I was in my puny little, unmanly, takes-no-skill-to-fly JetRanger yesterday, departing the Destin, Florida aeropuerto for our hunting camp up in central Alabama. We were leaving way too close to sunset, thanks to my passenger being late (imagine that!). It had been one of those beautifully clear, warm, not-a-cloud-in-the-sky evenings...the days we use to justify and remind ourselves why we moved here to Florida. And now the sunset would be spectacular.
I was about to turn north, to go up the narrow corridor that is provided for general aviation traffic to transit the huge restricted areas surrounding Eglin Air Force Base. Just after making my departure call and lifting off, another guy reported in. "Destin traffic, Raven Three-One, a V-22, 10 east, transiting the area along the beach, 500 or below." This, I had to see. So instead of turning immediately northbound, I paralleled the beach eastbound a bit. Sure enough, there was the V-22, just offshore, scooting along with the nacelles at 45 degrees (or so). I've seen them fly many times, but never from the air, potentially this close.
I told him where I was and we called each other in sight. I couldn't resist. "How you liking that Osprey?" I asked. There was a pause. The pilot keyed the mic and paused again. "It's awesome," he said simply, his voice full of pride. And I smiled. "I'm sure it is," I said, pointing him out to my passenger as the tiltrotor flew by.
For all of the negative things I think about the V-22, for all of the things I could have said to him, none of that mattered right then. Politics aside, here was an U.S. Air Force pilot who was clearly loving what he was doing, loving the machine he was flying. From a pilot's standpoint, I kind of envied him. Not that I have any desire at all to fly the V-22, but I empathize with those who do. It must be super-cool to be able to hover, and then also be able to accelerate up to the speed of a turboprop fixed-wing and go somewhere.
I thought about this as I climbed to 4,500 feet and saw my groundspeed max out at 95 knots, 100 miles still to go. If I had a V-22 the trip would take me less than a half-hour instead of over an hour. And I'd get there while there still was some daylight left instead of after dark. Of course, I wouldn't be able to land the V-22 at our little helipad-in-the-woods at the hunting camp, but hey...we'd just figure something else out. "Have fun flying that thing," I mentally transmitted back to the V-22 pilot. I still don't think that the future of the Osprey is a guaranteed success, but it's sure got to be a blast to fly for the guys in the front seats.