In fact, the altimeter in my view did not read “O” when we touched down. It had gone below that elevation right before touchdown. I reasoned—falsely—the worst. “We’re going to land short of the runway.” But, no, as my writing this reveals years later, the pilots landed smoothly.
Obviously, in addition to doors that prevent a passenger from seeing the altimeter, pilots now have access to both analog and digital readouts for altitude. GPS has made a difference and reliable radio altimeters are the instrument of choice. Airlines use the latter for pinpoint accuracy. However, the reliability of even those instruments is potentially affected by other radio signals, particularly, it seems, by those associated with 5G’s C-Band which, in the United States, is stronger in rural areas. Thus, some airlines have halted flights into certain airports. The UAE’s airline, for example, flies Boeing 777s, planes with altimeters that might be affected by 5G. The airline has as of this writing temporarily halted flights to certain US airports.
The altimeter problem got me to thinking about the altitude of emotions and how we use the common expression of “letting someone down easily.” It’s a Lifetime movie problem, I guess. It’s a sitcom problem, also, as the characters of Seinfeld indicate during frequent breakups with the line “It’s not you; it’s me.” And of course, there’s the “crash and burn” image of a breakup gone bad, the kind of sudden dissolution of a relationship that teenagers might, and probably often, experience. In the extreme, such “crashes” result in Fatal Attraction obsessions.
Then, of course, there are those circumstances other than love relationships where the altimeter isn’t accurate. They all center on unfulfilled expectations, such the failure of a child of promise, the would-be novelist, the team eliminated in the first playoff game, and an indefinite number of other such scenarios of “being in the clouds” and then landing harshly or even crashing.
Knowing altitude is essential to pilots and passengers, but flying isn’t the only time we need to know the distance to a soft and safe landing. Each of us needs to have a reliable altimeter, especially during flights of hubris.
Anyway, as we approached our destination, I could see the altimeter spin backwards like a dial on the time machine in the eponymous 2002 film. We hadn’t flown much higher than 17,000 feet on the way from Medford to Portland, so I could also generally gauge the descent by my approximate knowledge of the elevations of Cascade volcanoes outside my window. During the descent the rapidly spinning hands on the altimeter revealed in numbers how rapidly we approached the ground. As we neared the airport, I grew curious about the accuracy of the instrument. I wondered how the pilots compensated for variations in air pressure. Surely, that parameter has to come into play. My own pocket altimeter works on the principle that ties altitude to pressure. I had used that instrument to demonstrate the relationship between the air and topography to college students during single-day drives from the Outer Banks to Mt. Mitchell in North Carolina. But I always assumed that my own calibrations might produce a small error, even when I used a United States Geological Survey benchmark at some starting site. What if, I wondered, the pilots’ altimeter is off by ten feet? Were we in for a hard landing or a touchdown at the end of the runway?
In fact, the altimeter in my view did not read “O” when we touched down. It had gone below that elevation right before touchdown. I reasoned—falsely—the worst. “We’re going to land short of the runway.” But, no, as my writing this reveals years later, the pilots landed smoothly.
Obviously, in addition to doors that prevent a passenger from seeing the altimeter, pilots now have access to both analog and digital readouts for altitude. GPS has made a difference and reliable radio altimeters are the instrument of choice. Airlines use the latter for pinpoint accuracy. However, the reliability of even those instruments is potentially affected by other radio signals, particularly, it seems, by those associated with 5G’s C-Band which, in the United States, is stronger in rural areas. Thus, some airlines have halted flights into certain airports. The UAE’s airline, for example, flies Boeing 777s, planes with altimeters that might be affected by 5G. The airline has as of this writing temporarily halted flights to certain US airports.
The altimeter problem got me to thinking about the altitude of emotions and how we use the common expression of “letting someone down easily.” It’s a Lifetime movie problem, I guess. It’s a sitcom problem, also, as the characters of Seinfeld indicate during frequent breakups with the line “It’s not you; it’s me.” And of course, there’s the “crash and burn” image of a breakup gone bad, the kind of sudden dissolution of a relationship that teenagers might, and probably often, experience. In the extreme, such “crashes” result in Fatal Attraction obsessions.
Then, of course, there are those circumstances other than love relationships where the altimeter isn’t accurate. They all center on unfulfilled expectations, such the failure of a child of promise, the would-be novelist, the team eliminated in the first playoff game, and an indefinite number of other such scenarios of “being in the clouds” and then landing harshly or even crashing.
Knowing altitude is essential to pilots and passengers, but flying isn’t the only time we need to know the distance to a soft and safe landing. Each of us needs to have a reliable altimeter, especially during flights of hubris.
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