Riding the Airship Eureka
Yesterday was the big day. Anami and I flew aboard the Airship Eureka, the Zeppelin NT flown out of Moffett Field by Airship Ventures. We originally tried to schedule the trip back in April, for a dragster/air show in Half Moon Bay. But they had high winds and had to reschedule. And then a month later, the field they wanted to land in was under cultivation, so they had to reschedule again. So we picked this weekend, and we chose to fly out of Oakland, to fly over the SF Bay and see the City.
On the way to the airstrip, I saw a billboard for the musical Wicked. I thought of that song, "Defying Gravity." I smiled, and snapped a picture. Then I got on the van and rode over to the tiny airstrip on the back of the Oakland airport where we had our 13:15 flight time. When we got to the airfield, we got out of the van and stood in a group on the scrubby grass, and watched the Eureka come in. I've been excited since it arrived last October, every time I saw it flying over the Bay Area. My heart was in my throat as it got closer and closer, and settled down towards the field in front of me. Not landing - oh no. Not ever touching the ground. But hovering, about three feet up.
The ground crew ran up and snapped a wheeled staircase in place under the door, and started escorting passengers off. As one of them got off, one of our group got on. They have to keep the ballast even, you see. In a few minutes, we were all aboard, in our seats, seatbelts fastened. It seemed like only a second before they announced we were taking off, and a split second later, we were up. There was no runway and no change in the engine noise - we were just higher. I looked down and I could see the world getting smaller, but I didn't feel like I was rising. And then the "Fasten Seat Belts" sign went off, and we were allowed to get up and move around.
Our route took us out over the San Francisco Bay, past Alcatraz and about a mile from the Golden Gate Bridge, and then back to Oakland. They have GPS tracking on the airship, but only record waypoints every half hour; I think this is a real mistake. With typical flights being only an hour, I think they should take a waypoint every five minutes. I'd love to be able to permalink to the route we flew.
It was beautiful. The gondola is just this huge number of windows - in every direction you look there's a fantastic view of the city. The movement is smooth and effortless, with occasional swaying like a boat. It's not like being on a hot air balloon though. The engines transmit their thrum thrum thrum through the hull. It's like your college neighbor down the hall listening to techno music. Loud enough to notice if you listen for it, but really just soothing. Like everything else aboard the airship - it was better than flying first class on an airplane. The ceilings and walls are upholstered in suede, for crying out loud. And some of the windows opened.
I wanted to go forward and look at the controls, but there was a retired aeronautical engineer aboard, and an ex pilot, and an ex Navy airman, and they talked and talked with him. Eventually they moved off, though, and I could get close. Jim shook my hand and showed me all the controls. He asked if Anami and I had wanted to fly for a while. I said that I'd been cyber-stalking the company before the Eureka even arrived; that I'd heard about them through my steampunk readings. I mentioned Jake von Slatt and Abney Park. He seemed pleased that I had such interest in dirigibles, and was eager to show me around. He told me about the flight training requirements. I asked a lot of questions - I've mostly forgotten what now. But he answered them all, with a smile. And the whole time he was operating the joystick and the pedal like they were part of his body - like he was walking and chewing gum.
He told me that the Eureka can fly to 6300 feet from sea level, but if it starts from an airport at 2500 feet, because of the change in air pressure and ballast changes that that requires, it could fly as high as 10000 feet. They fly at 1000 feet because it's the lowest that the FAA will let them go - it gives the best views. They never come closer than 1/2 mile to any sights, because they're not allowed to. I couldn't help thinking that they could probably bob up right next to the Golden Gate Bridge without breaking a sweat. I was tickled thinking about what that would look like for the commuters on the Bridge.
There was a flight attendant aboard, Zack. He didn't serve drinks, but he did answer questions about the airship and point out interesting things you could see from the air. "That's Angel Island." "Over, there, that's the Press Building." He was really helpful and knew his patter well - every question asked got you two or three responses, as he answered the natural follow-ups. I guess he gets a lot of the same questions.
Probably the best part? At the back, they have a window love seat. Standing next to it, I picked Anami up. She reminded me that it was the Eureka lifting her, not me. Then, I stuck my head out the window, at 45 mph and 1000 feet up.
When we came in to hover to exchange passengers (flight over. aw, shucks!) the landing was surreal. Not the airplane's running catch, or the hot-air balloon's belly-flop. More like a slow dog stalking in and circling, circling its bed - but never settling. You get low enough for the ground crew to grab the haul lines, and they help keep the ship in place. A few other guys run up and open the door and snap the staircase in place. It has wheels on the bottom, so it can roll back and forth as the airship sways this way and that. They tell you in the pre-flight briefing that when you get off, you should take several big steps away from the staircase so it doesn't knock you in the back of the knees. I did, but I didn't want to. I sort of wanted to be knocked in the back of the knees.
After we debarked (we never really landed), we stood on the airfield and watched Eureka take aboard the next batch of passengers and take off and fly away. It was gorgeous. I imagine it was like being deep enough to watch a whale gliding along, or a giant squid in its natural habitat. This huge, improbable, thing-that-should-not-be. And yet it is, and it's totally at home, and it's just right.
It was all so modern and high-tech, and anachronistic, all at the same time. It's one of the coolest things I've ever done.
On the way to the airstrip, I saw a billboard for the musical Wicked. I thought of that song, "Defying Gravity." I smiled, and snapped a picture. Then I got on the van and rode over to the tiny airstrip on the back of the Oakland airport where we had our 13:15 flight time. When we got to the airfield, we got out of the van and stood in a group on the scrubby grass, and watched the Eureka come in. I've been excited since it arrived last October, every time I saw it flying over the Bay Area. My heart was in my throat as it got closer and closer, and settled down towards the field in front of me. Not landing - oh no. Not ever touching the ground. But hovering, about three feet up.
The ground crew ran up and snapped a wheeled staircase in place under the door, and started escorting passengers off. As one of them got off, one of our group got on. They have to keep the ballast even, you see. In a few minutes, we were all aboard, in our seats, seatbelts fastened. It seemed like only a second before they announced we were taking off, and a split second later, we were up. There was no runway and no change in the engine noise - we were just higher. I looked down and I could see the world getting smaller, but I didn't feel like I was rising. And then the "Fasten Seat Belts" sign went off, and we were allowed to get up and move around.
Our route took us out over the San Francisco Bay, past Alcatraz and about a mile from the Golden Gate Bridge, and then back to Oakland. They have GPS tracking on the airship, but only record waypoints every half hour; I think this is a real mistake. With typical flights being only an hour, I think they should take a waypoint every five minutes. I'd love to be able to permalink to the route we flew.
It was beautiful. The gondola is just this huge number of windows - in every direction you look there's a fantastic view of the city. The movement is smooth and effortless, with occasional swaying like a boat. It's not like being on a hot air balloon though. The engines transmit their thrum thrum thrum through the hull. It's like your college neighbor down the hall listening to techno music. Loud enough to notice if you listen for it, but really just soothing. Like everything else aboard the airship - it was better than flying first class on an airplane. The ceilings and walls are upholstered in suede, for crying out loud. And some of the windows opened.
I wanted to go forward and look at the controls, but there was a retired aeronautical engineer aboard, and an ex pilot, and an ex Navy airman, and they talked and talked with him. Eventually they moved off, though, and I could get close. Jim shook my hand and showed me all the controls. He asked if Anami and I had wanted to fly for a while. I said that I'd been cyber-stalking the company before the Eureka even arrived; that I'd heard about them through my steampunk readings. I mentioned Jake von Slatt and Abney Park. He seemed pleased that I had such interest in dirigibles, and was eager to show me around. He told me about the flight training requirements. I asked a lot of questions - I've mostly forgotten what now. But he answered them all, with a smile. And the whole time he was operating the joystick and the pedal like they were part of his body - like he was walking and chewing gum.
He told me that the Eureka can fly to 6300 feet from sea level, but if it starts from an airport at 2500 feet, because of the change in air pressure and ballast changes that that requires, it could fly as high as 10000 feet. They fly at 1000 feet because it's the lowest that the FAA will let them go - it gives the best views. They never come closer than 1/2 mile to any sights, because they're not allowed to. I couldn't help thinking that they could probably bob up right next to the Golden Gate Bridge without breaking a sweat. I was tickled thinking about what that would look like for the commuters on the Bridge.
There was a flight attendant aboard, Zack. He didn't serve drinks, but he did answer questions about the airship and point out interesting things you could see from the air. "That's Angel Island." "Over, there, that's the Press Building." He was really helpful and knew his patter well - every question asked got you two or three responses, as he answered the natural follow-ups. I guess he gets a lot of the same questions.
Probably the best part? At the back, they have a window love seat. Standing next to it, I picked Anami up. She reminded me that it was the Eureka lifting her, not me. Then, I stuck my head out the window, at 45 mph and 1000 feet up.
When we came in to hover to exchange passengers (flight over. aw, shucks!) the landing was surreal. Not the airplane's running catch, or the hot-air balloon's belly-flop. More like a slow dog stalking in and circling, circling its bed - but never settling. You get low enough for the ground crew to grab the haul lines, and they help keep the ship in place. A few other guys run up and open the door and snap the staircase in place. It has wheels on the bottom, so it can roll back and forth as the airship sways this way and that. They tell you in the pre-flight briefing that when you get off, you should take several big steps away from the staircase so it doesn't knock you in the back of the knees. I did, but I didn't want to. I sort of wanted to be knocked in the back of the knees.
After we debarked (we never really landed), we stood on the airfield and watched Eureka take aboard the next batch of passengers and take off and fly away. It was gorgeous. I imagine it was like being deep enough to watch a whale gliding along, or a giant squid in its natural habitat. This huge, improbable, thing-that-should-not-be. And yet it is, and it's totally at home, and it's just right.
It was all so modern and high-tech, and anachronistic, all at the same time. It's one of the coolest things I've ever done.