Flying for a Living
Last month, a jetliner overshot its destination by 150 miles with 144 passengers on board. As flight 188 cruised at an altitude of 37,000ft, its two pilots said that they simply "lost track of time". The official story was that they were distracted during an extended discussion of crew scheduling – for over an hour!!!
And I thought I’d heard it all. As far as I’m concerned this lame excuse ranks up there with, "the dog ate my homework". I heard someone on the radio say that today’s planes all but fly themselves so there’s no need for human intervention 90% of the time, so I can well believe that the two pilots were deep in some activity other than fiddling with the dials: knitting perhaps? The trip from San Diego to Minneapolis may have been like the journey a 46a bus takes from Dun Laoghaire to Dublin City Centre: repetitive and generally uneventful, but I do like my driver to keep his mind on the job 100% of the time. Of course, they could have been writing a novel, a block-busting tale of scandal and intrigue in the skies.
Antoine de Saint-Exupéry was a young Frenchman who had two passions: flying and writing and he excelled at both (I’m sure he didn’t try to do both at the same time, mind you). He wrote novels that were full of perilous adventure and aviation. In 1935 he crashed in the Libyan Sahara desert along with his navigator as they were attempting to fly from Paris to Saigon for prize money of 150,000 francs. They were found after four days by a Bedouin on a camel, dehydrated and hallucinating; he drew on this experience to write his fable for adults, The Little Prince.
In 1944, on Saint-Exupéry’s final wartime assignment for Air France, he was shot down over the Mediterranean. An unidentified body was found several days later, presumed but never verified beyond doubt, to be that of the pilot and author, Antoine de Saint-Exupéry.
Our two pilots from Northwest Airlines may well be fired from their jobs, pending a thorough investigation. I don’t wish them any harm but I would like to think that next time I’m soaring through the clouds in a glorified tin can, my safety is uppermost in the minds of my assigned pilots. After all, I have a novel in me yet bursting to get out and land on a page near you!
And I thought I’d heard it all. As far as I’m concerned this lame excuse ranks up there with, "the dog ate my homework". I heard someone on the radio say that today’s planes all but fly themselves so there’s no need for human intervention 90% of the time, so I can well believe that the two pilots were deep in some activity other than fiddling with the dials: knitting perhaps? The trip from San Diego to Minneapolis may have been like the journey a 46a bus takes from Dun Laoghaire to Dublin City Centre: repetitive and generally uneventful, but I do like my driver to keep his mind on the job 100% of the time. Of course, they could have been writing a novel, a block-busting tale of scandal and intrigue in the skies.
Antoine de Saint-Exupéry was a young Frenchman who had two passions: flying and writing and he excelled at both (I’m sure he didn’t try to do both at the same time, mind you). He wrote novels that were full of perilous adventure and aviation. In 1935 he crashed in the Libyan Sahara desert along with his navigator as they were attempting to fly from Paris to Saigon for prize money of 150,000 francs. They were found after four days by a Bedouin on a camel, dehydrated and hallucinating; he drew on this experience to write his fable for adults, The Little Prince. In 1944, on Saint-Exupéry’s final wartime assignment for Air France, he was shot down over the Mediterranean. An unidentified body was found several days later, presumed but never verified beyond doubt, to be that of the pilot and author, Antoine de Saint-Exupéry.
Our two pilots from Northwest Airlines may well be fired from their jobs, pending a thorough investigation. I don’t wish them any harm but I would like to think that next time I’m soaring through the clouds in a glorified tin can, my safety is uppermost in the minds of my assigned pilots. After all, I have a novel in me yet bursting to get out and land on a page near you!
Labels: Antoine de Saint-Exupéry, flying, The Little Prince
