Ripples

Here's another recent shot that illustrates the fascinating repeating patterns found in nature. It was taken from 33,000 feet over central Ohio. This cloud pattern extended as far as the eye could see -- probably 100 miles. It looks like wind-generated ripples on a sand dune, doesn't it? [Click photo to enlarge...]

Sun Dog

Some non-pilots have trouble believing me when I describe all the various interesting phenomena I get to see on a regular basis. One of them, the "Sun Dog," is formed by the sunlight refracting off the bright aluminum fuselage of the aircraft, and out onto whatever visible moisture is in the air. If the moisture takes the form of a thin, misty cloud, you might see a weak halo. If that moisture is a full-blown cloud, you sometimes get to see a bright aura around the aircraft's distinct shadow. Either way, it's called a Sun Dog. Here, you can see a good Sun Dog, along with our contrail shadow. What's really neat about this scene is that the bright corona that's reflected on the cloud indicates that we are sitting in the very front of the aircraft. Passengers in the back would see the corona centered more toward the back of the aircraft's shadow. Cool, huh?

Gone West: Robert L. Scott

Retired Brig. Gen. Robert L. Scott, the World War II P-40 ace who told of his exploits in the China-Burma-India theater in his book "God is My Co-Pilot," went west today at the age of 97.

I read a tattered paperback copy of "God Is My Co-Pilot" when I was ten. At that age, I thought that flying a P-40 in combat had to be one of the most exciting and intense things anybody could ever do. I still do.

Maybe it's time to read the book again -- not just because the author has left us, but because it truly is an interesting, inspiring story, and a reminder of how great the "greatest generation" was.

Cloud Streets

I'm fascinated by clouds, unusual meteorology, and the sky in general. I could live my entire life looking down on this beautiful planet, and I feel sorry for those who rarely, if ever, get to see it from aloft. A common theme in my ground-bound photography lately has been the discovery of repeating patterns, and I've even found this theme in clouds. A beautiful example is found in this photo of "cloud streets" along the Irish coast, which I took recently on a trip from Paris to San Francisco. [Click photo to enlarge...]

High Altitude Merge

I've been a little lax about writing lately. I'll write something substantial soon, but I've been in more of a photographic mood lately. In the mean time, I hope you've been enjoying my photo postings. Here's another of my favorite recent shots, a United Airlines 757. Approaching fast and pulling a nice, thick contrail, he's at a cruising altitude of 35,000 feet, going west. I'm at 34,000 feet, going east. I was fortunate to capture this photo, as our combined closure speed was over 1,000 miles per hour and the subject was less than a mile away.

Often, Air Traffic controllers will point out impending closures like this. They try to give the pilots of each airplane a "heads-up" a minute or more before the event. Thanks to today's super-accurate GPS and INS navigation systems, aircraft following established airways often cross each other's paths with little or no lateral offset, a fact that allows me to attempt to get photos like this quite often. In the "old days" of VOR-only radio navigation, such crossings were much more rare.

California Sunrise

Here's another nice scene, this time off the coast of California, looking back to the east, just after the sun begins to peek over the mountains. We're just south of Watsonville, California. I love the way the sunlight and the mountain shadows have colored the haze layer that settled in the valleys overnight, and the way little blobs of steam rise from various factories and industrial buildings. A light ocean breeze has kept the thicker clouds several miles inland. I imagine that people down there are just waking up, stretching, yawning, and looking out the window. My work day is 20 minutes from ending, with a smooth landing in San Francisco, followed by a mad dash to the hotel, where I'll pull the curtains closed and try to sleep while attempting to convince myself that I didn't just see the sun rise.

Phoggy Philly

When you think of thick fog flowing over downtown buildings, you usually think of San Francisco, but other cities sometimes get it, too. This is what Philadelphia looked like, early on a recent morning. The fog extended all the way out to Harrisburg! (Click to enlarge photo)