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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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Memories of the Gooney Bird (DC-3)
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The DC-3, a C-47 “Gooney Bird” when it’s dressed up for the military, conjures intense memories for me, like when my parents bought me an airline ticket to fly back from school in Champaign IL to Chicago one Thanksgiving. That Ozark DC-3 ride was my first, as well as my indoctrination to holding patterns and the wait to land at ORD in the middle of a winter snowstorm. Years later I found myself in the left seat of a DC-3 at Opa Locka airport in South Florida trying to get through my first type rating. The training money ran out before I took the checkride, so DC-3s became a bird I watched from afar, except at AirVenture of course.
Standing in a Gooney Bird on the ground demands balance and practice This week our Maine Man Micah sent this report about his own memories of the DC-3. Almost coincidentally, the Commemorative Air Force (CAF) this week re-launched a restored C-47, “That’s All Brother.” That airplane originally led part of the Allies D-Day assault on Normandy in June 1944. My colleagues at Flying covered it here (@flyingmagazine).
But for now, turn your attention to Micah’s story. For a guy who isn’t a pilot, I found it fascinating.
Rob Mark
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Memories of the Gooney Bird (DC-3) by Micah Engber
The New Year brings about many thoughts. These particular thoughts though were inspired by regular listener Sjoert Baker in The Netherlands. Since meeting him in Farnborough in July, 2016, Sjoert and I have continued to be touch through Twitter and the Airline Pilot Guy podcast chat room. He works with the Dutch Dakota Association also known as DDA Classic Airlines or just DDA. If things go as planned, sometime soon DDA will be bringing a DC-3 back to life to become a sightseeing passenger airliner.
Like the Wright Flyer, the Douglas DC-3 also first flew on December 17’th but thirty-two year later in 1935. It’s amazing what happened in those three decades. The DC-3 had a cruise speed of 207 mph, a range of 1,500 miles, a service ceiling of 23,200 feet and a climb rate of 1,130 feet per minute. With those kind of numbers many say the DC-3 was the first real airliner and it certainly revolutionized air transport.
Now of course, I have no doubt that you all remember that I have many favorite aircraft, yea, I’m fickle that way. My love of airplanes is catholic, that’s with a lower case letter “C”. When used that way, the word means universal. But even with my catholic tastes and fickle nature, I must say that the DC-3, without a doubt, has been one of my true loves for over 50 years.
I remember the first time I saw a DC-3, it was in the 1945 John Ford film, They Were Expendable, starring Robert Montgomery, John Wayne, and Donna Reed, although I’ve got to say, my favorite actor in that film is Ward Bond; he’s always been outstanding in just about everything he’s done, Fort Apache, The Maltese Falcon, The Grapes of Wrath, but that’s another story.
Anyway, the first time I saw They Were Expendable, I must have been about 7 or 8 years old and watched it, as I did so many old films, with my father, Lew. At the end of the film I saw a plane fly in to take Robert Montgomery and John Wayne to safety. The aircraft was sleek, twin engined, looking like, as Max Flight once said, “Just what an airplane should look like.” It was love at first site. I asked my Dad, “What kind of plane is that?” He said, “It’s a C‑47.”
My Dad told me the C-47 was a cargo and troop carrying airplane, and that while he was in theatre, in Europe, he flew on them many times. A few weeks later, my Dad took me to the movies. Yes, we went out to the big screen together to see The Longest Day. A top notch flick I highly recommend. The Longest Day was filled with C‑47’s. From then on, I was looking for C-47’s in every film I ever watched.
Three or four years later, I was visiting my cousin Mitchel on Long Island in New York. He was in the Civil Air Patrol and he took me to Islip/MacArthur Airport to show me around. My Aunt Martha, Mitchel’s mom, dropped us off at the airport and said she would be back to pick us up in a couple of hours. Back then airports were pretty open spaces and even kids like us could pretty much just walk out on the tarmac at any time. I remember approaching the flight line, and I saw, parked right in front of me, a C-47, the first one I ever saw in person.
I said to Cousin Mitchel, look, that’s a C-47 but he corrected me. “No”, he said, “that’s a DC-3.” Mitchel took the time to explain the difference between a DC-3 and C-47 but it didn’t matter to me, I was in love.
We walked right up to it, got right under its nose and looked up. Remember, I couldn’t have been more than 11 or 12 years old, I was a kid, and the plane looked immense to me. I remember Cousin Mitchel’s words as he looked up with me, he said “Look at all that surface area!”
We stood in front of that DC-3 for maybe 30 minutes, and spent the rest of our time there walking around it, inspecting it from nose to tail, wingtip to wingtip. The two hours we had at the airport felt like 10 minutes and then it was time to go.
I didn’t get close to another DC-3 again for over a decade. This time it was in Athens, Ohio at the Ohio University Airport. The Avionics Department at Ohio University had been gifted two DC-3’s by the Federal Government. One was permanently grounded but the other was flown as a test bed for electronics. I never got to see them while an undergraduate, I didn’t have any way to get out to the airport, but when I returned to Athens, Ohio as a graduate student I would visit them regularly.
If you go to a map and look at the area in and around Athens, Ohio you can see that it’s pretty much of a dead spot for aircraft. It would drive me nuts not being able to look up and see an airplane in the sky. It was major event when one was visible.
As a graduate student, about every two weeks I would drive out to what was an almost deserted airport to visit the DC-3’s. Most times they were locked up in their hangar and I had to peek at them through a window, occasionally one would be outside and I could walk right up to it. But once I was invited inside and got a chance to climb up into the cockpit. It was only for a minute but what a thrill!!
A few years later I took a job in Pueblo, Colorado. Part of my job responsibility was running a summer Youth Hostel and Conference Center. The location of this facility overlooked the Pueblo Memorial Airport and it was wonderful for plane spotting. (If you want to can hear more about my experiences in Pueblo check out my story, Pueblo, A Geeks Dream which appeared on Airplane Geeks Episode 313.)
Back then the Pueblo Memorial Airport also played host to the Great Colorado Air-Show at the end of every summer. I attended it one year with my father when he flew out from New Jersey to visit me. After that I just watched the acts from my perch high on the hill that looked perpendicular to runways 8/26, and parallel to runways 17/35.
One year the Conference Center hosted a group of skydivers that were going to perform at the air-show. They were a large group and being the airplane geek I’ve always been, I befriended them, asked about their act, how long they were doing it and what they would be jumping from. They told me they hired a DC-3 and it would be coming in the next day. They invited me down to the airport to watch them “dirt-dive” and do their practice jumps. I’d never seen anything like that before and was thrilled to take part, but what I really wanted was a ride in that DC-3.
The pilot checked in the next morning; I was at the desk and made sure he got the best room we had. I told him what a fan I was of the DC-3 and that I would be coming down to the airport later in the day to watch dirt-dives and practice jumps. I asked him if there was any chance I might be able to get a ride on the DC-3 during one of the jumps. His response, “Well come on down and we’ll see what we can work out.” I was ecstatic.
Later that day I went down to the airport and was welcomed by the group. I had no familiarity with sky diving. I was taught about dirt-diving and watched everyone countdown and roll around the tarmac on their bellies on wheeled carts. They would count down, start, count up, go into formation, count down again, and break off. Then the group would critique the dirt-dive and try it again. It went on for a couple of hours until they were ready to make a practice jump.
Now I wish I remembered the pilot’s name. I do recall he had an incredible number of hours in many different types and had a US Air Force background. The way he looked, as well as the way he walked and talked, a modest yet swaggering style, he sort of reminded me of Sam Shepard.
During the dirt dives I checked in with him, asked what the chances were of flying in the DC3. He said they looked pretty good but he needed to check with the FAA inspector.
I didn’t know why a conversation with an FAA inspector was necessary, still don’t for that matter. But when the inspector came along to check in and look at the aircraft I do remember him asking the pilot if he had his own parachute. His exact words “You got a rig?” The pilot picked up a black rig and walked with it to the aircraft as they went on the inspection tour.
The inspector left and the pilot said to me, “Not this time but hang around, we should be able to get you on for the next jump.” A few minutes later the sky diving team climbed on board and they took off for their first live practice of the day.
It was just terrific to watch those engines start up from so close by, hear the roar of those Pratt & Whitney R-1830 Twin Wasps, and feel the breeze they kicked up. I watched them taxi out, take off and climb. I lost sight of it for a while but then the next time I saw it, it wasn’t just it, it was them; that DC3 looked like it was giving birth to 30 or so little ants as the sky divers jumped and started their free-fall. I was so enthralled with the sky diving that I lost track of the aircraft until it landed.
The sky divers touch down, grabbed up their chutes and came back to the practice area where they re-packed and discussed the dive. Then they started dirt diving again making corrections based on what happened in the air. They told me they would only be doing 2 or 3 dirt dives this time, and then go do another practice jump, their last for the day.
Trying not to be a pest, but also not wanting to be forgotten I asked the pilot what the odds were that I would be able to come along this time. He said he hadn’t forgotten about me, but needed to run it by the FAA inspector when he returned.
The conversation between the pilot and the FAA inspector was interesting to say the least. The pilot pointed at me and said “Can I bring him along in the right seat?” The inspector replied “He got a rig?” and the pilot said, On the plane.” and the inspector replied “OK”.
Well that was great news, I was going to fly in a DC3, in the right seat no less, but I had no idea why I needed a parachute, in fact I still don’t. But I did know there was no parachute on the plane for me. I also knew that even if there was one I had no idea how to put it on, let alone use it! No matter, I was going to fly in a DC3.
The pilot walked me over to the plane and got in with me close behind him. I walked up the incline to the cockpit and had to climb over a great big green oxygen bottle, about four feet long and mounted lengthwise in the fuselage with the valve right in the opening of the cockpit door. Attached to that valve were a bunch of hospital style clear soft plastic oxygen masks connected with long clear tubing. It looked rather jury rigged to me; maybe that’s what the FAA inspector had wanted to see.
The interior of the DC3 was hot; I mean it had to be at least 95° Fahrenheit, that’s 35° Celsius. Remember it was the middle of the afternoon in August in the high desert of Colorado. The pilot had his window open and I slid mine back too, trying to catch what little breeze there might be. I was sweating like in a sauna and was soaked with perspiration.
The skydivers climbed onboard and the pilot began start-up procedures. He had me call clear out of my opened window and started the right R-1830, then he started left one. We taxied out and took off.
The skydivers were packed in behind me like cattle. One of them, directly behind me was fiddling with the oxygen and within a few minutes he handed me a mask. It seemed a bit strange to be starting the oxygen so early in the climb but then I remembered we had a 5,000 foot head start. Pueblo is at 5,000 feet Mean Sea Level. The other thing I realized, I was cold, the stiff breeze and the altitude had pretty much dried out my sweat soaked shirt and I reached to close the window.
We climbed to about 20,000 feet. It was a long climb, remember the DC3 has the service ceiling of only 23,200 and a climb rate is 1,130 feet per minute so it took about 15 minutes to get to drop altitude.
I was breathing through the mask, happy to finally be flying in a DC3 for my first time. We reached the drop point and the pilot shouted “Go!” The skydivers all started shouting “Go go go”, and then they were gone. By the time I turned around to see them exit, the plane was empty. Before I knew it we were in a steep banking dive to the right.
I’d never been in a dive so steep before or since, and while I can’t tell you how many degree bank it was, it felt like a really high angle. Between the excitement of being in a DC3 for the first time, and the first time taking off with a group of passengers I wasn’t landing with, combined with the steep dive and high bank angle it all felt a bit dreamy to me.
The pilot had put down his oxygen mask and I wondered why as I was still holding mine over my nose and mouth and was breathing through it. Like I said, it all felt like a dream. The next thing I knew we were lining up to land, touched down, and came to what felt like a very quick stop on the runway. I commented on it to the pilot and he said “that’s one of the beauties of the DC3”.
What I didn’t realize though, until I got off the plane, was that just before the skydivers jumped, they turned off the oxygen. That’s why we made such a steep dive to lose altitude quickly, and I mean quickly. That’s also why it felt so dreamy to me. I must have been hypoxic
So my first and only flight in a DC3 is just a memory, and a rather faded one at that. Some of that fade is due to time, but a good deal of it is due to lack of oxygen.
Some thirty odd years later, I’m still in love with the DC3, I guess I always will be. Maybe one day, I’ll get a chance to fly in one, with enough oxygen in my system to sustain the memory of it. Until then, the dream and the reality of that wonderful flight, that one time back in Pueblo, Colorado, will just have to do.
Here in Portland, Maine, this is your Main(e) man,
Micah
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The Aesthetics of Collision Avoidance
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When it came time for Dennis Hutchinson to paint the Davis DA-2 he’d restored, he picked red and white with gold and blue accents, “because I like them and think they go well together.”Aesthetics had little do with how he arranged those colors on the airframe. Collision avoidance was top of mind: “As small as the Davis is, I wanted it to be as visible as possible in flight, to pop out of the background, not blend in,” said Hutchinson, who’s based at the Indianapolis Regional Airport (MQJ) in Greenfield, Indiana.
Starting in gliders, Hutchinson has been a pilot for half a century. When Leeon Davis flew his prototype DA-2, with its 19-foot-3 wingspan and 17-foot-10 fuselage, in 1966, Hutchinson was two years away from soloing a glider, at age 14, after his 13th flight. He got his private at 15, before he was eligible for a driver’s license.
“Most sailplanes are painted white, to protect their composite structures,” he said. “What I’d observed from an early age was that sailplanes with even a small amount of darker, contrasting paint on the nose and wingtips were much easier to spot in flight that those with an all white finish.”That’s why the tips of the Davis’s constant-chord wing and V-tail are red, because they contrast with the white inboard sections. The upper fuselage is white because it stands out against the darker earth when viewed from above, just as the red on the lower fuselage does against the sky when seen from below.
Going beyond this aesthetic contribution to collision avoidance, Hutchinson installed an AeroLED package of position/navigation/strobe lights on the wingtips and tail cone. “They are interconnected and flash simultaneously, to great effect.”
The landing and taxi lights are mounted in each wing, and they are capable of wig-wag mode. “They are not interconnected with the strobes, so they flash at a different rate,” he said. “Since all the lights are LEDs, the power they draw is minimal, and I highly value the extra visibility.”Hutchinson said the combination of his collision avoidance paint scheme and lights is working, because when he arrives at a new airport, right after asking what kind of plane he’s flying (His initial answer? “It’s a freeze-dried Bonanza.”) pilots “tell me that the plane is lit up like a Christmas tree.” — Scott Spangler, Editor
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Bruce McCandless, the Astronaut in the Iconic Photo
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Bruce McCandless, the Astronaut In the Iconic Photo, by Micah Engber
Listen to the episode or read it below
When you think about the first space walk maybe you think about Cosmonaut Alexei Leonov who in March 1965 was the first man to ever leave the relative safety of a space capsule. Maybe it’s Ed White you think of, who in June 1965 opened the hatch of Gemini 4 and was the first American to walk in space.
The name Gene Cernan may come to mind. He flew Gemini 9A in June of 1966 and spent over two hours on an EVA. That EVA almost killed him due to our lack of understanding of the physical exertion it took to work in space, and the cooling system in his space suit not being able to keep up with it.
Then there’s Buzz Aldrin, sure, the second man on the moon, but actually the first man to successfully conduct a mission while on a space walk. In November 1966, on Gemini 12, the final Gemini mission, Buzz Aldrin conducted 3 EVAs that totaled more than five hours in space. Buzz Aldrin was the man that really taught us how to work in space.
EVAs seem rather common place today. Even though they’re always incredibly dangerous, always a challenge, and always very closely monitored both from on board the space craft and from the ground; the general public doesn’t think of EVA’s as anything special. In some ways that’s sad. It’s also sad that we also don’t think of the man that paved the way for the modern spacewalk, probably don’t know his name, and certainly don’t have any idea that he passed away on December 21 of 2017.
In February 1984, at the age of 39, Bruce McCandless was the first person to ever truly walk in space, and by truly, I mean untethered. You see, those four space walks I mentioned before, while all incredible feats of both courage and science, all had one thing in common, those men were tethered to their spacecraft, connected by an umbilical cord. Although in an emergency, none of them could be safely pulled back into their spacecraft by the tether, they couldn’t just go floating off in space. On the other hand, in February 1984, Bruce McCandless flew in space, no strings attached; he piloted himself in what we called the MMU, the Manned Maneuvering Unit. (more…)
