Special Post from Scott Mclean about his Snowbirds experience
HERE GOES!
I can say pretty confidently that flying with our Canadian Snowbirds is a once in a lifetime experience. Last Thursday was my “once.”
THE BACKSTORY
When I first met Denis Bandet he was a rookie Snowbird pilot, who just happened to be from Regina. Well, that’s not exactly true – the only reason I wanted to meet him was because he was from Regina. Bandet was already an experienced fighter pilot, and was now taking on the new challenge of joining the Snowbirds. That was the inspiration for the Global Regina series “Becoming Snowbird 6” that ran in the spring.
In that series we got a snapshot of “a day in the life” – or so I thought! While former Global photographer Rob Theoret and I were busy watching Bandet and his team scrutinize every minute movement down to the inch, we were missing a big part of the story. Oh sure, we were told about how physically fit these guys had to be – in fact I was even offered the chance to interview one of the flight surgeons at 15 Wing, but for whatever reason, it wasn’t sinking in. Maybe it’s because every day we were out shooting at the base I saw nine guys sit around a table, brief their flight, go flying, come back, debrief, eat lunch and then repeat – no huffing, no puffing.
Seven months after the final segment in our series was broadcast, it was finally my time to experience that x-factor – the part of the story that was tough to convey on the screen until you see an average human thrown into the mix. That’s my cue.
FLIGHT DAY
I arrived on base at 7:45 am. I got barely a few steps out of my car when I was greeted by “Olivier”, a twenty-something French-Canadian with a firm handshake. Olivier was the Public Affairs Officer’s number two. He took me through the hangar en route to his office where I got a fly-by reminder of the jet that would later take me high over the skies south of Moose Jaw.
In the office sat a pair of blue long johns, a navy turtleneck, an army green flight suit, a jacket, a pair of boots and what appeared to be a jackknife. Before I was left to change Olivier made sure I knew I had to wear the long johns and turtle neck, because in the event that there were some of sort fiery crash it would help protect my skin from burns. If that isn’t re-assuring, I don’t know what is!
Olivier took me to a room in one in the hangar that I had been to before. It’s where pilots get fitted for things like parachutes and helmets. I’m introduced to the woman who will train me on how to use the ejection seat and my parachute. “Burley” is stitched onto her green camouflage fatigues. First thing’s first, she gets me into a dummy ejection seat where I learn how to strap myself into the seat, and get the rundown on which clips and buckles go where, in which order and which make things not to touch because they’ll either make your parachute pop up or your seat blast off.
The thing I found most peculiar about the whole experience was they she were making dead sure that I knew and could repeat back exactly what they were teaching me – it wasn’t some mundane safety seminar you can sleep through at work. Trust me, I was listening – even though she told me about how she only knew 2 or 3 pilots who have ever had to eject while scores of others who fly daily have never had a reason to. Burley gets points for trying to put my mind at ease, but gets a failing grade in the actual “easing” department. “I always just think, if it’s my time to go, then it’s my time to go,” she told me.
CHECK-UP
I thanked Burley and she wished me luck as Olivier and I clunked over the the hospital – my boots were at least a size too big, or at least they felt that way because they were real clunkers. At the infirmary I filled out a handful of paperwork, denying that I had any sort of condition that would make me un-fit to fly. The one interesting thing that stuck with me from my visit was when the doctor told me that it would make my life a lot easier, and less sick in the plane if I only moved my head in one direction at a time – either side to side, or up and down, but no combinations of both.
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Oh and I also found out that you can’t fly if you weigh more than 209lbs – I guess that’s why TSN’s Chris Schultz couldn’t fly during football season. Schultz is an ex-CFLer and he’s huge.
LUNCH
I had lunch in the briefing room with Denis and Brett Parker who would be my pilot for the flight. They asked that I bring my own lunch, and I did – a Chicken caesar wrap with mushrooms. Mushrooms were a terrible idea – more on that later. I may have jinxed it when I jokingly asked, “What are the chances that I’ll see this lunch again?”
PRE-FLIGHT BRIEF
I’ve sat in on a few of these before; the general rundown of the meeting is to go over the weather, the plan for the practice and any other special considerations that need to be made. Most of the meeting I spent zoned out because the team uses some pretty heavy jargon that’s tough for the average person to understand. I did perk up however, when I heard Denis – who is the training officer this year – say “today we have a special guest with us”. I knew exactly where he was going with this, and I was bracing for the worst.
Now, for those who have clearly never watched Top Gun, pilots get call signs. Typically, these call signs are given out based on either a personality trait, or more often than not, an embarrassing story about the pilot. For instance, Denis’ call sign is ‘Yuri’, which stems from a training incident where he flew his plane straight up in the air, more akin to an astronaut than a pilot, hence Yuri, as in Gregarin. Brett, who would take me up that day, has the call sign ‘Oreo’. Although I know the back story of this call sign, I’m sworn to secrecy, so don’t ask. All that I can say is he got the name in Vegas. Enough said.
“Scott does not have a call sign, so we need to have a quick call sign review board,” Denis declared to the room. Now, I’ve heard of these said “review boards.” I wasn’t sure what I imagined them to look like and I guess now I know. I just remember “Crank” a graduating Snowbird who has moved on from the team after this year told me that he had other names that were considered, including, “piddle, puddle, water, etc.” Since I was only assuming the Snowbird role for one day, Denis had to do a little research on me beforehand. What better wealth of information than my own mother, whom he had met this summer during a show stop in my hometown of St. Thomas, Ontario.
Now, I understand that by writing this next paragraph, I run the risk of my friends and colleagues picking up on my new call-sign – but as a journalist, I feel like I’ve got an obligation to report facts, so here goes. “Mrs. McLean told me that Scott, up until he was 9 or 10, picked his nose a lot, so my proposal for his call sign is “booger.” The room tossed out a few more names for consideration like “snot” etc., but since the new boss, Wayne Mott was convinced my new call sing would be “Ralph” by the end of the flight the naming process was suspended until after the practice. This was just fine with me. Semi-public shaming is not exactly “my bag.”
ON THE TARMAC
Brett helped me get suited up into my parachute and had me walk out to the airplane with a technician about 10 minutes before everyone else. That’s because as he put it, if I didn’t have a head start “we’d be here all day.”
It’s funny how I could repeat everything Burley had taught me, and yet when it came time to actually strap in, I was clueless. Nevertheless, I got into the 9 thousand straps and buckles and then Brett did the same before making sure I was clear on the ejection seat worked. Here’s a guy who is one of the funniest humans I know, yet when he was explaining this I could see nothing but business on his face.
The thing about the ejection seat is that if I don’t pull it, no one does. If we were going down, Brett said I’d hear “Prepare to abandon aircraft” twice before “Eject, eject, eject.” I was supposed to go on Eject number 1, and he was supposed to go on 3. Even if I was confused and even if he wanted to, he can’t pull the handles that engage the ejection seat because they’ve got 60 lbs of resistance, and it would be nearly impossible for him to reach over and pull with a straight arm from that angle.
When I finally had my helmet on, mask on, oxygen connected and visors down, the canopy closed up, which felt surprisingly less claustrophobic than I thought it would. It’s glass though, so I suppose it’s tough to feel too confined.
FLIGHT
The first part of the flight was like sitting in the front seat of an Air Canada plane, except much smaller and with a lot more seatbelts. It wasn’t until we made an initial turn that I got a sense of just how fast we were going.
Since I was simply occupying a space on a practice flight, nothing out of the routine changed. On this day, the theme just happened to be loops, and so that’s literally what we did. The first one was okay, and Brett warned me when it was coming. “Alright Scottie, were going to pull a litte G here you ready?” I was great afterwards for the first few loops, and then I started to believe I had drank too much pop – first the burps until I realized I needed that “boarding pass” motion sickness bag after all. The mushrooms, made everything look terrible, and the pressure of G’s on my body made everything, most notable my head and arms feel very heavy, making the nausea even worse. What was worse was that I had to take off my oxygen mask, and even though I flicked the switch to start getting pure oxygen, it’s still not the same unless the mask is on your face, not dangling to the side. It also made me very light-headed, so I don’t think I was 100% with it.
The first half of the flight was great, the second half was a bit of a struggle. The neat thing though is that they kept flying. Brett checked in on me, but if I’m okay to keep puking, then they’re okay to keep flying. It didn’t matter that I was nauseous, its still a great view: an airplane on each wing, and one right in front of you. I always assumed that the spacing was a bit of a visual illusion, but it’s not. There was no lateral space between our nose and the plane in front’s tail pipe. He was just 4 feet above us – I could see all of the rivets and the diesel fuel burning to create the smoke in great detail. That’s what they call “4 foot spacing.” As Brett put it, anything wider, is just them “hanging out.”
LANDING GEAR
Back on the ground, I found out that a “Gravol pop” Denis had given me, was just a placebo that didn’t work. Clinical testing is not for you, Yuri, don’t quit your day job! I also found out that the “G” in booger had been softed to make me “boogé” – although I don’t think that made it any cooler. I felt nauseous for the rest of the day and into the next, but the experience was well worth a little motion sickness. And even though I’m still a bit crushed that my “Go Pro” camera that was mounted to the dash stopped working 20 minutes in, I can always take some form solace knowing that the memories and the stories are safely stored – seared perhaps – into my mind. Now I’m just excited to get grandkids, just so I can tell them all about it!
Thanks to everyone at 431 Squadron for helping to make it happen, I’ve gained not only a new appreciation for what the Snowbirds do, but for what the entire air force does.
Boogé out
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