Real life stories as a pilot

Learning how to fly: the private pilot license.

1978. During my first trip to Europe , I am lucky enough to capture this picture of Concorde at Charles de Gaulle Airport , France, from the window of the Air Canada Boeing B747 that flew us over the Atlantic. The arrival was punctuated by a missed approach due to adverse weather conditions.

1980. I fulfill my dream to fly a plane and sign-up for a private pilot course in St- Jean -sur- Richelieu. My first solo flight , which means without an instructor, takes place on a Grumman Cheetah (C-GVXO) on a sunny day. The landing is smooth and I can’t believe I will finally be able to fly unaccompanied. A dream come true !

As the private pilot course continues, a change in aircraft model is required to practice incipient spins because the Cheetah does not meet the criterias required by flight schools. If we would find ourselves in a complete spin during the exercise, it would take too long to correct.So a Cessna C150 (C-GGNK) will be used . The transition is strange as students have to suddenly enter a whole new aircraft for this exercise only. Feelings and views are completely different.

All instructors do not have the same luck, one of them and his student eventually experience a real engine failure during take-off on their Cessna 150. Fortunately, no one is killed or injured . However , the damage is considerable. The photo below shows what is left of the plane.

Accidental night flying… without night rating

Note: For this real story, since I did not have a camera with me in the aircraft in the 1980 flight, I reproduced the flight on a simulator using a Piper Cherokee (which is the closest I could find that looks like the Grumman Cheetah).

Shortly after obtaining my private pilot license, in 1980, I was asked to pick up a plane parked in Earlton, Ontario, three hundred nautical miles northwest of St-Jean-sur-Richelieu, and bring it back to St-Jean. To get to Earlton, I was in the company of an experienced pilot and we left together on a single-engine Grumman Cheetah. For the return flight, each pilot would fly his own plane, following one another. My companion would lead in his aircraft because he had all the necessary navigational charts to get us back to St-Jean.

Along the way we had to deal with a cold front which delayed our arrival to St-Jean. Before the journey started, I was assured that we would arrive before darkness. It now seemed a bit tight.

My companion had accelerated the pace. Two facts became obvious: first, the sunset was beautiful. Second, I did not have my night flying rating. This sunset meant that there was about thirty minutes left before total darkness.

I called him on the radio to enquire if he still believed that we would reach St-Jean on time. He answered that we were at the limit.
I then enquire about the possible existence of a button that would illuminate the instruments at night. The button was found and soon the instruments took on a pinkish color. Then came the questions about the essential tools for a night flight. He named the few.

With minutes passing by very quickly it now seemed impossible to arrive before the official night time as we had not yet crossed the Montreal Pierre Elliott Trudeau control zone.

Approaching Montreal, I tried to communicate with my companion but there was no more reply. The only navigational fix available for this improvised night flight was the small red rotating beacon on the tail of his aircraft. Strangely, its intensity was gradually weakening. My companion was getting away, his plane being a faster one.

I increased the power and adjusted the mixture to gain a few knots, while focusing on the little red dot that could direct me to St- Jean-sur-Richelieu. I was not too happy with my performance. I should have insisted from the beginning, to have a copy of all the navigational documents. But this flight seemed so simple. Lesson learned.

We flew through the Montreal international airport control zone. In the night, the strobe lights of big airliners were visible on the approaches to landings or during take-offs. Abusing the engine a little bit, I gradually decreased the distance from my companion’s aircraft. Unable to hear anything due to the lack of documents that would provide the local frequencies being used, I simply followed the aircraft ahead of me.

Suddenly, the distant red beacon started going down in the night. I supposed we were getting close to St-Jean-sur-Richelieu. My companion was certainly communicating with the airport control tower to announce his intentions. This was a frequency I knew by heart. I ran the risk of calling him on the tower frequency to ask for tips to land at night. The answer was short and uncertain, because he knew that radio communications were recorded. The only advice he could find was: “I do not know what information to give you, take your time.” The air traffic controller heard this and offered me the presence of emergency vehicles, an offer I politely declined.

A Lake Buccaneer seaplane pilot flying in the area heard the communication and told the controller: “Advise him to turn his landing light on!” I replied that it was not functional. It had been observed during the pre-flight checks at St-Jean-sur-Richelieu, but it was not supposed to be a problem since we were flying during daytime only.

The first step towards a landing is to know the relative position of the plane from the airport and its three runways. When you have never flown at night, the view is different and requires an adjustment. Once the runway in use was identified (runway 11), the next step was to imagine that the instructor who trained me was sitting next to me. He would require good positions in the circuit, exact altitude according to each leg of the circuit pattern, appropriate speed and flap degrees, and finally an approach with a suitable angle.

At the time, all I knew about night flying boiled down to one eminently practical aspect: there was a wooded area at the beginning of runway 11 and I did not want to descend too much and hit the top of those trees, invisible in the night. However, being too high above the runway threshold would mean that the wheels would touch too far away past the threshold and the remaining runway length would be insufficient to stop the aircraft the ideal way, that is to say in one piece.

During the final leg of the approach, although my attention was fully dedicated to the procedures, I could feel that the rhythm of my heart had accelerated. On short final, everything happened quickly. The plane flew above the wooded area, the runway approached rapidly and the two wheels of the main gear touched the runway gently. The brakes were applied immediately and everything was over.

The main issue was now solved. I requested guidance from the air traffic controller to taxi down to the flying club. He jumped on the opportunity to ask me, a smile in his voice: “Are you going to take your night flying rating now?”!

Night landing on an ice rink

The night flying rating was completed during the following weeks. I then had to accumulate hours of night flying, so I took advantage of a cold winter evening without clouds or wind to do a round robin trip from St-Jean-sur-Richelieu. I brought along three passengers in a Grumman Cheetah and headed towards the Eastern Townships. The St-Jean-sur-Richelieu control tower was closed at the time of our departure.

Runway maintenance followed an irregular schedule as the work was being done by civil servants from the municipality who were also responsible for street maintenance in the city. In cases where freezing rain fell, followed within hours by a significant cooling in the temperature, the runway condition would deteriorate rapidly. We sometimes had to wait until the next morning before a team came in and tried to bring the braking conditions on the runways to an acceptable level.

This is what I realized as I was taxiing towards the threshold of runway 29. The landing light illuminated what appeared to be a smooth and icy surface rather than a paved one. The braking index of the three runways provided by the city was useless. I still had the option to cancel the flight because there was no emergency. We could also accelerate slowly and use the rudder smoothly. The plane would take off in seconds in the cold air.

I chose the second option, the winds being calm and the plane took off easily. Soon, we could see the lights of the surrounding towns. It was a smooth night ride for the passengers. After an hour of flight, we returned to the airport. The controls had to be dealt with carefully, in order to avoid any skidding. Aware that I was landing on an ice rink, and that there must not be any swerve to one side or the other of the runway, the approach was made as slowly as possible and the brakes were not applied after touch down. I let the aircraft gradually lose its momentum while rolling down the entire length of the runway.

I am convinced today that those passengers remember that night flight positively, if just for the beauty of the city lights and the absence of turbulence. It was also an interesting experience for me, as I was having the feeling of controlling a boat rather than a plane on a runway.

The commercial pilot license / A tire bursts on landing

The Commercial Pilot License

A few months later, I got my commercial pilot license. It was now time, as for all pilots, to accumulate flying hours in order to gain experience as captain.

I chose to accumulate hours by making short cross-country trips and offering first flights to people of all ages. The evenings were particularly popular because there was little convection and most passengers appreciated a smooth ride for their first flight in a small aircraft.

A Tire Bursts on Landing.

Despite my best intentions, there has still been an occasion where I had to perform an unusual landing. It was during a busy time for air traffic control. Many aircrafts were in the airport’s circuit pattern and the controller asked me if I could make a short landing. He was counting on a minimal roll after the landing so that the aircraft could exit the runway as soon as possible.

All pilots know how to make a short landing. This is part of the basic training and I accepted this restriction. This can, however, be complicated by the fact that sometimes we had to fly an aircraft with particularly worn out tires. I remember (and I should not be the only one) having had to use an aircraft on which we could see the rope under what was left of the rubber sole. School aircrafts are generally safe. You just don’t want to be the one using the plane the day before the tires have to be changed…

So I began the approach toward runway 29 on a particularly hot summer day. Touchdown was smooth. I applied the brakes without blocking the wheels, while pulling on the control column at the same time that the flaps were returning to their initial position. A pilot does not block the wheels when breaking as the friction decreases and the length necessary to stop the aircraft increases. At the same time, blocking the wheels increases the risk of loss of control of the aircraft. With these manoeuvers, my aircraft was supposed to stop quickly.

However, a few seconds after landing, it started to vibrate and move to the right. I had no other choice but to apply a lot of pressure on the left brake and use full deflection on the left rudder trying to keep the aircraft centered on the runway. Nevertheless, the aircraft slowly headed toward the right side of the runway while slowing down. The landing ended with the left wheel on the runway and the right wheel in the grass.

During the last few seconds, it became obvious that I was dealing with a flat tire. The passengers were not too bothered by the incident because they only started to realize what was happening when we were almost immobilized on the grass. The tire was completely twisted but still on the wheel. Equipment failure is something a pilot knows he will have to deal with from time to time. So considering that it was part of the job, I continued to accumulate flying hours during the following weeks and months.

Unexpected thunderstorm cells

On a hot summer day of 1981, I was asked to fly a Cessna 150 to the Montreal Pierre-Elliott Trudeau international airport to pick-up one of our flight instructors and bring him back to St-Jean-sur-Richelieu. The winds were blowing from the northwest, so runway 28 was being used. While I was in final for that runway, the controller realized that he did not have enough separation between my plane and a heavy one that was also in long final. He told me “Increase your speed, there is a Boeing 727 behind you”.

It is very easy to increase the speed of an airplane while maintaining an altitude. You just push the throttle and the speed increases. However, when the aircraft is above the threshold of the runway, it needs its specific speed to touch the ground otherwise it continues to fly until the appropriate speed for landing is reached. It seemed to me that the Cessna floated for an eternity before finally touching the runway. But it eventually worked out well and I exited the runway before an overshoot was required for the Boeing.

So I parked the aircraft near Transport Canada’s offices and waited for the instructor for about thirty minutes. Clouds were rapidly covering the sky in this late afternoon, with all the humidity and an already high temperature.

When the instructor finally showed up and we proceeded with the taxiing procedure, the controller told us: “You must accept radar vectors for your departing route because of the weather.” What weather? A cold front was at work, but nothing serious was visible from our position. So close to the airport terminal, all we could see were towering cumulus, nothing else. We accepted his offer in order to be allowed to leave the airport.

The take-off was made from runway 28. I made a left turn toward St-Jean. We soon understood why radar vectors had to be followed. A storm had developed between Montreal and St-Jean. We observed what looked like five cylinders created by heavy rain. Lightning was also occasionally visible.

We had to fly between the cylinders to avoid the most problematic areas. We tightened our seat belts just as the first bumps were being felt, making our altitude vary considerably. Knowing what I know today about flying in bad weather, I would not attempt another flight like this one, especially without an onboard weather radar.

The flight ended nicely with a smooth landing in St- Jean, outside of the problematic weather area. A few weeks later, I was asked if I would accept to be captain for a long flight across Canada. This unexpected offer represented a great opportunity, especially since it would allow me to log more than forty additional hours.

The flight from St-Jean-sur-Richelieu, Quebec, to Edmonton, Alberta in 1981

After a proficiency check, I soon find myself flying a Cessna 170B (tail wheel) on a flight across Canada, from St -Jean-sur- Richelieu, Québec, to Edmonton, Alberta. I am accompanied by the aircraft’s owner who has not yet completed his private pilot course. The 1952 Cessna flies well, but has absolutely no instruments for air navigation, not even a VOR nor ADF. And the era of the portable GPS is not yet upon us.

Fourteen 1:500,000 VFR charts, covering the planned flight, are folded, glued and numbered. I trace the expected flight path on each chart, with 10 miles landmarks. This will facilitate the monitoring of our progress, considering the absence of navigation equipment. The preparation now completed, the take-off is done on a beautiful summer day of 1981.

We do stopovers at Gatineau, North Bay, Sudbury and then fly along Lake Superior to Wawa.

We fly around lake Superior to our next stopovers, Thunder Bay and Fort Frances. Over large forested areas, with no major landmarks, the gyroscopic precession must be corrected frequently so as not to stray too far from the intended track. Sometimes when it facilitates navigation, we either follow a railway or main roads. There are some instances where the westerly winds are so strong that our ground speed is slower than a car on a highway.

Our flight path follows a line that keeps us away from areas of high air traffic. I choose to fly north of Winnipeg terminal control area, thus avoiding frequent radio exchanges with air traffic control in a language I do not master. The underperforming radio would not be of any help at any rate. This option eventually means that we must fly over Lake Winnipeg, in its southern portion.

We have enough altitude to be able to glide to the other side in case of an engine failure. Nonetheless, we realize that we are gradually loosing several thousand feet due to the cold air mass above the lake. This with maximum power applied. The unexpected descent eventually ends, but it is now impossible to have an engine failure without ditching in the lake…

Near Lundar Manitoba, the aircraft’s old gauges indicate a significant loss of fuel. It is surprising since we refueled an hour ago. We must land the plane on the nearest runway, but the strong crosswinds exceed the capabilities of the aircraft. Nonetheless, an attempt is made with the result that only the left wheel accepts the contact with the runway. As soon as the right wheel also touches the ground, the aircraft becomes airborne again.

A nearby field is selected to make a precautionary landing so that the fuel status can be verified. We fly at low altitude over the electrical wires and the cows in the adjacent field, and touch smoothly at a ground speed not exceeding 15 knots. A farmer witnesses the landing and arrives in his red pick-up to offer some help. The tanks are almost full, so the plane only needs few liters of gasoline. Once this is done, we takeoff westward. It appears that the old fuel gauges of this 1952 Cessna are now totally unreliable…

We leave Manitoba through Dauphin and enter Saskatchewan. If we were to experience an engine failure above such uniform fields, the risk of serious problems at landing would be virtually nonexistent.

The weather is slowly deteriorating. We choose to land in Watson, Saskatchewan, on the nearest runway.

The runway surface consists of muddy earth and grass, and it’s delimited by small red wooden panels. As we touch the ground, the tires splash mud everywhere, including under the wings.

Finally, the weather improves and a takeoff is made toward North Battleford, the last stop before Edmonton. The sloping terrain forces us to fly lower and lower near Edmonton, under an overcast stratocumulus , limiting our ability to see a long time in advance the correct airport from the three available (international, civil , military ). Luckily, everything goes well in choosing the right airport and approach, but we cannot say the same with radio communications.

The sound quality coming from the old speaker is awful and the English spoken by the air traffic controller too fast for us. The combination of these two factors causes the controller to repeat more than once his instructions until he finally decides to slow down and we can officially say: « Roger! »

After spending few days in Edmonton it is now time for the return flight to St-Jean. This proves to be much easier and faster because the westerly winds push the aircraft. Our ground speed is sometimes double what we had managed to get on our trip to Edmonton. The journey took us twenty-five hours to go and eighteen hours to come back.

Over North Bay the weather is ideal. But we will have to land in Ottawa while waiting for thunderstorms to move away from Montreal and St-Jean-sur-Richelieu. After a total of forty- three-hours of flying time, the old Cessna 170B is landing back to St- Jean -sur- Richelieu.

The flight instructor license

In order to accumulate flying hours, I needed to become a flight instructor. The course was undertaken and my license obtained, after successful written and flying exams. Already having logged enough flying hours as pilot in command, I was able to receive a Class 3 license immediately. Technically, this meant that I did not have to receive permission from a chief instructor before I authorized a student to fly alone for the first time.

In order to study certain maneuvers with the greatest possible accuracy that I would have to teach, I sometimes practiced unusual flying exercises. This meant I needed to check the behavior of the aircraft if a student mishandled the controls before I could correct him. With enough altitude, you could afford a fair amount of improvisation.

So I decided, during one of these specific exercises, to simulate a student who had inverted the maneuvers required to stall an aircraft and bring it to a spin. The plane turned completely upside down and I heard noises indicating that the stress on the structure was possibly important. Needless to say, I decided to abandon some experiments, realizing that it was quite possible that certain leased aircraft had previously been engaged in similar exercises. We all want to end a flight with our aircraft intact…

At the St-Jean-sur-Richelieu flying club, we were now eleven certified instructors. However, the number of new students was stagnating in the economic uncertainty of the late 70s to early 80s. A global recession was raging and unemployment soaring. Some airlines went bankrupt, others were freezing the hiring of new pilots. Eleven instructors in the same flying club was a lot for so few customers. The pay was meager.

Among the students I trained during the period when I was a flight instructor, the first to successfully fly solo was an Egyptian. He arrived in Quebec with a group of a dozen compatriots. Their ambition was to receive all of their training in Quebec and return to Egypt as pilots for the national carrier EgyptAir.

My student had talent and learned quickly. But there was a student in the group that many instructors tried to train without success. Each of us thought that our own method might not have been appropriate so we encouraged him to try flying with other instructors. But it became clear that aviation would never be the field of activity in which he could progress and make a career. No instructor ever agreed to let him fly solo, and this, even after the student had spent months trying to understand the basics of flying: when came the time to execute the learned concepts, even after multiple demonstrations, he could not do it. He was simply not a safe pilot. I guess he changed his plan after the St-Jean experience.