How do you know if someone is a pilot?

They will tell you.

As aviators we like to let everyone know, not only our own ability but that of our airplanes. We are proud of our dispatch reliability rate, the utility they afford, the ease of travel, and the time saved not standing in a TSA line. And we would love to tell you all about it in great detail.

And yet, for all that talk, we don’t always communicate very well with our passengers when describing risk. We don’t want to scare the deer. Or show our airplane’s shortcomings. Or our own.

But, yes, our little airplanes really do offer up all that utility. Add a Garmin suite of avionics to the already reliable powerplant/airframe in my highly updated Bonanza, and I can get in and out of places that no commercial airliner could ever attempt.

Part 91 takes away whatever remaining restrictions the majors have in getting off the ground. Technically, we GA pilots can take off in any conditions we like. Sure, we don’t necessarily do it, but we all know that we could if we wanted to badly enough. And that’s simply not a helpful framework for our self-deluding primate brains.

• READ MORE: Misses, Near and Far…

I remember once getting a call some years ago on a Saturday morning from my buddy, Dave. He and a friend had to make a wedding in California’s Bay Area that night. Their commercial flight into KSFO was canceled because of fog. He asked me if I could get them to a nearby airport in the next few hours. A part of my brain lit up at the thought of saving the day. It’s fun being the hero. I tried to remain calm and even had the wherewithal to tell him I had to check the weather first. But my mind was already 87 percent made up. I was getting them to that wedding.

Turns out it wasn’t just fog. There was a well-developed low making a ton of rain along with 70 knot winds at 10,000 feet. We flew right through that storm. While there was no convection, and I wasn’t exactly in over my head, it was not a flight that needed to happen. I had just received my instrument rating a few months earlier and was determined to leverage it to its full potential.

I remember this one moment up at altitude when I realized the weather at our destination was not going to lift above minimums. I told the guys we would not make San Jose and would have to land at Monterey. They were concerned with rental cars and ground transportation, blissfully unaware I had not studied our alternate’s instrument approaches—there are six of them at KMRY. Runway 28 was active, and it required a descent toward mountainous terrain and an approach that takes you right past peaks higher than the aircraft’s path. The surrounding terrain there is the real deal, having taken the life of a well-known CFI who had a CFIT accident in 2021 while departing into IMC.

Our flight ended with a successful landing, but I will always remember walking away from the airplane toward the FBO when Dave asked me if I always sweated this much when flying. “Yes,” I replied. “I’m a ‘schvitzer.’” Better that than explain to him that I exposed them both to a much higher risk without ever giving them the option to make a choice for themselves. Had I called Dave back earlier that morning and explained that our desired destination was at minimums and our alternate had mountainous terrain surrounding it on three sides, he might very well have decided making the wedding wasn’t that important after all. More than 50 percent of marriages end in divorce, anyway. But I never gave him that option. I wanted to make it work—for me, as much as for him. And that’s a problem.

In the end, I didn’t even achieve the hero status that was fueling my decision-making process. The guys were scrambling to find a rental car as they tossed a thank-you over their shoulders as they walked to the FBO. I slowly made my way back to the airplane and just sat there in the left seat for a bit and breathed before filing and heading back to LA.

The best example of this noncommunication was also the worst day of my life: that fateful morning in Telluride, Colorado, where I encountered wind shear on takeoff and almost entered a stall/spin, ending with a gear-up landing. My passenger and I could have left later that day or the next morning. That’s when all the “reasons” start flooding in:

• The hotel room in Santa Fe, New Mexico, is booked.
• The restaurant reservation is made.
• The girl is new to me, and I want to impress her.
• My airplane is perfectly suited to the mission.
• I am a pilot of exceptional, bordering superhuman ability.

In hindsight, those seem patently absurd (the last, also being patently false) with the reality I was then served: a totaled airplane, a scarred pilot and his dog, and a woman who ended up being subjected to a terrifying, near-death experience.

Had I just asked her if she was willing to risk the flight at one of the most notoriously dangerous airports in North America because of mountain wind shear and a climbing density altitude, I can almost guarantee she would have declined. But that dialogue never occurred, because I never opened it.

There are times where we really don’t see the danger coming and, as such, a conversation cannot be had. For that, there is no remedy. But I find the vast majority of the time there is that tingling feeling that originates in your brain then migrates south to the back of your neck, where it surfaces, becoming almost topical—like an itch.

We almost always know. We just don’t always listen, and we often don’t speak.

This column first appeared in the September 2023/Issue 941 of FLYING’s print edition.

The post Pilots Don’t Always Communicate Well When Describing Risk appeared first on FLYING Magazine.

With the travel recovery gaining momentum, conversation has turned to passenger traffic, which the Airports Council International, an airport trade association, estimated was around 4.5 billion globally in 2021, or about 25 percent higher than the year before but still 50 percent lower than in 2019.

The trade group released its annual list of the 10 busiest airports Monday:

10 Busiest Airports, By Domestic Passengers

Traffic rose about 52 percent compared with 2020 and fell 29 percent compared with 2019. Many airports that were busiest before the pandemic have again risen to the top of the rankings.

Eight of the top 10 airports for passengers are in the U.S. and two are in China. All of the top 10 have large shares of domestic traffic, which is the segment leading the industry’s worldwide recovery, the ACI said.

The latest airport rankings “tell the story of an encouraging trend of recovery, with most of the recurrent busiest airports pre-Covid-19 back at the top,” said ACI World Director General Luis Felipe de Oliveira.

Cargo Leaders

The ACI said volume for air cargo, which was less adversely affected by the pandemic, rose nearly 15 percent to an estimated record of 124 million metric tons in 2021. The trade group attributed the rise to increased demand for consumer goods ordered online and pharmaceutical products.

The top three airports for cargo traffic in 2021 were Hong Kong International (HKG) with 5 million metric tons, Memphis International (KMEM) with 4.5 million metric tons, and Shanghai Pudong International with 4 metric tons.

The post New Study Reveals 10 Busiest Airports In the World appeared first on FLYING Magazine.

I became a private pilot 20 years ago, not long after my 19th birthday. Like every new pilot, I couldn’t wait to take my first passenger for a ride. The day after the check ride, I called one of my best college friends and invited him to the airport for a sightseeing flight in a Cessna 152 around Cincinnati. He didn’t hesitate and appeared at the airport a few hours later.

We departed from the Clermont County Airport in the middle of the afternoon. It was a typical Midwest winter day with a steady breeze and choppy turbulence down low (strike one). I didn’t provide any guidance on what to wear, so like any normal person preparing for an outdoor activity in the winter, he bundled up in a snowsuit like Ralphie from A Christmas Story (strike two). After takeoff, I quickly modified the sightseeing plan, climbed up to 3,000 feet, and asked him if he wanted to see something cool (as if flying in a Cessna for the first time wasn’t cool enough). He said yes. So I proceeded to show him a maneuver that my flight instructor once demonstrated to me during training called the “pen trick” (strike three).

This is where I add the disclaimer, “Don’t try this at home,” but I had him hold a pen in his hand and aggressively pushed forward on the controls to create a reduced G-load environment, leading to the pen floating in front of his face for a second or two. I was grinning ear to ear and chuckling like a little kid, but then I looked to see his face turn 50 shades of green. He couldn’t have been more uncomfortable dealing with turbulence, now nausea—on top of burning up in his expedition-ready mountain attire. Recognizing that he wasn’t feeling well, we headed back to the airport and called it a day.

The learning experience from that flight really didn’t sink in until several years later, after flying with lots of new passengers and seeing what worked well and what didn’t. The college-aged version of me walked away from that flight thinking my friend just wasn’t cut out for flying, without consideration for his comfort. It never crossed my mind that he had no experience with turbulence in a light airplane or was dressed to overheat and had no desire to have his stomach turned upside down by my pen trick.

Twenty years and 3,000 flight hours later, I still think back to that flight and use it as a reminder before every personal and professional flight to plan every detail for the best possible experience, factoring in the mission, passenger backgrounds and their expectations.

The ultimate test of this preparedness came this past year during a flight that determined the future of GA travel for my family. Up to that point, my wife had been apprehensive about taking a trip in a small airplane, but I decided it was time to help her conquer that fear, allowing me to fly us to our next vacation. I thought that if it went well, she might instantly fall in love with the freedom and flexibility afforded by personal travel. If the experience was uncomfortable or frightening, we’d likely be back on the airlines.

The timing for this opportunity worked well in summer, with COVID-19 making airline travel less desirable than normal. I set the stage for us to fly to Hilton Head, South Carolina, for a long weekend on the beach.

My airplane of choice is a 1963 Piper Aztec, which is a great cross-country airplane—if it fits in the airplane, it can go. The Aztec cruises at 165 ktas and carries 900 pounds with full fuel. The downside is, it can come across as a bit intimidating to a new passenger because it’s a twin-engine airplane that is quite loud even by airplane standards, with a cockpit full of screens and switches.

The day before the trip, she assumed she’d be limited to a small backpack, in light of the airplane being small. When I told her there was room for several bags and unlimited shoes, she was thrilled. This was a small victory but reinforced a key point to always try to exceed expectations (even if done so unintentionally).

Read More from Bret Koebbe: Pilot’s Discretion

Thinking back to the not-so-great experience with my first passenger in the Cessna 152, I crafted a plan to make the flight as comfortable as possible. It started with spending a little extra time analyzing the weather the day before to ensure the smoothest route at the best time of day. Barring an early morning cold-front passage, the air in the Midwest is always smoother in the morning, so we planned for a sunrise departure. This also makes for some great views to help distract a nervous passenger from all of the new sensations and sounds introduced during the departure.

The forecast indicated some instability near Tennessee, with a stationary front just south of that, so an early start would also help get through the affected area before the buildups developed into full-scale thunderstorms. I also filed a conservative route to help stay well clear of forecast convection. The route added just five minutes to the time en route and would eliminate the talk with ATC about deviating around thunderstorms while she was in the front seat for the first time, listening to the communications.

The next step was getting quality pilot and travel gear assembled for the flight: Bose noise-canceling headsets (did I mention Aztecs are loud?); an iPad with books and movies; a portable battery backup and USB charging cables; a small cooler with water and snacks; and a pillow and blanket within reach in the back seat. I started sharing the flight details the day before, outlining the three-hour flight time and lack of bathroom on board, so no coffee stops before the flight.

The next item I grabbed was more of an experiment, and it worked out really well. We’re both snow skiers and typically pack a couple of small Boost Oxygen cans in our jackets when skiing at higher elevations in Montana. I don’t own a portable oxygen system (and didn’t need one legally for our cruise altitude), but I anticipated these might be a worthy substitute to use when flying at 10,000 feet to help reduce fatigue.

The flight went better than I ever could have hoped. Right on cue, we had to make some small deviations around buildups in Tennessee, but we had music playing through the Bluetooth headsets, which helped calm her nerves. We had to climb to 13,000 feet for a few minutes to clear the fast-rising cumulus clouds, so having the Boost Oxygen really paid off.

We each had our own canister and took a few deep breaths every 15 minutes. You can’t beat the price and convenience—and I was really surprised how well we felt back on the ground after flying at and above 10,000 feet for three hours. They may not be a substitute for a true oxygen system when flying in the teens, but it’s now a standard item in my flight bag when flying at night or below the legal limit for oxygen.

By the time we were about an hour from our destination, we were in solid IMC, muddling through the warm section of the stationary front. By then my wife had found her groove in the airplane and was loving every minute of it, listening to her favorite playlist. We broke out from a stratified cloud deck to reveal a nice view of the ocean during the approach and made it to the beach shortly after landing. The additional preparation paid off, and now she’s counting down the days until the next Aztec flight to Florida this summer.

This story appeared in the April/May 2021 issue of Flying Magazine

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