Category Archives: Flying

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

Clive Cussler Doesn’t Know Much about Helicopters

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Apparently, even best-selling authors can’t be bothered to do their homework.

Atlantis Found CoverIn my never-ending quest for light reading while I sit around in Wickenburg waiting for my marriage to be terminated, I picked up a copy of Atlantis Found by Clive Cussler from the library. This book features Cussler’s protagonist, Dirk Pitt, a man so outrageously skilled and lucky that he makes James Bond look as inept as Inspector Clouseau.

Hey, I did say I wanted light reading, didn’t I? (And yes, I do realize I was bitching about a supposed Cussler book just the other day.)

But no matter how light reading is, it really bugs me when an author gets something insanely wrong. Take, for example, this passage from the book:

Purchased by Destiny Enterprises from the Messerschmitt-Bolkow Corporation, the Bo 105LS-7 helicopter was designed and built for the Federal German Army primarily for ground support and paramilitary use. The aircraft chasing the Skycar carried a crew of two, and mounted twin engines that gave it a maximum speed of two hundred and eighty miles an hour. For firepower, it relied on a ventral-mounted, swiveling twenty millimeter cannon.

My helicopter pilot brain shouted “How fast?”

You see, there’s a little thing called retreating blade stall which normally limits the airspeed of a helicopter. I don’t know of any helicopter capable of going 280 miles per hour. Certainly not one with a single main rotor system.

But hell, I’m not an expert. I’m just a pilot. What do I know?

Bo 105P
German Army BO 105P photo by Joey Quan.

So I looked it up the MBB Bo 105 on Wikipedia. And I scrolled down to the Specifications Section. And I learned the following specs:

  • Never exceed speed: 270 km/h (145 knots, 167 mph)
  • Maximum speed: 242 km/h (131 knots, 150 mph)
  • Cruise speed: 204 km/h (110 knots, 127 mph)

280 miles per hour? How about 150 miles per hour? That’s more reasonable.

And, coincidentally, it’s the never exceed speed for my Robinson R44 Raven II — although, admittedly, I don’t have any ventral-mounted, swiveling twenty millimeter cannons.

Come on, guys! Do your homework! I know it’s fiction, but when you discuss the capabilities of an aircraft that actually exists, how about getting it right?

This guy gets it. Do you?

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More fodder from my inbox.

Yesterday, I was very pleased to find the following message in my email inbox (emphasis added):

Maria -

I’m not selling anything…and I’m not asking for anything =) I just wanted to drop a heartfelt “Thanks!” for what you’ve written. I’m a career Navy guy… I retire in a year and a half. I finally started my flight training this past Feb. Now that I’m on shore duty and not at sea, I have the time. Fortunately for me, the GI Bill is covering the cost of my flight training. It really is the realization of a lifelong goal. I *almost* had the opportunity to fly in the Navy, but my 31st birthday fell three weeks prior to receiving my BA. When you couple that with a backlog of Student Aviators pushed back in their training due to Hurricane Ivan, it meant… No age waiver approval for me. The Navy wouldn’t let me fly…

I never gave up though and while I had to put my flight training on the back burner when I was out to sea, it’s finally coming together now. It’s a poor choice for a second career, I know. However, there is just something about flying that draws me in and I can’t see myself doing anything else. I’ve perused the various forums throughout the years and despite all the negativity associated with anything related to pilot jobs… I’m still moving forward. I’m a firm believer that what you achieve in this life is directly proportional to what you put in.

So what’s the point? Thanks for posting up your perspective! Your blog is a goldmine of lessons learned and experience gained. I really enjoy reading it. It’s motivating for an “old guy” like me. Yes, I “get” that I should have started this career 20 years ago but it’s water under the bridge now. In any case, at least I’ll have my retirement pay to supplement the low wages :). Ultimately though, being satisfied with what I do rather than how much I make is what matters most. Thanks again for blogging!

Ryan

Now that’s what I call the right attitude.

Here’s a guy approaching retirement age — not quite sure what that is for career Navy guys, but I assume it’s past 40. He knows what his passion is. He knows that it’s not the best career choice if money is important. But money isn’t important to him and he’s going after his dream job, knowing that his retirement pay will supplement his pilot income. You have to have a lot of respect for someone like that.

I know I do. He’s in nearly the same boat I was in back in early 2000 at age 38. I was also fortunate enough to have another income to fall back upon as I worked my way up. I was chasing down a dream. Profits didn’t matter — at least at first while that second income was there for me. What mattered was rising to the challenge and doing something I really wanted to do — something I loved.

But what really struck me were the two sentences I highlighted in bold above.

I’m a firm believer that what you achieve in this life is directly proportional to what you put in.

This is the truth. There are many ways to go through life. One way is to “skate,” doing just as much as you need to glide forward on a satisfactory path. (I was married to a skater, although he didn’t think he was. But if he would have turned off the TV once in a while and spent that time learning and doing the things he needed to achieve his goals, he’d be in a happier place right now. I think we both would be. But that, too, is water under the bridge.)

The other way to go through life is to work hard and smart and to stay focused on your goals, doing whatever you need to do to achieve them. It’s not easy and it can be exhausting. I know this. I think Ryan does, too. But the rewards of all this work are worth all the effort.

The more you put into life, the more you get back from it.

Ultimately though, being satisfied with what I do rather than how much I make is what matters most.

This is another version of the old adage, “Do what you love.” If there was any one piece of advice I could give a young person, this would be it. Remember, if you’re not happy with what you do every day, you will not have happiness in life. Only by following your dreams and doing what matters most to you can you be really happy.

This is something I learned back in 1990, when I left a job I hated to start a freelance career. The way I see it, I wasted 8 years of my life. But what followed (so far) were 23 great years doing work I loved and achieving my goals. Ryan understands this, too.

Being happy at work is far better than making a lot of money at a job you don’t like.

Do you understand these things? When you do and you’re not afraid to let it guide your life, you’ll be on your way to a rich, fulfilling life, too.

Frost Control

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I get a job but no experience.

In February, I got my first contract for a frost-control job in the Sacramento Valley of California. It was a 60-day contract and it only recently ended.

Frost control work is similar to cherry drying, but the contract — at least my contract — was very different. And this year, it offered no opportunity to fly and very little profit.

The Goal

Almond Trees in Full Bloom
These almond trees in one of my orchards are in full bloom. As you can see, they’re quite beautiful — especially when you see hundreds of acres of them. The contract starts right around this time.

The goal of frost control flying is to grab the warm air above the orchard in thermal inversion situations and suck it down into the trees. My client tells me that you can only do this for about 3 hours before the warm air is depleted.

As the almonds (or walnuts, if you’re doing them) are forming, they’re gelatinous and very susceptible to damage from frost. Each degree below 30° can knock off a significant percentage of the crop. This is serious business — serious enough to have enough helicopters on hand to protect the developing nuts.

My client hired 17 helicopters of various makes and models to protect its orchards this season. I was just one of them, positioned in Woodland, CA.

About the Flying

Like cherry drying, which I’ve done every summer for the past five seasons and hope to do again this summer (if I ever get out of Arizona), frost requires you to fly low-level over trees. But there are a few major differences:

  • Frost control flying is usually done at night. This means flying in the dark, although a flight could last until just after dawn. Let’s face it: cold weather comes at night, with the coldest weather just before dawn. (More on that in a moment.)
  • Frost control flying is usually done higher than cherry drying. My client told me approximately where he wanted me to fly, but also said that I needed to check my outside air temperature (OAT) gauge to make sure I was in the warmer air above the trees. This means anywhere from 20 to 50 feet off the ground.
  • Frost control flying is usually done faster than cherry drying. Again, my client advised me to operate at a speed of about 20 to 30 miles per hour. That’s right at ETL in my ship, which would make for an interesting flight. (I can’t remember any prolonged flying right at ETL.)

And if you’re a helicopter pilot, you probably realize that this altitude and airspeed combination still puts the aircraft right, smack dab in the middle of the deadman’s curve.

Flying in the Dark

But flying in the deadman’s curve doesn’t really bother me. I’m used to it. What does bother me, however, is flying in the dark.

Note that I didn’t say flying at night. I said flying in the dark. There’s a difference.

First of all, you need to understand that these orchards are in farm country. Some of them are huge, stretching across a section (square mile) of land. The only things in the orchard are usually the trees. Trees don’t need lights at night so there aren’t any. So the orchards are naturally dark at night.

When there’s any kind of moon, it really isn’t that dark. In fact, when the trees are in bloom and there’s a moon, you can see the trees from quite a distance up. It’s actually quite beautiful when there’s enough moonlight to see them.

But when there’s no moon — which is basically more than half the month (considering that flight is normally conducted between the hours of 3 AM to 7 AM) — everything is dark. Pitch black dark. And that’s where the real challenge is.

You see, the entire area is criss-crossed with power lines — the big “Bonnevilles” and smaller lines going to homes and shops. If you’re lucky enough to not have wires in your orchards — which I was — you still have to worry about the wires on the way to your orchard. So you’re flying at least 500 feet up to avoid the possibility of hitting wires.

You use a GPS to get to your orchard. When you think you’re right over it, you look down and, if there’s no moon, you don’t see anything except a black hole. You wonder whether the coordinates are for the center of the orchard or one corner. If a corner, which one? And how close are you really to those coordinates? You’re wondering this while you’re flying over the orchard, knowing you have to get way down there, just over the trees that you can’t see, and knowing that if you’re not where you think you might be, you could also be over or near wires you can’t see and you might descend down into them.

Even if you know exactly where you are, you can’t simply descend straight down into the orchard from 500 feet above it. Doing so would put you in serious risk of settling with power. So you have to spiral down into it, making sure that you’re remaining clear of wires that could be in the area. With luck, you’ll see the trees before you hit them.

My Test Runs

Before actually flying a mission, a friend and I went out on a test run with me at the controls. We looked for one of my orchards that I knew had wires along one edge, Bonnevilles nearby, and a huge unlighted windmill less than a mile away. I went to the coordinates and looked down. There was moonlight and I thought I could see a patch of trees. I began my spiraling descent and doubt creeped into my mind. Were those trees? The shape wasn’t right. I realized that I was looking at a small lake near the orchard and couldn’t remember where it was in relation to the orchard. I realized that the windmill was near the lake. Knowing that I wasn’t where I thought I was, I aborted the descent. My friend was with me on that decision.

We tried my other orchard, which had a more regular shape. I got into position over it and began my descent. I could see the flowers on the trees in the moonlight. But when I got within 100 feet of them, my landing light flashed on wires where I didn’t think there were any. Was I over the right orchard? If I wasn’t, I had no idea where wires could be. Again, I aborted the descent.

I was seriously concerned about my ability to get the job done. My friend was even worse, suggesting that it wasn’t possible without lighting from the ground. When I pointed out that other pilots had been doing it for years, he couldn’t argue.

Trail Tracker for iPad
One of my orchards consisted of four separate irregularly shaped fields. There were wires along the northeast side, running to the house. Note the ponds to the south; the windmill is southwest of the orchard, out of the image.

The next day, I downloaded an app called Trail Tracker for my iPad. This app creates a track log as you travel. I drove out to each of the orchards, turned the app on, and drove around the entire orchard. This created a blue track line that surrounded the orchard.

Later that day, I hopped into the helicopter with the iPad mounted in it stand. I then flew out to the orchards, one at a time, with the tracking software displaying the orchard’s outline. A GPS marker indicated my position on the map, although there was a bit of a time lag. I was able to see on the iPad where I was in relation to the orchard.

The next night, we went out again. This time, my friend flew his helicopter and I was a passenger. We flew out to my odd-shaped orchard first and were able to successfully descend down over the trees while knowing exactly where we were in the dark. While we were in flight, I also noted nearby lights that would give me visual references at night — the farmhouse on the east side was a good source of light and there was another at a shop up the road to the orchard (not shown in this image). We also flew all the way up to Williams to check out my friend’s orchards. We were able to find them and descend over the trees. He made a note of lights in the area, too.

So by approaching it with more information, we were able to get a bit more comfortable about the task we’d be called to perform.

But did I like it? Hell no! As I told another friend after I returned home the next day, this would be some of the most dangerous flying I’d ever do. I was not looking forward to it at all.

About My Contract

Unfortunately, my frost control contract was very different from a cherry drying contract. Although the helicopter was required to be onsite for the duration of the contract, I was not. I could go on with the day-to-day living of my life with two exceptions:

  • I couldn’t fly my helicopter because it was positioned in California. This made it impossible to accept flying jobs anywhere else. And since I didn’t advertise my availability where the helicopter was based in California, I didn’t book any flying work for the duration of the contract.
  • I could be called at any time to get on active standby. Once called, I’d pretty much have to drop everything and head out to California to prep the helicopter and wait until I was launched.

Because I wasn’t required to be with the helicopter, the standby money was considerably less than I’d get with a cherry drying contract. Like 25% of that amount. Ouch. I actually couldn’t afford to stay with the helicopter. My living expenses would be too high.

The contract did, however, provide additional revenue when I was called out and when I was on active standby. I was called out for two consecutive days. The callout and standby fees easily covered the cost of hopping on a Southwest Airlines flight from Phoenix to Sacramento and hanging around for two days.

But the temperatures never got low enough to launch me. I was there with the helicopter, the helicopter was fueled and ready to fly, but I didn’t need to fly.

That was early in the contract. I wasn’t called out again.

Later, my client told me that it was the warmest spring he’d ever been through.

Devore Aviation Lights
Devore Aviation’s Forward Facing Recognition Floodlight System consists of LED lights mounted on the two front skid legs. The lights and installation were very costly, but I might get some use out of them during cherry season.

In all, it was a break-even gig for me. The standby money covered the cost of getting special lights installed on the helicopter and repositioning the helicopter to California and back to base. The callout and standby fees covered my living expenses for the few days I was in Woodland with the helicopter.

Would I Do It Again?

In all honesty, I’m not sure I’d do this again.

I certainly would not do it again with the same contract in place. I’d much prefer a contract more similar to a cherry drying contract with higher standby fees, even if the contract required me to stay in Woodland for the entire contract term. Woodland is a nice little farm town very close to Sacramento and not far from Sonoma Valley; I think I’d really enjoy spending two months there — especially with the days free to do what I like.

But it really all depends upon the demand for my services in the Wenatchee area, where I’ll be living as soon as I can get out of Arizona. While cherry drying season doesn’t usually start for me until June, I might be able to get other flying work if I were in Washington with the aircraft before then.

It’s a decision I’ll have to make next year.

A Story about (Dis)Honesty in Business

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I can’t deal with people like this. Can you?

Drying Cherries
Here’s a photo of me in action over a cherry orchard in 2010.

As many people know, I now make most of my income in the summer doing agricultural work in Washington state with my helicopter.

Each year, my client base has minor changes, adding and removing acreage. It’s gotten to the point, however, that I usually need a second helicopter to help me during a one-month “crunch” period that runs roughly from the third week in June to the third week in July.

As I prepared to start my search for another helicopter with pilot, I was very pleased to get the following message via the contact form on Flying M Air‘s website:

Hello,
I was just wondering if you might know of a farmer who wants a helicopter for the upcoming season that you are unable to take care of? I have several helicopters available and have been doing frost abatement and cherry drying for over 5 years now.

An experienced guy with several helicopters? It sounded too good to be true. I replied:

I am looking for an experienced pilot with a helicopter for one month in the Wenatchee area. It would start around the end of June and run until the end of July. If you’re interested please give me a call.

He called. We spoke. He told me he had five helicopters: a JetRanger, a LongRanger, an R44, a Hiller, and an Enstrom. I told him I was interested in the R44 but only if the pilot had at least 500 hours in helicopters and 50 hours or more in the R44. He said all his pilots had over 1,000 hours.

At this point, a little nagging voice should have been whispering in my ear: This can’t be real. If this guy is experienced and has five helicopters, why doesn’t he already have contracts, especially for the R44, which would be anyone’s first choice of aircraft?

But if that little voice was talking, it may have been whispering. And since my brain is so caught up in divorce bullshit these days, I didn’t hear it.

Instead, I enthusiastically made him an offer for the R44, which he enthusiastically accepted. I told him I’d send a contract so he understood the terms and that I’d be able to give him more accurate dates in about a month. When we hung up, I remember thinking: Well, that’s one less thing to worry about. I even told a friend I’d already found a pilot to help me.

A week went by. I did some traveling. I didn’t get a chance to send the sample contract. There really wasn’t a rush; the work was still more than three months away.

I got another email message from the operator:

It was nice talking with you last week and thank you for the opportunity to work on cherries together in WA. Since our conversation I have had a chance to look a little closer at he numbers for an R44 and it looks like the lowest daily rate I can work with is $XXX per day but the $XXX per hour is the hourly rate needed so you were right on the mark with it. If you can’t do that as a daily rate I understand but I do have an Enstrom that I can get you for $XXX per day and only $XXX per hour.

I don’t want to give exact numbers here; I like to keep contract terms between me and the people I work with/for. He was telling me he needed $50 more per day for the R44 but only $25 more per day for an Enstrom, which I didn’t want. He could save me $25/hour of flight time on the Enstrom. So if I wanted the R44, it would cost me $1,500 more. Since my clients weren’t paying me that much, I’d lose money every day.

Classic bait and switch.

To say I was pissed is an understatement. I don’t like to be played. I know what it costs to own and operate an R44 and I know my offer was right in line with the going rate. So I replied honestly and politely:

Thanks for letting me know your requirements. I’m not sure I’ll be able to collect enough money from my clients to fill your needs. I’ll keep looking for someone else to handle the contracts for me. I don’t think the Enstrom will do the job. I’ll be in touch either way.

A few days went by. I got to talking to a friend of mine who also does cherry drying. He told me he’d been contacted by an operator who wanted to hire him and his Hiller to dry cherries in my area this summer. He told me that he was having a problem with the contract terms this guy was offering. Although the money was okay, this guy wouldn’t pay until after the grower had paid him. So my friend would be providing services with no guarantee of being paid if the guy who hired him didn’t collect.

You know what’s coming, right?

The guy who called my friend to hire him to fly was the same guy who had contacted me looking for work. He was acting as a broker — a middleman. He needed me to pay him more so he could pay the going rate to the guys who would fly for him and pocket money on the side. He wasn’t providing the services with his helicopters or his pilots.

A day or two later, I started writing a nasty email to him, but wisely deleted it.

Another week went by. Yesterday, I got this email from him:

I was just wondering if you have been able to find another 44 yet? If not can you do $XXX per day?

He was still looking for work for that R44, but now he’d dropped the daily rate to just $25/day more than I was offering. In all honesty, I could have made that work. But by then, I knew that I couldn’t trust him. And I didn’t want to work with someone I couldn’t trust.

Here’s where I’m different from most people. If you do something what bothers me, I will tell you about it. I want people to understand where I’m coming from. I’m not going to sneak around behind people’s backs and pretend everything is A-OK when it’s not. So I sent this message and BCCed it to my friend:

In all honesty, I’m not happy with the way you accepted my terms on the phone and then said you had to have more. I’m also not happy that you said that YOU owned the helicopters and I later found out that you tried to hire another pilot to cover cherry contracts for you. I’m thinking that you don’t have enough helicopters to cover your contracts or that you are trying to be a middleman. I’m also thinking that you’re not being entirely straight with me. I am not interested in working with someone I can’t trust. My clients are extremely important to me and I need to feel comfortable with the service I’m providing.

So I’m thinking that its best that we don’t work together this season. Sorry.

Too blunt? Probably. But that’s the way I am. I call it the way I see it.

It was obviously too blunt for him. He fired back:

Ok, so I never said it would actually work I said it may work on the phone. I never said I owned the helicopters, I have been doing this for over five years and have quite a few of my own contracts. I work with several other companies who are very happy with the service I provide. I never misrepresented what I do, just because you assume something doesn’t mean I said it or implied it. As far as being the middle man what are you doing?

Sorry, but I don’t agree with this. On the phone, he made it sound as if he had five helicopters. He even listed the models and told me all his pilots had 1,000 hours. And yes, he did say that the terms I offered would work — why else would I feel as if the job of finding another aircraft was done? I don’t have a recording of the conversation and I don’t have any notes. But I know what I heard and I know I was misled.

I replied:

I am not a middleman. These are my clients. I fly the contracts too. You misled me in our discussion and now you’re making excuses. I don’t deal with people I can’t trust.

And that’s when he showed his true colors:

ok, I should have listened to what people say about you but I thought I would give you a chance.

Yep. What kind of responsible business person makes a crack like that? Not only did he just slam the door on working with me in the future on cherries or frost (or anything else), but if any the other operators I routinely work with ask about him, I’ll tell them about this.

What should he have done? Well, he should have been a little bit apologetic, perhaps saying that he was sorry that he didn’t make the situation clear or sorry that I misunderstood him. He could have offered to start over with a more truthful account of his setup. But instead, he chose to take the line that I was at fault and that he should have known better to work with me after what he’d heard about me.

As if I give a shit what he and others say about me behind my back.

And him give me a chance? Jeez. How out of touch with reality is this guy? Aren’t I the one offering the work? The way I see it, I’d be giving him a chance.

Which, of course, I would now never do.

I got a call from my friend this morning. He had read the exchanges between me and the other guy. We chatted some more about this guy. Some details emerged. He had a helicopter last season and crashed it on a cherry contract. He apparently doesn’t currently have any helicopters at all. The deal he offered my friend for frost work required my friend to fly a certain number of hours for free or pay him for hours not flown. My friend would have lost money this season — especially since there was no frost flying to be done due to unseasonably warm weather all spring. He was glad he didn’t take the deal. And after our talk, he likely won’t be doing any deal with this guy in the future.

Sadly, this isn’t an isolated case. This business is highly competitive. People will say anything they need to in order to get a contract. They’ll promise the world. But when it comes time to deliver, they fall short.

Like the guy last season who said he’d work for me and seemed satisfied with the contract terms, but refused to sign a contract and refused to prove he had liability insurance. Needless to say, I didn’t work with him, either.

This isn’t a game. It’s business.

Oh, and if you feel like spending a month making good money with an R44 helicopter this summer, check this out. The only catch: you have to bring the helicopter.

Airport Tower Closures: Reality Check

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March 24, 2013, 11:30 AM Edit: Got the airplane terminology wrong. Thanks to two airplane pilots for correcting me. I’ve edited the text to show the change. Sorry about the confusion. – ML
March 25, 2013, 2:15 AM Edit: Left out the word towers in a sentence.

Come on folks — it’s not as bad as you think.

Falcon Tower
The control tower at Falcon Field Airport in Mesa, AZ is a typical Class Delta airport tower. (This is not one of the towers scheduled for closure.)

I’ve been reading a lot lately about the FAA’s upcoming airport tower closures. A list is out and there are 149 airports on it. The reduction of funding due to the sequester is making it necessary to close these contracted airport towers all over the country.

Most news articles, tweets, and Facebook updates that I’ve read about the closures are full of doom and gloom. Apparently, a lot of people believe that airport towers are required for safety. But as most general aviation pilots can attest, low traffic airports do not need towers.

What an ATC Tower Does

Air Traffic Control (ATC) towers are responsible for ensuring safe and orderly arrivals and departures of aircraft at an airport. Here’s how it works at a typical Class Delta airport — the kind of airports affected by the tower closures.

Most towered airports have a recording called an Automated Terminal Information System (ATIS) that broadcasts airport information such as weather conditions, runway in use, and any special notices (referred to as Notices to Airmen or NOTAMs). Pilots listen to this recording on a special airport frequency as they approach the airport so they’re already briefed on the most important information they’ll need for landing. The ATIS recording is usually updated hourly, about 5 to 10 minutes before the hour. Each new recording is identified with a letter from the ICAO Spelling Alphabet, or the Pilot’s Alphabet, as I refer to it in this blog post.

Before a pilot reaches the airport’s controlled airspace — usually within 4 to 6 miles of the airport — she calls the tower on the tower frequency. She provides the airport controller with several pieces of information: Aircraft identifier, aircraft location, aircraft intentions, acknowledgement that pilot has heard ATIS recording. A typical radio call from me to the tower at Falcon Field, where I flew just the other day, might sound something like this:

Falcon Tower, Helicopter Six-Three-Zero-Mike-Lima is eight miles north, request landing helipads with Kilo.

An airplane calling in might say something like:

Falcon Tower, Cessna One-Two-Three-Alpha-Bravo is ten miles east, request touch-and-go with Kilo.

Kilo, in both cases, is the identifier of the current ATIS recording.

The tower controller would respond to my call with something like:

Helicopter Six-Three-Zero-Mike-Lima, Falcon Tower, proceed inbound. Report 1 mile north for midfield crossing at nineteen hundred feet.

To the airplane, he might say something like:

Cessna One-Two-Three-Alpha-Bravo, Falcon Tower, enter right downwind for runway four right.

(If you want to see what these instructions mean by looking at a detailed airport diagram, here’s one for you.)

Of course, if the tower controllers were really busy or there was some sort of problem at the airport, the controller could say something like:

Aircraft calling Falcon Tower, remain clear of the class delta airspace.

That means the pilot can’t come into the airspace — which is marked on charts and many GPS models — until the tower clears her in. That happens very seldom.

This is the beginning of the conversation between the air traffic controller in the airport’s tower and the pilot. What follows is a dialog with the tower providing instructions and the pilot acknowledging those instructions and then following them. The controller’s job is to sequence airplane traffic on the airport’s runway(s), making sure there’s enough spacing between them for the various types of landings: touch-and-go, full stop, low approach, etc. In the case of helicopters — which is admittedly what I know best — the tower can either put us into the traffic pattern with the airplanes (which really isn’t a good idea) or keep us out of the airplane flow. The tower clears airplanes to land on the runway and gives permission to helicopters to land in “non-movement” areas.

At the same time all this is going on, the tower’s ground controller is providing instructions to airplanes that are taxiing around the airport, either to or from the runways. Aircraft are given taxi instructions that are sort of like driving directions. Because helicopters seldom talk to towers, I can’t give a perfect example, but instructions from the transient parking area to runway 4R might sound something like this:

Cessna One-Two-Three-Alpha-Romeo, Falcon Ground, taxi to runway four right via Delta. Position and hold Line up and wait at Delta One.

These instructions can get quite complex at some large airports with multiple runways and taxiways.

Position and hold Line up and wait — formerly hold short position and hold — means to move to the indicated position and do not cross the hold line painted on the tarmac. This keeps the airplane off the runway until cleared to take off.

A pilot who is holding short waiting switches to the tower frequency and, when he’s the first plane at the hold line, calls the tower to identify himself. The tower then clears him to get on the runway and depart in the direction he’s already told the ground controller that he wants to go.

Air traffic control for an airport also clears pilots that simply want to fly through the airspace. For example, if I want to fly from Wickenburg to Scottsdale, the most direct route takes me through Deer Valley’s airspace. I’d have to get clearance from the Deer Valley Tower to do so; I’d then be required to follow the tower’s instructions until the controller cut me loose, usually with the phrase “Frequency change approved.” I could then contact Scottsdale’s tower so I could enter that airspace and get permission to land.

A few things to note here:

  • Not all towers have access to radar services. That means they must make visual contact with all aircraft under their control. Even when radar is available, tower controllers make visual contact when aircraft are within their airspace.
  • If radar services are available, tower controllers can ask pilots to Ident. This means pushing a button on the aircraft’s transponder that makes the aircraft’s signal brighter on the radar screen, thus making it easier for the controller to distinguish from other aircraft in crowded airspace. The tower can also ask the pilot to squawk a certain number — this is a 4-digit code temporarily assigned to that aircraft on the radar screen.
  • Some towers have two tower controller frequencies, thus separating the airspace into two separately controlled areas. For example, Deer Valley Airport (DVT) has a north and south tower controller, each contacted on a different frequency. When I fly from the north over the top of the runways to land at the helipads on the south side, I’m told to change frequency from the north controller to the south controller.
  • The tower and ground controllers coordinate with each other, handing off aircraft as necessary.
  • The tower controllers also coordinate with controllers at other nearby airports and with “center” airports. For example, when I fly from Phoenix Gateway (IWA) to Chandler (CHD), the Chandler controller knows I’m coming because the Gateway controller has told him. Similarly, if a corporate jet departs Scottsdale (SDL) on an Instrument Flight Rules (IFR) flight plan, the Scottsdale controller obtains a clearance for that jet from Phoenix Departure or Albuquerque Center.

I should also point out two things from the point of view of a pilot:

  • Dealing with air traffic control does add a tiny bit to the pilot’s workload. The pilot must communicate with the tower before entering the airspace, the pilot must follow the tower’s instructions (unless following those instructions is not safe, of course). I know plenty of pilots who would rather fly around a towered airport’s airspace than fly through it — just because they don’t want to talk to a controller. I’ll admit that I’ve done this quite a few times — I even have a winding route through the Phoenix area between Wickenburg and Chandler that avoids all towered airspace along the way.
  • Air traffic control gives many pilots the impression that they are no longer responsible for seeing and avoiding other aircraft. After all, the tower sees all and guides aircraft to avoid each other. But there have been instances where air traffic control has dropped the ball — I experienced one myself years ago — and sometimes this can have tragic consequences.

Low Traffic Airports Don’t Need Towers

As you can probably imagine, the more air traffic coming and going in an airport’s airspace, the busier air traffic controllers are.

A very busy airport like Deer Valley, which has at least two flight schools, several helicopter bases (police and medevac), at least one charter operator, and a bit of traffic from corporate jets, can keep controllers pretty busy. In fact, one of the challenges of flying in and out of Deer Valley is being able to get a call in on the radio — it’s often a steady stream of pilot/controller communication. Indeed, Deer Valley airport was the 25th busiest airport in the country based on aircraft movements in 2010.

Likewise, at an airport that gets very little traffic, the tower staff doesn’t have much to do. And when you consider that there has to be at least two controllers on duty at all times — so one can relieve the other — that’s at least two people getting paid without a lot of work to do.

Although I don’t know every towered airport on the list, the ones I do know don’t get very much traffic at all.

For example, they’re closing four in Arizona:

  • Laughlin/Bullhead City International (IFP) gets very little traffic. It sits across the river from Laughlin, NV in one of the windiest locations I’ve ever flown into. Every time I fly into Laughlin, there’s only one or two pilots in the area — including me.
  • Glendale Municipal (GEU) should get a lot of traffic, but it doesn’t.
  • Phoenix Goodyear (GYR) is home of the Lufthansa training organization and a bunch of mothballed airliners, but it doesn’t get much traffic. Lufthansa pilots in training use other area airports, including Wickenburg, Buckeye, Gila Bend, Lake Havasu City, and Needles — ironically, none of those have a tower.
  • Ryan Field (in Tucson; RYN) is the only one of the three I haven’t flown into, so I can’t comment its traffic. But given the other airports on this list, I have to assume the traffic volume is low.

They’re also closing Southern California Logistics (VCV) in Victorville, CA. I’ve flown over that airport many times and have landed there once. Not much going on. It’s a last stop for many decommissioned airliners; there’s a 747 “chop shop” on the field.

They’re closing Northeast Florida Regional (SGJ) in St. Augustine, FL. That’s the little airport closest to where my mom lives. When she first moved there about 15 years ago, it didn’t even have a tower.

These are just the airports I know. Not very busy. I know plenty of non-towered airports that get more traffic than these.

How Airports without Towers Work

If an airport doesn’t have a tower — and at least 80% of the public airports in the United States don’t have towers — things work a little differently. Without a controller to direct them, pilots are responsible for using the airport in accordance with standard traffic patterns and right-of-way rules they are taught in training.

Some airports have Automated Weather Observation Systems (AWOS) or Automated Surface Observation Systems (ASOS) that broadcast current weather information on a certain frequency. Pilots can tune in to see what the wind, altimeter setting, and NOTAMs are for the airport.

When a pilot gets close to a non-towered airport, she should (but is not required to) make a position report that includes her location and intentions. For example, I might say:

Wickenburg Traffic, helicopter Six-Three-Zero-Mike-Lima is ten miles north, landing Wickenburg.

An airplane pilot might say:

Wickenburg Traffic, Cessna One-Two-Three-Alpha-Bravo is eight miles southeast. We’ll be crossing midfield at five thousand to enter right traffic for Runway Two-Three.

Other pilots in the area would hear that call and respond by making a similar position call. The calls continue as needed at the pilot’s discretion — the more aircraft in the area, the more calls I make just to make sure everyone else knows I’m out there and where I am. Pilots then see and avoid other traffic to land or depart the airport.

It sounds crazy, but it works — remarkably well. In Wickenburg, for example — an airport that gets a lot of pilots in training practicing takeoffs and landings — there might be two or three or even more airplanes in the traffic pattern around the airport, safely landing and departing in an organized manner. No controller.

And this is going on at small general aviation airports all over the country every single day.

What’s even more surprising to many people is that some regional airlines also land at non-towered airports. For example, Horizon operates flights between Seattle and Wenatchee, WA; Wenatchee is non-towered. Great Lakes operates between Phoenix or Denver and Page, AZ; Page is non-towered.

The Reality

My point is this: people unfamiliar with aviation think that a control tower is vital to safe airport operations. In reality, it’s not. Many, many aircraft operate safely at non-towered airports every day.

While the guidance of a tower controller can increase safety by providing instructions that manage air traffic flow, that guidance isn’t needed at all airports. It’s the busy airports — the ones with hundreds of operations every single day — that can truly benefit from air traffic control.

The 149 airport towers on the chopping block this year were apparently judged to be not busy enough.

I guess time will tell. And I’m certain of one thing: if there is any accident at one of these 149 airports after the tower is shut down, we’ll hear about it all over the news.

In the meantime, I’d love to get some feedback from pilots about this. Share your thoughts in the comments from this post.