This is a true account of a rookie 767 captain flying to Japan. The earthquake happened while he was en route:

I’m currently still in one piece, writing from my room in the Narita crew hotel.
It’s 8am. This is my inaugural trans-pacific trip as a brand new, recently
checked out, international 767 Captain and it has been interesting, to say the
least, so far. I’ve crossed the Atlantic three times so far so the ocean
crossing procedures were familiar.

By the way, stunning scenery flying over the Aleutian Islands. Everything was
going fine until 100 miles out from Tokyo and in the descent for arrival. The
first indication of any trouble was that Japan air traffic control started
putting everyone into holding patterns. At first we thought it was usual
congestion on arrival. Then we got a company data link message advising about
the earthquake, followed by another stating Narita airport was temporarily
closed for inspection and expected to open shortly (the company is always so
positive).

From our perspective things were obviously looking a little different. The
Japanese controller’s anxiety level seemed quite high and he said expect
“indefinite” holding time. No one would commit to a time frame on that so I got
my copilot and relief pilot busy looking at divert stations and our fuel
situation, which, after an ocean crossing is typically low.

It wasn’t long, maybe ten minutes, before the first pilots started requesting
diversions to other airports. Air Canada, American, United, etc. all reporting
minimal fuel situations. I still had enough fuel for 1.5 to 2.0 hours of
holding. Needless to say, the diverts started complicating the situation.

Japan air traffic control then announced Narita was closed indefinitely due to
damage. Planes immediately started requesting arrivals into Haneada, near Tokyo,
a half dozen JAL and western planes got clearance in that direction but then ATC
announced Haenada had just closed. Uh oh! Now instead of just holding, we all
had to start looking at more distant alternatives like Osaka, or Nagoya.

One bad thing about a large airliner is that you can’t just be-pop into any
little airport. We generally need lots of runway. With more planes piling in
from both east and west, all needing a place to land and several now fuel
critical ATC was getting over-whelmed. In the scramble, and without waiting for
my fuel to get critical, I got my flight a clearance to head for Nagoya, fuel
situation still okay. So far so good. A few minutes into heading that way, I was
“ordered” by ATC to reverse course. Nagoya was saturated with traffic and unable
to handle more planes (read- airport full). Ditto for Osaka.

With that statement, my situation went instantly from fuel okay, to fuel minimal
considering we might have to divert a much farther distance. Multiply my
situation by a dozen other aircraft all in the same boat, all making demands
requests and threats to ATC for clearances somewhere. Air Canada and then
someone else went to “emergency” fuel situation. Planes started to heading for
air force bases. The nearest to Tokyo was Yokoda AFB. I threw my hat in the ring
for that initially. The answer – Yokoda closed! no more space.

By now it was a three ring circus in the cockpit, my copilot on the radios, me
flying and making decisions and the relief copilot buried in the air charts
trying to figure out where to go that was within range while data link messages
were flying back and forth between us and company dispatch in Atlanta. I picked
Misawa AFB at the north end of Honshu island. We could get there with minimal
fuel remaining. ATC was happy to get rid of us so we cleared out of the
maelstrom of the Tokyo region. We heard ATC try to send planes toward Sendai, a
small regional airport on the coast which was later the one I think that got
flooded by a tsunami.

Atlanta dispatch then sent us a message asking if we could continue to Chitose
airport on the Island of Hokkaido, north of Honshu. Other Delta planes were
heading that way. More scrambling in the cockpit – check weather, check charts,
check fuel, okay. We could still make it and not be going into a fuel critical
situation … if we had no other fuel delays. As we approached Misawa we got
clearance to continue to Chitose. Critical decision thought process. Let’s see -
trying to help company – plane overflies perfectly good divert airport for one
farther away…wonder how that will look in the safety report, if anything goes
wrong.

Suddenly ATC comes up and gives us a vector to a fix well short of Chitose and
tells us to standby for holding instructions. Nightmare realized. Situation
rapidly deteriorating. After initially holding near Tokyo, starting a divert to
Nagoya, reversing course back to Tokyo then to re-diverting north toward Misawa,
all that happy fuel reserve that I had was vaporizing fast. My subsequent
conversation, paraphrased of course…., went something like this:

“Sapparo Control – Delta XX requesting immediate clearance direct to Chitose,
minimum fuel, unable hold.”

“Negative Ghost-Rider, the Pattern is full” <<< top gun quote <<<

“Sapparo Control – make that – Delta XX declaring emergency, low fuel,
proceeding direct Chitose”

“Roger Delta XX, understood, you are cleared direct to Chitose, contact Chitose
approach….etc….”

Enough was enough, I had decided to preempt actually running critically low on
fuel while in another indefinite holding pattern, especially after bypassing
Misawa, and played my last ace…declaring an emergency. The problem with that
is now I have a bit of company paperwork to do but what the heck.

As it was – landed Chitose, safe, with at least 30 minutes of fuel remaining
before reaching a “true” fuel emergency situation. That’s always a good feeling,
being safe. They taxied us off to some remote parking area where we shut down
and watched a half dozen or more other airplanes come streaming in. In the end,
Delta had two 747s, my 767 and another 767 and a 777 all on the ramp at Chitose.
We saw to American airlines planes, a United and two Air Canada as well. Not to
mention several extra Al Nippon and Japan Air Lines planes.

Post-script – 9 hours later, Japan air lines finally got around to getting a
boarding ladder to the plane where we were able to get off and clear customs. -
that however, is another interesting story.

By the way – while writing this – I have felt four additional tremors that shook
the hotel slightly – all in 45 minutes.

Cheers,

J.D.

I have been to North Bend many times, and every time I have wanted to climb to the top of Mt. Si, but it has never worked out. Finally, on Christmas Day, I just decided to do it. I learned pretty quickly that, with over 3,000 feet of elevation gain, this is more of a hike than a run! But well worth it, the top has an amazing view all the way to Seattle and the Puget Sound.

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I’ve wanted to do this run for a long time, but not so much that I was willing to do it alone, and for some strange reason I couldn’t find any volunteers. But finally I roped my neighbor Mark into it.

My wife drove us up to Timpanooke at 7 AM, it took almost half an hour to get there, so we were on the trail about 7:30. Below are the details and pics, if you’re interested in giving it a shot. Details of run and pics below.

It was perfect fall weather, the colors were amazing, and we both had a great time, although when we got to the gun range we both had absolutely no desire to run the final 3 miles home! With a total of 3,500 total feet of elevation gain, this is a serious run. But well worth doing at least once!

I’ve done a lot of hikes in my life, but this one is the best by far. I was amazed. My sons amazing Boy Scout leader, Rich Powell, lead this motley expedition. I could go on and on about it, but a picture’s worth a thousand words, so see for yourself!

If you want to do the hike, it’s tightly controlled, and restricted to only 80 hikers per day, and permits are hard to get. Contact the Back Country office at Zions National Park to get in the lottery- it’s worth the wait!

Just double click on the first pic to start the slide show, then the arrows on the bottom to advance. Enjoy!

[View with PicLens]

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I had heard that driving in the Philippines was just like India, which it’s not, but it’s sure not what a North American is used to! Check out the live action:

The Taj Mahal may be the most photographed building in the world. Every picture, from every angle, in every lighting, has already been taken, and I’ve seen many of them since I was little boy, yet when I walked through that North Gate for the first time and saw it with my own eyes it was as new and inspiring as if I’d never seen a picture of it before.

It’s big. It doesn’t seem that big because of the perfect proportions and layout, but when you get up close and see, for example, people at the bottom of the towers and realize they’re really tall, it was surprising to me.

And the decorations that look like paintings- aren’t. They’re all semi-precious stone inlays. Miles of them. And a lot of intricate carved marble pieces, many of which were hewn from single slabs about six feet long and laid in the walls, or used as lattice style fencing around the tombs.

It took three hours to get there, and four to get back, but was well worth it, if you’re ever in India…

The only hard part about finding a tour guide at the Taj Mahal is getting to India. The rest is easy. Show up in the Taj Mahal parking lot, and voila! A host of tour guides, book sellers, and other sundry and miscellaneous sales professionals show up before you can even open the car door.

We were careful in our choice. We went with the very first one who reached our car. He iced the deal by flashing a warn out piece of paper and saying, “I’m a real tour guide!” and hastily shoving it back in his pocket.

But we had been warned by people that went the week before that it was worth having a guide, even if all they did was help you “jump the queue, as the line just to get in was two hours long. He pointed that out to us as well, and reminded us the the Taj Mahal was closed on Friday’s, so Saturday is a very popular day, best to have a guide. My associate, Vimal, did the negotiating, and informed me it would only be 200 rupees (about four bucks) to show the three of us around (Vimal, his son Naman, and myself) so it seemed like a good idea.

When we got to the entrance, however, there was no line whatsoever. “There isn’t a queue today.” I said. “Not today.” He said. “This way please.” And he carried on like nothing had happened.

But luckily, he was worth his weight in gold. Salman (that’s his name, pronounced just like it looks) was a very cheerful and knowledgeable host. He lined us up on the correct bench to do the “I’m holding the Taj Mahal in my hand!” cheesy tourist thing, stopped us at many key points along the way to give us tidbits like, “Notice the eleven domes on the front and back of the North Gate. Twenty two in all. They represent the twenty two years it took to build the Taj Mahal.” And later, “See the fountains? There are fifty three of them. And sixteen gardens. This is because the Taj was finished in 1653…” and so on.

When we got to the place where everybody else is instructed to take off their shoes, he provided little white disposable booties so we didn’t have to walk in our socks. He told us all about the history, construction, materials, etc. “Notice the towers are leaning just slightly. This was future planning on the architects part. Each one leans away from the Taj just two degrees, in case they ever fall down, they won’t destroy the building…”

“Three days a month, during the full moon, you can come and visit the Taj at midnight, for extra money. Marble is transluscent, and the moonlight makes these flower inlays glow in a special way… I will show you an example at the end… ”

So, we completed a wonderful tour of the Taj Mahal. He was very patient while I took more than the average amount of pictures. Then he reminded us about the lighting example and lead us to a small shop just outside the gates, where he informed us that “Actual descendants of the original 20,000 workers still work marble here in Agra…” And he pointed out some craftsmen working marble in the street. “Come inside for the lighting demonstration.”

We were lead into the back of a shop, filled with small marble Taj Mahal replicas, marble boxes, t-shirts, and shawls. Here, our trusty tour guide became quiet as a mouse while his colleagues put the pitch to us. He started by showing us some inlaid marble, and shining a light behind it, so we could see how pretty the orange inlay looked in the light. He then went on to pitch us on his storefull of stuff.

But it wasn’t too painful, and Vimal actually did buy a small replica for Naman, after some hard negotiations. They wanted 1500 rupees for it, but Vimal offered 500. Intense negotiaions ensued. In the end, he shoved 600 rupees in the guys hand and took the replica. It wasn’t the first time I saw an item go for less than half of the original asking price while I was here!

Salman arranged an “Auto” for us, (short for “Auto-Rikshaw” a small three wheeled taxi) that took us back to the parking lot, where he asked if we were satisfied with the tour. I was, so I took out three hundred rupees instead of 200, and thinking he would be pleased with a 50% tip, handed him the cash.

“It’s 500.” Says he.

“You told Vimal it would be 200.” Says I.

“Oh.” Says he.

End of tour.

My son Josh, who’s eight, had just one request before I left for India. he wanted me to bring him back a rock. So imagine my happiness when, after completing a tour of the Taj Mahal, we ended up in a shop that had a wonderful variety of pretty rocks and semi-precious stones.

I was particularly taken with the “Star Of India” stone, that, when held under light, casts six very distinct rays of light. Perfect! I think to myself, He’ll love it!

“How much for this one?” I ask, pointing to a rock about three quarters of an inch across. But I knew instantly I was in trouble when he reached down and pulled up a scale, and replied, “It depends how many karats it is.” And he started weighing.

Now, I’m no rock expert, but I know what kinds of stones are measured by the karat- they’re called diamonds.

“Four thousand, six hundred and fifty rupees.” He says, and maintains a straight face. I do the mental math.

“That’s over a hundred dollars US.” I say. “One hundred and five.” He says back. Great.

“OK, look, I have an eight year old son at home who would like a rock from India, but I’m talking way less money here, what have you got?” So he pulls out a tiny version of the “Star Of India” rock and weighs it. “Thirty US.” He says. It’s smaller then the fingernail on my pinky.

I patiently explain that to my eight year old boy, this tiny little thirty dollar rock would probably be a disappointment. I ask him what he has that’s big, and less than five bucks. (The lifespan of a rock in my house if about a week.)

He pulls out a tray of polished rocks, picks one up and says, “I could do this one for twenty.” Now, where I’m from, we have vendors in pricy little tourist towns that have bins of polished rocks. You can fill a little velvet bag with as many as will fit for five bucks.

“That’s a polished rock.” I say, thinking it sums up the total thought process that went into the previous paragraph.

“No, it’s a semi-precious stone.” Maintains he.

“No, it’s a polished rock.” Restates me.

“No, it’s a semi-precious stone.” Says he, still with a straight face.

“What’s it called?” Asks I.

“Sandstone.”

I left the shop. If the conversation would have carried on any longer I may have inadvertently poked him in the eye. Disappointed, but undaunted, I found another shop, and explained exactly what I was looking for. The large, bearded man in white robes smiled and said he had exactly what I wanted. We went to the back of his shop, where he told me he was the wholesaler to all the other shops in Agra.

Trying to contain my excitement, I start looking through his tray of polished rocks, to find the perfect one for my son. “Are any of these unique to India?” I ask.

“Yes, all of them.” He smiled back at me. My enthusiasm dropped a tad, my skepticism rose, and I asked, “What’s this one?”

“Sandstone.”

OK, here we go, I think to myself. So I just tell him, “Look, at home we buy a whole bag of these things for five bucks. All I want is a nice stone for an eight year old boy, and the most I’m willing to spend is five dollars US, or two hundred twenty five rupees.”

“OK, how about this one, it’s only twenty…” he says.

“What have you got for five?” I ask. He rummages through, and pulls out all the rocks that I could have found myself if I had walked around outside for about ten minutes. My patience wearing thin, I pull out my wallet, grab a five hundred rupee note, pick up one of the “twenty dollar” stones, and say, confidently, “Two hundred and twenty five rupees.” Which I repeated three times, automatically, to whatever retort he gave me, each time shoving the note towards him dramatically.

He finally gave in, and, proud of my negotiating prowess, I walked out of the store with Josh’s rock, knowing full well that when my wife sees it she’ll say, “You spent five bucks on that? I can get a whole bag of those for five bucks…”

As you probably know, cows are sacred in India. So it’s probably not appropriate to use the word “beef,” as that’s more of a food related term. So I knew before I came that cows were sacred, but I never got the full implications of that until I got here. For example, it’s illegal to sell beef. That causes a big problem for McDonald’s, which does exist in India, but doesn’t serve hamburgers with beef, only chicken.

Cows own the road in India!

The “Holy Cow” issue also causes havoc on the roads, where cows wander aimlessly, and cause ulcers for the poor drivers, who otherwise drive like teenagers on acid playing a video game. Imagine, screaming down the road, passing bicycles, rikshaws, scooters and motorcycles with reckless abandon, then suddenly being stopped by a lethargic cow. Very inconvenient.