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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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Flight Instructors to Remember and Forget
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After 40 years of flying, flight instructing and communicating throughout the aviation business, it’s almost impossible for me to remember that of all my flight instructors, I almost allowed my first ago to drive me completely away from the business. Although he’s long gone from aviation, the lessons are still significant enough to pass on today at a time when the industry’s hunting and pecking for every possible student pilot. Lucky for me, another CFI entered my life years later and completely turned my world around.
In 1966 I was a 17-year old freshman at the University of Illinois Institute of Aviation and anxious to learn to fly. I never doubted my goal … to be an airline pilot.In those days, student pilots and instructors at the school were randomly paired and I drew a guy named Tom. We flew the mighty 90-hp 7FC Tri-Champ with the student in front and the instructor behind.
School began in late September with ground school and the “Box,” a name we’d all attached to the Link trainer we were expected to partially master before we took to the air. I never realized I was a bit claustrophobic until the first time Tom sat me in the box, closed the door and pulled the cover down on top of me leaving me in nearly total darkness.
Why Was Always a Big Question
We didn’t brief much before we began so not surprisingly, the sessions didn’t go well since I never really understood the point of moving a control stick inside a dark little room as dials and gauges spun like mad before my eyes. Looking back on it today, I realize Tom talked a lot, asked few questions and simply assumed I was following along. I wasn’t since I’d never even been inside the actual airplane.
Finally one day I flew.
I clearly loved every moment in the air despite being nearly clueless about what I was supposed to be doing, except for reminders from the back seat like … “what are you doing that for?” It was at about the five-hour mark that things started getting ugly because I just didn’t seem to be getting things to come together.
There was this landing practice session that still sticks out in my mind. Right near the runway on the first few, Tom started yelling … “Flare, flare, flare.” Crunch! The Tri-Champ was pretty forgiving despite hitting hard enough to knock the headset off my head a few times. After an hour of punishing flying, we taxied in and shut down. Tom grabbed my shoulders and shook me hard from the back seat. “Why didn’t you flare when I told you too?” Somewhat worn out I just stared out the windshield and asked, “What’s a flare?” was all I could muster.
I actually managed to solo the next week and was cleared to fly the pattern that helped my confidence enormously. But soon I was back in the Tri-Champ and the Link with Tom and the yelling began again. To make matters worse, he began slapping me along side the head and yelling when I screwed up. With 15 hours total time, I finally broke. At 17 I knew I would never learn to fly. I quit school AND flying and never touched the controls of another airplane.
Until …
Jump ahead five years as I arrived to my last Air Force duty station at Bergstrom AFB, now Austin Municipal airport. How I got there is too long a story right now. It’s what happened next that’s important.
Within a few days of arrival I found the base flying club. Outside the main door near the aircraft parking area they’d installed a small set of stadium seats. I’d sit there watching the Piper Cherokees come and go, some with two people inside, some with just one. I didn’t go into the clubhouse though.
One day, I headed to the flying club to watch airplanes and eat my lunch. A Cherokee 140 pulled up near the fence, but the engine didn’t shut down. The guy in the right seat seemed to be talking to the pilot in the left. Finally the door opened, the guy in the right seat hopped out and shut the door patting it a few times, maybe for good luck I though. As the airplane taxied away, the right seat guy passed me saying hi as he did. Half an hour later the Cherokee returned and that same guy left to greet him. Later I learned the pilot was on his second supervised solo and the fellow who’d waved to me was his instructor.
Maybe a week or so later I’m back out on the seats watching the airplanes when that same instructor comes out of the clubhouse door. He looks around and happens to see me so he walks over. “Why aren’t you out there flying on such a beautiful day,” he asks. “I’m not a pilot.” “Really?” he says. “You sure hang around here a lot for a guy who doesn’t fly. My name’s Ray. Stop in one of these days,” he said before turning away toward one of the airplanes. The gauntlet had been thrown down.
I didn’t go back to the viewing area the rest of that entire week. It was simply too scary to think of being close to something I really loved, but at which I’d already failed. The next week though, I did go back, but only back to the seats.
To this day I think Ray was watching for me because he came out of the clubhouse door and waved … “Well, are you coming in?” I sighed deeply but got up and followed him in the clubhouse door. And that, as they say, was that.
Over some coffee, I told Ray my story of failure. It didn’t even slow him down because an hour later we went out flying … and I never stopped again. I went on to earn my ATP and my own flight instructor ratings, fly for a couple of airlines, a charter company and a couple of Part 91 corporate flight departments. As an aviation writer, I even managed to grab a couple of hours in an Airbus A-380. It has all been just so sweet.
My instructor Tom nearly ended my aviation career, but luckily there was another fabulous instructor like Ray out there waiting to offer me a hand up with a little encouragement, which is all I apparently needed.
Dassault’s Falcon 8X cockpit Today I wonder how many instructors like Tom are still out there. Trust me, one like him is one too many.
So here’s a suggestion. When you see someone watching through the fence, go say hi and offer a little encouragement to that budding pilot. These already-eager people are the low-hanging fruit for instructors and we can’t afford to lose a one of them.
Who knows, you might just be the one to change that wannabe-pilot’s life.
Rob Mark
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Drone & NextGen Technology & Flying Cars
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Eternal optimism is a dominant trait among aviation innovators, and nowhere is it more enduring than with those who dream of flying cars. Reading about the latest member of this community, Lilium, which just raised $90 million in financing, the German company described its vehicle, called the Eagle, as a two-seat, vertical takeoff and landing (VTOL) electric jet. The proof of concept prototype made its maiden flight earlier this year.The all-electric Lilium Jet’s specs are impressive: 300 kilometer range, 300 kmh speed. For Americans, that’s 186.4114 miles at 186.428 mph. And, says the company, it does this “with less noise than a motorbike.” Its electric jet engines have one moving part.
Working in Munich, the designers are now working on the five-seater, which the company is marketing as a taxi. “You won’t have to own one, you will simply pay per ride and call it with the push of a button. It’s our mission to make air taxis available to everyone and as affordable as riding in a car.” Being VTOL, it could operate from small city landing pads no bigger than a downtown pocket park. “By traveling through the air you’ll be able to avoid time-consuming traffic jams, while enjoying a magnificent view.”This is where the typical “flying car” story takes an interesting turn. “Take off with the push of a button,’ says the website headline. “We are working actively with leading mobility service providers to deliver a seamless user experience from booking through to landing.”
According to the company timeline, from an idea hatched in Glasgow, Scotland, in 2013, the first flight of a half-scale model in 2015, and the 2017 first flight of a full scale model, the first manned flight is planned for 2019, with 2025 as the target for booking a flight.
What most flying car optimists rarely talk about is the pilot, and the challenges of training and certification. Lilium doesn’t address the latter two, but they do mention the need for a pilot in “Safety First. Safety Second.” and mention who’s really going the flying. “In case of an emergency, regardless of the failing component, the computer informs the pilot to land the jet.”
In an emergency, vertical landing would still be possible because of an innovative ultra redundancy provided by small independent components, like the electric jet engines, that work in concert with their neighbors but whose failure doesn’t affect safety of the jet’s stability. Oh, and it has a full-aircraft parachute.Combining this business model with the developing technology that is integrating drone technology with the Next Generational Air Transportation System, the flying-car skeptic can see a glimmer of success for the effort. It is not a “flying car” meant to be in every suburban garage. It is a VTOL taxi operated by a company (or possible an individual on the Uber/Lyft model) which would require a modicum of training and certification, perhaps on par with the FAA’s drone pilot certification. This will bear watching. — Scott Spangler, Editor
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Hurricane Helicopter Love
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In the aftermath of Hurricane Harvey and the ongoing rampage of Irma (with Jose and Katia on her heels), let’s give a moment of silent thanks to Igor Sikorsky who made the inaugural flight of the world’s first practical helicopter, the VS-300, this week, on September 14, 1939. Think about that for a moment. Where would we be right now if this intrepid designer decided that the uncountable challenges of getting so many interlocking parts to rotate for the common good was insurmountable?As anyone who’s studied (or attempted to study) rotary wing aerodynamics can appreciate, it is not an east subject. With lead and lag and flap and all the rest, visualizing the relative wind’s relationship with an airfoil that is moving in two directions is not as easy as seeing a fixed wing moving forward in a slipstream delineated with smoky stripes. Painting a picture of it with words is an even greater challenge, which is why it is always easier to make a joke. Take, for instance, the bumble bee. It’s not supposed to fly either, but like the helicopter, it doesn’t know that.
Thanks to two years as a crewman on a Navy Huey helicopter, first and foremost I’m a dedicated rotorhead. Given a choice (and sufficient funds), I would fly nothing else. But it seems whenever aviators who favor fixed wings run into those who know that rotating wings provide the ultimate in flying fun, it’s time to make fun of helicopters for their fixed-wing failings. They are not very fast, and they don’t fly as far, etc., etc.But people stop making these jokes when, say, they are floating in some fast expanse of water and the only sign of humanity is in that whirring machine that was once the butt of their jokes. Then helicopters are pretty impressive flying machines. And I’m sure that every helo crewman who’s endured rotary ridicule at the hands of floating aficionados of fixed wings has been tempted to dangle the horse collar just out of their reach for awhile, just to make a point.
As as we rescue those savaged by Mother Nature and restore lives to some degree of quotidian sameness, remember that helicopters are more than saviors when times are dire, and spread the good word of their unique and essential contributions when times are good. — Scott Spangler, Editor