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for US Airways for twenty-three years, with twenty thousand flight hours, and had risen to be a captain. But due to cutbacks in flights and planes, and the effect on the pilots’ seniority list, he was now flying as a first officer. I have twenty-nine years under my belt, so these days, I’m among the most senior of pilots at my airline.
    Jeff had been flying the Boeing 737 for eight years, and had just completed training to fly the Airbus. These seven flights over four days with me actually would be his first trip on the Airbus without an instructor. As Jeff put it, “It’s my first trip withouttraining wheels.”
    When I meet other pilots, I don’t try to pigeonhole them. I figure I’ll learn about them and their flying style in the cockpit. There’s no need to rush to judgment. Still, my first impressions of Jeff were good ones.
    From our initial moments together in the cockpit, for that flight to San Francisco, I found him to be conscientious and very well versed in everything about the Airbus. If he hadn’t told me this was his first trip since being trained, I wouldn’t have known.
    Once pilots push back from the gate, and until we are above ten thousand feet in the air, cockpit crews aren’t allowed to talk to each other about anything except the details of the flight. But after we were well on our way to San Francisco, Jeff and I were able to learn about each other. He told me he had three children, seventeen, fifteen, and twelve, and so we talked about our kids for a bit.
    Somewhere over the snow-covered Rocky Mountains, I thought about that thrill I often get when I’m in the air, just taking in the majesty below, and the stars and planets around me, and appreciating all of it. It feels like we’re floating through an invisible ocean of air, dotted with stars.
    There’s a poem I love, “Sea Fever,” by John Masefield, which includes the line: “All I ask is a tall ship and a star to steer her by.” I often think of that line when I see the planet Venus in the southwest corner of the sky as I head to the West Coast at certain times of the year. If I’m ever unable to access the global positioning system or use the compass in the cockpit, I know I’ll be OK. Icould just keep Venus in the left front corner of the windshield and we would reach California.
    I mentioned to Jeff that I wished I could have my daughters take a flight with me in the cockpit of a commercial airliner, to see the pilot’s-eye view of such scenes. In long-ago eras of aviation, that would have been possible. But in the wake of September 11, of course, restrictions on cockpit access were only increased. My girls will never see the skies through my eyes.
    We also talked about our side jobs. Like a lot of pilots, Jeff also sees the need to supplement his income. He lives in Madison, Wisconsin, and has a business as a general contractor, building new homes.
    Jeff said he’d Googled me before the trip because he was looking for my e-mail address. He wanted to share some scheduling information with me. Before the landing in the Hudson, of course, there wasn’t much about me on the Internet. So the first thing he came upon was the Web site for my consulting business.
    “I read all about your company,” he said, and then he just grinned. “Man, I thought I was a good bullshitter, but you take the cake!”
    I was intrigued that he had Googled me—I don’t ever recall flying with another pilot who had—and I was also amused by how direct he was. “I consider myself a connoisseur of bullshit,” he told me, “and you make that company of yours sound like it’s this big operation. But then I read it more closely and I realized it’s just you. You’re the company. Good for you! I admire people who can take an acorn, and with a little bit of bullshit, make it into an oak.”
    I know my business isn’t a Fortune 500 empire, but I’d argue a bit with his characterization. I really am passionate about safety issues, and about what