More Amusing Flying Stories

Now, for this week’s flying stories…

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One nice morning, I was taxiing a DC-9 out for takeoff in Grand Rapids for a 20-minute hop over to Detroit Metro. A family of ducks was crossing the taxiway in front of me.

The mother duck was leading ten ducklings, all in a row. She had her head on a swivel—looking ahead, looking back at her brood, and I swear, looking directly at me.

I stopped the plane and set the parking brake.

I picked up the microphone to explain to our passengers why we were stopped on a taxiway and assured them that we would arrive on time in Detroit and they would all make their connections. I asked my First Officer to call the control tower to let them know why we were stopped and that we would continue our taxi shortly.

As I sat there chuckling, watching these baby ducks swagger across the taxiway in front of me, little wings flapping as they tried to keep up with Mom, the control tower called us demanding we continue our taxi.

I laughed and told the First Officer, “No! I’m not going to run over these ducks!”

And thus we waited until the family of ducks was clear, and we continued our taxi.

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Cargo flying produced an entirely different variety of strange experiences.

On one DC-8 cargo flight from Miami to South America, we were carrying a pallet of cardboard crates 3 inches tall, neatly stacked 6 feet high.

Humorously, the crates were filled with hundreds of chirping, yellow baby chicks.

Reaching cruise altitude, I stepped back to check on our “passengers.”

Somehow, one of the crates had broken open, allowing dozens of yellow chicks to escape. As soon as I opened the cockpit door, they darted into the cockpit.

I grabbed a box and, on my hands and knees, crawled through the cockpit catching baby chicks as the other pilots wholeheartedly laughed.

There are moments during an airline career when you look around and think, “They never covered this in flight school.”

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One nice afternoon, my First Officer was flying a DC-9 from Indianapolis to Detroit. Due to a race underway at the Indianapolis Motor Speedway, we were instructed to depart from a runway we didn’t normally use. We were then routed around the city and the Speedway, and finally we were winging our way on a heading for Detroit.

As we passed the Speedway and leveled off to accelerate to climb speed, I advised my First Officer I was “heads down” and picked up the flight plan to calculate the ETAs for waypoints along our route of flight.

A moment later, she abruptly stated, “Hey, there’s a bunch of birds!”

I glanced up to see hundreds of big black birds right in front of us.

I involuntarily ducked down below the dash, and then, with no small degree of trepidation, inched back up to take another look.

As my eyes focused and my brain interpreted what I was really seeing, I realized they weren’t birds at all, but rather hundreds of colored balloons that had obviously been released from the race track.

Faster than I can type this, we flew through them—there was no time for evasive action.

The engine instruments didn’t flicker, and everything remained normal. I advised air traffic control, and we proceeded to Detroit.

After landing, a number of passengers lightheartedly commented on the festive balloons that had whizzed by their windows at 300 mph. Kids were still excited.

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After flying internationally for five years, with a downturn in the economy, I was bumped back to flying domestic. I was flying into Reagan National Airport in Washington, D.C., strictly following my training: “Aviate, Navigate, Communicate.”

Flying the jet is the first priority. Navigating is the second priority. Communicating with air traffic control is the lowest priority.

Minding the jet, monitoring the routing, I went into default automatic mode as I keyed the mic to check in with approach control.

“National Approach, Northwest 423 is with you at 7,000.”

Minutes later on the Arrival, came a handoff to the next controller.

“National Approach, Northwest 423, 4,000.”

Five miles out, lined up for landing was the final handoff:

“National Tower, Northwest 423 on final for Runway 36.”

On the ground:

“National Ground, Northwest 423 clear of Runway 36, request taxi clearance to Gate 27.”

Each controller responded professionally, as expected.

I hung up the microphone and stayed vigilant to follow our taxi instructions.

After a few minutes of silence, the ground controller called us back:

“Solidarity, Northwest.”

I was confused.

Why did he say that?

Then it hit me.

I was using the old callsign for Reagan Airport. Instead of Reagan Approach, Reagan Tower, and Reagan Ground, I had called upon National Approach, National Tower, and National Ground.

We were in contract negotiations with Northwest management. It was an adversarial, difficult time as we were heading for a strike.

Reagan fired thousands of air traffic controllers when they went on strike.

I thought, “Oooooohhhhh… oops!”

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During that same timeframe, landing in Detroit, Approach Control advised us to check in with Detroit Metro Tower when we reached “Payed” intersection, named after a sports figure.

Arriving Payed intersection, I switched to Tower frequency and reported:

“Metro Tower, Northwest 316 is under Payed.”

The controller was laughing as he cleared us to land—and still laughing minutes later as he issued us taxi clearance to the gate.

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Something similar happened on my first flight into Dallas-Fort Worth International Airport after being away flying Europe.

I am from Dallas.

It was a beautiful Texas day. I was enjoying the excellent visibility and being able to see all the landmarks I grew up with.

On cue, I picked up the microphone and, spring-loaded:

“Metro Tower, Northwest 772 is on final for Runway 17R.”

In his best Southern drawl, the controller responded:

“Son, you are south of the Mason-Dixon Line now. Down here, we are DFW Tower.”

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Happy Labor Day Weekend!

Reward yourself, and come on by either Chateau Aeronautique Winery location— whether you come to dance, nod your head, or simply let us wine you and dine you, we look forward to seeing you!

Blue Skies,

Lorenzo