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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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EAA Oshkosh: The Best AirVenture Photography Refocuses Participatory Emotions
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In the English language, there must be a word that summarizes the emotional conflation of the self-satisfaction that comes from a distinctive personal accomplishment and the whispers from a subconscious troll holding up that same achievement as primary evidence of intellectual failure. It that word exists, I haven’t found it yet, but it perfectly describes my personal and professional connection to EAA AirVenture Oshkosh. Or, at least, it didn’t until the Quattro Publishing Group generously offered me a copy a new book, EAA Oshkosh: The Best AirVenture Photography.”Now preparing for the 2016 edition of AirVenture (July 24-31) I made my inaugural pilgrimage to Oshkosh in 1978, and haven’t missed a year since. And that is the source of my emotional ying and yang word search. I’m both proud and disappointed that I’ve participated in this event for more than half my life. Dedication is a contributing component of my pride, and disbelief, if that’s the right word, that I’ve not at least invested the week in pursuit of another interest because there is more to my intellectual and emotional life than airplanes.
Stepping through the book’s 220 pages, I’ve had to reassess my relationship with Oshkosh because it has recalled long-buried memories of seminal moments filed during my previous 37 visits filed in memory. Drawing on the EAA archives, the book depicts in 240 color and a few black-and-white photos the annual convention of its members from its inception in 1953 (which, coincidentally, was the year I started my life’s adventure).
The photos are collected in chapters that mirror the AirVenture flight line from north to south: Warbirds, Homebuilts, Aerobatics & Air Shows, Life at Oshkosh (the show’s “town square” display area that has been identified by its various sponsors over the decades), Vintage Aircraft, Ultralights, and the Seaplane Base. Jim Busha, Hal Bryan, and Dick Knapinski, all EAA staffers, provide succinct words of context for newcomers.As Jack Pelton, EAA chairman and CEO (who’s done a marvelous job in completing the organization’s previously contentious transition from the founding family), said in his introduction, “EAA AirVenture Oshkosh is, more than anything, an individual experience.”
Through that lens, my first decade of participation was the best, the most eagerly anticipated and fondly remembered. Thereafter, attendance was part of my job description, with Flight Training magazine (with sweltering weeklong memories of booth duty in the old exhibit building), then with EAA itself (a behind-the curtain experience rich with greater appreciation of the effort of volunteers and staffers who make it happen each year), and now with JetWhine and others who fund my participation.
Paging my way down the visual flight line punctuated the dominant memories of work with visual call cards that led to long filed memories of face-to-face encounters with the airplanes and, more importantly, the people who gave them life. I won’t bore you with the details of my stroll down my flight line of memories, but I will offer my appreciation to the book’s creators for sharing images of a number of these individuals, with very few aviation celebrities among them. It is better that you get a copy of the book (available July 1, 2016, $24.99, from ShopEAA.org, Amazon, Barnes & Noble) and perambulate through your memories (or make your inaugural flight line stroll, which will, perhaps, motivate a long debated pilgrimage to Oshkosh).Finishing my journey through the book, a surprise awaited me on page 224, which lists the credits. The images on the preceding pages are not individually credited, and none of them recalled a visual memory of the thousands of photos I’ve taken at AirVenture during my decades of work there, which was why reading my name among the credited photographers was a surprise. Repeated perusal of each image and comparing them to memories of AirVentures past has, so far, not made any connections. But it has changed my usual dolorous anticipation of this year’s aviation convocation to the eager anticipation I haven’t experienced in more than 20 years. I hope to see you there! — Scott Spangler, Editor
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Could You Pass a Checkride Based on the New Airman Certification Standards?
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One of the tried and true tropes of aviation is that, in general, the successful completion of a checkride marks the peak currency and proficiency of a pilot’s knowledge and skills. For those rarely exercised after that point, it is all downhill from there. Based on personal experience, the little used knowledge goes first, and refreshing it isn’t as much fun as practicing seldom-used stick and rudder skills in preparation for an upcoming flight review.Still, pilots who profess dedication to currency and proficiency should be able to pass a checkride to the minimum requirements of the certificates and ratings they possess. This can be an uncomfortable situation for those of us “mature” aviators who passed their checkrides “back in the day.” (For my private pilot checkride that day was in June, 1976.) A lot has changed since then, and to assess how I’d fare as an applicant for a private pilot certificate today, I dove into the FAA’s new Airman Certification Standards (ACS) , which this month replace the Practical Test Standards.
My initial examination provided a kernel of relief. In replacing the Practical Test Standards, the new ACS does not change the “skill performance metrics” or the flight portion of the checkride. The knowledge probed by the oral half of the checkride is another matter. The ACS integrates the specific elements of aeronautical knowledge, decision making, and risk management required for each area of operation or task. This does not, says the FAA, increase the oral or flight segments of the checkride, but it will surely refine the focus on its individual elements.
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Armstrong Air & Space Museum Holds Touching Surprises
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Interactive exhibits aside, the unifying prohibition at most museums is “Do Not Touch!” A look at the shiny noses on bronze busts of notable figures tactilely demonstrates the long-term wear that would damage more fragile artifacts of historical significance. So it was a surprise to see a band of titanium not covered by the Plexiglas cocoon that surrounded the Gemini VIII capsule on display at the Armstrong Air & Space Museum in Wapakoneta, Ohio.This exposure was not an oversight, said a docent. Visitors were encouraged to touch history, to make a tactile connection not only with history, but with a place few humans will ever venture on their own. As so many thousands have done before, I ran my fingers across the titanium aft of the capsule cockpit doors. Its texture was uniform throughout my arm’s reach, roughly half of the capsule’s diameter. Titanium clearly seems impervious to bronze’s shiny nose syndrome, and Gemini VIII’s pilots, Neil Armstrong and David Scott, were really little guys.
My tracing touch took place almost 50 years to the day this flying machine made the first docking of two spacecraft on March 16, 1966. It recalled memories of TV news reports and photos (was it Life?) of this capsule docked with the Agena Target Vehicle. Nowhere could I recall the flight’s other first, a critical system failure—a thruster malfunction that sent the docked capsule rolling—that immediately aborted the mission and put its success in question. Learning about its specifics, it reinforced my impression of Neil Armstrong as an unflappable aviator with big brass focus.
