A souvenir photo in front of a Eurocopter EC120 Colibri (C-FCOS) at the Quebec Jean-Lesage international airport (2015)
December 2013. Time for retirement had come. On my last working shift as a flight service specialist (FSS), I was able to share good memories of the past experiences as a Transport Canada and later Nav Canada employee. A shift supervisor had bought an excellent chocolate cake which was rapidly taken care of by the employees.
The next year, during an official retirement party including two other retirees, the Nav Canada flight information center (FIC) employees in Quebec City (CYQB) presented us with several gifts. I used the gift certificates to book a helicopter ride.
The pilot headed towards the Quebec Bridge then followed the St-Lawrence Seaway to Old Quebec. He then flew towards the Davie shipyard, Île d’Orléans, the Montmorency falls and then returned to the Quebec Jean-Lesage international airport. During the flight, we were able to witness the arrival of the Queen Mary II cruise ship in Old Quebec. Here are some pictures that I took during the flight:
Samuel-de-Champlain promenade and St-Lawrence Seaway in 2015
The Queen Mary II passing by Île d’Orléans enroute to Quebec in 2015
The Château Frontenac, Dufferin Terrace and a small part of Old Quebec in 2015
Davie shipyard in Quebec (2015)
Orleans Island and St-Lawrence Seaway, Quebec, 2015
Quebec Jean-Lesage international airport in 2015. The Nav Canada installations are visible (control tower and flight information center (FIC))
I hope you liked the real life stories as pilot, flight instructor, Transport Canada student and flight service specialist in Inukjuak, Rouyn-Noranda, Iqaluit and Quebec City, as well as FSS for Nav Canada at the flight information center in Quebec City. I have included all the stories and photos on my web site www.francoisouellet.ca , in the following “real life stories” sections:
There were naturally many more stories that would have deserved to be written but, due to their particular nature, those stories had to stay confidential.
Thanks for the encouragements and comments shared in person or via electronic communication.
N.B.: All the articles published on the web site https://francoisouellet.ca/en/ are under copyright protection. All rights reserved. Thanks for your understanding.
View of a small portion of the Transport Canada Training Institute in Cornwall, Ontario, in 1982
In the early 80s, the oil crisis forces airlines to greatly limit hiring. This was not the case during our pilot training course but becomes a reality when applying for a job a year later.
However, on the government side, the situation is quite different. The air traffic services branch of Transport Canada is looking for new employees to replace staff approaching retirement age. The only option immediately accessible to me is to apply as a flight service specialist (FSS). I have only a rough idea of what are the responsibilities, nothing more. But the pay and advantages are far better than what is otherwise available to a new flight instructor. It is time to send in an application.
For the Province of Quebec, two written examinations totally unrelated with aviation are held at the University of Quebec in Montreal. There are 1500 candidates (5 sessions of 300 applicants) who attempt these tests during the two days allotted for the first phase of the selection process. In the following weeks and months, those who have succeeded in the written tests must then undergo anything from personal interviews to language tests, medical examinations and security clearances.
We are now three candidates from Quebec heading towards the Transport Canada Training Institute in Cornwall. There will be thirty-five hours of theoretical and practical course per week, over a six months period. The pressure will be continuous and desired in order to eliminate candidates who may not react well to stress.
We will be paid to study. A candidate is guaranteed with a posting upon completion of training, providing he manages to obtain 80% and above on the written and practical evaluations. Because this 82-01 course is not dedicated to Quebecers only, it cannot be offered in French. So it is going to be in English only, and will include twenty-four students from almost all Canadian provinces.
The Transport Canada Training Institute in Cornwall is nothing short of exceptional for those who have decided to study and succeed.
In order to help the student to deal with the weekly thirty-five hours of courses and examinations, the school provides interesting amenities.Each student has a private room with daily maid service. The cafeteria offers a good choice of meals. Calories can be burned at the pool, gym, weight room, on the tennis court or on the baseball field. A snack bar remains open for late-night cravings. A bank teller is made available to students, as well as a hairdressing salon, a bar, arcade games, pool tables, etc.
1982 Cornwall TCTI Pool
Transport Canada Training Institute weight room. Cornwall, Ontario 1982
1982 Cornwall TCTI combat room
1982 TCTI, Cornwall. Students from the FSS 82-01 group are experimenting a new way to improve scoring at basketball.
1982 Cornwall TCTI games
So that we understand what lies ahead, we are told that there are traditionally many students in each class who will not keep pace and will be sent home, despite their efforts. For a francophone who wasn’t using a second language on a daily basis , it is clear that integrating new theory presented in English for seven and a half hours every day, five days a week, becomes demanding. I compensate for the times when my attention decreases by studying in the evening.
There is a library in the school as well as multiples rooms for flight simulators designed for every career considered by the students.
1982 Cornwall TCTI Flight Simulation Room
1982 TCTI Cornwall. Environment Canada upper air building.
1982 TCTI Cornwall Stevenson screens
In the courtyard, there is a peacock and other small animals and a water source flows into a very well planned landscape.
1982 Cornwall TCTI courtyard
The amenities are simply stunning. The message is clear: “Transport Canada only ask you to study and succeed, it will take care of the rest.”
1982 Cornwall TCTI corridors to classrooms
Finally, the moment we were all waiting for as arrived. Students who managed to get through the course celebrate their graduation.
Assignments are distributed. Those who will be working in isolated postings, in northern Quebec, are well aware that the schedule does not include holidays. The FSS will be on duty every day. The new employee will be compensated for overtime and a more expensive cost of life. He will also benefit from subsidized rents.
My departure is planned shortly for Inukjuak (CYPH), along the east coast of Hudson Bay in the Nunavik. Life will soon change radically.
(Next story: enroute to the first posting: Inukjuak)
(Precedent story: the flight from St-Jean-sur-Richelieu to Edmonton)
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…
A group of flight instructors working in St-Jean-sur-Richelieu in 1981
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.
Two Egyptian students at a St-Jean-sur-Richelieu flying school in 1981
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.
After a proficiency check, I soon find myself flying a Cessna 170B (tail wheel) on a flight across Canada, from St -Jean-sur- Richelieu, Quebec, 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.
1:500,000 VFR charts used for a flight toward Edmonton, Canada, in 1981
We do stopovers at Gatineau, North Bay, Sudbury and then fly along Lake Superior to Wawa.
Small break in Sudbury on a VFR flight to Edmonton in 1981
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.
From Fort Frances to Kenora in 1981, with a Cessna C170B
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…
The crossing of Lake Winnipeg with a Cessna C170B in 1981
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 take off westward. It appears that the old fuel gauges of this 1952 Cessna are now totally unreliable…
Landing in a field with a Cessna C170B in Lundar, Manitoba in 1981.
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.
Near Yorkton, Saskatchewan, in flight with a Cessna C170B in 1981
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.
The Watson runway, Saskatchewan, in 1981
The King George motel in Watson, Saskatchewan in 1981
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.
Cessna C170B in flight over Canada, summer 1981.
Climbing to 9,500 feet on the return leg to St-Jean-sur-Richelieu, in 1981.
VFR “on top” with a Cessna C170B in 1981 over Canada
Over North Bay, Ontario, 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.
(Precedent story: the commercial pilot license / a tire bursts on landing)
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 air traffic 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 air traffic 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 flying hours.
(Next story: a visual flight (VFR) from St-Jean-sur-Richelieu, Quebec, to Emonton, Alberta)
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.
A nice evening light over the parc de la Vérendrye.
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.
Réserve du parc de La Vérendrye at night time.
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.
Montréal in sight. It is the first time that I see Montréal from high above during the night. I did not expect I would do so while flying a plane without holding a night rating.
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 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 flight 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?“!
