From The Editor:Humbled By A Hummingbird

By Jeff Berlin

Just outside my living room window, I’ve got this flowering tree with gatherings of yellow, buttercup-like trumpets capping its branches. I don’t know what the tree’s called, but the Anna’s hummingbird flitting from branch to branch sure had its number. Never, ever, in my life, have I seen such precision in flight. We humans are rank amateurs, I thought, as I watched this cute little fire-red and mallard-green hummingbird hover from cup to cup, feeding on what must be a heavenly nectar. The way it would crisply retreat from one bloom and perfectly spear another reminded me of the precision we pilots strive for when flying an instrument approach. It also reminded me of a military fighter pulling up to a tanker for a midair top-off, but we’ll talk military in a second. What applies right now, to you and me, is how this little hummingbird sets the bar for precision flying.

In instrument flying, which is really just using whatever instruments the plane is equipped with (glass or steam, doesn’t matter) to position the plane at a certain point in space at a certain time (usually at a certain speed), precision is paramount. Now with WAAS-enabled flight-management systems, we pilots have another feather in our quiver for flying more precisely, both en route and on approach. John Ruley’s article, “WAAS UP?!,” on page 62, gives us the lowdown on getting low with WAAS. And I’ll tell you what, though I’ll never even approach the fancy flying of that cute and sprightly little hummingbird, I can always dream, and fly by WAAS—then, at least ATC will think I’m a pretty fancy flier.

The other day, Michael Dorn, who played the Klingon Worf in Star Trek: The Next Generation, and I flew to an airport north of the L.A. Basin to get out of the city and grab a bite. I had the Continental warp reactor in the Cirrus SR22 putting out max power, and we were averaging warp factor 185 over the ground. Michael loves speed, and though the ’22 is surely impressive for a piston single, the military iron that Michael has become accustomed to flying scoot along at speeds more akin to the Enterprise than the Cirrus. Michael wanted to see what the Cirrus could do. We were already doing it. “Aye Laddie, I’m pushing her as hard as I can, Captain. She can’t take any more,” I said in my best attempt at a Scottish brogue. A Klingon can be very persuasive, believe me, and once we arrived at the restaurant on the field at San Luis Obispo, I was relieved that the menu listed no Klingon dishes; I’m not a big fan of Durani lizard skins.