Category Archives: Flying

Stories about flying — for pleasure or for hire — and the things I’ve learned.

Yes, Most Helicopter Operations ARE VFR

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And I always assumed most helicopter magazine editors-in-chief were helicopter pilots.

Batten down the hatches and prepare for another rant. Not a big one, but one that needs to be shared with my fellow helicopter pilots.

Rotor & WingYesterday, I got around to reading the February 2010 issue of Rotor & Wing. Rotor & Wing used to be the premier helicopter industry magazine. Somewhere along the way, it turned into a monthly collection of press releases, advertisements, and columns about narrow segments of the helicopter population: North Sea, Military, etc. It improved a bit under the editorial guidance of Ernie Stephens, who added a Helicopter Training column and made some design changes. Now there’s some information of interest to mere mortal commercial operators like me who have absolutely no interest in the politics of the North Sea or unmanned reconnoissance aircraft.

When I read a magazine, I always start with the editor’s page up front. This one, by Editor-in-Chief Joy Finnegan, really stuck in my craw. Titled “Stay Proficient,” it wasn’t about practicing emergency procedures, flying with a CFI, or even staying current with night flight. Instead, it zeroed in on an accident that had been caused by a pilot’s attempt to fly VFR at night into IMC conditions. In other words, a stupid pilot trick.

That didn’t bother me. It’s always good to analyze the mistakes of other pilots and use their situations and decisions as learning tools to avoid the same mistakes in the future. I have done so on several occasions in this blog. (For examples, read “Not Ready for Solo?,” “What if You Crashed a Helicopter and Didn’t Tell Anyone?,” and “Chasing Race Cars Isn’t For Every Pilot.”)

What bothered me were the few revealing statements about her own experience that Ms. Finnegan made, starting with:

I was shocked to learn that many helicopter pilots not only rarely fly IFR, they don’t even bother to keep current.

Hello? Ms. Finnegan? I’d venture to guess that half the helicopter pilots out there — many of which are flying tour, charter, air-taxi, survey, and utility work — don’t even have instrument ratings. I can think of at least a dozen helicopter pilots I know personally who don’t — including me.

She goes on to relate how every flight she did as a commercial airplane pilot was flown IFR, regardless of the weather. She then goes on to make what I consider an insulting statement:

VFR was for amateurs, weekend puddle-jumper jockeys who were out for their $100 hamburger flight.

Nice attitude about your fellow pilots, Ms. Finnegan.

But here’s the paragraph that made me wonder why this woman is Editor-in-Chief of what may still be the best known and most widely read helicopter industry magazine:

But I understand that it’s just the opposite for helicopter operators and that the vast majority of flights conducted in helicopters are VFR. I have also heard that some operators even discourage operations under IFR (again I’m talking flight rules not IMC). This is so very contrary to the way the fixed-wing world works that I had to call around and make sure I understood the situation correctly. After many calls and e-mails, I’m still having difficulty with the concept.

Then why the hell are you editing a helicopter magazine?

I don’t know about the rest of the helicopter pilots out there, but when I turn to a magazine about helicopters and helicopter flight, I want the person responsible for the magazine’s content to be a helicopter pilot. I want that person to know at least what I know about flying helicopters, but preferably more.

And taking two paragraphs to share her own stupid airplane pilot trick — perhaps to show off her ability to follow the instructions of ATC or brag about her coolness in a tough situation — really doesn’t make me feel any better about her experience, capabilities, or connection to the helicopter world.

Instead, I’m left angry by being fed advice by someone who obviously doesn’t have a clue about what helicopter operations are all about.

Annual Inspection Blues

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It might not just be cosmetic.

My helicopter’s annual inspection was started yesterday. My old Robinson mechanic from Prescott came down with a knowledgeable assistant to do the job in my Wickenburg hangar.

Just for fun, I set up my old Canon G5 camera on a tripod with my Pclix timer and created a time-lapse movie of the job. The shots were taken 30 seconds apart and then compiled into a movie at 6 frames per second. Here’s the resulting movie:

Kind of fun, huh?

For those who aren’t familiar with the inspection requirements for aircraft in the U.S., here’s a quick summary:

  • Every year, the aircraft is required to have an annual inspection. This inspection requires an A&P mechanic to remove various panels and inspect parts normally hidden from view. It also includes an oil change, various filter changes, and a bunch of other stuff. It’s a calendar-based inspection.
  • Commercially operated aircraft are also required to have 100-hour inspections. These are virtually the same as annual inspections — in fact, its common for aircraft owners to substitute an annual inspection for a 100-hour inspection if it doesn’t appear that they will fly another 100 hours before the annual inspection is due. My helicopters have always been operated commercially, so I’ve always gotten these inspections.
  • Other time-based inspections or maintenance. These are things like oil changes (every 25 or 50 hours), magneto inspections/rebuilds (every 300 hours), gearbox oil changes, belt changes, avionics tests, etc.

The cost of an inspection or maintenance item varies depending on the age and condition of the aircraft, the type of inspection, and the mechanic’s knowledge and ability to get the job done quickly but thoroughly. The cost of an inspection can also rise considerably if the mechanic actually finds something that needs attention.

Dented TankIf you read about my trip to the Parker 425 this year, you may recall a certain incident involving an unbuckled seatbelt. I thought the problem was simply cosmetic — a job for a paint shop. But my mechanic believes it might be beyond just cosmetic. He thinks a few of the tiny dents may have compromised the integrity of the fuel tank behind those dents.

Keep in mind that I’ve flown the helicopter at least 6 hours since the event. No fuel leaks, no indication of a problem. The fuel tanks are nearly full right now — and have been full three times since then. No leaks.

But that doesn’t mean the dinged tank might not develop a crack or a leak. At least that’s what I’ve been told.

A new one from the factory will cost $3,700. Plus paint. Plus installation.

Take my advice: be a pilot but not an owner.

Flying the 2010 Parker 425

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This year’s experience with the race.

Best in the Desert‘s Parker 425 off-road race is a huge event in Parker, AZ. Attended by thousands of people with hundreds of entries, the race begins just before dawn and ends — at least for some racers — after nightfall.

Sand DunesThe course stretches about 30 miles across the open desert east of Parker, zig-zagging on existing dirt roads, including more than a few power line roads. The land out there is mostly old sand dunes like those shown in this photo. (This photo was taken from about 800 feet AGL; the dots are bushes about 3-5 feet tall.) The land here is remote and mostly barren. A bold pilot could fly 50 feet AGL without fear of hitting anything. Except, of course, the power lines.

This was my third year flying at the race and, by far, my busiest. I flew for three separate clients and even took a local couple for a quick ride so they could photograph their business and home from the air. I learned a bunch of things that I want to document here, for my own reference and for other pilots’ consideration.

Navigating

Finding your way around the course can be a challenge. If you don’t stay on the track, you can easily lose it in the vast empty desert. This is especially true if there’s been some rain and there’s no dust. If there’s dust, you can see the racers from miles away with just a few hundred feet of altitude.

Parker 425 MapTrack locations are identified by mile number. There are no visible markers, though — that would make it too easy. Instead, if you’re lucky you have a copy of the course map and have secured it to something so you can consult it in flight. Remember, at least one door is off, so the wind is whipping around the cabin and loose paper is not an option. Although you could put all the mile markers in your GPS, that would make quite a mess. So I just have about 10 points in my GPS and I can use them to home in on the point I need to get to.

The Photographers

I flew a total of three professional videographers, one professional photographer, and three amateur photographers around the race course this year.

Let’s take a closer look at the video guys, since they’re the most interesting to me. We’ll call them A, B, and C.

  • Two of the three videographers (A and B) were seasoned professionals with either prosumer or professional video equipment. They were a pleasure to work with. The third (c) was a young guy who was obviously very new to the game. He was doing video with a Canon DSLR hooked up to an awkward shoulder rig. His attitude was cocky and he didn’t seem able to either give or follow instructions. In fact, he didn’t seem very alert and I wonder whether his young mind is fully operational. (More on that in a moment.) After the flight, when we were settling up the bill (paid by his client), he told his companion that he was going to charge extra for the aerial work. (As if he’d paid for the helicopter.) I was so put off by his attitude and behavior that I will not fly him again — and that’s something I seldom say.
  • CGOne of the videographers (A) claimed he weighed 260 lbs. I added 10 pounds, as I usually do, for clothes and equipment. I then calculated my weight and balance several ways, hoping he’d choose a back seat location with his 190-lb still photography companion beside him. Earth to video professionals: If you want to do aerial photography from a helicopter, slim down. If you want OGE hovers and aggressive maneuvers, your pilot will need all the performance he can get.
  • Only one of the three videographers (B) had ever shot video from a helicopter before. He understood the benefit of sitting behind the pilot so the pilot can see what he sees. He probably got a lot more and better video for his time because of the simple fact that he didn’t have to direct me. I could see the racer as well as he could. The other two videographers didn’t understand the importance of positioning. A insisted on sitting in the front, despite the fact that his heavy weight in such a forward position made us front-heavy (see W&B charts here), which, in turn, limited my maneuvers. The only reason C sat in the back was because he was accompanied by a still photographer and I had to put them both on the same side so they could shoot at the same thing at the same time.
  • Because A sat up front, he shot at least 50% of his video through the front bubble window of the helicopter. I estimate that 75% of that video will be unusable because of glare.
  • Seatbelt DamageOnly one of the videographers (B) had ever worn a harness before. I’d brought mine along and he was very happy to have it. He climbed right in and hooked up. I had to assist the other two with the harness. Tragically, C did not fasten the seatbelt behind him before sitting down and the buckle slipped out of the open door during flight. Dangling there in the slipstream, it did serious damage to the paint on the left side of the helicopter. I can’t imagine how he didn’t see or hear the metal buckle banging, but, as I said earlier, he wasn’t entirely there.

The Flying

The flying can be intense. I’ve written about it before, so I won’t go into very much detail here. Perhaps a more analytical look is in order. I can break the flying down into different phases or activities:

  • Point-to-point travel. In most cases, the photographer(s) on board are interested in shooting just one or maybe a few specific vehicles. When they get on board, they often have a general idea of where those vehicles are. So if the photographer tells you the truck just passed mile marker 38 and you’re at the airport, you have to haul ass out to the middle of the desert to pick up the truck somewhere beyond mile marker 38. The best way to do that is to cruise at top doors-off speed — which is 100 knots for an R44 — in as straight a line as you can. Avoid the track to avoid other aircraft. Pick up the track somewhere around the mile marker where the truck was when you left the airport 20 or more minutes before and drop down into the next mode: search.
  • Search mode. In search mode, you’re actively looking for a specific vehicle. You have the vehicle number and usually know what kind of vehicle it is (i.e., truck, buggy, jeep, etc.) and what color it [mostly] is. If you’re lucky, you have a photo of the vehicle — one of my videographers (B) had an excellent illustrated sheet that actually had photos of the four trucks we needed to find, all on one page. So in search mode, you drop down low enough to actually read the numbers on the roof or hood or side panel of each vehicle. The very best way to do this if you don’t know where the vehicles might be is to move backwards along the track so the vehicles are coming to you as you’re moving towards them. This way, you pass more vehicles more quickly. But if you’re playing catch-up, you’re coming up behind the vehicles. They’re doing 30 to 120 miles per hour, depending on the vehicle, driver, and road conditions, so there’s often up to four minutes between vehicles, especially after the first lap. The whole time, you’re watching out for other helicopters and obstacles while you and your spotter/photographer are trying to identify vehicles as you pass them. When you find the one you need, someone usually shouts out, “That’s it!” and you drop into the next mode: chase.
  • Desert Racing TruckChase mode. In chase mode, you pair up with the vehicle, putting the photographer(s) in position to shoot. That often means dropping down to 50-100 feet over the desert floor. It almost always means matching the speed of the vehicle you’re chasing. On straight, smooth stretches of road — like one of the power line roads — the vehicle could be going over 100 miles per hour. On roads cutting through lava beds or through canyons or zig-zagging around high tension power line towers, the vehicle could be moving at just 30 miles per hour. The pilot’s job is to keep on the target, always watching out for obstacles and other aircraft, listening to the instructions of the photographer: higher, lower, faster, slower, right, left. It’s tricky when you don’t have brakes or 0-to-60-in-5-seconds acceleration capabilities. I prefer having the photographer sit behind me so I can see the action as well as he can, but that’s not always possible. With two photographers on the left side of the aircraft, I usually can’t see the vehicle — although I can often hear the sound of its engine and passing horn — through my noise canceling headsets and over the sound of the helicopter! — if I’m properly lined up with it. When the photographer has enough footage shot alongside the vehicle, he sometimes asks me to position myself for what I call photo mode.
  • Photo mode. Let’s face it — minute after minute of footage shot alongside a racing vehicle can get dull after a while. A good videographer will vary his shots. So I might be asked to circle the vehicle or cross in front of it or behind it from a certain direction at a certain speed. Good videographers can envision the shots and I’ve done enough work with them to envision them, too. I also use photo mode in locations where the track bends and curves around itself. “The Python” at the Parker 425 is a perfect example. It’s supposedly 11 miles of track in an area roughly 1/2 mile by 1-1/2 miles in size, right next to the airport. The pits are in there, too. There are lots of banked curves, short straightaways, and huge humps in the road. Spectators all around, just ready to get hit by flying sand as they snap photos with their cell phones and feel the adrenaline surge with each roaring truck that passes. This is what the photographers want to capture — real action. And this is where an inexperienced pilot or an overweight aircraft is most likely to get in trouble. There’s hovering and tight turns at low altitude. Add a crosswind or tailwind and flying in photo mode is a recipe for disaster.

Conclusion

This was my best Parker 425 ever, in terms of work. It was also my most costly: between the ferry time, which was only partially compensated, two overnight stays with meals, and the damage to the side of my aircraft, I’ll likely net zero profits for the trip. But it was a good experience and a lot of fun.

I really do love this kind of flying.

Note to Readers: If you have any photos or videos of a bright red Robinson R44 in action over the Parker 425 for 2008, 2009, or 2010, please get in touch. I’d love to show it off on this blog or the Flying M Air Web site.

Adventures as a Tour Pilot: The Screaming 8-Year-Old

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Makes me glad I never had kids.

The title of this post says most of what I want to report, so I won’t stretch this one out longer than it needs to be.

About two weeks ago, I booked a Phoenix Tour with a woman. The flight, which lasts 50 to 60 minutes, circles the Phoenix area and includes incredible views of north Phoenix, Peoria, Lake Pleasant, Glendale, downtown Phoenix, Scottsdale, and Deer Valley. The tour was for her grandson, who was celebrating his eighth birthday. I wasn’t available on the day she wanted to book, so she booked for the following Saturday, a week after the boy’s birthday. Cost of the flight: $495 plus tax for up to 3 people.

I met the family at 11 AM sharp yesterday. It was Grandma (who booked and paid for the flight), Grandpa, Mom, and The Kid. Everyone looked happy and excited. Mom reported that The Kid was so excited that he’d run into the car, still carrying the TV remote.

I walked them all out to the ramp where the helicopter was waiting. I’d just repositioned it there from its hangar. Three small airplanes were parked nearby. They were surrounded by kids. Apparently, some lucky Boy Scouts were getting airplane rides.

We reached the helicopter but The Kid stopped eight feet short. “I don’t think I want to go,” he said softly.

Over the next ten minutes, that small statement ballooned into yelling and screaming tantrum that even included knee shaking (think cartoons, possibly Sponge Bob). I struggled to complete a safety briefing, wondering why I was bothering. Surely this wasn’t going to happen. But Mom and Grandpa climbed in, leaving Grandma to reason with The Kid. A Sheriff Department helicopter landed on the pad next to ours and I hustled them to the other side of my helicopter for added safety. The other helicopter hot-fueled while Mom climbed out and managed to convince The Kid to board.

I did not want the child beside me. Normally, an eight-year-old is fine up front — hell, I had my first helicopter ride at age 8! — but this kid was a complete unknown. What if he grabbed the controls or opened his door? I wanted no part of that. So he sat in back beside his mother. Grandpa sat up front beside me.

I reached back and locked The Kid’s door.

The Sheriff Department helicopter lifted into a hover, then took off. The kid screamed. “DON’T TILT! I DON’T WANT TO TILT!”

I assured him I wouldn’t tilt, wondering how I was going to make turns without banking.

I started the engine. The Kid started yelling again. He didn’t want to go. He wanted to get out. I left Mom to reason with him. I listened to the ATIS and tower as I warmed up. I chatted with Grandpa, trying hard to ignore the monster sitting behind him.

The Kid refused to put on his headset. I was kind of glad about that. I wouldn’t have to hear him.

I called the tower and got a clearance. I picked up into a hover. The Kid started screaming that he wanted to go down.

“Is he okay?” I asked. I repeated that question four times. Mom and Grandpa ignored me. So I took off.

I wanted to depart to the north, across the runways. My instructions had been to depart to the south, turn to the left (The Kid’s side), and cross the runway midfield at 2000 feet. Normally, I’d make the 500 foot climb in a tight climbing turn. Because of The Kid’s tilt restriction, that was not an option. Instead, I swung way wide in a gradual climbing turn. The kid was still screaming, but I had managed to tune him out. I leveled out over the terminal and crossed the runway at exactly 2000 feet MSL, heading north.

We were a half mile north of the airport when The Kid’s tantrum switch apparently turned to the OFF position. Unfortunately, his screaming switch was apparently non-functioning, because he kept yelling at the top of his lungs. “LOOK! A TRUCK! LOOK! WATER!”

At least he wasn’t afraid anymore.

I headed out toward Lake Pleasant. New River and a bunch of streams were flowing. After a few minutes, The Kid put on his headset and I now had his screaming piped directly into my ears, courtesy of the voice-activated intercom. “LOOK! A COW! LOOK! A STREAM!”

I had two options. I could flick the pilot isolation switch and rudely ignore him and my other two passengers or I could turn down the intercom volume. I elected to turn down the volume. Sadly, I could still hear him.

We circled over the New Waddell Dam and headed south toward Glendale Stadium. I chatted with Grandpa. Somewhere along the way The Kid removed his headset again. Whew!

Things had pretty much settled down and it looked as if the tour would finish fine. I actually forgot about my troublesome passenger, who was still pointing out things he saw on the ground to Mom. But then I made a fatal error. I turned to the left.

My normal tour route takes me past Glendale’s University of Arizona Stadium (where the Cardinals play) along the Loop 101 and turns to the left at I-10 south of there. I normally bank at least 15 degrees to make the turn. Since I thought the kid was okay, I did the turn as I usually did.

And he started screaming again.

I changed my route. Instead of making another left turn to go up Central Avenue — normally the highlight of the trip — I told Phoenix Tower I would transition east along McDowell. That removed two 90° turns from the tour without significantly changing the total time in flight. The kid calmed down a bit along this 5-10 minute stretch. But when I turned left at the Loop 101 to head toward Scottsdale, he started screaming all over again.

Fuck this, I thought to myself.

Instead of overflying Scottsdale Airport (as I usually do), I punched Deer Valley’s identifier into my GPS. I adjusted my course, told Scottsdale Tower I’d transition through the southwest edge of their airspace, and cut about 5 minutes out of the tour time.

By this time, the kid was out of control. Any movement whatsoever was enough to get him screaming. We flew right past his house — Mom and Grandpa both saw it — but The Kid was more interested in screaming his brains out than looking.

I came in for a landing at the helipad where we’d started 45 minutes before. Even when we were on the ground cooling down, The Kid was acting up. He insisted we were moving backwards.

I shut down, got the blades stopped, and walked them back to the terminal building. Grandpa handed me some folded up paper money as he shook my hand. “Thanks for your patience,” he said.

While I appreciated the $20 tip, it would take a lot more money — and a gag — for me to take that kid flying ever again.

Buying My R44

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Looking back 5 years.

January 7 marked the 5 year anniversary of the day I brought my new Robinson R44 Raven II helicopter home from the Torrance, CA factory. I blogged extensively about the experience and the days leading up to it. I put this post together to help me remember it all. It’s full of links that you can follow to read the details behind the summary.

The Backstory

On June 30, 2004, I was working as a pilot for a Grand Canyon helicopter tour operator. I’d aspired to the job since I realized four years earlier that I wanted to fly helicopters commercially. When I was hired in March of 2004, I was thrilled.

Three-Niner-Lima
An air-to-air shot of me at the controls of my R22 back in 2002.

I was not a typical tour pilot for the company. Besides being a woman — which has its own issues in a male-dominated field like aviation — I was about 20 years older than most of the “kids” they’d hired. It was an entry level job, after all. Most of my coworkers had built their time the usual way: as helicopter flight instructors. I, on the other hand, owned my own helicopter, a 1999 Robinson R22 Beta II, and was trying to run my own helicopter tour business with it. I’d built my 1,000 hours of PIC time flying passengers for hire, tooling around the desert, and taking very long cross-country flights by myself. To this day, I believe I have more solo flight time than 90% of the commercial helicopter pilots out there.

While I enjoyed flying at the Canyon and all the challenges that went with it, it soon became clear that flying there could not be a permanent position for me. My writing career was doing extraordinarily well and I was earning far more writing on my days off than I could ever learn sitting in the pilot’s seat for 8 or more hours a day.

I realized that June that I was at a crossroads of my life and careers. I knew I couldn’t maintain my standard of living if I got a full-time job as a pilot for someone else; without time to write, my income simply wouldn’t be sufficient to cover my living expenses. I knew I couldn’t build a real business with an R22 — especially without a CFI rating. I began thinking about taking the next step and buying a larger, better equipped helicopter. One that could take more passengers. One that made sense to build a business with, likely with a single-pilot Part 135 certificate to give me additional flexibility.

So, on June 30, I ordered a Robinson R44 Raven II.

The Wait Begins

In those days, Robinson had a 6-month backlog for new helicopter orders. You’d work with a dealer to choose options like instruments and colors and other features. The dealer would come up with a price. I’d already done all that in February of the same year, at HeliExpo. When it came time to order, all I had to do was make a phone call, sign a bunch of papers, and send in a check for $25K. That got me on the waiting list.

At the end of September, I left my job at the Grand Canyon. It would probably be the last time I flew there and I was more than a little sad.

In late October, I sold my R22. I’d need the money for part of the R44’s down payment. I was planning to put enough money down to keep my monthly loan payments the same as the R22’s were. I also started work with the local FSDO to get my single pilot Part 135 certificate.

By November month-end, I was going stir-crazy. It was the first time in years that I didn’t have access to an aircraft for flying. I flew as a passenger with friends who had helicopters. I buried myself in my writing work. I tried not to think about flying.

Zero-Mike-Lima NOT
Photoshop guru Bert Monroy gave my friend Tristan’s helicopter a paint job to illustrate what mine would look like in flight.

A friend of mine used Photoshop to doctor up a photo of another friend’s R44 flying near my home, applying my aircraft’s color scheme. It was an air-to-air photo of a helicopter that didn’t exist yet. But it existed to me. I’d already begun referring to it by its last three call sign digits: Zero-Mike-Lima.

A Giddy Kid
They put SN 10603 on the line the day I visited the factory.

When my family flew in from the east coast for Thanksgiving, some of us took a road trip out to California. We got a tour of the Robinson factory. By some incredible coincidence, it was the day they put my helicopter’s frame on the assembly line. My sister snapped a photo of me standing next to the frame, holding up the fake photo I’d brought along to show the folks at the factory.

(Yes, I realize that I sound like a giddy kid.)

By late December, the six month wait was almost over. I started booking rides gigs. I was anxious to get the helicopter by year-end, but that wasn’t going to happen. December ended and January 2005 started. By now, I was very anxious. I’d already cancelled one gig for December month end. I had another lined up for January 8.

Then, on Wednesday, January 6, the wait was suddenly over. You can pick up the details of the rest of the story here.