Cherokee Has Moved Away.

Here’s a photo:

Taking off at Robson's.

In November, Mike and I took the helicopter to the San Diego area for business. The flights to and from San Diego were over some of the most interesting — and boring — desert terrain out there.

Our route to San Diego from Wickenburg (E25) took us southwest, skirting around the restricted area north of Yuma, where we landed for fuel. (Fuel there was $1.20/gallon cheaper than at my home base.) Then almost due west along I-8, over the Glamis Dunes and Imperial Valley, which lies below sea level. Finally, a climb over some mountains and a descent down to Gillespie Field (SEE).

On the return flight, we took a different route. We flew east along I-8, then northeast to the northern tip of the Salton Sea to Chiriaco Summit and then along I-10 to Blythe, where we refueled. (The fat guy is gone.) From there, we overflew Quartzsite before making a bee-line for Wickenburg.

You can see the approximate routes below; click the map for a larger view with readable labels.

Mike’s got his 100 hours of flight time in helicopters, so he’s legal (per my insurance company) to fly passengers. So he did most of the flying. I had my door off for the Yuma to El Cajon part of the flight and took photos — mostly over the Glamis dunes. It was nice to be a passenger for a change — to be able to use my camera without left-handed contortions. I also had the POV.1 video going for part of the flight, although the sound crapped out part of the way.

Anyway, here are a few of the photos I took on the flight. You can find more of my aerial photos — as well as larger versions of these — in my photo gallery.

Glamis Sand Dunes

Formally known as the Algodones Dunes or the Imperial Sand Dunes Recreation Area, the Glamis Dunes is a huge series of sand dunes west of the Colorado River, northwest of Yuma, AZ in California. The dune field stretches 45 miles north to south and 6 miles east to West. This photo shows only a portion of the dunes, looking north from the I-8 area. The dunes are extremely popular for off-road vehicles; this photo was taken on a relatively quiet Friday morning.

Sand Dunes

Here’s a closeup shot of the Algodones Dunes from the air. This shot was taken from about 500 feet above the ground, over I-8, just west of the Arizona-California border.

Desert Freeway

The folks back east probably have no concept of the long distances of nothingness on a freeway that cuts through the desert. This shot of two tractor trailer trucks passing each other in the barren wasteland of the Imperial valley’s southern extremities might give them an idea.

Desert Mountains

The mountains just seem to go on forever in this aerial shot of mountains in southwest Arizona, not far from Quartzsite. Lake afternoon light casts long shadows.

CAP Canal

The Central Arizona Project (CAP) snakes its way through the Arizona desert, bringing water from the Colorado River and its lakes to Phoenix and its suburbs. This shot was taken just north of Hope, AZ on our return flight to Wickenburg.

Forepaugh Ranch

This ranch is nestled at the base of two hills in Forepaugh, AZ, out of sight from the main road (Route 60) only a mile or so away. It reminds me of an earlier day of ranching, when remote ranches were self-sufficient homes on the range.

For the past few years, I’ve been using iPilot.com as a source for my aeronautical charts. I subscribe to the charts I want, providing a credit card number up front. When the new chart is available, it’s automatically shipped to me and my card is charged for the amount due. The service is very good and very reliable. I always get the new charts before the old charts expire. The prices are slightly discounted and, for regular charts, shipping is free.

Shipping is not free, however, for the Airport/Facilities Directory (A/FD) — that green book with information about airports. Although I seldom refer to this book, I’m required by the FAA to have a current one covering my area of flight on board my aircraft for every Part 135 flight — which is pretty much every flight I do. The books cost $4.45 each. Shipping, however, is another $4.80. That brings the total to $9.35.

Every 56 days.

It’s a tough nut to swallow. After all, it’s a book I rarely refer to which rarely changes. Yet I’m required to buy it every 56 days. It’s an operating cost — one of the smaller costs that make owning and operating a helicopter charter business so costly. And yes, that might not seem like much, but when you have 20-40 of these stupid little expenses, they really add up.

I’ve ordered charts from NACO — that’s the National Aeronautical Charting Office of the Federal Aviation Administration (FAA) in the past. Although they sell charts at list price, they don’t charge for shipping. They also don’t charge for shipping non-chart items like the A/FD or similarly bulky Terminal Procedures Publications (TPPs).

But, as I discovered today, they do discount items when you buy subscriptions. A subscription for an A/FD is 7 editions — basically a full year. A subscription for a Sectional chart is 4 editions — basically two full years.

So, for example, I can subscribe to 7 editions of the Southwest A/FD for a total of $27.02. That’s $3.86 each. Shipping is included. So I save about $5.49 per 56-day cycle. Or $38.43/year.

There is a downside to this. Two of them, really:

• You must pay for an entire subscription up front. There are no refunds. So rather than pay each time an item is shipped, it’s all paid for in advance.
• You must renew the subscription manually when it expires. NACO will send you a reminder via e-mail 30 days in advance so you don’t forget, but it is slightly less convenient.

Today I switched my A/FD subscription from iPilot.com to NACO’s online ordering service. I’m keeping my charts with iPilot.com, at least for now. I’ll wait and see how well NACO handles the subscription before I make any more changes. I wouldn’t be saving that much money on a chart subscription and I rather like the convenience of iPilot’s system.

One more thing I should mention…you can download pages from the A/FD or TPP publications for free on an as-needed basis. Although this would not satisfy my requirements for the A/FD, it’s certainly handy for folks needing airport diagrams and instrument approaches. Most of us don’t need them all, right?

If you haven’t checked out the NACO site, I recommend doing so. There’s a lot of information there. Sure, it’s not a pretty site, but you know it’s accurate because it is the source.

I’ve written about the Wayside Inn before in this blog. In my post, creatively titled “The Wayside Inn,” I go into a lot of detail about the place and a visit there by helicopter back in 2003. You might find that piece interesting reading if you enjoy long, rambling stories about my helicopter travels. (Some people do.)

The short version is that the Wayside Inn is a small trailer park with a restaurant in the desert about 5 miles south of Alamo Lake. It’s accessible from Wickenburg and the rest of the world by two routes: the 40+ mile long dirt road that starts near Date Creek off Highway 93 or the combination of paved and dirt roads starting in Wendon (on Highway 60) and stretching to Alamo Lake. There’s another road from the north and I have no idea where it starts, but I do know that when the lake is full, the road is under water.

You can get an idea of its remoteness by this Google satellite image, which also includes Wickenburg. The red X is the Wayside:

The Wayside Inn has been a destination for pilots for quite a while. It has a landing strip, but the strip has been left to get overgrown with bushes and weeds and is not maintained. So instead, pilots just land on the dirt road in front of the place. I’ll admit that there aren’t many pilots who do this. It’s mostly the folks who fly taildraggers and aren’t afraid of landing on something that isn’t a real runway. And helicopter pilots, of course.

About a year ago, the Wayside Inn burned down. I didn’t know the details, but had noticed that the building was missing when I flew from Wickenburg to Las Vegas last November. The building was simply gone.

But a few weeks ago, I saw a flyer up in Ed’s hangar. Ed is the local aircraft mechanic and he does some of my engine work, including oil changes. The flyer announced that the Wayside had reopened. I put it back on my mental list of places to go for a quick bite to eat in the middle of nowhere.

On Sunday, October 19, I had an opportunity to check the place out. I was taking a video guy and a journalist along on my Southwest Circle Helicopter Adventure. Another video guy would be meeting us in Sedona. We had a few hours to kill before we were due to arrive at Sedona Airport. I figured that a stop a the Wayside would kill some time without taking us too far from our course.

So I flew us out there. The journalist took this photo as I made my approach to landing. I set down on the big triangular area at the crossroads, across the main road from the trailer park.

The old building had been replaced with a double-wide manufactured building. Inside, the layout was much the same as the old building had been: bar, tables, pool tables, and a limited amount of groceries and fishing supplies for sale. All of the Polaroids of fishermen and their fish were gone. The drop ceiling panels were decorated with good-luck dollar bills signed by patrons. Before we left, we added one to the collection.

The video guy, Fred, interviewed the owner of the place. Turns out, he’d bought the place right before the fire had burned it to the ground. After the interview, he made us breakfast. When it was time to leave, he rode his ATV out to the helicopter with us while his dog rode on the back and asked my journalist friend why she hadn’t eaten her bacon. (She’s a recovering vegetarian.)

We’d stopped in for just about an hour. The meal was good, the price was reasonable. The atmosphere was pure Arizona “remote.”

If you’re ever out by Alamo Lake and want to stop for a bite to eat, I hope you’ll look for the Wayside Inn. If you stop in, tell them that Maria in the Red Helicopter sent you.

Related Posts:

• Helicopter Flight from Wickenburg to Las Vegas (November 29, 2007)
• Arizona Helicopter Pilots Group Looking for New Members (September 12, 2006)
• Flying for Food (November 21, 2005)
• The Wayside Inn (December 7, 2003)

Last year, I joined a listserve group of professional aerial photographers. These folks, who are based all over the world, have been working at their profession for years. I’m a relative newcomer to the aerial photography scene and arrive as a pilot — not a photographer. (I want to take photos, but it’s tough when my right hand is stuck holding the cyclic during flight.)

I introduced myself and an engaging conversation about flying helicopters ensued. As you can imagine, many of the photographers had worked with helicopters. One of them was even on board during a crash!

One of the photographers in the group told a story about photo flights he’d taken with helicopter flight school instructors. He included this comment:

I was shooting a lot of sailboat races at the time, so where I wanted it turned out to be in a hover at 20 to 50 feet above the water which made some of the instructors nervous. I told them to get over it.

A lot of pilots won’t work in what’s commonly referred to by helicopter pilots as the “deadman’s curve.” All helicopter pilots should know what this is, but here’s a brief explanation for those of you who aren’t familiar with helicopter flight.

The “Deadman’s Curve”

The Height-Velocity diagram in the pilot operating handbook (POH) shows the combinations of airspeed and altitude at which an experienced pilot (or test pilot) should be able to make a safe autorotation in the event of an engine failure.

The diagram shown here is for a Robinson R44 helicopter, but they’re all very similar. The idea is to stay out of the shaded area. Generally speaking, you want either altitude or airspeed — or (preferably) both. Hovering at 20 to 50 feet puts you in the “deadman’s curve” — it’s a combination or airspeed (0 knots) and altitude (20 to 50 feet) at which a safe autorotation is not possible. So if the engine quits, you’re dead.

The height velocity diagram also clearly shows the recommended take-off profile. When a pilot does a “by the book” take-off, this is what he’s doing: picking up into a hover less than 10 feet off the ground and accelerating through 45 knots. Then pitch up slightly and climb out at 60 knots. (You can get an idea of this in my “Shadow Takeoff” video.) Doing a “straight up” take-off like you see in the movies or on television puts the helicopter smack dab in the middle of the deadman’s curve until he’s moving faster than 50 knots or has climbed several hundred feet.

Wondering how the chart is created? With test pilots and helicopters. If you take the Robinson Factory Safety Course, you’ll see videos of the flights they used to build the chart — including one flight that demonstrated what happens when you attempt an autorotation while inside the deadman’s curve.

My Experience with the Deadman’s Curve

I get some photo gigs because I’m willing to operate in certain areas of the deadman’s curve to meet my client’s needs. I’m a single pilot operator so I’m responsible for myself. Other organizations are responsible for their pilots and tell their pilots not to do anything that could be “unsafe.” This is often the situation at flight schools that do photo flights for extra revenue. Those pilots are usually the school’s CFIs, sometimes with only a few hundred hours of flight time. The school makes a rule — no operations under 300 feet — and all the pilots are required to comply.

Operating in the deadman’s curve requires that you have a lot of confidence in your engine and mechanic. The engine failure statistics on Robinson helicopters show that the engine — a Lycoming, after all — is very reliable. And I take meticulous care of my aircraft with two experienced mechanics to do the work. I’m confident in my aircraft. So I take the risk and I get the job.

But I do warn my passengers of the risks inherent in that type of flying. And If a maneuver puts me too close to obstacles or requires me to do something I think is beyond my skill level, I won’t do it. (I don’t have a death wish.)

Get Over It?

“Get over it,” is a pretty funny thing to say to a pilot when requesting (or demanding) that he perform a maneuver he’s not comfortable with or authorized to do.

The pilot who balked at hovering 50 feet off the ground was doing it for safety — his and his client’s. The photographer who told him to “get over it” was unfair to expect the pilot to operate where he was not comfortable. At the same time, the pilot should have clearly stated the limitations of the flight before accepting the job so the photographer wouldn’t expect the pilot to perform maneuvers beyond his normal operating scope.

Unfortunately, more than a few pilots will simply cave in under pressure to please the client. Sometimes this is can be a very bad thing that both the pilot and his client don’t live to regret.

A good pilot will evaluate the risks, make a decision, and stick to it. A pilot who is easily bullied by passengers (or management, for that matter) needs to look for a new career.

Misleading Statements in Popular Fiction

I actually wrote most of this post months ago and mothballed it to finish at a later date. But yesterday, I read something in a novel that made it clear how little the general public understands about helicopter operations.

In the story, the protagonists are passengers on a helicopter that’s running out of fuel. The lead protagonist tells the pilot to lose altitude. His reasoning:

Helicopters sometimes survived engine failures at a few hundred feet. They rarely survived at a few thousand.

The above statement is false. Reverse the facts and you get the correct statement, which I could word like this:

Helicopters rarely survived engine failures at a few hundred feet. They usually survived at a few thousand.

Why the difference? The H-V Diagram is a big part of it. Take a look. If a pilot is flying at 200-300 feet, he’ll have to be moving at at least 50 knots to stay out of the deadman’s curve. The H-V Diagram clearly shows that the higher you are and the faster you go, the farther you are from the deadman’s curve. Altitude and airspeed are two energy management components that can save a pilot’s life in the event of an engine failure.

If you’re operating outside the deadman’s curve, the thing that makes higher altitudes safer is time. If you’re cruising along at 500 feet AGL at 100 knots — a perfectly safe combination of altitude and airspeed, according to the H-V Diagram — you’re going to be on the ground a lot quicker than if you were doing the same speed at 1,500 feet AGL. That’s less time to correct any problems with your autorotation entry, pick a good landing zone, make a Mayday call, brief your passengers, etc. Now imagine cruising at the unlikely altitude of 3,000 feet AGL. In a good gliding helicopter, like my R44 or a Bell LongRanger, you have lots of time to set it up and do it right.

Clearly, higher is better.

There were some other errors in the book as far as the helicopter was concerned, but I’ll save them for another post. (It really does bug me when books, movies, and television send inaccurate messages about how helicopters fly.)

Why Not Get the Facts Straight?

Time passes. I don’t recall when I started writing this post, but I know I didn’t last long with the photographers in that group. They were very full of themselves and highly critical of newcomers. And some of them echoed the same uninformed ideas about the safety of helicopters that I hear everywhere else. Worst of all, they didn’t seem interested in learning the truth.

I wrote a post earlier this month titled “Why Forums Suck” that describes the atmosphere in this particular group. Maybe it’s me, but I simply don’t have patience for people who behave the way some of these guys (and women) did.

And, in case you’re wondering, I e-mailed the author of the book with the errors. I hope he didn’t think I was being rude. But I want him — and anyone else preparing material about helicopters — to get the facts straight before releasing it to the public. In his case, any helicopter pilot could have pointed out the problems I found and reported to him. A few minor changes to the manuscript would have made it accurate without impacting the story one darn bit.

I just wonder if other pilots who read the book were as irked about the errors as I am.

Probably not.

Back in the beginning of March, while my mother-in-law was visiting us from New York, I flew the three of us from Wickenburg to Las Vegas by helicopter.

I chose my favorite route for that flight: straight to Lake Havasu City and up the Colorado River all the way to Lake Mead, then west to McCarran Airport. The flight went well, but strong headwinds turned what should have been a 1.8 hour flight into a 2.5 hour flight. (It also made the flight a bit rough in some places.) Mike, sitting in the back, had my old PowerShot camera. Here are a few of the photos he took along the way. I chose the ones where you can see details within the cockpit to put the scenes in perspective. It’s also kind of cool (at least to me) to see the instruments and gauges in the panel.

Here’s Lake Havasu City. That’s London Bridge below us — the real thing, brought over from England in the 1970s. I always start my upriver flights with an overflight of the bridge.

Much farther up the river, we reached Hoover Dam and the bypass bridge, which is still under construction. Hoover Dam, in case you don’t know, holds in Lake Mead. The white line right above water level is about 60 feet tall and marks the high water line. (The water level is way down.) We would have gotten some better photos of the dam and bridge if the area weren’t so darn congested. There was a tour helicopter high over the dam and a pair of military helicopters that would be cutting right between us, less than 500 feet over my head. I didn’t waste much time there.
After crossing the southwest corner of Lake Mead, I headed west toward the city. Here’s a shot as we were getting ready to cross Lake Las Vegas. If you’ve got sharp eyes (or the full-sized photo) you can see the Las Vegas skyline on the horizon on the right side of the photo.

Air Traffic Control at McCarran instructed me to fly toward the Stratosphere when I was still 15 miles out. I wound up flying just south of it — my altitude was below the glassed-in restaurant/ amusement level of the tower. (At the time, I recall wondering what people looking out at us must have been thinking.) I’m particularly fond of this shot because it’s so damn surreal.

We made our approach to McCarran flying down I-15, then descending between Luxor and Mandalay Bay to land on the ramp. I have video of it from my POV.1, but I don’t think it’s all that good. I’ll have to do it again one of these days with the camera mounted in its new position. (More on that another time.)

I spent most of yesterday flying — and that’s not an exaggeration. I was in the cockpit almost nonstop from 8 AM through 5 PM. During that time, the helicopter was on the ground waiting for less than two hours — and most of that time was for either fueling or waiting for passengers.

The Plan

I’d been booked to fly a series of 30-minute tours for a bunch of lawyers in Phoenix for a conference. The woman who made the arrangements started a dialog with me about it at least four months ago, and I admit I didn’t think the job would happen. But about a month and a half ago, she finalized. There would be 21 passengers — that meant 7 individual flights of 30 minutes each. Three and a half hours of flight time. That’s the kind of job you just don’t want to turn down. Best of all, I received payment by check a week before the flight. So I was booked for 12 noon out of Deer Valley Airport in Phoenix.

The day before that flight, I got a phone call from a local video producer. He needed a helicopter to fly a job on the same day. (Why does this always happen? Nothing major for a week or two and then two job possibilities at the same date and time?) I explained that I was only available before 11:30 AM or after 5 PM. He said he’d call back. When he did, he said the morning slot would work best, since the home he needed to video from the air faced east. After a few more phone conversations with him and his camera guy, I was booked for 8:45 AM out of Falcon Field airport in Mesa.

The Photo Shoot

Early yesterday morning, Mike and I were at the airport, pulling the helicopter out and fueling it up for the flight down to Falcon Field.* Mike was coming with me for the Phoenix Tour portion of the day; I needed someone reliable to safely “hot” load and unload my passengers, since shutting down after each flight would be far too time consuming. He wanted to fly with me on the photo shoot, but I would have a cameraman and director onboard and the added weight of a fourth person would have severely restricted my performance. As it turned out, we didn’t have room for him — the cameraman brought all kinds of stuff with him that took up the other seat.

The flight down to Falcon Field was relatively uneventful. We took a route that scouted around the south sides of Deer Valley’s and Scottsdale’s airspace. Normally, I’d fly between Squaw Peak and Camelback, but I wanted to preview the area I’d be flying for the photo shoot. I’d found it on Google Maps; as you can see here in a Google Maps satellite view, it’s on the side of a mountain at the end of a canyon. (I don’t want to identify the house in question or even provide details on where it is. Even though it’s in a gated community, I know there are people who read this blog and have nothing better to do than track down the places I write about.) From there, we continued on to Falcon Field, where I landed on a helipad at the base of the tower and shut down.

The film’s director, Anthony, was already there. He’d been told to meet us at 8:30. We’d been told 8:45. Evidently, the cameraman had been told 9:00. He arrived at 9:15. He’d had some trouble with the camera mount and his gyro. Mike, Anthony, and I chatted while we waited. He told us that the house in question was a rental and the video was for promotional purposes.

The cameraman, Will, arrived with all kinds of equipment. We brought it all out to the helicopter and helped him prepare it. He climbed into a very serious harness with the thickest web straps I’d ever seen. That turned out to be a good thing, since he depended on that to keep him from falling out and he did most of his work with both feet on the skids. (I’m glad he was sitting behind me where I couldn’t see him.) He also had a helicopter pilot helmet, which he said made it possible for him to get his head closer to the camera. The camera was quite large and he put additional equipment on the back seat beside him, as well as on the floor in front of that seat. Anthony sat up front next to me, with a video monitor he could use to see and direct Will’s camera work. Will’s door was off, of course.

Both of them had spent extensive time in a helicopter doing this kind of work, but Mike gave them the safety briefing anyway. Then I started up, warmed up, and took off.

To say the shoot was tricky is an understatement. The house in question was the highest one on the hill, but it was still below the ridge lines nearby. It was also at the end of a canyon. I couldn’t hover for long abeam it because (1) if I got into settling with power, there was no place to escape to, (2) hovering that low would put me too close to neighboring homes, and (3) 10-15 mph winds from the south over the nearest ridge set up nasty turbulence at that level in the canyon. So although I was able to give them plenty of low, slow passes, I had to keep moving, keeping my speed above 20-25 knots so I wouldn’t slip below ETL. I also couldn’t get as low as they wanted.

I should mention the effect they were trying to achieve: Zoom in on a guy on the balcony who is talking to the camera. Make it look as if the camera guy is standing with him — not on a helicopter hovering 200 yards away. Then pull back to reveal the home and mountainside from the helicopter. They called it a “snap.” It sounds like a great shot, but it was nearly impossible to achieve. I don’t know if they expected me to hover out of ground effect 100 feet away from the house in a canyon with neighboring homes nearby in 10-15 mph winds, but I’m not an idiot. While it might be possible for a 10,000 hour pilot who didn’t worry about safety or noise flying a twin-engine turbine, it wasn’t possible for me to do it safely in a loaded R44.

There was some confusion with the actors, too. Anthony did all of his communication by cell phone and text messaging, but apparently there were a lot of lost instructions. I won’t go into details, but some of it would have been funny if they weren’t paying me to watch it from the air. So it didn’t come off exactly as planned. But they assured me that they got plenty to work with. I hope so. We were on point for more than 90 minutes — and I’m sure I’m going to get phone calls on Monday morning.

From there, Anthony wanted to shoot his office, which was near Scottsdale Airport. I asked where it was in relation to the tower. About a half mile northeast. I got permission from the tower to enter their airspace and move into permission. I had to stay low-level to keep away from other traffic, so we were about 300-400 feet up. It turns out, his office is a block away from the taxiway at Scottsdale airport. I reported on point to the the tower and did two circles while Will shot video.

Then we peeled off to shoot someone else’s house just inside Scottsdale’s space. By this time, Scottsdale Tower had cut me loose with a “Frequency change approved,” and I was pretty much free to do what I wanted. Unfortunately, this required some low (300-400 feet), slow flight over a golf course and the folks on the fairway stopped to give us some dirty looks. More phone calls on Monday, I suppose.

We were back at Falcon Field at 11:20, just 10 minutes before I wanted to be out of there. I’d flown 2.2 hobbs hours — more than twice the time we’d originally estimated for the flight. I had to cool down and shut down. Mike put the door back on and we all helped Will get his camera stuff out while he disconnected his harness. There was a lot of hand shaking all around before they left. I got a fuel truck over to top off both tanks, settled my fuel bill, and started up for the flight to Deer Valley.

The Phoenix Tours

We were supposed to be at Deer Valley by 12 noon. We were late, arriving at about 12:10 PM. I hate to be late. Being late tells the person waiting for you that he’s not important. Nothing could be further from the truth, especially in this case. So I sent Mike in while I was shutting down on the east helipad. Fortunately, the client was very understanding. Since I was already fueled, we were ready to go. Our first flight departed Deer Valley at 12:20 PM.

They wanted a tour of Phoenix that would last 30 minutes. Frankly, it would have been easier to come up with a tour that lasted only 15 minutes. Deer Valley is due north of downtown and I could have done a loop down to McDowell, back over their hotel — they were staying at the Biltmore — and back to Deer Valley. But they wanted 30 minutes and I wanted to deliver it. So I came up with a route that included quite a bit of the west side of Phoenix. The highlight out there was Cardinals Stadium, where they played the Super Bowl this past February. Although the roof was closed, the grass field was outside and I was able to explain how they moved it in and out as needed for games. On one flight, the sprinklers were even on. The grass looked perfect from 500 feet up.

Here’s a Google Maps image of the exact route. You can follow this link for an interactive version.

The flight was challenging because I had to pass through three different towered airport airspaces: Deer Valley (Class D), Glendale (Class D), and Phoenix Sky Harbor (Class B). To make things a little easier, on one of the first flights, I told the towers at Glendale and Phoenix that I’d be doing the same thing six more times.

The tower at Sky Harbor was especially friendly. After the third flight through, the controller could no longer hold back his curiosity. “What are you doing, anyway?” he asked as I exited to the north.

“Half-hour tours of Phoenix from Deer Valley Airport,” I replied.

“Sounds like fun. See you later.”

“Ill be back in 35 minutes,” I told him.

Glendale tower’s controller asked me if I was on traffic watch, probably because I was following the Loop-101 south to I-10. The question surprised me, so I just told him no, but didn’t say what I was doing.

My passengers were very nice and very friendly. They’d come from all over the world: New York, Seattle, Portland, San Diego, Sidney, and Shanghai, to name a few cities. I pointed out sights. They asked questions about what we were seeing and how the helicopter works. They all seemed to enjoy the flight. I estimate that about a third of them had never been on a helicopter before. About a third had never been to Phoenix before, either.

On the last flight, I took some video of the entire flight with my POV.1, from departure to landing. Because the sun was low — it was about 4 PM when I took off — the westbound video isn’t very good. And by the time I got faced the other way, there were bugs on the lens. I probably have a few good clips from the video, though. I decided that I want to try repositioning the camera to the front of the helicopter, pointing straight out. Although the video from my side isn’t bad, I usually make a conscious effort to put the best view on the other side, where two people are sitting. So my view isn’t as good as what the passengers see and the video doesn’t represent their flight as well. Need to work on that.

The Flight Home

After the last tour, I didn’t even bother shutting down. We had enough fuel for the flight home — I’d refueled after the fourth flight. Mike escorted the last group to safety and they made their way back into the terminal. He climbed on board and we took off.

We landed at Wickenburg just after 5 PM. When I shut down and checked the Hobbs meter, I realized that I’d flown 7-1/2 hours that day. I was exhausted.

*Flying M Air stock photo by Jon Davison.

Let’s face it: summer in the Phoenix area is brutal, as far as weather is concerned. Temperatures reaching triple digits every day from June through September. Humidity kicking in with the monsoonal rains in July and August. Everything slows down as half the population goes back to the midwest and northwest. Business — especially tourism-related business — dries up.

It’s idiotic to stay in the area if you don’t have to.

How I Spent My Last Four Summers

Back in 2004, I had a summer job as a pilot up at the Grand Canyon. It was a relatively convenient job for me, with a 7 on/7 off schedule that enabled me to go home every other week and work on whatever book projects were on my plate. The Grand Canyon area gets warm in the summer, but it’s nothing like the Phoenix area so it was a good escape from the heat. And the flying I did there was challenging, helping to improve my flying skills and knowledge. In other words, it was a good job experience.

I took the summer of 2005 off from flying. That was the summer I did my “midlife crisis road trip” — 16 days driving around the northwest, looking for a better place to live year-round or in the summer months.

In the spring of 2006, I made contact with another Robinson operator based in Washington State. He introduced me to the world of cherry drying, which looked like a good opportunity. Although he said he might have enough work for both of us, that didn’t pan out. So I stayed home that summer, doing a few flights here and there.

In the spring of 2007, my cherry drying friend was certain that he had work for both of us. With his guidance, I submitted a bid to a grower who showed a definite interest in both of us. In the end, he accepted a bid from a turbine helicopter pilot who promised him stick time in his aircraft. That’s a perk I wasn’t willing or able to throw into my bid package. By then, it was too late to find other work. So I stayed home for most of that summer, too.

Except in June.

Alaska

In June 2007, Mike and I went on vacation in Alaska. We were there for about 10 days, including a 7-day cruise.

Alaska is big and we saw a very small part of it: Anchorage, Denali, Whittier, Seward, Juneau, Ketchikan, Skagway, Icy Straits Point. But we did have time to take two helicopter flights with Alaska’s biggest helicopter tour operator, Temsco. The scenery and type of flying on these two flights made me realize that I’d really like to fly in Alaska.

So that became my goal for the summer of 2008: to get a seasonal job flying in Alaska.

What I Bring to the Employment Equation

My experience is a bit more substantial than “entry level.” I currently have almost 2000 hours of helicopter flight time, most of which has been built doing real commercial flights — that is, flying for hire. I own and operate my own business, so I have insight into the business that few other pilots have. I know how to deal with clients and passengers. I’m also mature enough to make situation-based decisions without worries of peer pressure. I’d like to think that all this gives me an edge over the recently unemployed, 1000+ hour CFIs who flooded into the workforce with the demise of Silver State Helicopters.

At the same time, I expect to be paid based on my experience and the value I bring to the employer. A company more interested in its bottom line than hiring appropriately experienced pilots would likely go for the entry level applicants. And since a company like that may feel the same way about its mechanics and service personnel, it’s likely a company I wouldn’t want to work for anyway.

My Employment Goals

To understand how I evaluate job opportunities, it’s helpful to understand what my personal goals are in finding an employer.

Unlike most people looking for a pilot job, I’m not desperate for a job. I’d like one very much, but I can afford to be a bit picky. I won’t starve if I don’t get a job. It’s more important to get a good “match” with an employer and the job it offers than to collect a paycheck. (That’s not to say I’ll work for free or less than I’m worth.)

With that in mind, I’ve come up with a list of questions that I need to answer during the evaluation process. If the answer to a question is yes, that’s a point in the job’s favor. If the answer is no, that’s a point against it.

• Will the job teach me a new skill? Some examples of the skills I’d like to build include more advanced off-airport landings (think glaciers and mining camps), sling loading, and long line work.
• Will the job introduce me to new equipment? Most of my flight time is in Robinson R44 and R22 helicopters, with a bunch of Long Ranger time from my 2004 Grand Canyon gig. I’d like to fly different helicopter models to round out my experience.
• Will the job enable me to build turbine time? Building turbine time is the goal of any pilot who wants to make a living as a pilot. The best jobs are the turbine helicopter pilot jobs. Without turbine experience, these good jobs will always be out of reach. I’m interested in building enough turbine time to one day qualify for work in ENG (electronic news gathering) or EMS (emergency medial services) or a tour job in an incredible place (Kauai comes to mind). And since I’m not getting any younger, I really shouldn’t put off this goal any longer than I need to.
• Is the job in a place I could live happily? I’m not talking about living in paradise here. In general, I have very basic needs for living space: clean, fully functional, relatively quiet, private. I need access to the Internet to do my off-duty writing work. And I need to be able to shop for food and other necessities. I’d also like some recreational opportunities in the area, such as biking, hiking, or fishing.
• Does the job pay enough to cover all my living expenses while away from home and enable me to put some money in the bank? Oddly enough, the pay on some helicopter pilot jobs is so low, it only covers basic living expenses. Pilots do these jobs solely to build time. While I could be tempted to take on another low-paying job to build turbine time, the other factors need to weigh in to guide my decision. In any case, the pay needs to be reasonable.

Why I Won’t Be Working in Alaska This Summer

Unfortunately, I won’t be working in Alaska this summer. I made a few bad decisions early on in the hiring season that cut down on my opportunities.

The main bad decision was the one to chase down an extremely interesting opportunity here in the Lower 48. It was a turbine helicopter pilot job flying either a JetRanger or a LongRanger — either of which would be pretty easy for me because of my experience. The work itself was charter work, flying passengers in different cities all over the country. There was an “on the road” component that sounded kind of fun in a weird trucker sort of way.

At first, the job seemed as if it would take up much of my summer — which, if you recall, was the goal. But as time went on, it became apparent that the job would be year-round and, as contract work, would probably only give me about 6 to 8 weeks of work a year. While that certainly would have fit into my schedule, it wasn’t as much work as I wanted or needed to make it worthwhile. Worse yet, there was overlap with the Alaska tour season, so if I took that job, I wouldn’t be able to work in Alaska, too.

By the time I figured this out, It was too late to touch base with most Alaska tour operators. I’d been waiting for job postings, but because there were so many pilots in the job market, no one was posting tour jobs. The pilots were finding employers on their own, without job postings. The employers didn’t need more applicants — they already had far too many.

I did go to Alaska earlier this month for a job interview. The interview went well and I got an offer. But the job simply wasn’t a good match — using the criteria listed above — so I had to turn it down. And now all the other employers are deep in the hiring process. Interviews are over. By waiting to see those job postings, I locked myself out.

There’s an adage about my screw-up: “He who hesitates is lost.” Believe it or not, I already know that. I’ve seen, over and over, how opportunities fade away when you don’t reach out and grab them promptly.

My failure to explore all opportunities promptly is primarily why I don’t have a job this summer. It makes me want to slap myself on the side of the head repeatedly.

Where I Will Be Working this Summer

I still have options for a summer job, using my own helicopter to get the work done. There won’t be any turbine time, although there might be some new skills learned. There will also be a ton of money — I can make a lot more money with my own ship than as an employee for someone else. And money isn’t a bad thing.

I don’t want to jinx any of these opportunities, so I’ll keep them to myself for a while. Rest assured that when I settle down for my summer employment, you can read about it here.