My buddy Rod called me yesterday and we chatted for about an hour. Rod’s an experienced utility helicopter pilot who got his start in agriculture (spraying), spent some time doing tours at the Grand Canyon, and worked his way into long-line work. He’s a great pilot who’s extremely conscientious, takes great care of the helicopter assigned to him, and gets the job done responsibly and safely. It’s no wonder he never has any trouble getting a job when he wants one.
Rod’s only problem is burnout. After a season working fires or moving stuff around at the end of a long line, he just wants to go home and be with his fiancé and dogs. The 14 on/14 off schedule usually sounds okay at the beginning of a season, but by the end of the season, the 14 off just aren’t enough days off. That’s when he takes a break and does other stuff.
Rod always gets a kick out of these young guys who want to be helicopter pilots. We both know that these wannabes really don’t know what it’s all about. Everyone thinks it’s a glamour job, but Rod knows better. He does the kind of work that pays well and takes the unglamorous “perks” that go with it: extensive travel to places in the middle of nowhere, crappy motels, greasy spoon restaurants. Even I can attest to the less glamorous side of flying helicopters — look at me right now, blogging from a 22-foot travel trailer, parked in the RV park/golf course in the middle of a farm town.
Although Rod’s not very computer literate, his fiancé is. They found this video on YouTube, and sent me the link last night. It takes a more realistic — yet hilarious — look at what it’s like to become a helicopter pilot. The words and video clips together make this a classic. It even has a catchy tune.
Could you write a post about your Nomex flight suit. What is it? What’s special about it? Why don’t you just wear whatever you normally wear when flying?
Nomex (styled NOMEX) is a registered trademark for flame resistant meta-aramid material developed in the early 1960s by DuPont and first marketed in 1967.
It can be considered an aromatic nylon, the meta variant of the para-aramid Kevlar. It is sold in both fiber and sheet forms and is used as a fabric wherever resistance from heat and flame is required […] Both the firefighting and vehicle racing industries use Nomex to create clothing and equipment that can withstand intense heat. All aramids are heat and flame resistant but Kevlar, having a para orientation, can be molecularly aligned and gives high strength….
The Wikipedia piece goes on to list the different uses of Nomex fabric, including this statement:
Military pilots and aircrew wear flight suits made of over 92 percent Nomex to protect them from the possibility of cockpit fires and other mishaps.
Here’s an example of a flight suit available on Flightsuits.com. (And no, it doesn’t come with the guy.)
It’s not just military pilots. Nomex is also widely used in flight suits worn by EMS pilots and crew members and law enforcement pilots.
A flight suit is usually a one-piece, zip up garment, often with many pockets, that is worn by pilots and aircraft crew members. While they come in many colors and styles, they’re usually a military green or khaki color. The green suits (see photo) are sometimes referred to by the folks who wear them as “pickle suits.”
Flight suits can be made of any fabric, but since they’re available in Nomex, it seems silly to wear one that doesn’t offer the additional protection of the Nomex fabric. And although they come in long sleeve and short sleeve styles, it also seems silly to have Nomex protection on only half of your arms when you can get full arm coverage.
At least that’s the way I see it.
Why does a pilot need protection at all? Well, it’s mostly to save your life (or even just your skin) in the event of a post-crash fire. And fires are definitely possible when you’re carrying fuel (which you should be) if you hit the ground hard in a crash.
Robinson Helicopter Company recommends that all pilots — and even passengers! — wear flight suits. Safety Notice 40 was released in July 2006, possibly in response to an accident with a post-crash fire in Texas. Robinson often releases Safety Notices in response to what it sees as dangerous or potentially dangerous situations. Safety Notices are not requirements; they’re suggestions. They’re also Robinson’s way of “covering its butt.” The company is owned by Frank Robinson and is self-insured. By recommending that we wear flight suits, Robinson Helicopter cannot be held accountable for burn injuries if we’re not following their recommendation.
That’s not to say it isn’t good advice. It is. But it isn’t exactly practical to require every person on board a flight to wear a flight suit. And while I might be tempted to wear a flight suit more often if I actually looked good in one, I don’t. Besides, I’ve decided on a more professional “corporate pilot” appearance for my charter flights: slacks with a polo shirt or pilot shirt.
It’s a matter of risk assessment. Tour and charter flying has much lower risk associated with it. I’m usually operating at airports, landing and departing from locations very suitable for that kind of activity. Flight profiles remain outside the “deadman’s curve.” There isn’t anything unusually risky about these flights. Even most of my photo and survey flights are relatively low-risk.
But hovering 5-10 feet over cherry trees at 5-10 knots ground speed puts me firmly into the deadman’s curve. If I have an engine failure, there’s nothing I can do to prevent a messy crash into the trees. With lots of fuel on board, a post-crash fire is possible. Wearing a Nomex flight suit seems like a pretty good idea.
A helicopter helmet like the one I wear. This is a low-cost model available from AviationHelmets.com.
So does wearing a helmet. I can’t tell you how many articles I’ve read in helicopter flying magazines about the importance of wearing a helmet on high-risk missions. The main thing that worries me is the flinging parts that might just enter the cockpit in the event of a crash. It would be awful to have a soft landing only to have a main rotor blade enter the cockpit and split your head open like a coconut. (Ick. What a terrible visual.) Or even to just clock your head on the door frame hard enough to cause serious damage. The helmet protects me against this.
But I don’t think my passengers would feel very comfortable if I wore it on a charter flight.
So, in answer to Miraz’s question, I wear a flight suit for cherry drying because of the increased risks associated with that kind of flying. I don’t wear it for other, less risky missions because I’m trying to maintain a “corporate pilot” professional look for my passengers. And I look like a big khaki sausage in my flight suit.
Fortunately, the cherry trees — and growers — don’t care what I look like.
There’s a video that’s been making it around Twitter and the blogs of professional photographers lately. It’s called “The Vendor Client Relationship — In Real World Situations.” I’ve embedded it here, just in case you haven’t seen it yet. It’s worth a look if you’re either a service professional or someone who uses service professionals. In other words, it’s worth a look for anyone.
The problem is, too many people try to save money by trying to cut special deals with service professionals. Sean Cayton, for example, is a professional photographer who blogged about this topic. In his article on Black Star Rising called “Five Tips for Dealing with Unreasonable Client Requests,” he reported:
I met recently with a prospective wedding client who was on a very tight budget. The groom, an art director, asked if I would allow him to help with the photo editing in order to save some money. I had to tell him no. I operate a full-service studio, and letting the wedding couple do their own editing just isn’t an option for me.
As a helicopter pilot, I’m often asked to provide flying services at locations an hour or more away from my base. Not only do the potential clients try to get a lower hourly rate from me, but they balk when I explain to them that they have to pay the cost of getting the helicopter to the operating area and back. In their mind, I’m not providing a service to them when I’m not flying with one of their people on board. But the simple reality is that I’m working for them from the moment I begin my flight planning and pull the helicopter out of its hangar to the moment I put the helicopter back.
They’re fortunate they’re only paying for the time on the Hobbs meter. I put at least an hour more of unbillable time into every single flight I do.
Why We’re In this Mess
I believe that one of the reasons service professionals have to deal with clients like this is because too many other service professionals have said yes to their unreasonable demands.
I’ll admit that I used to be one of them. When I first started my flying business, I was so hungry for work that I’d do almost anything to make a client happy. That sometimes included trading services (usually advertising space) for all or part of my fee, waiving ferry fees, or dropping my rates just to better meet my client’s budgetary needs. Then one day I started looking at the numbers. While the revenue I was bringing in usually covered the variable expenses of flying — the actual flight cost per hour — they didn’t come anywhere near covering my fixed expenses, including hangar rent, advertising, and insurance. I realized I was working at a loss.
And I realized that I’d rather not work than to lose money doing it.
Just Say No
So I started saying no.
I said no to local flying jobs less than 30 minutes long and other flying jobs less than an hour long. It simply wasn’t worth the trouble of taking the helicopter out of the hangar for the profit I’d make on these short flights. (I did, however, encourage longer flights by introducing rate reductions for flights over 5 hours and 10 hours.)
I said no to free ferry flights for repositioning the helicopter. I was not going to fly for free anymore. Not only was there a helicopter cost involved, but a trained helicopter pilot was at the controls. Didn’t she deserve compensation for her time?
I said no to any barter offers — I can’t fuel the helicopter with a free ad in a publication no one will read or pay my insurance bill with a photo taken during a flight.
I said no to flights that required me to spend more than 15 minutes in flight planning before I had a signed contract and deposit in hand. I was tired of doing someone else’s homework in the hope of getting a flight they were probably too cheap to pay for.
This really happened:
One person I did a charity golf ball drop for made fun of me the following week at a local Rotary Club meeting because we missed the drop zone on our first try. I guess she didn’t appreciate how much it cost me to make one drop, let alone the second drop we did to make up for our failure. You know what I said when she had the nerve to ask me to do it again the following year: no.
I also started saying no to all charity flights, including raffle prizes. They’d promise a mention in the charity publication, etc., but these free pieces of paper were usually discarded, unread. Zero advertising value — instead, all it’s good for is more requests from more charities. And for a while, i was getting more charity requests than calls from paying clients.
The Importance of Screening
I also started screening my clients during their initial contacts with me. Did they sound like they were going to try to wrangle a deal with me? Were they making unreasonable requests? Did they have a clue about what they wanted? Were they trying to use me as a tool for getting information without utilizing my services? Did they have the ability to pay at the conclusion of the flight? Did they understand what they were getting for my hourly rate?
If I got any indication during the phone call that they could be trouble, I actively began discouraging them from flying with me. I’d state minimum fees and make it clear that I wouldn’t budge on my rate. I’d tell them that what they wanted was beyond the capabilities of my aircraft. And sometimes, if I got a gut feeling that flying for them would be more trouble than it was worth, I’d tell them I wasn’t available on the day or time they wanted me, even if I was.
Snobby? Elitist? I don’t think so. Just protecting my interests.
We Need to Stand Firm Behind Our Experience, Expertise, and Skills
I’ve been in the business for eight years now and have a wide range of experience completing many different missions. I’ve decided to stand behind my experience, expertise, and skills. That’s what my clients are paying for and despite what they might think, they’re getting a lot for their money.
I probably have more knowledge and experience for photo flights over Lake Powell than any other helicopter pilot flying today. You want an experienced pilot to take you on a photo flight over the lake? Then you’ll pay the 4 hours of ferry time to get me up there and back. Hint: there’s no other helicopter pilot who will fly up there for free.
I happen to have a good amount of skill chasing race cars and boats, low-level and high speed. I can put a still or video photographer right where he needs to be in these action photo shoots. Is your race an hour away? Then you’ll pay the 2 hours of ferry time to get me there and back. And you won’t load up the helicopter with unnecessary “observers.” You’re not just paying for a helicopter and a skilled pilot — you’re paying for a safe flight.
An off-airport landing zone.
I’ve probably flown over and landed at more remote, off-airport locations than any other commercial helicopter pilot in Arizona — other than medevac pilots. You want to see some “air park” property in northern Arizona, east of Wikieup? Or a bunch of land north of I-40, east of the Colorado River? Or a vacant steel plant outside of Kingman? Or the side of a 40-mile long cliff north of Seligman? Or a powerline stretching from Forepaugh to Bagdad? Or a pipeline stretching from Tucson to the New Mexico border? Or a stretch of the U.S.-Mexico border from Yuma to Nogales? Or some other equally weird or remote place? Then you’ll pay for a pilot who knows where to find fuel, who to contact for permission to fly through restricted areas, where to find a landing zone where you can get out and take pictures or soil samples or a leak. And don’t expect to trade that flight time for a mention in the credits of your video or annual report or promises of more business in the future.
I’m not going to sell myself short — even if it means losing out on business.
Frankly, if a client doesn’t pay me what I’m worth, I’m losing out anyway. And I may as well lose out in the comfort of my office or home than flying a mission for someone who doesn’t appreciate the value of what he’s getting.
What do you think?
I’d love to read your stories of how clients have tried to deal you out of what you think you deserve. Not just from pilots or photographers, but from any service professional. Use the comments link or form for this post to share your stories or links to them on your own blog.
And if you think I’m wrong about this — that we should allow potential clients to cut whatever deal they like with us — I’d like to know why. Maybe there’s something I’m missing here.
But after years in a very expensive and highly specialized business, I don’t think so.
One of the messages reported that one of the plane’s navigational control units had failed and that, almost simultaneously, the autopilot system had disengaged.
The sequence of events forced the crew of Flight 447 to fly the jet manually, a difficult task on an Airbus traveling at high altitude near its maximum speed, aviation experts said. Any significant change in airspeed could have caused the plane to lose lift or stability, both potentially deadly conditions.
There’s a lot in these two paragraphs, but the two points I take away is:
Airliners have automated systems that pilots rely on during flight — even “straight and level” flight.
Pilots could lack the skills necessary to fly the aircraft if those automated systems fail.
Isn’t anyone else bothered by this?
Thanks to @MattHammer on Twitter for sharing the link.
My helicopter is sitting in a hangar at Boeing Field in Seattle, WA, being tended to by a team of experienced Robinson helicopter mechanics. There’s nothing wrong with it — well, other than a few minor squawks. It’s in for its annual inspection.
I, on the other hand, am in Wickenburg, AZ, finishing up some work before I head northwest for the summer.
So, for a while, I’m helicopterless.
Of course, now my phone is ringing with calls from folks who want to fly. Tours of Phoenix, day trips to the Grand Canyon, photo flights west of Sedona, and even a tour around Wickenburg (if you can believe that). Sorry folks. No can do. Helicopter is out-of-town and I’ll be joining it shortly.
We flew it up last week. I took Alaska Air back to Phoenix. Next weekend, I’ll hook up my travel trailer to my husband’s pickup truck and drive up to Quincy, WA. Although I might spend a few days in the campground on Crescent Bar, it’s more likely that I’ll simply return to the Quincy Golf Course and set up camp in one of its five full-hookup sites. The manager there is looking forward to my return — isn’t that nice?. He was pleased to tell me that they fixed last year’s Internet problems and now have WiFi on site. Sometime the second week in June, I’ll hop a flight on Horizon from Wenatchee to Seattle, hitch a ride to Boeing Field, and climb aboard my helicopter for the flight across the Cascades and back to Quincy.
I might even take one of my Twitter friends along for the ride.
But until then, I feel strangely grounded in Wickenburg, with nothing to fly.
It’s odd. I hardly flew at all in March and April, yet I didn’t miss the helicopter. After all, it was nearby, in its hangar. I flew quite a bit in May, covering it with dead bugs on that last flight into BFI. Now, with May drawing to a close and the helicopter 1000+ miles away, I miss it.
I’m already looking forward to that flight in June.
And hoping for a rainy cherry season in central Washington, so I get plenty of time to fly.
Robinson Helicopter Company recommends that all pilots — and even passengers! — wear flight suits. Safety Notice 40 was released in July 2006, possibly in response to 
An off-airport landing zone.