As we see from time to time, some hoped-for Celebrations of Life end up not happening, especially when the departed is elderly with few remaining family and friends. Such is not the case for Zach Junkin, Mayor Marvin Junkin’s son, who passed away suddenly at 38 of still undetermined causes just six weeks ago, leaving behind so many who grieve the loss of their friend, husband, father, nephew, sibling, and son. This Saturday, Sept. 30, the Junkin family is holding Zach’s Celebration of Life at the MCC, starting at 6 PM and running until midnight. If you have a moment, stop by and share your stories with others who knew and loved the man.
Welcome aboard, sailor: It’s hard not to indulge in shipwreck metaphors for the demise of Metroland Media and the HMS Niagara This Week, with our newest, slightly damp columnist James Culic being plucked from the icy waters just before all hope and Leonardo DiCaprio were lost. But I’ll refrain. In actuality, Culic had already jumped ship a little while back for the safer terra firma of corporate communications for the Fort Erie Race Track—though he kept his weekly column in Niagara This Week. Well, kept it until about a week ago, of course, but I’ll let him tell that story in his debut column for us, appearing today and running each Wednesday.
I will admit to not being an instant Culic fan back in the day, a decade or so ago. He could come off as a deliberately provocative wiseass—but again, you’ll get his take on that this week, too, so I’ll shut my pie hole and just say that in recent years I’ve warmed to his writing and I’m pleased that he’s agreed to pull up on the sunny shores of PelhamToday, where the surf is always warm, the Mai Tais are always cold, and where it’s impossible to mix too many marine metaphors. Culic’s NTW column, by the way, was nominated for either Columnist, or Humour Columnist of the Year in the Ontario Community Newspaper Association’s annual competition every year from 2015 to 2021, with ample wins along the way, including two in 2019—third place for Columnist of the Year, and first place for Humour Columnist of the Year.
One last note: I’ve always assumed it was pronounced “Koo-lick,” rather than the vaguely Eastern European option “Choo-lick,” but it turns out neither is correct. It’s “Kew-lick,” as in the thing you stand in line on, the white ball in billiards, the creator of clever gadgets and armoured cars for 007. Cue the welcome music!
Please fasten your seatbelts and return your tray table to its—aiieee! Unexpectedly a couple of months ago, I found myself in an actual captain’s seat at the controls of a 787, flying our final approach into San Francisco International Airport. This was not a situation I ever expected to be in, despite training as a general aviation (private) pilot back in the 1990s. Before that, starting in the late ‘80s, I became an early personal computer flight simulator enthusiast, which at that time meant Microsoft Flight Simulator—to this day known as “MSFS” among desktop pilots. Later, X-Plane, a better program with more accurate flight dynamics (and Mac compatibility) came out, and for a decade or so I maintained a decidedly non-lucrative sideline programming minor add-ons and scenery packages for it.
Now, there’s something that every flight simulator pilot asks him or herself sooner or later, especially if they’ve graduated to flying heavy jets with realistic air traffic control—actual humans in simulated control towers around the world—and that question is this: If I were aboard a real passenger jet, and if for some reason both the pilot and co-pilot became incapacitated, would my years of simulator experience be enough for me to land the plane safely?
I can tell you that with my actual flying experience in small aircraft, as well as several years of “flying” big jets on desktop simulators, as time went on my answer increasingly matched that of many experienced simulator pilots, and that answer was yes, I was pretty confident that in a pinch I could pull back the throttles, drop the landing gear, and find the pavement without wrecking the thing.
And now, following my 787 encounter, I can confidently assure you that this confident assumption is absolutely, positively, nuts. Crazy talk. The stuff of presumptuous egotism.
Long story short, a buddy contacted me early in the summer and asked whether I’d like some time in a full-size, full-motion flight simulator—the same kind used to train and periodically check actual airline pilots. It would be for only an hour, I’d be one of three would-be pilots in the group, and it was at 10 PM on a Sunday night hours away from Pelham, so of course I said yes.
And that’s how I found myself in an actual 787 cockpit, albeit enclosed in a structure the size of a small cottage on hydraulic stilts, on final approach to San Francisco airport, not entirely comfortably seated in a thickly padded captain’s chair, rudder pedals ridiculously far away (I failed to remember they were adjustable), descending at the proper approach rate but nonetheless way too quickly for my brain to process what I was doing most of the time.
The only reason we survived is that I did actually know how to land an airplane, and elements of the autopilot continued to help. I was manually flying us down to the runway, chasing the needles on the ILS glideslope, but our airspeed, reverse thrust, and brakes were still under the autopilot’s control. At some point I did need to drop the gear (which created realistic buffeting), and I possibly lowered the flaps a notch or two. (I certainly should have.)
The fact that I can’t precisely remember all the details tells you how overwhelming these tasks were as they happened in real time.
Bear in mind that this is a multi-million-dollar machine that realistically simulates a giant aircraft in flight—the sounds (alarms, so many alarms), the G-forces in turns, the turbulence. In no way is it comparable to sitting at a desk gripping a discounted Best Buy joystick, can of Pepsi off to the side, classic rock playing in the other room.
You immediately realize how much force—real physical strength—it takes to get the bloody plane to turn. Yes, it’s true that from the introduction of passenger jets in the 1950s, flight controls have been augmented with various motors (hydraulic, electric), but it’s also true that from the start these were deliberately designed to imitate the cable-and-pulley controls of the big propeller planes of the 1940s and ‘50s. Why? To make it easier for those pilots to transition from props to jets. Make the new planes feel like the old planes, went the theory, and that’s one safety issue checked off. This anachronistic design element carries on to the 21st century.
Knowing this historical tidbit was not sufficient to prepare me for the reality. I was left wrestling this 787—one of the most advanced aircraft ever built—like it was a DC-6 in 1948. And what did this lead to?
Over-correction!
The plane’s momentum in each correction—left/right, up/down—took us too far, so each correction itself needed correction. More wrestling, leading to yet more wrestling. (Don’t forget, the ground is coming up fast.)
One of the other “pilots” in our group, a young guy who’d had zero experience in the air but plenty on the water, compared handling the plane to handling a boat, knowing that its momentum would continue to carry you in a given direction even after you turned to a new heading. Exactly—fluid dynamics in action, the same for air molecules as for water molecules.
Anyway, patient passengers, against the odds and with the help of an automated throttle, reverse thrust, and brakes, I managed to land the thing more or less on the centre line not too many miles beyond the numbers. (Within minutes, my ego was already assuring me that next time would be perfect.)
For your entertainment, what follows is video of our aforementioned young fella as he makes his attempt to land the plane on the same runway (KSFO 28-R). Again, it’s Boating Guy, not yours truly, who takes us to this spectacular encounter with the ground. (For a bit of bonus hilarity, after you've watched the video, click Show Transcript below.)
Enjoy, and see you next time.
