A Rare Set of Wings

First let me caption the random assortment of photos. First is a crew meal while in the jumpseat on a 757 from Newark to Los Angeles (THE JUMPSEAT...FROM NEWARK TO LA). It needed emphasis. Next we have assorted aerial shots of Monument Valley, Meteor Crater, an overly noisy shot of the sunset, and a screenshot from my flight simulator. This is a post with pictures that have nothing to do with the topic because I don't have any pictures addressing the topic at hand: female pilots, or as they should be called. . . pilots, ya sexist bastard. I have been with the airline for almost a year and a half and had not flown with a female captain until last week. The experience with this captain was like any other day of the week. We swapped stories of our nonrev adventures and shared our mandatory complaints about our schedules. But as she and I waited in Colorado Springs for our aircraft to arrive, another lady, perhaps in her mid 40s, approached us and commented on how nice it was to see a female pilot.

She then told us the story of her mom who was a pilot turned FAA examiner, but was turned away by the airlines decades earlier for the simple fact that she was a woman. It's a story that seems to be a general theme from that generation. The first female airline pilot was hired by Frontier in 1973. However, many of these "we don't hire women" stories continued on for years after that date. And if you look around the terminal these days, you would have to wait a while to see a woman in a pilot's uniform. It has gotten better, but fractionally so. Estimates vary, but the number of women in the United States with an ATP (an airline pilot certificate) numbers less than five percent.

That number is pretty staggering considering we live in a supposedly equal society (Spoiler alert: we don't). When that lady in Colorado Springs politely excused herself from the conversation, she looked at me and said, "Thanks for supporting women in aviation." I was literally speechless. I did not know how to respond because all I did was show up for work. It was the least amount of effort I could possibly do. I would like to do more, but I don't even know where to start. When I got home from the trip, I googled, "Why aren't there more female pilots?" and read numerous articles that really didn't have an answer.

There was an article in the USA Today that speculated it was because maternal instincts prevented women from pursuing a career that keeps them away from their family. I am calling pure shenanigans on that statement. One, it isn't based on fact, but when are facts important to Americans, right? I have far more time at home than I did when I had a 9-5 job. Granted it may not be on the weekends or holidays, but let's be honest -- I barely work, and when I do work, I spend the whole time complaining about how they're working us so hard. Yesterday, I flew for 45 minutes and was done. Last month I worked five days in a row and caught myself when I protested, "Five days in a row, who does this?!" Ok, so moot point USA Today, but maybe it's because people just make assumptions and don't do proper journalism. So, all I can conclude is that there aren't more women in aviation because society seems to think they are out of place there or see it as a novelty.

After parking at the gate back at LAX this evening, one of the flight attendants brought a young girl forward. The captain had already walked out to track down a wheelchair for one of the passengers, so I was in the flight deck alone when she shyly walked up. I said, "Have a seat, captain," and gave her a salute. Sidenote: I'm very awkward with children. She sat there for a while with her mouth open in awe and all I could think of saying was, "Lots of buttons, huh?" She just nodded without saying anything. When her parents eventually summoned her, she slowly slid out of the seat, grabbed her stuffed animal, and mustered a quiet, "Thank you" on her way out. One of the flight attendants poked her head in and whispered, "You don't know how much you just made that girl's day." I guess she was sad during the flight because she was too shy to go up to the flight deck while we were boarding earlier.

Now I don't know if this girl, who was maybe four, will grow up with an interest in aviation because of that moment. Realistically, she will want to be a frog next week, but I was kind of moved by the whole thing. It's a tragedy that in 2016, we are looking at 1 in 20 odds that either one of your pilots is a woman. I am determined to figure out why, so I'm channeling vintage Brian. Before I was flyin' Brian, I was filmin' Brian equipped with a camera and some editing software. I plan on making a documentary on this issue and seeing if I can learn anything. As someone who nerds out about airplanes, I cannot see why that young girl from tonight's flight would not consider pushing all those buttons some day.

Helena Montana: The Land That Time Forgot

Here's a quick snap of Missoula, Montana as seen during our climbout yesterday. You can see the "M" I climbed to in the lower left on the side of the mountain. As I've been had multiple Montana overnights this trip, I can start some comparisons. Missoula seemed vibrant, active, and up-and-coming. Then I landed in Helena last night and went for a walk this morning. It has a very different feel. It looked stuck in 1987.

I walked a little over a mile to the capitol building. The homes along the way were not very inviting looking. Rusty chain link fences formed perimeters around the yards. Bicycles and toys littered the yards, unchained without fear of being stolen. The landscape changed for about two or three blocks nearing the capitol, but the rest of the town had a very . . . depressed feel.

Sidenote: Look at the size of that sky! I've been told it's bigger here.


I got stuck behind a train at one point for a few minutes as it kept backing up and rolling forward, hooking up to more cars presumably. I wasn't sure if it was ever going to end. This town is just not very active. For all the time I was waiting there for the train, only two vehicles were waiting at the crossing with me. Montana is in interesting place, though. I picked up a local paper yesterday morning to read on the plane. It said more residents voted for Governor than for the President of the United States. Interesting. Apathy? Disillusioned? Who knows, but I think Helena is one of the two Americas the news keeps talking about, and it's not the one I have been living in.

It's a town that seems to have been forgotten in time. This is a picture from a neighborhood park. I remember playground equipment like this from my youth, but it was all scrapped, deemed hazardous, and replaced with fancier, plastic fortresses with ziplines and bouncy bridges. Not in Helena. And I wouldn't be surprised if some local just carried that slide from their yard over to the park when their kids became too old for it.

Almost a week after the election, I'm learning a little bit about the rest of the country. Infrastructure is definitely something Helena could benefit from, but I could see how a larger city like LA gets first pick since there are more people. I patiently await the day that LAX has a more efficient traffic flow or the ambitious Green Line metro extension, but in the meantime, how much does it cost for a seesaw?

Missoula: Where Everyone Says "Good Mornin'"

While I only had two flights yesterday, they were relatively long -- Boise to Minneapolis and reversing back to Missoula, Montana. For roughly two and a half hours, I weathered another tuna sandwich in the cockpit. Does the captain have a gallon zip-lock bag full of tuna salad? I don't understand. The conversation then turned to politics. Great. And then religion. You know -- normal topics of conversation with someone you barely know. I sat there silently looking out at the Tetons.

I had about an hour or so in MSP before heading to Montana, so I went for a walk down the terminal, looking at the youthful and green gazes of new hires preparing to fly little CRJ-200s to Minot or Duluth. I remember being one of those starry eyed FOs looking at those big shiny CRJ-900s parked at the C-gates and wondering if I'd ever get to fly them out of MSP. The answer was no. I had to get a transfer to LAX in order for this to happen. With a swagger of, "Yes, as a matter of fact, I did fly in on that," I grabbed some Chick-Fil-A and returned to the plane. A few hours later, we had touched down in Missoula.

The following morning, I woke up to explore the area. The hotel was very close to the University of Montana, so I explored. There is a switchback trail up to a giant "M" on the hillside, and I was feeling ambitious. There were numerous people out walking. Everyone was very friendly -- greeting me with a, "Good Mornin'!" and a smile. No politics, no tuna. It was a nice change of pace. Breathing somewhat labored, I finally reached the "M." It offered a good view of campus and of the entire town of Missoula. It all seems very quaint. I worked my way back down, which was much easier, and zig-zagged around the campus for a bit before returning to the hotel. I think I earned a trip to Chick-Fil-A once I get back to MSP today.






Today is going to be similar to yesterday in that I go east to come back west -- only overnighting in Helena instead of Missoula. I haven't really spent much time in Montana in my entire life, so this is all interesting to me. With any luck, the air will be smooth and the captain will have run out of tuna by now.

Seasons Exist!

Today I had my first reminder that not every place in America is 75 degrees and sunny. We landed in Boise, Idaho late last night. Unlike my previous overnight here back in March or so, we were put up in a hotel that is more centrally located by downtown. Just as before, I decided to go for a walk along the greenway multi-use trail down by the river. Most of the leaves had already changed color or died, but there were a few stragglers. Part of the path went by Boise State University, home of the fighting potatoes broncos. As a whole, the town seemed relatively quiet for a Saturday.

I continued along the trail until I reached my main destination -- a memorial dedicated to Anne Frank. Given the nature of the past week's events, it just seemed right.
I then zig-zagged through downtown Boise. There was a farmer's market, but it was all very niche. I couldn't think of any need for baking vanilla or candleholders made out of beer bottles. I was hoping for a t-shirt with a giant potato, but I ask for too much. I did walk past a place called Boise Fry Co. which prides itself on making dozens of variations of fries and dipping sauces, but I had a long walk ahead of me and didn't want to have a potty emergency.

I walked by the capital building and then back down to the greenway and the river to the hotel. I made a side trip through the breakfast room which was serving until noon and grabbed myself two more cinnamon rolls for lunch. mMMMmmmm. It is perhaps not the best lunch one could acquire, but it's better than bringing tuna salad into the cockpit. This is the second time in a month a captain has committed this unholiest of all crimes. Is nothing sacred anymore?