Blogging the FARs: Avoid the Flow of Fixed Wing Traffic

What it means — and doesn’t mean.

I was at Wickenburg Airport for a short time yesterday and was dismayed to see another helicopter pilot practicing autorotations using a left traffic pattern for the taxiway parallel to Runway 23. In Wickenburg, it’s right traffic for Runway 23, keeping the airplanes on the northwest side of the runway. There are fewer houses out that way; a left traffic pattern would have you overflying dozens of homes.

Someone else at the airport told me that the owners of the homes southeast of the runway had asked this pilot several times not to overfly their homes. They were bothered by the noise of his buzzing aircraft just 500 feet over their houses over and over again. He replied that he was supposed to “avoid the flow of fixed wing traffic.” When one of the nicest guys on the airport suggested he fly on the other side, this pilot’s response was, “Fuck you.” Whoa. Seems like someone has an attitude problem.

But is he right? Should he be doing left traffic patterns if the airplanes would be doing right patterns?

The Rules

FAR Part 91.126, “Operating on or in the vicinity of an airport in Class G airspace,” says, in part:

(a) General. Unless otherwise authorized or required, each person operating an aircraft on or in the vicinity of an airport in a Class G airspace area must comply with the requirements of this section.

(b) Direction of turns. When approaching to land at an airport without an operating control tower in Class G airspace —

(1) Each pilot of an airplane must make all turns of that airplane to the left unless the airport displays approved light signals or visual markings indicating that turns should be made to the right, in which case the pilot must make all turns to the right; and

(2) Each pilot of a helicopter or a powered parachute must avoid the flow of fixed-wing aircraft.

To some, it might appear that Part 91.126(b)(2) gives helicopter pilots permission to fly wherever they want in Class G airspace, as long as it’s not anywhere near an airplane. Maybe that’s what our attitude-challenged helicopter pilot at Wickenburg thinks. But I’d argue that it’s simply not true.

Why Avoid the Flow? Why Not Join It?

Wickeburg Airport

Wickenburg Airport, from the approach end of Runway 05.

Helicopters are advised to avoid the flow of fixed-wing traffic mostly because of the significant differences in the way they operate. Helicopters are usually slower than airplanes, they tend to operate at lower altitudes, and they don’t need a runway to land or take off. Putting airplanes and helicopters together in a traffic pattern is like mixing oil and water: they just won’t blend.

But does avoiding the flow of fixed wing traffic mean creating a completely separate traffic pattern? Sometimes, it does.

Does it mean making yourself a noisy nuisance over a residential neighborhood on the side of the airport that normally doesn’t have aircraft flying over it? I say it doesn’t.

And what if there aren’t any airplanes in the traffic pattern? I’ll argue that there’s nothing to avoid so why not use their established, community-preferred traffic pattern?

And that was the problem yesterday: the bad attitude pilot was the only aircraft in the traffic pattern for the entire time he was flying yesterday. There was no fixed-wing traffic to avoid.

There was no reason to overfly those homes.

Fly Neighborly

Although I’m not a big fan of Helicopter Association International (HAI), I do want to commend them on their attempts (although usually feeble) to share information that’s useful to the helicopter community. Among that information is “The Fly Neighborly Guide” they offer as a PDF download from their site. Here’s a blurb about the program from their site:

The Fly Neighborly Program addresses noise abatement and public acceptance objectives with programs in the following areas: 

  • Pilot and operator awareness
  • Pilot training and indoctrination
  • Flight operations planning
  • Public acceptance and safety
  • Sensitivity to the concerns of the community

The point is, lots of people hate helicopters because they’re noisy. (In reality, they’re not all that much more noisy than an airplane. But because they usually fly lower, they seem louder.) By using techniques that help us fly more quietly and avoiding noise-sensitive areas, we’ll blend in with the environmental impact of aircraft traffic much better.

What does that mean to me? Well, here are some of the things I try to do:

  • Maintain speed above 80 knots in my R44 to avoid “rotor slap.”
  • Not fly low over homes, schools, or businesses.
  • Vary the flight path I use to approach or depart the airport.
  • When flying traffic patterns, choose a pattern that does not repeatedly overfly the same noise-sensitive areas. (Yes, the other day when I was practicing autorotations at Wickenburg, I shared the same standard traffic pattern with three airplanes.)

I do need to point out here that anyone who buys a home within 3 miles of an airport should expect some level of noise. If you don’t like aircraft noise, don’t buy a home near an airport. Period.

Why I Care

Why should I care that a bad attitude pilot is thumbing his nose (and perhaps making other hand gestures) at people who complain about his inconsiderate flying?

AFD for E25

The Airport/Facilities Directory entry for Wickenburg.

Well, it’s like this. Right now, at Wickenburg, there is no published noise abatement procedure. Look in the Airport/Facilities Directory and see for yourself. (Try not to notice that the diagram is inaccurate on so many levels.) That means pilots have the freedom to make their own decisions about approaching and departing the airport. We’re not forced to follow some idiotic plan set forth by an ignorant non-flyer in response to noise complaints.

But if Mr. Bad Attitude keeps ignoring the complaints and overflying the same homes again and again, the complaints will get escalated. I’m not too worried about the town doing anything — they’re extremely ineffective when it comes to solving airport-related problems. But eventually, it’ll get up to the FAA. Enough people know it’s not me — a bright red Robinson R44 looks nothing like a little white Schweitzer 300 — so I won’t get in trouble. But the FAA might actually do something to make the complaints go away. Since Mr. Bad Attitude isn’t technically doing anything wrong, the only way to fix the problem is a noise abatement program. The FAA will push the town to make one and we’ll be stuck with it.

What’s also bad is that his continued inconsiderate behavior makes everyone in the helicopter community look bad — including me and the two other helicopter owners based in town. It could cause problems in Wickenburg or other communities for helicopter pilots and operators. It could affect businesses like mine or emergency services. (Come to think of it, one of the reasons our hospital lost its helicopter medevac base was noise complaints. So if you have a heart attack in Wickenburg, you’ll just have to wait an extra 20-30 minutes for help to come.)

And all this is why I care.

In Summary

When helicopter pilots are advised to “avoid the flow of fixed-wing traffic,” that doesn’t mean we should avoid flying in empty airplane traffic patterns. It means we should avoid flying with airplanes.

It also doesn’t mean we should use FAR 91.126(b)(2) as an excuse to become a nuisance by repeatedly overflying noise-sensitive areas.

If there’s no conflicting aircraft, common sense should prevail.

Why I Don’t Buy Fuel at Wickenburg Airport

Why should I?

Early this season, back in November 2009, I realized that if I wanted my helicopter charter business to succeed, I had to move it out of Wickenburg. That meant finding a secure and affordable hangar in the Phoenix area for the times I expected to do business down there. The plan was for my helicopter to split its time between its Wickenburg hangar and one down in Phoenix or Scottsdale, where my customers were.

After making a few calls and visiting a few airport FBOs, I got what I considered a very good deal from Atlantic Aviation in Deer Valley. For less than I pay for my [admittedly large] hangar at Wickenburg, my helicopter would be stored in a spotlessly clean corporate hangar* only steps away from the terminal building at Deer Valley Airport. If that wasn’t enough to sell me, Atlantic’s line crew would move the helicopter in and out for me at no extra cost. And I’d get a significant discount on fuel purchase. Fuel, of course, was delivered to my aircraft from a truck, so I didn’t have deal with dirty fuel hoses and temperamental fuel systems and the occasional “Out of Fuel” sign.

Sounds good, huh? Well it gets even better.

Nearly everyone at Atlantic knows me by name and greets me with a friendly smile and cheerful “Hello!” When I come in from a flight, the folks at the desk offer me (and my passengers) bottles of icy cold water. The restrooms are sparkling clean and — can you imagine? — always have soap, paper towels, and a clean, fresh smell. If I need to wait for a passenger to arrive, I can do so in a comfortable seating area while watching whatever is on the high definition, flat screen television. If I need to park my good car at the airport for a few nights, they’ll take it inside the airport fence for me and park it in a secure area, where I don’t have to worry about airport lowlifes tampering with it.

On the rare occasion when I do have a complaint — the only time I can think of is when my dust-covered helicopter was taken out in the rain for a few minutes and all that dust turned into big, ugly rain spots — my complaint gets handled quickly, to my satisfaction, without any further ado. With an apology that’s meant. It’s like they realize they have a responsibility and they’re ready to take care of what they need to. (In the instance of my helicopter, they actually washed it for me.)

So to summarize: at Deer Valley I get great service from friendly people who know how to do their job. Getting my helicopter out on the ramp, fueled, and ready for me to preflight and fly is as easy as making a phone call. My monthly rent is reasonable and I get a discount on all fuel purchases.

How much of a discount? Funny you should ask. I’m currently paying about 50¢ less per gallon for full service fuel at Deer Valley than I am for self-serve fuel in Wickenburg. Since I burn about 16 gallons per hour, that saves me $8 every single hour I fly. Since I fly 200 hours a year, that can save me $1,600 over the course of a year. (Ironically, when I ran the FBO at Wickenburg, I was the single biggest buyer of fuel in 2003.)

But it’s not just the money I save that has me buying nearly all of my fuel at Deer Valley these days. It’s the service. That’s something you simply can’t get these days in Wickenburg.

Think the situation at Deer Valley is unusual? Then look at yesterday. I had a charter originating at another Phoenix area airport — one I rarely use. When my passengers arrived, I immediately noticed that one of them had trouble getting around. Since the helicopter was parked quite a distance away from the terminal, I asked the guy at the desk if they could run us all out to the helicopter in their golf cart. No problem. They had the cart ready at the ramp before we even reached it. When I returned from the flight, a quick call on the radio had the cart back in position before my blades had even stopped. But the kicker? When I discovered that the per gallon price of fuel was a penny higher than it was in Wickenburg, I asked for a discount. And even though I only bought a total of 43 gallons (10 before the flight and a top-off after it), they took off 20¢ per gallon.

Other airport FBOs also provide real service. Scottsdale’s Landmark Aviation greets me with a golf cart, offers me and my passengers bottles of water and fresh-baked chocolate chip cookies. On a recent trip, they even arranged ground transportation for my passengers. I get service at nearly every airport I go to: Falcon Field, Sky Harbor, Glendale, Sedona, Grand Canyon, Page, Monument Valley, Flagstaff, Winslow, Lake Havasu, Bullhead City, Parker — the list goes on and on.

Except Wickenburg.

Wickenburg’s terminal building is kept locked up tight unless they’re expecting a jet. There’s no one there to greet you — let alone smile at you. The bathrooms, which are accessible via keypad-locked door, are usually dirty and seldom have soap. There’s no counter to set down your sunglasses or purse; the moron who redesigned them obviously cared more about how it would look when new than how functional it might be. There’s no comfortable place to wait or to greet passengers. The pop machine is locked up inside the building, so if you’re thirsty, you’re out of luck. The fuel hoses are dirty, the nozzles leak, the static cable has burrs that’ll cut your hand open if you’re not careful. The only fuel truck is for JetA and it’s only available if you call ahead. If no one answers the phone, you’ll be pumping your own JetA, after taxiing your multi-million dollar aircraft up to the self-serve pump. The windsocks aren’t replaced until they’ve rotted away and the pilots complain. And if you’re in a helicopter, be careful of the FOD on the ramp — some of the short 2x4s they use as chocks tend to become airborne in helicopter downwash.

There’s virtually no airport security and airport management — which barely exists — doesn’t seem to care about the airport’s resident low-life, who vandalizes airport and personal property and steals things from the parked vehicles of people he doesn’t like.

I don’t know any local pilot who buys fuel in Wickenburg if he doesn’t have to. For most of them, though, the issue is price. That’s enough to keep them away from the pumps. I don’t think they expect the kind of service a real FBO offers. They just think Wickenburg charges too much for fuel — and they’re right. How can you charge more that most airports in the state when you don’t provide any services to go with it?

What are people paying for?

I know what I’m paying for. And I’m not buying it at Wickenburg Airport.


* To be fair, Atlantic’s hangar in Deer Valley is a shared hangar. The only thing I can store there is my helicopter, its ground handling equipment, and a storage locker for small items such as the dual controls, life vests, and extra oil. It’s not as if I’m getting a cheap private hangar; I’m not. This is, however, what I need on a part-time basis, so it works extremely well for me.

The Parasites of the Tour Industry

One reason it’s so hard for small companies to get ahead.

The other day, I got another call from XYZ Company. That’s not their real name, of course, but it’ll do for this article.

XYZ has been calling me occasionally for the past four years. It’s a tour packaging company based in the eastern United States. But it doesn’t sell itself as a packager. Instead, its ads lead clients to think that it’s a huge tour company with offices all over the country.

How does it do this? By advertising the services of small companies like mine, Flying M Air, as its own.

Now I don’t want to say that they are deliberately misleading the public. I’m sure the ads have fine print somewhere that makes it clear that they are not providing the services. After all, I’m sure they don’t want any liability if something should go wrong. And I’m pretty sure that if a client asked straight out who would be providing the services, they’d admit that they used subcontractors. But I’m equally sure that the client would have a difficult time finding out exactly who was providing the services until they had paid for them.

What They Do

Here’s how it works. XYZ calls me to ask whether I can perform a specific tour or other helicopter charter service. When I say that I can, they ask about my rates. I give them an hourly rate. They then go into some detail on exactly what they’re looking for and ask whether I can do it.

Off-Airport Landing

Mine sites can be tight to land in. I’d be hard-pressed to fit my helicopter in here.

In some (few) cases, the job is simple: a helicopter flight from point A to point B in my area. But in many cases, the job is more complex. A recent job query, for example, would require me to fly to a location about 100 miles from my base and spend three days there. While there, I’d take two passengers over some nearby mines they apparently own, landing if requested so they can get out and do mining-related stuff on the ground. Then, if they need help, I’d go back and fetch two companions and bring them to the site. I’d then wait around for them to be ready to move on and shuffle them to the next site.

As you might imagine, this isn’t as simple as quoting an hourly rate. I have to get compensated for the trip from my base to the client location and back and the cost of spending the night away from home. I also need to get a minimum number of hours of flight time each day to make it worth keeping my helicopter unavailable for other work.

I get calls like this from people quite often. Not exactly this scenario, of course, but other work that’s equally weird and/or time-consuming. In so many cases, the callers clearly have no idea about the cost of using a helicopter for their task. They figure they’ll need about three hops from point to point and that surely can’t take more than an hour or two. They don’t see the ferry time (three hours, in this case), the overnight fees (at least $250 per night), or the need for daily minimums. They think I’m going to provide them with three days of service, putting my aircraft at their whim, for the cost of two hours of flight time. As you can imagine, I don’t do much of this work.

In this particular case, it took two phone calls (so far) to discuss the job and an argument about how long it would take me to fly from my base to the client’s. I’ve underestimated ferry flight time enough times to know that it’s better to overestimate and be able to charge the client less than he expects. The project is still in limbo, but I don’t expect it to happen. In most cases, a call from XYZ means nothing more than time wasted on the phone.

Dealing with a Middleman

There are two differences between dealing directly with a client looking for a quote and dealing with the telephone jockeys at a middleman company like XYZ:

  • The client knows exactly what he wants. He tells me, I ask questions, he answers them. Within a few minutes on one phone call we zero in on a complete description of the job and a pretty solid estimate of costs. This results in sticker shock for the caller, an agreement that we can’t work together, or a tentative reservation. The telephone jockeys for companies like XYZ, on the other hand, have very little idea of what the client wants or needs or the kinds of services a helicopter operator can provide. After all, the last call they took was for a boat ride around Manhattan or a train ride to Denali or a bus tour to the Grand Canyon. They get just the basic client needs, search their database for possible providers in an area, and call a company like mine. They don’t know anything about my aircraft or its capabilities. Not only do they not know answers to my questions — how much flight time per day? do they own the land I have to land on? how much does each passenger weigh? are they carrying equipment? is there any flying time at night? are the mines anywhere near the restricted areas in that part of the state? — but they don’t know what questions to ask me on behalf of the client. They are middlemen. As a result, most queries take more than one phone call.
  • Companies like XYZ need to make a profit. Rather than be satisfied with a commission that I’m willing to pay, they jack up my rates and charge that to the client. How much do they add? In the one instance I was able to discover the rate they charged a client, it was 30%. So my clients are paying a 30% premium for my services when they book with a company that has no clue about the kind of services I offer. As a result, companies like XYZ often price me out of the market. I don’t get the work because I cost too much. But those aren’t my prices. They’re they premium prices charged by XYZ. What pisses me off the most is that my margins are so thin that XYZ would likely make more money on a job than I would — and I’m the one doing the work.

In the past four years, I’ve been contacted about a dozen times by XYZ. Occasionally, I get a telephone jockey who seems to know what he’s doing. But in most cases, the guy calling is pretty clueless and I have to list the questions I need answered to provide a quote. I almost got work with XYZ twice.

They Promise Services I Can’t Deliver

Meteor Crater

Meteor Crater is amazing from the air, but don’t expect me to land inside it.

Once, a UK-based television company wanted to get some aerial footage of Meteor Crater in northern Arizona. What a lot of people don’t know is that Meteor Crater is privately owned. The whole damn thing is on someone’s property. They’ve put in a very nice museum and walkways to overlook the crater. It’s a cool place to visit and I highly recommend it, especially if you have kids interested in space.

The best views, however, are from the air. Television people know this. They wanted to hire me to take them around the crater and get footage. At least that’s what XYZ told me.

It took three or four phone calls to get the information the client and I needed to make sure we were on the same page. We agreed on rates and times and even a date.

Then I got a call from the UK company. They wanted to talk to me about landing in the Crater. Whoa. I can’t do that. I’ve talked to the Meteor Crater folks and they won’t even let me land at their helipad, let alone inside their tourist attraction. I can’t get the amount of insurance they need (which is an unreasonable amount, but we won’t go there). Turns out that XYZ had told them I could land anywhere. Reality bites us in the ass.

They’re Too Anxious to Sell, Not Interested in Providing Service

Zero Mike Lima at Marble Canyon

One flight I almost did for XYZ would have been above the cliffs in this photo.

Another time, a Phoenix-based company needed to do an aerial survey west of Page, AZ. I know that area very well; in fact, I’d been flying over the same spot less than a week before the call came and was excited about the possibility of flying up there again so soon.

The XYZ guy had a decent handle on the job and we were able to make arrangements with only three phone calls. Of course, one of the last phone calls concerned the date — XYZ had been so concerned about my ability to get the job done and the rate I’d charge that they neglected to tell me the date of the job. I was already booked for a flight that day. The client scrambled and offered a different date that worked for me. We booked the flight.

XYZ requires the client to pay, in full, at booking. The client did this, paying for a total of 5 or 6 hours of flight time. At XYZ’s rate for my services — 30% more than I charge. I didn’t see a penny of this money, but was assured that I’d be paid before the flight.

The client called me. They were having trouble getting landing permission from BLM, which they’d need for me to land. They were good people and did not expect me to land without permission. The flight would be delayed, possibly beyond their window of opportunity.

I didn’t hear anything more. A day before the flight I called the client to see what was going on. She was baffled. “Didn’t they call you? We had to cancel.”

They hadn’t called me.

“We couldn’t get our money back,” she added.

This bugged me. Someone had paid for my services and wasn’t getting what they paid for. I told her I’d try to get her a refund. I called XYZ and spoke to the guy we’d been dealing with. He told me, in no uncertain terms, that their payment and refund policy was none of my concern. I hadn’t provided any services, they weren’t going to pay me. (I would have turned the money over to the client.) If the client rescheduled — and they had a year to do so — they might call me back.

Competing with Myself

One of the things that annoys me about XYZ is its ability to be at the top of search results for any Google search where my company might appear. They do this with AdWords — paying Google to put them at the top of search results. It costs a fortune — I know because I used to use AdWords. I threw a bunch of money at Google for about six months and got absolutely no business from it.

XYZ, however, has 30% net on any booking and can throw that at Google or anyone else it needs to. So it comes to the top of the search results. People click that “sponsored ad” and two things happen:

  • The folks at Google hear a little ca-ching!
  • The person who clicked the ad sets himself up to deal with someone who knows little about the service he needs, pay a 30% premium on any tour he books, and lose the ability to get a refund if the project gets cancelled.

And when the price is too high for the market, I lose the business I might have gotten if they clicked the link to my site instead.

Parasites of the Tour Industry?

Parasite is a strong term and likely not as accurate as it could be. Companies like XYZ might believe they’ve got more of a symbiotic relationship with service providers like me. They might think that their advertising and ability to take calls in their call centers gets me more business.

But it doesn’t. It’s been four years since that first call and I have yet to get any work from them. Instead, they’re inaccurately representing my company and its rates to potential clients. I’m losing business because of them.

You might ask, then why not tell them to take a hike and stop calling?

Obviously, I can’t do that. After all, there is an off chance that they might actually get me some business. And in this market, it’s better to let a parasite suck some of your blood away than be blacklisted by a company that could throw you the few crumbs you need to stay alive.

Deal Direct, Not with the Middleman

The more important question is, why would people seeking tour or charter services be lured in to booking with a parasite company like XYZ?

I suspect there are multiple reasons, but the top one would be laziness convenience.

Consider the way you search for goods and services. You fire up your Web browser and enter a search for the service you need. A first page of search results appears. You see XYZ company right near the top. They’re also one of the “sponsored links.” You figure they must be big and have great service. You click the link. You make contact. Sure, they tell you, they can do that. Just give us a little more info so we can get you a quote.

Pretty easy for you, huh? One search, one click, one e-mail form or phone call. You don’t have to talk to more than one person. (Well, maybe you have to talk to him a few times while he gets all the information he needs.) You’re getting real service from a big company with locations across the country, right?

Wrong. You’re getting a telephone jockey who barely knows what you’re talking about. He’s picking up the phone and making some calls for you. He’s finding the deal that he thinks might meet your needs. He’s getting ready to lock you in on a no-cancel, no refund deal.

And he’s charging you a 30% premium for the work you could have done yourself, had you just looked past the first three search results.

You want to help small companies while helping yourself? Deal directly with the service provider and tell those parsites to take a hike. You’ll get the same — or better — service for a lot less money.

A Great Photographer Takes a Great Photo

Some more good comes from a bunch of bad.

Back in October 2008, I embarked on one of Flying M Air‘s Southwest Circle Helicopter Adventures. But rather than paying passengers along for the six-day/five-night trip, I had a video team and a writer from Arizona Highways magazine. The trip itself went great. Good weather, great flying conditions, most accommodations right in line with my usual offerings.

It wasn’t until months afterwards that I realized what a mistake I’d made.

The video company, which I’d contracted to produce three television quality documentaries with footage taken, in part, during the trip, was in way over its head. A visit to the video editing guy’s “state of the art studio” — a partially refinished garage right off his kitchen — was the wake-up call. He’d never bothered to catalog any of the hours of video he and his companion had shot on my dime, using equipment I’d probably purchased with my prepayment. He was attempting to create a “trailer” video with footage shot solely with the POV camera that had been attached, at an off angle, to my helicopter’s nose. His “audio recording facility” picked up the noise from his fan-cooled computers and barking dogs. He didn’t understand the concept of matching music changes to scene changes. In other words, he had no clue.

I won’t go into more details than that. My lawyers are dealing with it. Let’s just say I got ripped off badly and have nothing to show for it but a hard disk full of mediocre video in about a dozen different formats, none of which is organized or cataloged to make scenes easy to find.

But often it takes a bunch of crap (think fertilizer) to make something good grow (think flowers). And the good thing that came from the outrageous expense of the trip was the article written by Keridwen Cornelius, the Arizona Highways writer who came along and sat taking notes for most of the trip.

But I’m getting ahead of myself here.

Before the article came out in the May 2009 issue of Arizona Highways, I was contacted by Jeff Kida, Photography Editor at Arizona Highways. I was familiar with Jeff’s work from the magazine. If you’ve never seen Arizona Highways, you should pick up a copy. It is, by far, the most impressive look at Arizona that you’re likely to see. The photography is beautiful, beyond description, and each issue of the magazine provides an in-depth look at the state that simply isn’t available elsewhere. Landscape photographers — amateur or professional — should use it as a standard to achieve in their own work.

Jeff said they needed a portrait of me and my helicopter for the article. We tossed around some ideas. I mentioned that near sunset, the late afternoon light often made the Weaver Mountains north of Wickenburg turn copper colored. I suggested that we put my helicopter out on the ramp at Wickenburg Municipal Airport with those mountains as a backdrop and stick me in front of it. He seemed to like the idea and made a date to do the shoot.

Jeff arrived early that day. So early that I figured I’d take him up for a aerial shoot of Wickenburg. I still had hopes about at least one of my videos and my husband, Mike, would shoot some HD footage with our Sony Handycam to use as B-roll. I pulled another door off in back for Jeff. We flew around town. He seemed to enjoy the flight, but he didn’t take many photos. It wasn’t until later that I realized he was an on-the-ground kind of photographer who liked to get up-close-and-personal with his subject matter. Aerial photography — especially in less than perfect conditions — didn’t interest him much.

We went back to the airport and I landed on the spot I’d envisioned. We put the doors back on. I went into the restroom to fix my hair a bit. I’d already put on makeup and a Flying M Air shirt. The sun crept lower into the horizon. The light started getting good.

The airport was deserted, which is (1) nothing unusual and (2) a good thing. Jeff had me stand at least 50 feet in front of the helicopter while he set up his tripod at least 50 feet from me. He used a long lens to frame me and the helicopter.

This is the difference between a photographer who knows what he’s doing and one who doesn’t. Sure, I could have stood closer to the helicopter and Jeff could have stood right in front of me. But instead, he’d decided to take advantage of the distance-compressing capabilities of a telephoto lens. By lining up his two subjects (me and the helicopter) in front of a distant background (the mountains 10 miles away) and framing us in a telephoto lens, he made everything appear much closer together. At the same time, he was able to sharply focus on me and leave the helicopter and mountains in a much softer focus.

Maria LangerThe result, as you can see here, is likely the best portrait of me that I’ll ever see.

What I like about this photo — other than the simple fact that I look happy and alive and even a wee bit attractive in it — is that it tells a story about me. I’m the subject, the helicopter is the topic, and the desert mountains in the distance is the setting. It can be rewritten as a sentence: “Maria is a helicopter pilot who flies in the desert mountains.” And I think that’s what a good portrait should be. More than just a picture of a face. A description of that person.

Arizona HighwaysAnyway, I didn’t see the photo until the May 2009 issue of the magazine came out. I was thrilled with it. I wrote to Jeff to ask if I could have a copy to use elsewhere. I also asked a few other questions. He answered the other questions, but didn’t send the photo. I thought perhaps the magazine had said no, so I let it go.

The article did great things for my business. I sold more excursions last year than I had in all the years I’d been offering it. While I didn’t net enough to cover the cost of my huge mistake with the videographers, it was great to get out there and share the trip with other folks.

This month I started a new project and really needed a good “author photo” to go with it. I remembered the photo from the Arizona Highways article. I contacted Jeff again. He apologized, saying he’d meant to send it to me the last time I’d asked but had forgotten. And he sent a high resolution image with permission to use it anywhere I wanted to.

I’m thrilled.

So now I have a good portrait that I can use on my blog (you’ll find it formatted as you see here on my Bio page) and on Flying M Air’s Owner/Chief Pilot Background page. And I’m sure you’ll see it elsewhere, too.

So that’s two good things that came from the ill-fated trip: the great article by Keridwen Cornelius in Arizona Highways‘ May 2009 issue and the great photo taken by Jeff Kida for that article. Thanks again, both of you!

Flashback: October 14, 1998

The day I started learning to fly helicopters.

Jeppeson Log BookAt the end of 2008, I finished — that is, completely filled — my first Jeppeson Professional Pilot Logbook. The book documents the first eleven calendar years of my pilot experience.

I bought the book on the day of my first flight lesson. My instructor, Paul, said that the flight school sold two of them. He recommended the big, Jeppeson book. It was more expensive than the smaller alternative, but it was also more impressive. As he wrote the entry for my very first flight, I wondered how long it would take to fill the whole book.

Eleven years. 2033 hours of flight time. (It’s a big book.)

The first entry was for October 14, 1998:

Aircraft Make and Model: R22
Aircraft Ident: 4030C
From/To: CHD-L07-CHD
Total Duration of Flight: 0.9
Rotorcraft Helicopter: 0.9
Landings: Day: 2
Dual Received: 0.9

Paul’s signature and CFI certificate number appear in the Remarks and Endorsements column, along with the cryptic codes A-F, K. I consulted the “cheat sheet” that the flight school used to code entries and discovered that we’d practiced the following:

A: Hovering, hovering turns
B: Lift Off / Set Down
C: Normal Take Off
D: Normal Approach
E: Maximum Performance Take Off
F: Steep Approach
K: Straight In Autorotations

I don’t remember very much about that first flight — after all, it happened more than twelve years ago — but I do remember a few things.

The preflight seemed to take forever. We used a two-sided checklist and Paul ran me through every single item. He’d help me preflight for the first three or four lessons. Then it was up to me to do it on my own. I think I surprised him a few times when I found potential problems in an aircraft that was still warm from the previous flight.

Paul handled all radio communications. During that first lesson, I had no idea what he was saying. I distinctly recall wondering who Juliet was and why he mentioned her when talking to the tower that first time.

Paul lifted off from the school’s helipad, climbed out, and got us in level flight before turning over any of the controls. When he did, he turned them over one-by-one. The sensitivity of the cyclic amazed me — it didn’t take much to get the helicopter moving in a direction I didn’t want to go.

Paul brought us in to the practice area at Memorial Field, southwest of Chandler Municipal. Memorial was on land owned by the Gila River Indian Community. It had two runways (03/21 and 12/30), neither of which were in good condition. But they were fine for helicopter practice and only a 8-minute flight from Chandler. Few other people used the airport and we’d normally have it to ourselves or share it with another helicopter student pilot. Not long ago, the Indians closed the airport to helicopter use. I don’t know where the new students at Chandler practice now.

We practiced hovering. Or, more accurately, he showed me how to hover and I tried to do it. It seemed impossible. I remember Paul telling me that it normally took students 5 to 10 hours of practice time to be able to hover. It wouldn’t be until our eighth flight, a month later, that I finally got the knack with about 7.5 hours under my belt.

He demonstrated an autorotation. I felt my stomach do a somersault. The whole thing happened very fast. At the bottom, he brought back the power, pulled pitch, and left us hovering right where he’d said we’d be.

Afterwards, back at the flight school, we talked about what we’d done. I was still optimistic, even about hovering. I was excited, even though I had no real idea of what I was doing.

Over the next few lessons, I’d develop and then get over motion sickness while trying to hover. I’d ask Paul what percentage of students actually got their pilot certificates and be told that fewer than half finished. My optimism about hovering would turn to pessimism. And then, when I could suddenly hover, I knew I’d be able to finish.

But averaging just two hours of dual time a week, I knew I was not on the fast track.