Success!

I get my Part 135 Certificate.

The process started on October 18, 2004, when I sent a formal letter of intent to the FAA’s Scottsdale Flight Standards District Office (FSDO). The “PASI” form included with the letter notified them that I was applying for a Single Pilot Part 135 Certificate. On February 9, 2005, I received that certificate.

It’s a big deal. Without the certificate, my commercial operations were limited to conducting sightseeing flights within 25 miles of my origination point. Disembarking passengers was pretty much forbidden — I had to drop off my passengers the same place I picked them up. Although I managed to drum up a respectable amount of business with this limitation, it also forced me to turn down many more lucrative (and interesting) flights. That’s one of the reasons why I went after my Part 135.

The other, of course, was the real desire to make a career change into aviation. To do that, I had to earn more money. To earn more money, I had to be more flexible. The Part 135 certificate will make me more flexible.

I’ve already added a bunch of day trips to Flying M Air’s Web site. I’m working on developing more. I’m also working on getting necessary permissions to conduct commercial operations on BLM land, as well as certain private and state lands. And making relationships with organizations that can get me more work, including an adventure tourism company based in Scottsdale, a resort in Lake Havasu, and a tourist attraction in northern Arizona.

With this Part 135 certificate, Flying M Air is free to grow and prosper. I’ll keep doing my part to make that happen.

Public Opinion

I realize that public opinion doesn’t really matter.

I run a Web site called wickenburg-az.com. Its primary purpose is to provide information about Wickenburg, including things to do and see and businesses that operate here in town. I built the Web site because there was no non-commercial Web site about the town. Basically, if you wanted your business on the Web, you had to cough up big bucks to get it on one of the commercial sites in town — sites that weren’t even updated on a regular basis. I didn’t think that was fair. I also didn’t think any of those sites provided useful information for residents or visitors.

Over the years, the site has become quite a forum for voicing opinions about the way things are going here in town. I admit that I started it. Then John started adding his two cents and since what he submitted was well-written and well-reasoned out, I couldn’t help but publish it online. Along the way, a handful of other people submitted articles and I published them. I felt that these opinion pieces helped round out the site.

Recently, I’ve gotten quite a few opinion pieces from people I’ve never heard from before. I’ve been publishing most of them. Others are a bit over the top, even for me. What amazes me, however, is how many people have written to say they agree with much of what appears on the site — even though these opinions aren’t what’s reflected in the local newspaper or among local politicians.

In other words, the town’s government is pushing one way on many issues and the newspaper is rubber-stamping their decisions. In the meantime, many people don’t agree with or even like what’s going on.

This has me a bit baffled. My understanding is that in a democracy, when the people vote, they are choosing the elected officials that stand the same way they do on most issues. When they vote on a proposition, they’re telling their elected officials that they either want it to pass or they don’t. It seems to make sense that the elected officials would do the things that their constituents expect them to, based on popular opinion. It also seems to make sense that if a proposition fails, it would simply fade away into obscurity — not be put up for another vote when a different collection of people were around to vote on it.

Sadly, that’s not the way democracy works in Wickenburg. Majority public opinion seems to have little or no bearing on what actually happens in town. Elected officials do whatever they want to, for whatever reasons strike their fancy. I still haven’t decided if they’re motivated by greed — money under the table and other reward promises — or stupidity — being led around by the nose by smooth-talking developers.

The bypass issue is a perfect example. This has been going on for years. The route 93 and 60 corridor has become a major thoroughfare for traffic between Phoenix and Las Vegas and will be part of the Canamex highway that will link NAFTA members Canada and Mexico. As a result, there is a huge amount of truck traffic going right through town.

ADOT brought consultants into town on a regular basis to meet with the public and gain their opinions on the dozen or so options. The public clearly favored an out-of-town bypass that would keep all those trucks south and west of town. Yet the local government and chamber of commerce favored a route that would put the traffic right through town. (I guess it was important to them for McDonald’s and Circle-K to keep selling burgers, coffee, and gas to the drive-through crowd.)

As a result, the “interim bypass” was developed. This monstrosity would put four lanes of traffic along the riverbed near the existing bridge — it isn’t clear yet whether they’ll build another bridge, too — and route that traffic right past the Community Center and Coffinger Park, through a neighborhood and a ranch (thus displacing dozens of people and destroying the values of the remaining homes), and deposit it back on 93 right where a local developer is attempting to build a high-priced housing development. (It will be interesting to see how many people will pay $800K+ for a house overlooking 4 lanes of truck traffic.) Along the way, this crazy plan calls for two “roundabouts” — the old-style traffic circles that are being dismantled throughout the east — so that our “winter visitors” (most of whom are in the 65+ age bracket) can merge with the trucks on their way to and from Wal-Mart in Surprise. (It might be a good idea to move the ambulance base to that intersection, since that’s where it’ll be spending a lot of time.)

All this is completely against the majority public opinion. People who live in Wickenburg year-round care about the town and its atmosphere. We don’t want highways in the riverbed where exhaust fumes will settle and noise will destroy the quality of life and whatever downtown ambiance we still have.

We also don’t want high-density housing, especially when there aren’t enough high-paying jobs to fill those homes with year-round residents. We don’t want an economy that centers around winter visitors who don’t even like to spend their money in town. We don’t want two Dollar Stores or two check cashing places or a pawn shop. We want businesses that will provide good jobs and the goods and services we need.

But in Wickenburg, public opinion doesn’t matter.

A Birthday Flight

I take a 90-year-old woman, her 88-year-old brother, and her son on a helicopter tour.

I’ve been getting a lot of calls lately from people in Scottsdale, interested in helicopter tours. There’s a charter company down there named Westcor Aviation (associated with the Westcor malls and other real estate ventures) and my very first flight instructor, Paul, works for them as a pilot. They occasionally get calls from people who want to charter a helicopter and get “sticker shock” when they hear the rate: $1,500 per hour. So when asked to recommend other operators in the area, Westcor has begun recommending me, along with the others.

Doing flights out of Scottsdale isn’t exactly good for me. I ask $495 per hour for flights originating in the valley, with a one-hour minimum. But I don’t charge people for the amount of time it takes me to get from Wickenburg to the valley and back again. So I don’t really make much money on these flights. But they’re good experience and they do help pay for the helicopter. And they give me an excuse to fly.

I did one of these flights on Sunday. I’d gotten a call during the week and made arrangements with someone named Brad to fly his grandmother on a tour of the area for her 90th birthday. He’d fill the other two seats, too, and he’d make sure the total weight was below 650 for the three passengers. I just had to meet him at Scottsdale Airport at 10:00 AM.

This worked out well for Mike and I. Mike had gotten Greyhawk Members Club tickets to see the FBR US Open in Scottsdale, which wasn’t far from the airport. The tickets got us entrance to the event as well as entrance to hospitality tents scattered around the course. We could eat and watch the golfing from comfortable, shaded seats — all for free. We figured we’d head over to the course when my flight was finished.

We arrived at Scottsdale Airport about 40 minutes early and got a great parking spot right out in front of the terminal. We went into the restaurant for some weak coffee and a bite to eat and I spent some time reviewing the Phoenix Terminal Area Chart to see where I could take them. At 9:50, I headed out to the lobby to wait for my passengers. There were three young people there and one of them approached me. It was Brad.

I looked at him and his two companions. “I thought you said it was for your grandmother.”

“She’s on her way,” he said.

I tried to review the route I’d planned with him, hoping it would meet his approval. He didn’t seem to care. “She wants to see the Superstition Mountains,” he said.

I wanted to take her up the Salt River, which would take us near the Superstitions but not over them. I didn’t want to fly over or around the Superstitions. It’s rocky, dangerous terrain and I didn’t think it would make for an interesting or comfortable one-hour flight, given the wind conditions and the descending clouds out that way.

“She doesn’t know she’s doing this,” he added.

A while later, his grandmother arrived. With about twenty other people. She was a petite 90-year-old woman. They escorted her up to the window where she could see Zero-Mike-Lima parked on the ramp. “That’s your birthday present,” someone told her.

She was thrilled. They quickly sorted out who would be flying with her: her brother, who I can accurately describe as a little old man, and her son, who was considerably larger. I don’t think their total weight even reached 500 pounds. I escorted them outside to the security door and told them that only one person could accompany us through the gate to take photos. Out at the helicopter, I gave them the safety briefing. I put the birthday girl in the front, her brother behind her, and her son behind me. As I warmed up Zero-Mike-Lima, my passenger’s entourage watched from behind the glass partition.

We departed to the southwest to remain west of Runway 21. Although the controller told me he’d call my turn to the east, he was so busy with other traffic that I was clear of his airspace before he had a chance to. I passed north of Camelback, then headed east toward the Salt River. I skirted the north edge of Falcon Field’s airspace, then continued up the Salt River Canyon.

The desert was absolutely beautiful. I’d never seen it so green. And all the lakes we flew over — Saguaro, Canyon, Apache — were completely filled with water. The sunlight through the low clouds made a patchwork of shade over the entire scene, illuminating some hillsides and rock formations and shadowing others. The Superstitions were clearly visible, just below the clouds, to the south of us, so my passengers got to see what they wanted to, and so much more.

About 0.6 hours out, I made the turn to come back, using my GPS to give me a more direct route. The goal was to make the flight exactly 1.0 hours. Soon we were heading toward Fountain Hills. I looked at the clock on my instrument panel. It was nearly 11 AM. Is it possible that I’d overfly Fountain Hills just as they turned on the fountain? It was. We were still about three miles out when the water started to rise. It was an added bonus for my passengers to see it from the air.

We approached Scottsdale Airport from the west. Fortunately, the controller wasn’t nearly as busy as he’d been when we left and we had no trouble approaching the airport, crossing the runway, and landing right where we’d begun.

My passengers were very pleased with the flight. I was too.

And when the woman’s daughter handed me a check, a little voice in the back of my head reminded me, “And they pay you to do great stuff like this, too.”

The Governor Needs a Helicopter

It could save her time and save the taxpayers money.

I got in to Wickenburg Airport yesterday afternoon sometime after 4:00 PM and set down near the pumps. When the blades stopped spinning and I finally got out with my passengers, I noticed a couple of men in suit jackets waiting in the parking area.

Gus came out of the terminal. “See those guys with the suits?” he asked me. “They’re with the FAA and they want to talk to you.”

As usual, Gus’s delivery was deadpan so I couldn’t help but believe him. I looked at the men. They seemed to be looking back at me. “About what?” I asked. I was near the end of my Part 135 certification process and the last thing I wanted was trouble with the FAA. On a Saturday, no less.

“It must be about you running out of fuel in the desert,” he said.

Technically, I hadn’t run out of fuel. I still had 1/8 tank. But I’d gotten a Low Fuel light four miles short of Wickenburg and had made a precautionary landing on a dirt road in the desert about two miles from pavement. I’d been stranded with Mike and two friends for about 30 minutes when my friend Ray delivered 10.7 gallons of 100LL and took off in his Hughes 500D to continue roaming the desert or chasing cows or doing whatever it is that he does when he’s burning JetA.

“There’s nothing wrong with making a precautionary landing,” I said defensively.

Gus laughed. “They’re not for you,” he said. “They’re for the governor. She’s flying in to Wickenburg.”

As he spoke, a few more suits showed up. The parking lot was nearly full. I remembered a trip to local radio station KBSZ-AM the day before. Rebecca from Robson’s had been there and she was all excited that the governor was going to pay them a visit. I never got a chance to ask why the governor was going to travel out to a mining museum/tourist attraction tucked into the mountains north of Aguila.

“This late?” I asked.

“Yeah. She’s due to arrive any minute now. She’s going out to Robson’s and then to something at the museum. She’s leaving here at 7:10.”

I looked at my watch. It was nearly 4:30 PM. Robson’s was at least 35 minutes away by car. “She’s going all the way out to Robson’s and back and then to the museum in less than three hours? What’s she coming in?”

“A King Air.”

A King Air is a big twin. “From Phoenix?” I asked with some disbelief.

“I think so.”

“That’s a bit of overkill, don’t you think?”

He pretty much agreed with me.

“So she’s going to fly in a King Air from Phoenix to Wickenburg, then hop in a car and drive all the way out to Robson’s?”

“I believe that’s the plan.”

“I should take her to Robson’s in my helicopter,” I said. “It’s a ten minute flight from here and I can land right by Robson’s gate. It’ll save her two long car rides. Suggest it to them, will you?”

He said he would. I parked the helicopter, wasted another half hour around the airport, and went to Safeway to do some grocery shopping. As we went into the store, the governor’s King Air flew overhead on its way to the airport. It was nearly 5:00 PM. That meant the governor would tackle the two half-hour car rides, Robson’s visit, and museum visit in just over two hours. Not likely. I had a sneaking suspicion that Rebecca would not see the governor that evening.

Of course, if the governor had a helicopter, it could save her plenty of time and save the taxpayers lots of money. The helicopter would have to be one like mine — not a fancy turbine job — because it’s relatively inexpensive to operate (compared to King Airs and Turbine helicopters), comfortable, and reliable.

Here’s how it could work. Any time the governor had to travel to a destination within 100 miles of her office, she could arrange for transportation by helicopter. The helicopter could pick her and two companions up at any designated landing zone — even a parking lot near her office in Phoenix — thus saving her the amount of time it takes to travel from her office to Sky Harbor, Deer Valley, Scottsdale, or wherever she normally departs from. No delays waiting for air traffic control, either. Then the helicopter could take her right to her destination and land in an appropriate landing zone there. No need to land at a suitable airport that might be 10 or 20 or 30 miles away from the final destination. More time saved. The helicopter cruises at 130 MPH, which isn’t as fast as a King Air, but much faster than a car. It could get to destinations within 100 miles in less than an hour. And while she was in flight, she’d be within 1000 feet of the ground, so she could actually see what she was flying over. Maybe it would give her a good look at the urban sprawl the Phoenix area suffers from or a glimpse of off-the-grid life out in the desert.

Now some people might say that the governor’s arrival and departure by helicopter might be too showy and a good example of how government spends taxpayer money. But I will argue that this mode of transportation, especially for distances under 100 miles, is far more cost effective than a King Air. And I think everyone would agree that the governor’s time would be much better spent en route to her destination than sitting in traffic and dealing with airport delays.

As for me? I’m no fool. I’ll take the helicopter where I’m going whenever I can. And it isn’t because I don’t have a King Air.

Exploring the Desert by Helicopter

We wander through a mill site, fly over an open pit mine, get a hamburger in the middle of nowhere, and see the “land now” light four miles short of home.

It all started over a year ago. I discovered the beauty of the Santa Maria River from the air.

The canyon east of route 93 is unbelievably beautiful, with dramatic rock formations, cacti, and a river with real water in it. Part of the canyon is in the Arrastra Wilderness and I generally avoid it. But most of it is open to the flying public (so to speak) and I occasionally fly through it, following the winding canyon from Alamo Lake to 93.

On my flights, I’ve always noticed the remains of some kind of mining site at the end of a road not far from 93. There was some kind of shack there, what appeared to be a metal tank, and some tailings piles. Among all that was what appeared, from the air, to be a good landing zone. I thought about what a neat place it might be to take passengers or even to set up a base camp for hiking the area over a period of several days. But the road that wound through the desert from 93 to the site made it less than perfect. After all, why take a helicopter to a camp when you can hop in a Jeep and do it for a lot less money?

Time passed. Then, on Thursday, I got a call from a man named Bobby who wanted me to take him and his wife to see some ranch land he owned on the Santa Maria River from the air.

You can probably guess where this is going. The “ranch land” was the mill site I’d seen from the air.

According to Bobby, the site is named Waters Sunset Mine. I spent a good part of this morning — my usual blogging time, in fact — trying to research the site. What I came up with was the Waters/Sunset Mill and Mine, which was purchased by Orex Corporation back in 1999. This kind of jived with what Bobby had told me: that he’d sold the land to a mining company and they’d gone bust so he’d gotten the land back. There was 46 acres of this land, right on the Santa Maria River, and he owned both the land and the corresponding water rights, which he said were now worth more than the land.

It turns out, the road to the mine is not passable, partly because the Santa Maria River, which is running pretty good right now, runs right through it. There’s only one road in. So it’s impossible to get there by wheeled vehicle (unless it’s amphibious). Bobby didn’t want to land there — which is a good thing, since I’m still not legal to land with paying passengers. He just wanted to photograph it from the air. So the job was an aerial photography/survey job rather than a sightseeing tour.

After he shot his pictures and we moved on to another site to photography, we talked about the site. I told him my ideas about using the land. I told him that I’d rather use private land than public land because it’s easier to get permission. He said that he’d give me permission to use the land. I told him that if I used the land for paying customers, I’d pay him a fee per customer I brought there. He liked that idea. I think he saw it as a way to make a few bucks off some otherwise useless land.

That was Friday. This morning — Saturday — Mike and I decided to go check it out from the ground. We called John and Lorna and they were interested in coming along. So at 10:00 AM, I lifted off from Wickenburg in Zero-Mike-Lima with all four seats full for the 41-mile flight to the mill site. We followed 93 most of the way, drifting to the west when we saw the rock formation known as Shiprock. (No, this isn’t the big Shiprock near the Four Corners area. It’s a much smaller, differently-shaped version.)

Landing ZoneWe overflew the site and I set up to land, coming up the canyon from downstream. There were two big, apparently flat areas to choose from. The first choice was not a good one; the landing zone wasn’t flat enough and the helicopter rocked a bit on its skids when I set down. I don’t like that, so I tried another spot. It wasn’t until I set down the fifth time, in another big, clear area that I was satisfied. I shut it down and we got out to explore.

Core SamplesThere isn’t much at the site in the way of ruins. There are some nicely preserved rock foundations and a weird metal shed. There are also hundreds — if not thousands — of core samples that were once neatly piled in wooden boxes alongside a big rock formation. The wood has rotted considerably and the boxes, in some places, have fallen over.

We spent nearly two hours there, walking among the ruins and trying to identify what the things we saw were for. We also spent quite a bit of time along the river. I’d been worried, at first, that we’d be able to hear the traffic on 93. After all, it was only a mile or two upstream. But the sound of the water drowned out any other sounds. Even when we hiked up the road to the top of a hill where the sound of the water was much fainter, there was no car sound. That made me happy. It’s hard to sell a place as “wilderness” when you can hear cars on a highway nearby.

The Santa Maria RiverThe river was beautiful, flowing swiftly over rocks and sand. There were a number of very nice beaches (if that’s the right word) that would have been wonderful for sunning yourself or even swimming. And the sand just below the water’s surface absolutely sparkled with mica — or was that gold? I think I’ll have to bring a gold pan the next time I fly out.

I asked John, Lorna, and Mike if they thought the site would make an interesting day trip for passengers. They all agreed that it would. Then I asked if they thought it would work for overnight camping trips. They said it would be great for camping. Lots of level places to pitch tents, plenty of water nearby, and wonderful, peaceful scenery.

Heck, I’m sold.

We climbed back into the helicopter at about 12:30, now hungry for lunch. I didn’t expect us to be there so long, so we didn’t bring any food. We decided to hit the Wayside Inn near Alamo Lake for some of their excellent hamburgers. But first, we’d swing past Bagdad so I could show John and Lorna the mine there.

Bagdad is a mining town about 60 miles northwest of Wickenburg, about 15 miles off route 93. Its main feature is an open pit copper mine and that’s what pretty much supports the whole town. Unfortunately, I didn’t have my camera out when we flew over the mine — it’s quite a site to behold from the air! John and Lorna were suitably impressed. I think they’d been expecting the usual mine shaft that we can often see from the air. But this was a big pit with huge dump trucks hauling ore out, even on a Saturday afternoon. I flew past the leeching ponds and descended down into the canyon. We followed that to Kaiser Canyon, where I pointed out the hot spring far below us, then followed Burro Creek to the Big Sandy Wash and followed that to Alamo Lake.

The lake is high because of all the rain we’d been having. So high, in fact, that the road that runs across its eastern end is under 16 feet of water. (I know that because our waitress told us. She also said she caught a huge bass there the other day.) I headed out toward the Wayside Inn, which is southeast of the lake and, because we had a tailwind, flew past and circled around to land into the wind. I set down on a triangle of land at the crossroads there, right across the road from the campground. I kicked up a bunch of dust, but no one complained. I shut down and we went in for lunch.

(I’m sure I’ve covered the Wayside Inn in another blog post. Let me look it up so you can read about it….ah, here it is.)

At the Wayside InnThe waitress remembered me from the last time I’d been in. “That’s a different helicopter from last time,” she said.

“Yeah, I added water and it grew,” I told her. That had become the joke that all my helicopter friends were using. “I wish it was that easy,” I added.

We ordered lunch, admiring the photos of the fish caught in the nearby lake. Some of the fish were quite large. There were dated Polaroids of dozens of them, held up by the people who’d caught them, on the wall near our table. Each photo included the date and the weight of the fish. The newest photos were only two days old. When the burgers were history, I helped myself to desert: a Schwans ice cream sundae cup. It was exactly the right kind of desert for a meal in the middle of nowhere.

It was about 2:00 PM when we headed home. When I started up, I realized that we were a bit lower on fuel than I thought we were. But as we gained speed, heading straight back to Wickenburg, the GPS told us we’d be there in less than 15 minutes. Surely I had enough fuel to make it back. Although my smaller, aux tank was on E, the main tank showed about 7 or 8 gallons. I remembered how I’d occasionally get both of Three-Niner-Lima’s gauges down to E without the Low Fuel (AKA Land Now) light going on. It certainly looked as if I’d have enough fuel to make it back.

I almost did.

Another Landing ZoneWe were about four miles out of Wickenburg when the Low Fuel light started to flicker. It went on, then off, then on, then off. Then on. According to my gauges, I still had about 1/8 left in the main. But I remembered what they’d taught us in the Robinson Factory Safety Course: trust the light, not your gauges. To me, the light meant “Land Now.” So I landed. On a dirt road. In the desert. At least a mile from pavement.

You have to understand that if I did run out of fuel, there was only one way down and it was the fast way. I much preferred taking my time about the landing, picking a spot when I still had enough fuel to get me there with the engine running. So I landed even when I may have had enough fuel to make it back to Wickenburg. After all, I might not have had enough fuel to make it back and then things could have gotten ugly.

Mike volunteered to walk to 60 and hitch a ride back to the airport. He started walking and I started making phone calls. I got Gus on the phone and told him where the fuel cans were. He wanted to know how far out we were. I didn’t really know how far out we were on 60. I gave him Mike’s cell phone number.

Then I saw a helicopter off in the distance. Could it be? I got in, flicked the master switch, turned on the radio, and put on my headset. I keyed my mike. “Ray? Is that you?”

“Yeah, what’s up, Maria? Where are you?”

“We ran out of gas about four miles short of the airport.”

“Got a fuel light?” he wanted to know.

“Yeah. I’m not taking chances.”

He flew by a few minutes later. Then I asked him to fetch us some fuel from the airport to save Gus a ride. Gus heard me on the radio and he and Ray made arrangements. I turned off the radio and called Mike. It was a good thing I did. True to form, he’d decided to bushwhack through the desert, thinking he’d take a shorter route back to pavement. But rather than bushwhack on a route that went more southbound (correct) he was going more westbound (incorrect). As we later pointed out to him, if he’d stayed on his track, he’d have walked an extra mile or so before reaching the road. Next time, I’m going to give him a compass. I had one under the back seat.

Just add fuelRay landed in a nice grassy area not long after Mike returned. We got the two fuel cans out of the back of his helicopter — he still doesn’t have seats back there — and he took off. Then Mike and John poured the 10.7 gallons of fuel into the helicopter. When I started up and looked at my gauges, I saw that we now had more fuel than when we’d left the Wayside Inn.

We flew back to Wickenburg and I landed at the pumps. Earl, who was on duty there, topped both of them off. We parked outside — I’m flying again tomorrow. Gus came by and made some jokes about me running out of fuel. I realized that I’d be getting ribbed about it for a long time to come.

We all had a great time, though, and I don’t mind the ribbing.