Tag Archives: tourism

The Tour Operator's Fly or Don't Fly Decision

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It should be about client experience, shouldn’t it?

Yesterday, like all other days I’m scheduled to fly, I faced a pilot’s usual weather-related fly/don’t fly decision. While the weather in Arizona is usually so good that flying is possible just about every day of the year, yesterday’s weather forecast was different. It required me to make a real decision.

SDL to Meteor Crater

As this marked-up WAC shows, the most direct route I’d take for this flight has us spending extended periods of time at high elevation over mountains.

I was scheduled to do a custom tour of Meteor Crater and the Grand Falls of the Little Colorado River in northern Arizona with a lunch stop on the return trip in Sedona. The total flight time would be about three hours, with much of it conducted over mountainous or high altitude (or both) terrain.

The Weather

I’d been watching the weather forecasts for Winslow (east of the Crater), Flagstaff (between the Grand Falls and Sedona), and Sedona for a few days. Earlier in the week, there had been a 10% chance of snow in the Flagstaff area. That wasn’t worrying me much. What did worry me was the wind forecast: 20 mph plus gusts. That would make for an uncomfortable and possibly very unpleasant flight.

On the morning of the flight, the weather forecast had taken a turn for the worse. According to NOAA what I was looking at for the places we’d fly over:

Phoenix: Sunny, with a high near 64. Breezy, with a south southwest wind between 7 and 17 mph, with gusts as high as 28 mph.

Sedona: A 10 percent chance of showers after 11am. Partly cloudy, with a high near 58. South wind 6 to 9 mph increasing to between 18 and 21 mph. Winds could gust as high as 33 mph.

Flagstaff: A 30 percent chance of snow showers after 11am. Partly cloudy, with a high near 43. Breezy, with a southwest wind 8 to 11 mph increasing to between 20 and 23 mph. Winds could gust as high as 37 mph. Total daytime snow accumulation of less than a half inch possible.

Winslow: Sunny, with a high near 58. Breezy, with a south wind 8 to 11 mph increasing to between 25 and 28 mph. Winds could gust as high as 44 mph.

To be fair, we weren’t actually flying to Winslow. But we’d be about 20 miles to the west, on the same big, flat, windswept plateau.

But if that wasn’t bad enough, there was also a Hazardous Weather Outlook for entire area:

A VIGOROUS PACIFIC LOW WILL BRUSH NORTHERN ARIZONA BRINGING SOUTHWEST WINDS OF 15 TO 25 MPH WITH LOCAL GUST TO NEAR 40 MPH AND COOLER TEMPERATURES. IN ADDITION…PARTLY TO MOSTLY CLOUDY SKIES WILL SPREAD ACROSS THE AREA WITH SCATTERED SHOWERS DEVELOPING FROM ABOUT FLAGSTAFF NORTHWARD TO THE ARIZONA…UTAH BORDER. THE SNOW LEVEL WILL RANGE FROM 4000 TO 5000 FEET BY THIS AFTERNOON

Flagstaff is at 7000 feet.

I know from 2,300 hours experience flying helicopters all over the southwest that when the winds get above 20 mph and you’re flying over mountainous terrain, you’re in for a rough ride. A 15 mph gust spread in the mountains can make you feel as if you’re riding a bull at a rodeo.

And a 10% to 30% chance of rain or show showers didn’t make the situation any better. I’ve been in snow showers in the Sedona area that cut visibility to less than a mile in localized areas. Not very scenic.

The Decision

There are three ways I could make the decision:

  • Do I have to go? The simple truth is that if I had to make the flight — for example, if it were a matter of life and death — I could. I’ve flown in high winds before and although it caused white knuckles and a lot of in-flight stress, it was doable. But this was not a “must go” situation.
  • If paying passengers weren’t involved, would I go? The answer to this one was no, I wouldn’t. If this were a personal pleasure flight, I simply wouldn’t make the trip that day. I don’t take much pleasure in a rodeo ride 500-1000 feet off the ground.
  • Would passengers enjoy the trip? I’d guess the answer would be no. I fact, I’d expect the passengers to actually experience fear at least once during the flight. Turbulence are scary, especially when you seldom experience them — or have never experienced them in a small aircraft.

So the decision was actually quite simple: I would call the client and advise that we not make the trip that day. I could offer a tour of Phoenix (relatively flat, a shorter flight, much lighter winds) or the same trip the next day when the weather was expected to be much better.

I’m Selling an Experience

This is what separates me from the tour operator I worked for at the Grand Canyon back in 2004. In the spring, we routinely flew in winds up to 50 miles per hour, with fights that were so bumpy that even I, as the pilot, was starting to get sick. (Puking passengers was a daily occurrence.) Keeping in mind that we did “scenic” flights, near the end of the season, we occasionally flew in conditions with minimal visibility due to thunderstorm activity and smoke from forest fires (planned and unplanned). After one flight, when the visibility was so bad that I had trouble finding my way back to the airport, I asked the Chief Pilot why we were flying. After all, the passengers couldn’t see any more than I could. His response was, “If they’re willing to pay, we’re willing to fly.”

I don’t have this same attitude. My passengers are paying me for a pleasant, scenic tour. While I can’t control the weather, I can control when we fly. If I suspect that the weather will make the trip significantly unpleasant — or possibly scare the bejesus out of them — how can I, in good conscience, sell them the flight?

I’m not saying that I won’t fly in less than perfect conditions, but if the conditions are downright horrible for flight, why should I subject my passengers — or myself — to those conditions?

I called the passenger and explained the situation. He consulted his wife. They agreed to do the flight the next day. He seemed happy that I’d called and given him the choice.

I’m sure we’ll all have a great time.

The Parasites of the Tour Industry

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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.

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.