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Confessions of a New Corporate Pilot
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In the Citation III Confessions of a New Corporate Pilot
Life would be sweet, I thought, now that I’d successfully passed my Cessna Citation III (CE-650) type rating check ride (this was a few years back). It meant I’d be flying my first swept-wing jet. Surprisingly, my first day at the new job at Chicago Executive Airport (PWK) would also be the first time I’d been up close to a real Citation III since all the training and even my check ride happened in FlightSafety’s full-motion simulator.
From my research, though, I knew the 650’s cabin was roomy enough for eight, and its rocket-like performance was nothing short of spectacular with a VMO (maximum operating Mach) of Mach 0.85 and 39,000 feet on a standard day. In its day, M.83 was pretty fast. That meant we could make the West Coast out of PWK with four people in the back. I learned quickly, too, that the 650’s awesome performance meant I needed to stay much farther ahead of the airplane than I’d had to in the much slower Citation II (CE-550) I’d been flying in a 12-pilot charter department.
A privately held corporation owned this Citation III and I was the junior of three pilots. The chief pilot, my new boss, brought experience from several other flight departments, while the other pilot, I’ll call him Tom well, I was never really too sure where Tom had come from because the guy kept to himself as much as possible and wasn’t the chatty type. That made three-hour flights long when the entire conversation at FL390 ended with an occasional shrug of the shoulders.
But who cared what one guy acted like, I thought. I was there to learn how to fit into a flight department that needed another pilot on their team. Just like in charter flying, my job was to keep the people in the back happy. I came to know these passengers much better than we ever did in the charter world. These folks sometimes invited the flight crew to their home on Nantucket when we overnighted there.
The Interview
Looking back on this job now though, I guess the 10-minute interview the chief pilot and I engaged in before he offered me the job should have been a tip-off that maybe something was a little odd. But with a four-year-old daughter growing up at home, the chance to dump my charter department pager that always seemed to ring at 2 a.m. beckoned hypnotically.
Cessna Citation CE-650 Corporate line training began right away with me flying in all kinds of weather, where I regularly rotated flying left seat with the chief pilot and Tom. Having flown left seat on the Citation II, I wasn’t brand new to jets, just speedy ones.
After a few months, however, I began to notice a few operational oddities that started making me a little uncomfortable. Some sketchy flight planning and questions I asked were sometimes answered with annoyed expressions. If I appeared not to agree, someone might ask if I’d finished all the Jepp revisions (In those days there were no electronic subscriptions. Updates were handled by hand). I found the best solution for getting along seemed to be to just shut up and fly the airplane. Ignoring those distractions did help me pay closer attention to the little things that made my flying the jet smoother.
Then again … On one flight back from Cincinnati (CVG), I was flying left-seat with the chief pilot in the right. I wanted to add fuel before we left since the Chicago weather was questionable, but the boss overruled me explaining, “We’re fat on fuel.”I didn’t say anything. As we approached PWK, the ATIS reported the weather had worsened, considerably. The Swiss cheese holes began to align when Chicago Approach dumped us early. We ended up burning more fuel than planned. I flew the ILS right down to minimums, but my scan uncomfortably included the fuel gauges every few seconds. After a safe landing, we taxied in with 700 pounds of Jet-A, not much for an airplane that burns 1,800 pounds an hour down low. What if we’d missed at Chicago Executive Airport and needed to run for Chicago’s O’Hare International Airport I wondered? We’d have arrived on fumes. The boss looked at me after we shut down. “Don’t tell me that whole thing bothered you. It all turned out fine, didn’t it?” (more…)
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Remembering Gordon Baxter: Bax Seat was a Flying Magazine Reader Favorite
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(Reposted by request)
Each time I stand near my desk, my eyes naturally focus on the framed cover of the August 1983 Flying magazine. Below it is page 100, the “I Learned About Flying from That” (ILAFFT), where my first column appeared. On it, the author of Bax Seat, scrawled in brown ink, “To my friend Rob Mark. His story, my push. Gordon Baxter, August 5, 1983.”
Many months before, Gordon Baxter had given me the Flying editor’s phone number. When I rang with my brief pitch, all I heard was “yes.” I suddenly had an assignment for my first column. That 1983 issue was the first, but not the last, time my name and stories appeared in the aviation industry’s iconic magazine. That same issue also ran a pilot report about the then-new Cessna Citation III, an aircraft I later added to my list of type ratings. Looking back, there were so many aspects of my aviation career that came to life around Bax and that August 1983 issue, not the least of which was that we became friends.
Gordon Baxter, Bax as he preferred folks call him, helped shape my career as an aviation journalist like no one before him and only a few people since. The author of 13 books, Bax’s own magazine writing career at Flying spanned 25 years. His monthly column, Bax Seat, focused on vivid descriptions of his adventures. It was known simply as “Bax Seat.” Did I mention he was also a long-time radio personality in Beaumont, Texas, another interest we shared.
A Bit of Bax’s Background
I first met Bax in the mid-1970s. He brought his show, his act, or whatever the heck he called his evening of storytelling, to the Stick and Rudder Flying Club at Waukegan Airport. I was a tower controller not far away at Palwaukee Airport. Having been an avid Flying reader since high school, I switched shifts with another controller so I wouldn’t miss the event. Bax captured the audience for over an hour with stories from his flying career and his columns that often alternately “em rollin’ in the aisles” with gut-wrenching laughter and an emotional Texas-guy style that also brought tears to many an eye. Another way to think of Bax’s storytelling night was like an evening of improv but all about flying and airplanes.
Born in Port Arthur, Texas, he learned to fly after World War II following his stint as a B-17 turret gunner. Bax was no professional pilot—just a guy with a private certificate, an instrument rating, and eventually his beloved Mooney. On the back cover of one of his books, appropriately titled Bax Seat, Flying’s Stephan Wilkinson said “Bax tries to pass himself off as a pilot, but don’t believe him. He never could fly worth a damn. But Gordon feels airplanes, loves and honors them in ways that the rest of us are ashamed to admit. And he’s certainly one of the few romantics who can express what he feels so perfectly.” I couldn’t have written that myself, but I, too, felt it.
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Making the Brazilian ATR-72 Spin
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Note: This story was corrected on August 10th at 10:23 am, thanks to the help of a sharp-eyed reader.
Making an ATR-72 Spin
I wasn’t in Brazil on Friday afternoon, but I saw the post on Twitter or X (or whatever you call it) showing a Brazil ATR-72, Voepass Airlines flight 2283, rotating in a spin as it plunged to the ground near Sao Paulo from its 17,000-foot cruising altitude. All 61 people aboard perished in the ensuing crash and fire. A timeline from FlightRadar 24 indicates that the fall only lasted about a minute, so the aircraft was clearly out of control. Industry research shows Loss of Control in Flight (LOCI) continues to be responsible for more fatalities worldwide than any other kind of aircraft accident.
The big question is why the crew lost control of this airplane. The ADS-B data from FlightRadar 24 does offer a couple of possible clues. The ATR’s speed declined during the descent rather than increased, which means the aircraft’s wing was probably stalled. The ATR’s airfoil had exceeded its critical angle of attack and lacked sufficient lift to remain airborne. Add to this the rotation observed, and the only answer is a spin.
Can a Large Airplane Spin?
The simple answer is yes. If you induce rotation to almost any aircraft while the wing is stalled, it can spin, even an aircraft as large as the ATR-72. By the way, the largest of the ATR models, the 600, weighs nearly 51,000 pounds.
Of course, investigators will ask why the ATR’s wing was stalled. It could have been related to a failed engine or ice on the wings or tailplane. (more…)
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How the FAA Let Remote Tower Technology Slip Right Through Its Fingers
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In June 2023, the FAA published a 167-page document outlining the agency’s desire to replace dozens of 40-year-old airport control towers with new environmentally friendly brick-and-mortar structures. These towers are, of course, where hundreds of air traffic controllers ply their trade … ensuring the aircraft within their local airspace are safely separated from each other during landing and takeoff.
The FAA’s report was part of President Biden’s Infrastructure Investment and Jobs Act enacted on November 15, 2021. That bill set aside a whopping $25 billion spread across five years to cover the cost of replacing those aging towers. The agency said it considered a number of alternatives about how to spend that $5 billion each year, rather than on brick and mortar buildings.
One alternative addressed only briefly before rejecting it was a relatively new concept called a Remote Tower, originally created by Saab in Europe in partnership with the Virginia-based VSATSLab Inc. The European technology giant has been successfully running Remote Towers in place of the traditional buildings in Europe for almost 10 years. One of Saab’s more well-known Remote Tower sites is at London City Airport. London also plans to create a virtual backup ATC facility at London Heathrow, the busiest airport in Europe.
A remote tower and its associated technology replace the traditional 60-70 foot glass domed control tower building you might see at your local airport, but it doesn’t eliminate any human air traffic controllers or their roles in keeping aircraft separated.
Max Trescott photo Inside a Remote Tower Operation
In place of a normal control tower building, the airport erects a small steel tower or even an 8-inch diameter pole perhaps 20-40 feet high, similar to a radio or cell phone tower. Dozens of high-definition cameras are attached to the new Remote Tower’s structure, each aimed at an arrival or departure path, as well as various ramps around the airport.
Using HD cameras, controllers can zoom in on any given point within the camera’s range, say an aircraft on final approach. The only way to accomplish that in a control tower today is if the controller picks up a pair of binoculars. The HD cameras also offer infrared capabilities to allow for better-than-human visuals, especially during bad weather or at night.
The next step in constructing a remote tower is locating the control room where the video feeds will terminate. Instead of the round glass room perched atop a standard control tower, imagine a semi-circular room located at ground level. Inside that room, the walls are lined with 14, 55-inch high-definition video screens hung next to each other with the wider portion of the screen running top to bottom.
After connecting the video feeds, the compression technology manages to consolidate 360 degrees of viewing area into a 220-degree spread across the video screens. That creates essentially the same view of the entire airport that a controller would normally see out the windows of the tower cab without the need to move their head more than 220 degrees. Another Remote Tower benefit is that each aircraft within visual range can be tagged with that aircraft’s tail number, just as it might if the controller were looking at a radar screen. (more…)
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Fat Cats, Fallacies, and the Business Jet Backlash:
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Why Business Aviation Needs Better Storytelling
In February 2025, Senator Edward Markey reintroduced his “Fat Cat” tax bill—officially known as the Fueling Alternative Transportation with a Carbon Aviation Tax (FATCAT) Act. The legislation proposes removing business aviation’s exemption from federal fuel excise taxes, citing luxury and inequality concerns. Once again, corporate jets have become a symbol of excess—an easy target for politicians and media critics.
But what’s missing from the conversation, as usual, is context. Business jets are not just tools for billionaires and celebrities—they’re lifelines for small businesses, mobile technicians, medical missions, remote communities and companies trying to compete globally from far-flung corners of America. The “fat cat” narrative not only misunderstands the purpose of business aviation—it actively harms it.
And worse yet, we in the industry have been complicit in this misrepresentation because we haven’t done enough to tell our own story.
The History of a Punching Bag
Aviation was once the darling of the media in the days of Charles Lindbergh and Eddie Rickenbacker. But that “Golden Age” gave way to cynicism.
In 2009, during the height of the financial crisis, the CEOs of the Big Three automakers were pilloried by a beleaguered Congress for flying private jets to Washington to request bailout money. The optics were terrible—and they ignited a firestorm.
The country needed a scapegoat, and they found one that gave nearly zero resistance.
That same year, Wired magazine declared, “General Aviation Sounds Mayday As Fat Cats Ditch Their Jets.” Across mainstream media, business jets became shorthand for greed, arrogance, and poor judgment. The Economist followed in 2011 with a blistering column mocking defenders of business aviation for “claiming it creates jobs”—a claim they deemed “dubious.”
That narrative has stuck, in part, because it’s simple.
Planes = rich people = unfairness.
But reality, as usual, is more complicated.
Business Aviation Is More Than C-Suite Luxury
Here’s what doesn’t make headlines: The NBAA reports that 85% of business aircraft are used by small to midsize enterprises, not massive corporations. Most passengers on these flights aren’t celebrities or hedge fund managers—they’re technicians, engineers, sales reps, and medical personnel.
These aircraft allow businesses based in small cities or rural communities—places not well-served by commercial airlines—to reach clients, inspect factories, attend meetings, and stay competitive. Without them, many companies would be forced to relocate or close.
Let’s be honest: the optics of business jets are terrible. But the economics are sound.
A 2018 study by NEXA Advisors found that companies using business aviation consistently outperformed their peers in revenue growth, profitability, and shareholder value. The jets aren’t perks—they’re performance tools.
When Privacy Becomes a Liability
Despite the value business aviation brings, public perception continues to erode. Part of the reason is our own instinct for privacy and discretion.In a world where social media thrives on oversharing, business aviation remains stubbornly tight-lipped. CEOs (very understandably) don’t want people to know where they’re going. Companies don’t want to expose clients or deals. Even humanitarian missions are often kept quiet to avoid unwanted attention.
This privacy is viewed as a gauntlet by activists. In recent years, the veil of privacy around business aviation has been challenged by digital activists like Jack Sweeney, a college student who gained global attention for creating automated Twitter bots that track the private jet movements of high-profile individuals—including Elon Musk, Taylor Swift, and several political leaders. Sweeney used publicly available ADS-B flight data to publish real-time updates on VIP jet activity, raising concerns about carbon emissions, government accountability, and elite privilege. While Musk famously offered him $5,000 to take the tracker down (an offer Sweeney declined), the incident highlighted just how vulnerable business aviation can be to public scrutiny—and how quickly private travel can become viral news. For the industry, it reignited the debate between operational privacy and public perception, especially in the age of climate awareness and digital transparency.
Without visible faces and actual stories, the public fills in the blanks—with activism and caricatures.
Good News Gets Buried
There are hundreds of stories that could change public perception—if only they were told.
- Business Aviation During COVID-19
During the height of the pandemic, business aircraft were used to deliver vaccines, PPE, and critical personnel. Companies like Wheels Up and Flexjet provided airlift capacity when commercial aviation ground to a halt.?
- Remote Plant Support
Caterpillar Inc., the global heavy equipment manufacturer headquartered in Illinois, used its business aviation fleet to fly critical engineers and parts to a remote mining site in northern Canada experiencing a mechanical failure that threatened to halt operations. According to a case study presented by the National Business Aviation Association (NBAA), the mine faced a multi-million dollar shutdown if production stopped for more than 48 hours. Despite severe weather, lack of commercial flight options, and the urgency of the repair, the company’s in-house aviation department dispatched a jet within hours. The team was able to diagnose and resolve the issue on-site, avoiding an estimated $3.5 million in production losses and preserving dozens of jobs linked to that operation.
This story echoes many others in industries like oil and gas, utilities, and manufacturing—sectors that rely on timely technical support to maintain remote, high-value infrastructure. Yet because these missions often go unreported, the public rarely hears how general aviation quietly keeps the gears of industry turning.
- Medical Missions
Organizations like Angel Flight, Corporate Angel Network, and Paraflight fly patients to life-saving treatments or organs to patients who desperately need them and literally would find a delay to be a life-or-death situation. And these flights are usually offered to patients at no cost.
These aren’t luxuries. These are lifelines. But because many of these missions are quiet, confidential, or pro bono—they vanish from public view
The Fat Cat Bill: What’s Really at Stake
Markey’s FATCAT bill may never pass. It’s largely symbolic—like many tax bills aimed at inequality. But symbolism matters. And the symbolism of this bill reinforces a damaging narrative.More than anything, the bill is a wake-up call.
It’s not enough to have the data. We need to change the conversation.
That means telling better stories—and telling them publicly. Companies need to highlight their employees who benefit from business aviation, not just their executives. It means lifting the veil, even if just slightly, to show the real, practical impact these aircraft have.
Time to Act Like a Fourth Estate
I studied journalism at the University of Utah in the ’90s. My heroes were Edward R. Murrow, and Woodward & Bernstein—champions of truth, transparency, and public accountability. Journalism, they taught us, was the “fourth estate,” vital to democracy.
But the landscape has changed. The economics of journalism are broken. The rise of social media, influencer culture, and clickbait headlines have upended traditional norms. Many bloggers, podcasters, and freelancers now fill the gap left by shrinking newsrooms.
And that’s not entirely a bad thing. Sunlight is still the best disinfectant. But it does mean we in aviation can’t afford to sit back and hope someone tells our story.
The great news is that every company has access to tools and channels that media moguls could only dream about 20 years ago. ANY company can publish news directly to the masses, by means of ready-made channels, with tools we all have in our pockets.
Because of ubiquitous smartphones and media, we have far better tools and broadcasting power than any newsroom of past decades.
Why don’t we use these tools?
Because it’s not our job. And because it’s safer to stay silent.
Because we’re afraid of what people will think
That’s precisely why WE need to take charge of the story.
We need to tell our great stories and detail the impact we have on the lives of our employees, our clients, and the local economies we serve.
We need to tell these stories – Loudly. Clearly. Repeatedly.
More Transparency, Fewer Targets
Every time business aviation chooses silence over storytelling, we become an easier target. Every time we fail to explain our value, someone else (with a different agenda and without any background education) defines it for us.
Yes, privacy matters. But perception matters more.
Great stories can and should be told by industry professionals who know what they’re talking about.
The business aviation community needs to embrace a new ethos—one of strategic transparency. Share your case studies, promote your employees, and highlight your missions. Don’t just let the press define you—start acting like the press.
Because if we don’t, we will keep paying for someone else’s perception of business aviation. That translates into being on defense, forever.
We can do better than that.
Sources
1. AIN Online: Markey Reintroduces Business Jet ‘Fat Cat’ Tax Bill
2. National Business Aviation Association (NBAA): Business Aviation Fact Book
3. The Economist: Fat cats and corporate jets (July 7, 2011)4. Wired Magazine: Fat Cats Ditch Their Jets (May 2009)5. NEXA Advisors: Business Aviation and Top Performing Companies Report (2018)6. Corporate Angel Network: Mission Impact
https://www.corpangelnetwork.org7. The New York Times – “Tracking Elon Musk’s Private Jet Made a College Student Famous. It Also Made Him a Target.”8. CNN Business – “Teen tracking Elon Musk’s jet turns down $5,000 offer to stop” -
When WASPS took over Avenger Field
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I enjoyed Pam Leblanc’s story when I read it in another magazine. I asked, and she graciously allowed us to reprint it here. Enjoy – RM
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By Pam LeBlancThey had to cinch up the waistbands of their oversized, hand-me-down flight suits, and they weren’t allowed to climb out of a cockpit without applying fresh lipstick. The women who trained at Avenger Field in Sweetwater, Texas, stepped up in a serious way.
They volunteered when more pilots were needed to fly vital stateside missions during World War II.
The National WASP WWII Museum, which opened in 2005 in a circa 1929 hangar at Avenger Field, celebrates the Women Airforce Service Pilots, or WASPs, who trained at the remote airbase, about 40 miles west of Abilene, as part of an experimental wartime program designed to free up male pilots for combat.
“A lot were young and single and free, but some were married—and some had children,” says Lisa Taylor, executive director of the museum, located across Avenger Field from what is now Texas State Technical College, where the female trainees once lived in barracks.
“The feeling was, ‘We have this skill, and there’s a need for us.’ They adored flying and were thrilled to fly, but they were also thrilled to be needed.”
Applicants to the program, which ran for two years, had to have high school diplomas or the equivalent and be between 18 and 35, although at least one 17-year-old lied about her age to get in. They had to be at least 5 feet 4 inches tall, have a pilot’s license, and pass a physical exam and interview to get a spot.
About 25,000 women applied, and 1,830 were accepted.
They came from all 48 states and Alaska and Hawaii. They were overwhelmingly white, but there were at least two Chinese Americans, a Native American and two Latina women. The program rejected Black applicants. They were high school dropouts and debutantes, blackjack dealers and teachers. One was a pinup girl. Some had worked as crop duster pilots or barnstormers, performing stunts in traveling shows.
The program officially started in Houston in November 1942 under the direction of pioneering aviators Jacqueline Cochran and Nancy Harkness Love. It quickly outgrew its space in Houston and moved to Avenger Field, where the women could live in bunks in on-site barracks.
The new location worked well. The airfield had two runways plus classroom space. The sparsely populated area’s big skies and open fields suited the flight school’s needs, and the stiff West Texas wind provided ample training opportunities.
The women spent half their days in ground school, learning meteorology, navigation, first aid, military law, Morse code, mechanics and parachute packing. The rest of the working day was spent learning to fly various military aircraft.
Many of the women were small and had a hard time reaching the pedals on aircraft designed for men. They used blocks of wood and parachute packs as cushions to make it work. One bragged that she was a “three-cushion pilot,” meaning she stuffed three packs behind her back so she could operate the controls.
For their efforts, the women earned $174.50 per month (about $3,250 today), deducting $1.65 for room and board. Because they were civil workers and not officially part of the U.S. military, they even had to buy their own uniforms.
Training lasted at least seven months, and about 40% of the recruits washed out before earning their wings. But ultimately, 1,102 women completed training.
Those who graduated were assigned to air bases around the country, where they went to work shuttling military personnel and ferrying aircraft from base to base. The WASPs flew 78 different aircraft, including pursuit planes and bombers, and flight-tested others, flying more than 60 million miles.Some of the women served as tow pilots, dragging targets 1,000 feet behind their planes so soldiers on the ground could practice firing at them with live ammunition. Others worked as instructors or practiced concealment, learning to lay smoke that would hide personnel on the ground.
Thirty-eight WASPs were killed during their service, including 11 who died in training accidents. The military didn’t pay for their funerals, so fellow WASPs took up collections to send the women’s remains home to family.
About 14,000 people visit the museum in Sweetwater every year, exploring two hangars filled with everything from flight suits to logbooks, part of a tow target, a flight simulator, medals, parachutes and four complete aircraft of the type the women used for training.
Visitors can take a turn at a chin-up bar like one the women used during daily calisthenics or grab a seat in a re-creation of a classroom, where a film leads them through what it was like as an incoming recruit reporting for duty. They can peer into a mock-up of a room in the barracks too.
Mostly, though, visitors can learn who the WASPs were as individuals. “They’ve all got really amazing stories,” Taylor says, sharing a few as she walks through the museum.
When one group of WASPs traveled to California on a mission, they were arrested and briefly jailed for impersonating military pilots, Taylor says. Another WASP made an emergency landing in a farmer’s field, and the family who owned the land fed and housed her for the night. Other stories describe WASPs who had to parachute to safety from their airplanes and WASPs who tested aircraft with engines prone to catching fire.
The names of all the WASPs, including those who didn’t complete training, are listed on one wall of the museum, and visitors can access a database that includes information about each one. There are photos and handprints of many of the women.
Each April, the museum hosts a Homecoming Celebration & Fly-In, set for April 25–26 this year. While most of the WASPs are now gone, their families, as well as members of the public, still attend.
At the 2012 homecoming, WASP Nell “Mickey” Stevenson Bright, who is now 103 years old, explained that she skipped meals as a teenager to pay for flying lessons. After becoming a WASP, she remembers standing in a shower wearing her flight suit to clean it.
“The thrill of flying those wonderful airplanes and getting paid for it—that was worth it,” Bright, who is from Canyon, said at the time.
The WASPs were deactivated in December 1944, but it took more than 30 years before President Jimmy Carter signed a bill recognizing them as military veterans. In 2010, President Barack Obama awarded the WASPs Congressional Gold Medals, the oldest and most prestigious civilian award in the U.S.
Today, museum officials hope the institution can inspire the next generation.
“These women went to a lot of time and trouble to learn how to fly in a world that wasn’t going to let them in,” Taylor says. “So, what is it that you want to do and try, and what barriers will you need to overcome to leave a good legacy for yourself?”
(photos courtesy National WASP WWII Museum)
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Autothrottles – An extra pair of hands in the cockpit
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Flying an airplane smoothly demands dozens of subtle, often repetitive movements, like adjusting engine power each time the aircraft’s pitch attitude changes. Any repetitive process is, of course, perfect for some form of automation. Leonard Greene understood that nearly 70 years ago when he created the first commercial autothrottle system. Greene founded the New York-based Safe Flight Instrument Company, also known for its angle-of-attack and stall warning systems.A few definitions first. Boeing calls its installed system an autothrottle, while a similar system on an Airbus is known as autothrust. Autothrottles typically synchronize with the autopilot and operate in either speed or thrust mode, creating many practical hands-free benefits, like flight envelope over- and under-speed protection. Typically connected to the aircraft through the flight management system (FMS) computer and an outside air temperature sensor, the autothrottle calculates engine power more accurately than any human. During an instrument approach or on a standard terminal arrival route (STAR), autothrottles relieve the pilot of the throttle-jockeying work during required speed changes. If the autothrottles are switched off or become inoperative, the flying pilot can easily revert to flying the aircraft by adjusting the throttles manually.
During an engine failure aboard a multiengine airplane, the autothrottle automatically sets the best power on the good engine. Many modern aircraft also offer an additional power boost in case of an engine failure during takeoff known as reserve thrust. This system boosts the good engine at takeoff or go-around when it senses a difference between both engine low-speed fan (N1) values of more than 15 percent.
Today, most transport category aircraft from Boeing, Airbus, and Embraer, and most major business jets produced by Cessna, Bombardier, Dassault, Gulfstream, and Honda are equipped with autothrottles. Some single-engine jets like the Cirrus Vision Jet and turboprops like the Pilatus PC–12 and the Daher TBM 900 series are also autothrottle equipped. General aviation aircraft that use Garmin’s Autoland system, in fact, require Garmin’s autothrottles installed.
(Reprinted courtesy of AOPA Pilot)
