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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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Aviation Ancestry: Luscombe Lineage
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Some days, opening my email inbox is like Christmas. This day’s present was from Ryan Short, a reader, aerial photographer, and part-time flight instructor who works with students by appointment through Texas Tailwheel Flight Training. Flying his 1939 Luscombe 8A, NC25215 ($120 an hour), he specializes in tailwheel endorsements, flight reviews, and general proficiency training. He wrote:I read with interest your article about your father [Aviation Ancestry: Discovering the Logbooks of a Life Rarely Discussed].
I am the current caretaker of N25215, a Luscombe 8A that was also assigned to the Iowa Airplane Company from 1939 until close to the end of WWII.
I’m wondering if in your father’s records there are more names, photos, or other bits of information that might help me track down more about this aircraft. I’d like to put her back in Iowa Airplane Company markings as well.
In reply, I promised a return to my father’s logbooks to compile the N-numbers of his winged classrooms, all Luscombe 8As, and the names of instructors who signed each lesson’s entry. (The photo search must wait until my next with my sister, who has the family photo albums.) In a follow-up email he shared a photo (above) he’d found of some of the Iowa Airplane Company fleet of Luscombe 8As and two of its instructors.
What got me excited about his email is learning that the Luscombe that taught my dad to fly in 1943 is still serving the same purpose 78 years later. When I opened the logbook I discovered the N-numbers of Ryan’s Luscombe, NC25215, and the one my father soloed on October 23, 1943, NC25152, were, in a manner of speaking, dyslexic siblings. But Ryan’s email got me wondering, what happened to the Luscombes on my list?
In the two months of primary training my father received, he flew seven different Iowa Airplane Company 8As. Ryan’s airplane, Serial Number (SN) 1120, was not one of them, but that was surely the luck of the draw. The registration range of the seven Luscombes spanned from his solo airplane, NC25152, to NC28846, so logically Ryan’s airplane could have been a member of the Iowa Airplane family.
If Ryan’s Luscombe (right) is still teaching, maybe some of the others my father flew are doing the same. Off to the FAA Aircraft Registry.The FAA deregistered my dad’s solo mount, NC25152, a 1939 Luscombe 8A, SN 1076, on September 12, 2012. Its last home was Eldorado, Arkansas.
A pilot in Gilbert, Arizona, has reserved N25356. Before that, it identified a 1977 Cessna 152 in Greenville, Mississippi, that the FAA deregistered on January 22, 2013.
NC28450 is still a 1940 Luscombe 8A, SN 1317, and still carrying its fractional owners aloft in Elba, Alabama.
N28543 is a 1979 Piper PA-28-236 Dakota in Apex, North Carolina.
The FAA canceled the registration of NC28828, a 1940 Luscombe 8A, SN 1570, on July 23, 2009, which then called Atlanta, Georgia, home.
N28846 expired on November 12, 2013, and it identified a deregistered 1978 Grumman American AA-5B Tiger in Houston, Texas.
N28573 is assigned to a 1977 Grumman American AA-5B Tiger now flying in Savannah, Georgia.
The dream of flying an airplane my father once flew will remain just that, at least as far as the Luscombe 8A is concerned. Given my stature, I’m a cabin-filling control locks. But I can still hope that others might see this and share what information and or images they possess on the Iowa Airplane Company Luscombes with me and Ryan, who can be reached at Texas Tailwheel Flight Training.
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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Lawyers & Engineers: The Evitable Redefinition of Flight Training
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The immediate and long-term consequences of the US Court of Appeals for the District of Columbia ruling on Warbird Adventures, Inc., et. al. v. FAA, which redefined the educational mission of flight training as the “carriage of persons for compensation or hire,” should not have surprised anyone.There is not one aspect of life and culture in the United States that is not ruled, litigated, and defined by our national legal system. We are a nation overpopulated with lawyers, whose numbers have increased 15 percent since 2008, says the American Bar Association, giving us 1,338,678 licensed active attorneys (in 2018). And most of us know that most of our elected officials are also lawyers and how almost every aspect of our lives, even our health, has become rabidly politicized.
Lawyers serve a purpose in society, but they pursue their occupation with a mindset antipodal to engineers. Like scientists, engineers look at the data and test their designs to achieve the best solution for a given problem. In short, they strive for what is right or appropriate to the given challenge.
Lawyers, on the other hand, work in a world where there are at least two sides to every situation, and it is their job to pause all action while they argue their side of the case at hand. In short, what matters most is whose point of view is right based on the evidence they present to support their argument. The goal is to win the argument, not solve (or prevent) the given problem or challenge.
Almost any evening on TV, you can watch lawyers design and assemble their cases specifically for their courtroom audience. In the Warbird Adventure case, that was the judges at the Court of Appeals. The judges are lawyers, so the FAA’s representatives presented their case in terms their peers would understand, paying for flight training is nothing more than buying an airplane ride.
Had engineers decided this case, the outcome would surely been different. People who buy an airplane ride do not undertake a premeditated, defined program of education, the acquisition of new knowledge and skills. They show up, climb in, and strap in. Engineers would also see the logic in acquiring this knowledge and skill in a flying machine as close to the one the pilot plans to fly upon completion of his or her training.
But engineers did not decide the case, lawyers did. And judging by the relentlessly expanding trend in our American society, where the first response to not getting our way is to sue (if not shoot first, then argue), we can assume that the Warbird Adventure definition of “flight training” will be coming soon to a traditional flight school near you. Even more interesting will be the consequences in aviation’s accident rates, but an increase in them means more work for attorneys.
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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Reading the Mars Parachute Code
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Every color used in the construction of a parachute has a purpose. On some, it satisfies the owner’s aesthetic. For others, it is advertising. In the military, the color serves a specific requirement for visibility, or the lack of it. And then there’s the seemingly haphazard arrangement of orange and white panels on the parachute that slowed the descent of NASA’s Perseverance rover as it plummeted toward the surface of Mars. It was unique, so there had to be some reason for it, and finding out what it was consumed my free moments.Anyone who thinks engineers are the antithesis of fun need only look at this chute. The New York Times reported that Allen Chen, the engineer in charge of the rover’s landing system, said during a post-landing news conference that “Sometimes we leave messages in our work for others to find for that purpose, so we invite you all to give it a shot and show your work.” The article, “NASA Sent a Secret Message to Mars. Meet the People Who Decoded It,” introduced the people on Earth who immediately tackled the challenge.”
My guess is that all of them have seen The Martian, the addictive Matt Damon film, or read Andy Weir’s book for which it was named and so closely hews. But the oddly arranged panels of orange and while did more than spell out “Dare Mighty Things” in binary code. (Here is NASA’s decoder ring, with an explanation in “STEM Learning: Mars Perseverance Parachute Coding Activity.“)
Embedding the message was a bonus benefit devised by parachute system engineer Ian Clark, who also worked on the slow-down system for the preceding Curiosity rover. Evaluating the high-speed video of a high-altitude test failure of a prototype design, Dr. Clark found the chute’s checkerboard pattern complicated the analysis of how the fabric unfurled and inflated. Knowing that Perseverance would live-stream its descent to Mars, he got approval for a distinct pattern that would simplify post-flight evaluation.Each of the 80 gores that made up the 70-foot chute is composed of four panels, 320 pieces of fabric that can be a different color, but he stuck with the two colors used on previous extra terrestrial parachutes because the fabric dyes had proved successful. It makes sense that jeopardizing a $2.7 billion mission to Mars by introducing a new color, no matter how aesthetically pleasing, would surely be a career limiting move for everyone in that approval chain.
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
