Cessna 310 C-GAFO parked on the ramp at Rouyn-Noranda (around 1986-88)
During the summer season, air surveillance is needed to watch for new forest fires in the center and north of the Quebec Province. There are periods, sometimes many days in a row, where the pilots do not observe anything significant. They accumulate hours of flying, quietly waiting to see a new fire or expecting to be directed by a dispatcher to a new problematic area. Those pilots also act as spotters for the Canadair CL215’s and CL415’s.
During the eighties, in the Abitibi region, a Cessna 310 had been in flight for few hours and the pilot had not spotted anything worth a call. Wishing to add a bit of action to his flight, he decided to descend and follow the meanders of a river at an extremely low altitude. As he exited a bend, the pilot faced a standing fisherman in its boat, angling in open water. Imitating the gestures of the fisherman, the pilot later told the Transport Canada flight service specialist (FSS) in Rouyn-Noranda (CYUY) that he was not the only one surprised…
It might be hard to believe that an aircraft could fly that low, especially when exiting a bend in a river. But after many decades in the aviation world, I can say that almost everything is possible. I imagine the fisherman’s reaction, quietly angling during a beautiful summer morning. While the fisherman lowers his head, the pilot pulls on the controls…
The expression in the pilot’s face showed clearly that he had had enough action for the day…I would like to swear that it was his last daring move, but it would be to ignore that this need for extreme flying is always present in some pilots.
For more real life stories on the Rouyn-Noranda flight service station and flight service specialists, click here:
Tales of a Dakota Pilot – The way it was 1929 – 1937
This is a simple and charming little book retelling the life stories of the pilot Fred Max Roberts Jr when he was flying his airplanes in the Bismark region, North Dakota, between 1929 and 1937. The book was written by his son, Fred Marke Roberts, so that some of his father’s stories do not fall in oblivion. You will find here a good idea of how things were done in the early years of aviation.
An original and easy way of refueling
When came the time to refuel, the pilots would regularly land on a farmer’s field. They knew that somebody had noticed the landing and, most of the time, a fuel truck would be sent without any previous arrangements. The pilot had nonetheless the duty to make sure he landed close to an easy access for the fuel truck. Sometimes, to simplify the refueling process a bit, the pilot landed directly on the road, outside of the city.
This habit did not seem to have change fifty years later when I did a 2650 kilometers cross-country flight with a Cessna 170B, between St-Jean-sur-Richelieu, Quebec, and Edmonton, Alberta. During the trip, I had to land in a field near Lundar, Manitoba, a Canadian province which is bounded to the south by North Dakota and Minnesota. Soon after the landing, a pick-up truck carrying fuel approached the plane. I had not made any arrangements for fuel. In my case, a precautionary landing was needed as the fuel gauges had started to give false indications. Since fuel was readily available, the tanks were topped before the next takeoff.
Landing in a field with a Cessna C170B in Lundar, Manitoba in 1981.
Killing coyotes against the county bounty
Coyotes where frequently attacking farmer’s livestock. When the situation was getting out of control, the farmers would phone Fred Max. The latter would take off with his Curtiss Junior Pusher, accompanied by an experienced shooter and they would spot and kill coyotes. Winter was the best season for hunting from the air since the coyote’s dark colored fur contrasted against the white snow.
The farmers, on their horses, were following the aircraft’s manoeuvers to spot where the coyotes had been shot. They then brought the dead animals back to their farm. Few minutes later, the aircraft would land as close to the farm as possible and the pilots picked up the coyotes, bringing them back to the county’s bureau in order to receive the published bounty for each killed coyote.
Super Cub and wolves shot from the air in Northern Ontario, Canada, on an aviation postcard dating from the sixties.
The American Midwest farmer’s hospitality
When a pilot landed in a farmer’s field, as a stopover on a long cross-country flight, he would often be offered a meal with the farmer’s family. If darkness was an obstacle for the continuation of the flight, the pilot was often offered a bed for the night. The next morning, after breakfast, and as a thank you gesture, the pilot would offer the farmer a courtesy flight.
A practical way to lower the costs associated with a long cross-country flight
An easy way to reduce the costs associated with a long cross-country flight was to offer airplane rides to villagers who had come to meet the pilot once at the destination. The pilot landed, waited a bit and knew that, soon, few people would come to him to ask for a ride.
The pilot Fred Max Roberts Jr hanging to the wing of his monoplane
A major concern for any pilot landing in a field was to find a fence to tie the plane as soon as possible to protect it from the strong winds blowing over the Midwest plains. But really strong gusts would sometimes break the ropes.
The pilot tells the reader that he was once immobilized in the middle of a field while a storm was quickly approaching. He got under the wing of his monoplane and hanged to it in order to add some weight. But that was not enough. A strong gust lifted the plane, broke the two tie-downs and sent pilot and plane flying at about ten feet in the air. Fearing that his plane would continue to climb without him at the controls, the pilot let go. The plane maintained a level flight while backing until it suddenly rolled and crashed.
Pilot and passengers are caught in flight by a tornado
Flying and meteorology manuals teach every pilot the necessity to avoid thunderstorms because, among other reasons, of the extreme ascending and descending air currents that are present in a well-developed cell. The pilot Fred Max Roberts Jr not only went through a thunderstorm but survived a tornado while he was in flight. His story was published in many newspapers at the time. Some of the articles are reproduced in the book.
As the pilot tells it, meteorological forecasts and weather observations were not as easily accessible as they are today. During a flight with passengers in his Waco 90 biplane, the sky suddenly darkened and the weather degraded rapidly. The pilot tried his best to fly between two important cloud formations. He could hardly see his instruments due to the lack of light, even if the flight was made during the day. He was fighting to avoid being disoriented.
Suddenly, the plane started to gain altitude rapidly by itself. The pilot nosed his ship downward and applied full power. This was useless. The aircraft was still rapidly climbing, tail first. Then the ascent abruptly stopped and a dive ensued. He pulled on the stick to bring his Waco to a level flight, but the rapid descent continued. Having no other choice, he applied full throttle and set his plane for a normal climb. Again, the descent continued until the Waco was at about 500 feet above ground level.
Eventually, they got out of the storm and landed at White Rock. Fred Max then realized that his passengers, sitting in the open cockpit Waco during the storm, had not fasten their seat belts and were hanging for dear life to a brace running across the front of the passenger cockpit.
Those are some of the tales a reader can find in “Tales of a Dakota Pilot”, an unpretentious book but nonetheless a publication that might very well surprise many young pilots, as the 1930’s way of flying so differed from what a young pilot lives when he integrates today’s world of aviation.
Medical evacuation aircraft HS-125 C-FSEN Valentine Lupien of the Quebec Government, around 1986.
During the eighties, while I was working as a flight service specialist (FSS) at the Transport Canada flight service station in Rouyn-Noranda (CYUY), I received a phone call from a Val-d’Or air traffic controller. He told me that there was a problem with the type K ARCAL. The ARCAL allows a pilot to remotely activate the runway lights.
Normally, the pilot can choose between three intensities: low, medium and high. But it now seemed that for an extended period, the ARCAL’s low intensity would not be serviceable. The controller told me to issue aNOTAM stating that nobody could use the ARCAL for an indefinite period.
I did not agree with that request. An ARCAL system that was left available would facilitate a pilot’s life by allowing him to choose between the remaining intensities during the approach, or on takeoff. The pilots of the Quebec Government HS125 in charge of medical evacuations during night time would certainly appreciate.
I told the controller that I did not know of any approved procedures relating to an ARCAL type K system failure and that I did not see why I would consider totally unserviceable a system in which only one intensity out of three was posing a problem.
He replied that those were the written procedures that could be found in the control tower and that I had to call his manager if I wanted to see them. How was it possible that official procedures pertinent to a system installed on many airports across Canada, with or without a control tower, could only be found in selected control towers? This was unthinkable.
Through my manager, I asked to receive a copy of those procedures. But it now seemed that those procedures were not in the Val-d’Or control tower but in the Montreal regional office. I tried to get them from that office, but nobody could find anything on the subject.
It was now obvious that those procedures never existed. The funny thing is that all the stakeholders were defending, one level at a time, the existence of those fictive procedures, for all kinds of reasons.
During those years, there was a program called “Incentive Award”, encouraging an employee to present new ideas that would improve the efficiency of the public service. If a proposition was accepted by the highest management levels, a certificate accompanied with a small amount of money would be sent to the employee by the Deputy Minister at Transport Canada. Realizing I would not obtain satisfaction from the regional management, I used the “Incentive Award” program to present my proposition.
One year later, I received a call from somebody who told me he was working at the national level, in Ottawa. He implied that my suggestion would not be accepted.
I told him that I paid, like other Canadians, to get the ARCAL system installed and that, as long as one intensity would remain serviceable, the ARCAL would have to be available to pilots. I made sure he understood that I could not care if he felt comfortable with the idea or not. He was advised that if he maintained his view on the subject, he would have to justify his action to the Canadian public and to the Minister of Transport, who, at the time, was Benoît Bouchard.
Two months later, I received a check and a letter from the Deputy Minister of Transport Canada thanking me for my suggestion that was improving the efficiency of public service. Fourteen months were needed to make the transition from fictive to official procedures that now apply to all Canadian airports equipped with this type of remote control of runway lights.
For more real life stories on the Rouyn-Noranda flight service station and flight service specialists, click here:
Flight service specialist (FSS) at work in Rouyn-Noranda around 1986
On a nice summer day of July, at the Rouyn-Noranda airport, a pilot from a local flying club called our Transport Canada flight service station to get the latest airport advisory for a takeoff. He wanted to use a Cessna 172. He got the details and started taxiing. I quickly noticed that the aircraft was pulling an object. Using the binoculars, I could see that it was a cement block of about 100 kilos, attached to a rope. That cement block was normally used to immobilize an aircraft after a flight.
Aircraft Cessna C172 C-GUCU in Rouyn-Noranda around 1986
It was now obvious that the pilot had not done his walk around the aircraft, a mandatory procedure to ensure that everything is normal. Pulling that cement block on the asphalt must have required more power from the engine. I asked the pilot: “Don’t you find that more power is required to taxi today?” He answered that, in fact, he noted the need to increase the engine’s revolutions and that it was possibly due to the outside high temperature and moisture.
Without further delays, I replied: “Did you walk around your aircraft before the flight to make sure that everything was OK?” At that very moment, he understood that something needed to be done. He stopped the aircraft on the taxiway, got out and realized why a higher RPM was needed to taxi. Without saying anything that could imply his personal negligence, since he knew the radio communications were recorded, he announced that he was returning to the flying club. He had “forgotten something”…
The working position of the old Rouyn-Noranda flight service station allowed only a partial view of runway 08/26, but a complete view of the taxiway where the Cessna 172 was pulling its cement block.
For more real life stories on the Rouyn-Noranda flight service station and flight service specialists, click here:
(Precedent story: a kitchen used as a navigation aid to aviation)
Cockpit and crew view of a KLM B747 on a night flight from Montreal to Amsterdam (EHAM) . The picture was taken while the aircraft was mid-point over the Atlantic ocean, in 1983.
There was a time when it was very simple to visit the cockpit of an aircraft in flight. A request was made to the stewardess, who then coordinated with the captain. Even during this period though, several companies forbade those visits when the plane was over the ocean.
In 1983, during a journey from Montreal towards Holland, I decided to take a chance and ask the on-board staff the dreaded question, hoping to be able to take a picture of the cockpit.
The flight was being made on a KLM Boeing B747. In the middle of the night, while the plane had been at cruising altitude for several hours and most of the passengers were asleep, I discreetly asked the flight attendant the authorization to visit the cockpit. Naturally, she refused. I tried again, telling her that I was working as a flight service specialist (FSS) for Transport Canada in Inukjuak, and that I regularly talked with KLM to provide air traffic services. To dissipate any doubts, I finally gave her the KLM call-signs that I was dealing with over Northern Quebec.
She agreed to deliver my request and, twenty minutes later, I was told: “come with me but pay attention not to wake the first class passengers installed near the spiral staircase which leads to the cockpit “. As I entered the cockpit, the captain turned around, greeted me while he crunched in an apple and returned to his work. Everything was quiet in the cockpit and we could hear a continual light whistling caused by the air friction.
After a short discussion with the crew, I asked both pilots and the flight engineer to close their eyes a short moment while I took a photo with flash with my Pentax KX. A photo impossible to take today, under the same circumstances, due to higher security standards.
And, since I started my annual holidays by visiting a cockpit, I thought it would also be interesting, once in Holland, to visit the famous miniature world of Madurodam, so as not to stay away too long from the aviation world…
The Bell Canada Twin Otter in the background during a nice winter day in Inukjuak. In the foreground, an old ski-doo model.
One winter evening, in 1983, the Transport Canada flight service station (FSS) in Inukjuak (CYPH) received a radio call from a Bell Canada Twin Otter that was in trouble. The fog had invaded the Hudson Bay coast in several places, and landing at the planned alternate airports was now impossible. Weather conditions still being acceptable in Inukjuak, our airport became the last option for the pilot. Unfortunately, our runway lights were out of service and a solution had to be found quickly.
Phone calls were made. Several Inuits arrived in snowmobile and installed their machine on each side of the runway, in more or less regular intervals, so as to light the outside limits of the landing surface. The pilot made a normal approach and the aircraft landed without problem. This kind of service provided by the Inuit was not something new. The pilots were always happy to be able to rely on this emergency auxiliary lighting supplied by the inhabitants of northern Quebec villages when there was a sudden problem.
(Next story: acquisition of an Inuit sculpture in Inukjuak in 1982)
An American Trans Air Lockheed L-1011 is parked in front of the Iqaluit flight service station tower (Iqaluit FSS) in 1990.
The image above comes from a slide that was then digitalized 24 years later. Its quality is not optimal but the essential information is there: the presence in Iqaluit (CYFB), on Baffin Island, of a Lockheed L-1011 belonging to American Trans Air. During the refueling and customs procedures, the passengers were allowed to stretch their legs on the ramp. In the background is the Transport Canada flight service station (FSS) tower, where I used to provide air traffic services on VHF as well as HF frequencies to airliners crossing the atlantic ocean in the absence of satellite technology. Many heavy aircrafts were using Iqaluit on a regular basis as a stopover airport, like the extended DC8, Boeing B707, 727, 737. An Airbus A-380 even stayed for few days in order to be tested under extreme cold.
(Precedent story: the manager who lost his appetite)
Two Austin Airways Twin Otters being unloaded in Inukjuak in 1982.
During the years the Transport Canada flight service station in Inukjuak (CYPH) was in operation, there was something an Austin Airways pilot could count on: on the arrival of the aircraft, there would often be somebody from the village waiting to give a hand in unloading the cargo or provide some kind of services to shorten the stopover time. The villagers were indeed regularly calling the flight service specialists (FSS) to know if there was any aircraft inbound, and if it was the case, what was the estimated time of arrival. We were used to questions like “What time plane?”, “Is that food plane?”, “Is that mail plane?”.
Upon landing, we could see, arriving from the village, a fuel truck and other pick-ups and Honda three wheelers. The postmaster came to fetch the mail, the villagers to meet passengers and family members, and the businessmen to unload their cargo or fuel the aircraft.
There was a similar interest regarding the arrival of the first vessels of the season, in late summer. Besides the occasional icebreaker presence, we witnessed the arrival of the Shell tanker, responsible to supply the villages along the Hudson Bay and Ungava Bay coasts. Barges loaded with heavy machinery and crated material were finally reaching Northern Quebec villages after more than a week of navigation, taking advantage of the low tide to deliver their cargo. Some of those vessels were damaged by ice and sometimes had to be repaired on the spot before they could resume their journey.
A rare sight: a piano and some mattresses were left without much protection in the absence of their new owners. Inukjuak 1982
One day, an anti-submarine patrol aircraft CP140 Aurora having completed his work over Hudson Bay contacted us for air traffic services. Since its operations seemed momentarily completed and it was now moving to another area, he was asked to do a “low pass” above the station. The pilot agreed and soon enough, the airplane was zooming above our facilities disappearing moments later in the clouds. I still remember the flood of phone calls that the aircraft fly-by created. Unable to see the Aurora, now above the clouds, the villagers were asking: “Is that food plane? “,”Is that mail plane ? ” .
A low pass is sometimes requested to get a close-up of an aircraft and to allow the staff to hear the roaring engines as the aircraft zooms by the building. This also creates an opportunity to take a picture. Every pilot that I have known throughout the years would gladly accept this opportunity to add some action in his routine…
An Air Inuit Twin Otter C-GMDC is refueling in Inukjuak in 1982
(Next story: the Inuit who wanted to shoot Whites with a .303 caliber rifle)
(Precedent story: illegal fishing on the Innuksuak river)
An Austin Airways Twin Otter is getting airborne during a snow shower in Inukjuak, 1982. In the background, the Environment Canada upper air station.
A Transport Canada manager had to occasionally leave the comfort of his office in Montreal to visit one of the flight service stations located in Northern Quebec, in the Nunavik. So in 1982 he made the journey to Inukjuak (CYPH), using Nordair for the leg between Montreal and Kuujjuarapik (CYGW).
From there, an Austin Airways Twin Otter brought him to Inukjuak. But few minutes after the aircraft was airborne from Kuujjuarapik, the cloud base dropped dramatically and the pilot later told the flight services specialists (FSS) in Inukjuak that he had made the trip with no more than 200 feet of clearance between the Hudson Bay water and the clouds.
The airplane arrived in Inukjuak during the afternoon. At dinner, the chef offered a hot meal, but the manager refused to eat anything, stating that he had absolutely no appetite. He later told us that to see the surface of the water so close to the plane and feel the mechanical turbulence throughout the trip had cut his appetite. The flight services specialists realized that their manager was not very comfortable with “non standard” flights.
An Austin Airways Twin Otter on takeoff from Inukjuak in 1982.
On the return flight, he was the sole passenger on board, the remaining space being occupied by cargo. The FSS knew the pilots very well and asked them a small favor, which was a takeoff with a tight turn to the right. This was done skillfully and certainly created a surprise with the traveler.
On the flight back to Montreal, while on a stopover in La Grande (CYGL) he sent us a message via the La Grande flight service station teletype that spoke volumes about his appreciation of the turn. I must say, in all honesty, that the pilot had given more than the client requested, and that the traveler had the chance to experience a 70 degree right turn. It was enough to keep him from traveling up north for a while.
(Precedent story: enroute toward the first posting: Inukjuak)
The Inukjuak soft sand runway, in 1982, and a balloon tires equipped Twin Otter, property of Austin Airways.
During my first working days as a flight service specialist (FSS) at the Transport Canada flight service station in Inukjuak (CYPH), in 1982, I received a radio call from a Twin Beech 200. The pilot of this aircraft registered in the United States indicated that he wished to land at Inukjuak for a short stopover. Several passengers were on board. I gave him the necessary air traffic services and followed its progress towards the airport, through subsequent radio communications.
It is assumed that a pilot wanting to land at an airport has prepared himself and knows the length and orientation of the runway, as well as its constitution (cement, asphalt, gravel, grass, sand). These are absolutely essential information, like ensuring that there is enough fuel on board the aircraft. This makes the difference between an accident and a successful landing. I doubted that Inukjuak, with its soft sand runway, was suited for an aircraft like the Beech 200.
Being a pilot myself, I was uncomfortable to ask him if he was aware of the characteristics of the Inukjuak runway, because this was such basic information. Moreover, having no experience as a flight service specialist yet, I considered unimaginable that in the early days of a new career, I had to deal with a pilot that was not adequately prepared, and would soon put his life and the lives of his passengers in danger.
I kept on thinking that if the pilot was responsible for this type of aircraft, he must have had hundreds, if not thousands of hours of flying experience. It would be like saying: “Don’t you think that the plane is too big for your abilities?“
The aircraft was now on final for the runway, a few miles away. I decided to ask the fateful question: “Are you aware that you are about to land on a 2000 feet soft sand runway?” The pilot softly said: “OK, we’ll do a missed approach and will head somewhere else. Is Kuujjuarapik acceptable for us? “I answered positively and in the following seconds, the airplane overshot the runway and headed southward for the next airport.
From that day and the following decades, I vowed to never take anything for granted. When in doubt, action is worth more than inaction…
(Next story: A visit at the Inukjuak flight service station (1982))
