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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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Promote Aviation With Inclusive Participation
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Over the decades, the Young Eagles program has given millions of youngsters what, in many cases, were their inaugural flights in an aircraft smaller than a transport category airliner. This includes my kids and my grandchildren, which gives you an idea of how long pilots have been participating in the program. Unfortunately, its desired outcome—inspiring youth to become members of the pilot community—has not achieved the desired or hoped for magnitude.Certainly, there are many factors contributing to the anemic number of Young Eagles who act on their inaugural inspiration. One I had not considered came to mind after reading about a new program in Washington that introduces a diverse cohort of newcomers to hot air ballooning. Unlike a Young Eagles flight, a passive, one-and-done experience akin to a theme park ride, the balloon program encourages the aeronauts to become volunteer members of the team necessary for every flight of a hot air aerostat.
Similar opportunities exist with gliders or sailplanes. Unlike powered aircraft, where a single person, usually the pilot, can prepare them for flight, gliders and balloons cannot fly without the contribution of others. Besides the pilot, gliders need at least two other people to take flight, someone to connect the tow rope and run with the wingtip in hand until the ailerons take effect, and another person to pull the tow rope, such as the tow-plane pilot or tow winch operator.
There are many more opportunities for hands-on participation on a balloon crew, which is always supervised by the pilot. A single person cannot wrestle the basket and propane fuel bottles in position. Nor can the pilot spread out the envelope, set up the fan to start inflating it, and operate the basket’s burners to heat that air, and then run to the top of the envelope to hold the rope that keeps the balloon from lifting off or drifting in the breeze. It takes a team, a group of individuals whose effort is repaid, over time, with a ride and, often, hands-on piloting experience.
Unlike gliders, aerostats go where the wind takes them, so the launch team is also the recovery team. Someone needs to drive the truck and trailer or van, someone else communicates with the pilot via radio, while others maintain visual contact with the balloon and do their best to translate its windborne flight to terrestrial roads and pathways. It really is an exciting challenge that encourages critical thought and problem solving. And it promotes appreciation of the efforts of every member of the team because they experience it from their own and the pilot’s airborne point of view.Over the past four decades I have not yet encountered a balloonist or glider club that did not welcome visitors with open arms and invite them to join in the fun as a volunteer member of the team. And the situation is right, there’s often a ride upfront to set the hook. As participants in every aspect of the flight, from preflight briefing (and balloonists get into the nitty gritty in their weather briefings), it redefines ground school. If there is a downside, it is that the aeronauts often arise well before the sun to drift into the new day. But it has always been worth setting the alarm clock for the opportunity. The challenge is for powered aircraft pilots to create similar hands-on opportunities that encourage inclusive participation in the joy of flight.
If you enjoyed this story, why not SUBSCRIBE to JetWhine, if you haven’t already, and please share it with anyone who might find it interesting. — Scott Spangler, Editor
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Living Life by Pragmatic Absolutes
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Mentally treading water in Afghanistan’s déjà vu cesspool, I take little comfort in the images that bracket my office clock and remind me to live a life guided by pragmatic absolutes. In the right hand frame, some of my shipmates are pushing over the side two of the 29 South Vietnamese UH-1 Hueys the USS Blue Ridge (LCC-19) had to park in the ocean so the circling helos filled with refugees could escape the fallen city of Saigon in April 1975.These images remind me one of life’s two absolutes—gravity. Its absolute partner is death. No one gets out of life alive.
In the left hand frame is US Ambassador Graham Martin. Arriving at o-dark-thirty, the admiral who was the task force commander guides him across the Blue Ridge’s flight deck. The ambassador is my poster boy for delusional hubris. While fighting for $750 million in continued support that he assured President Gerald Ford would finally turn the tide and save South Vietnam, he delayed many of the preparations that would have made for a smoother bug out from an ill-considered conflict.
Given the unyielding absolutes, I’ve lived a life guided by practicality rather than idealism, and never forget that we are ultimately responsible for the consequences of our decisions. Among the most important of these is learning from the mistakes of others, so we won’t have to convene our own learning experience by repeating them.
When faced with a decision, especially one of import, I look at this image of a man whose hubristic allusions of what he thought should be were visibly shattered by reality. After asking what he would have done before he landed on the Blue Ridge, I do the opposite. In other words, I strive for pragmatism, a philosophic doctrine that emphasizes facts and/or practical affairs, often to the exclusion of intellectual, emotional, or artistic matters.
The only thing worse is thinking you’re better than other mistake makers, clever enough not to repeat the errors they made, that you can outsmart the unimpeachable absolutes. No matter the situation or environment, each of us is responsible for the consequences of our decisions whether it’s bugging out of an ill-considered conflict or pushing the wind, weather, and fuel on a cross-country flight. You can point all the fingers you like, but gravity still wins and the pilot in command pays the price.
If you enjoyed this story, why not SUBSCRIBE to JetWhine, if you haven’t already, and please share it with anyone who might find it interesting. — Scott Spangler, Editor
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Launchpad, What Were You Thinking?
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My close friends know that as a pilot I have one deep-seated fear. If I should ever buy it in an airplane, I don’t want it to be for something that’s classically not me, something I’ve spent my career as a flight instructor campaigning against, like trying to keep a light twin in the air when an engine quits just after takeoff on a sweltering day. Or trying to turn back to the airport after the only motor quits when I’m only a few hundred feet in the air. Most of all though, I hope I never violate my Prime Directive; to lower the nose and pitch for best glide speed when the engine quits, no matter my altitude. I know any additional increase in pitch, even accidentally, reduces the airplane’s margin above stall and could eventually lead to a complete loss of control. Sounds simple … but in an emergency, anyone’s brain might turn to mush.The NBAA Safety Committee and the GA Joint Steering Committee (GAJSC) have studied Loss of Control Inflight for years knowing it’s responsible for more aviation fatalities than anything else. Randy Brooks, vp of training and business development at Aviation Performance Solutions (APS), a company created to teach pilots how to recognize an impending stall as well as how to recover if they don’t, told me that 45-50 percent of general aviation accidents can easily fit into the loss of control category. Not surprisingly, most LOCI events are preceded by an aerodynamic stall. “Stalls are by far the greatest single contributor,” Brooks said, “although attitudinal upsets like a nose-low spiral dive could result in structural failure due to overspeed or flutter.” This all translates into a lesson instructors should be teaching pilots in all categories of training; better to impact the ground during a power-loss emergency with the aircraft under control than the alternative. A stall near the ground is almost always fatal.
A month or so ago I wrote a piece for Flying magazine about the personal loss I and some of my friends felt over the death of my friend Brad — Launchpad — Marzari when he crashed in his Focke-Wulf FWP-149D just a few miles short of runway 1 at Killeen, Texas Skylark Field Airport (ILE). He’d been displaying the warbird at New Braunfels Regional Airport (BAZ), about 100 miles to the south. Last week the National Transportation Safety Board (NTSB) released its preliminary report of the crash and the Board’s highlights sent me into a brand new personal tailspin.NTSB Accident Reports
If you’re new to reviewing aircraft reports, a crash is seldom the result of a single problem, like pilot error as most like to claim. The real cause usually lies much deeper than that. The NTSB doesn’t usually look at why a pilot took the action or failed to act in a specific situation. The NTSB report on Launchpad’s crash simply presented the facts as the investigators uncovered them. A final report won’t be available until near the end of 2022.
What jumped out at me when I read the report was the interview with the maintenance technician who cared for N9145. I don’t remember the person’s name, but I do remember Launchpad telling me a few weeks before the accident about some of the maintenance issues he was up against with his warbird, one being the magnetos.
The report said, “on July 2, 2021, [the mechanic] installed the right magneto on the engine after it was repaired by an overhaul shop. The mechanic stated that after installing the right magneto he conducted an engine run to assure proper engine operation. During the engine run, he observed the amber-colored “chip detector” cockpit warning light illuminated. The mechanic shut down the engine drained the oil into a clean bucket and followed the wiring associated with the “chip detector” warning light to the oil filtration system housing.” The chip detector actually turned out to be an engine oil bypass detector indicating something in the system was blocking the free flow of lubrication.
The mechanic stated that he observed “metal contamination” on the filter screen and inside the filter housing. The mechanic then showed the pilot the metal material found in the oil filtration system. With the pilot present, the mechanic ran a magnet over the screen and determined the observed metal material did not stick to the magnet.” At this point, it’s very possible Launchpad took the failure of anything to stick to the magnet as proof the problem was not that significant. Of course, the magnetic probe the mechanic said he used could have been faulty as well.
“The mechanic and Launchpad then discussed that the metal particles needed to be collected and sent to a laboratory for additional analysis. Brad told the mechanic that he intended to fly the airplane back to his home base at ILE. The mechanic told the pilot that they needed to determine the source of the metal contamination before the pilot flew any trips in the airplane. The mechanic then collected samples before he cleaned the filtration housing, sensor, and screen. He then added new oil to the engine and performed another engine run, during which he did not observe the “chip light”/bypass light illuminated.” No explanation was offered for why the mechanic thought enough to send the metal fragments to a laboratory for analysis when the magnetic probe attracted nothing.
The Accident
The NTSB said, “the pilot returned the following day, July 3, 2021, to retrieve the airplane. The mechanic observed the pilot complete an engine runup before he departed Draughon-Miller Central Texas Regional Airport (TPL), Temple, Texas, to ILE. The mechanic reported that he believed the airplane was going to remain at ILE until the laboratory results were returned concerning the metal particles.”
Despite what I interpreted as confusion about the existence of metal fragments in the engine, Launchpad flew the airplane on July 4th from Skylark to New Braunfels to display it for a portion of the day. He departed BAZ about 16:34 local for the short flight home. When N9145 was about 8.5 miles from ILE descending toward the airport – about 1717:30 local – he joined the extended runway 1 centerline at 2,700 feet MSL. With the ILE field elevation at 848 ft. at this point the Focke-Wulf was flying about 2,000 feet above the ground.
NTSB data gathered from the ADS-B system showed the aircraft began to slow during the next few minutes. “The Focke-Wulf FWP-149D Pilot Operating Handbook (POH), indicated the aerodynamic stall speed at maximum takeoff weight with the landing gear and flaps retracted is 61 knots, and the maximum glide distance with no engine power is achieved at 90 knots.” The calibrated airspeed on Launchpad’s FW-149D decreased from 112 knots to about 60 knots and occasionally to as slow as 57 knots, indicating the aircraft and pilot were wrestling with a serious problem. Although flying at a slower airspeed, the airplane was still inching closer to the airport. With just a few more miles to go, the end of the runway must have been calling to Brad. He’d made it this far, surely the old bird would fly just a few more miles.
Almost since he joined the extended runway centerline, the ground beneath the Focke-Wulf was nearly flat, only occasionally dotted by clumps of trees. But there was a large housing development between Launchpad’s current position and the runway threshold just a few miles ahead.
Moments before the aircraft struck the ground, Brad was heard calling Mayday on 121.5 and that he had, “lost his engine” was “losing altitude” and “trying to make it to Skylark.” A few seconds later he must have realized the inevitable and said he “wasn’t going to make it to the airport” and to “roll the trucks.” A witness reported the airplane flying toward the airport at about “300 ft agl” and flying at “50-60 knots.” He heard the engine “sputtering” and observed the airplane’s wings dip left-and-right 2-3 times before the airplane “stalled” with the left wing down.” The airplane descended toward the ground about 2.7 miles from the airport, just short of that thick housing development. “The witness immediately responded to the accident site where he found the airplane engulfed in flames.”
In my Flying story, I told readers I thought when Brad purposely forced the old warbird into the ground to avoid inflicting harm to anyone on the ground. After reading this NTSB report, I stand by that conclusion. The evidence seems to point strongly to an engine calamity of some kind aboard N9145 in those final minutes. Was that power loss linked to the metal the mechanic discovered during his inspection just a few days before? We’ll probably need to wait for the final report to know for certain.
But what will haunt me to the end of my days Brad, is why in the world you flew the airplane knowing there was a potential engine problem lying in wait for you somewhere along the way? It was just an airport-day display at New Braunfels. Was it worth risking your life or the lives of anyone who might have been near had the accident occurred earlier during the trip? I’ll bet you didn’t think of that. When the engine started sputtering, you still had flat ground beneath you. Why did you try to stretch the glide to Skylark? Sure you might have torn up the airplane during the gear-up landing you would have probably made short of the airport, but you would have probably survived to tell us all on the next Airplane Geeks episode how you almost made the wrong decision.
Guess none of us will ever know for sure why you forgot that airplanes can be repaired, but often not people. RIP buddy. Your friend, Rob
