There’s been a pronounced uptick over the past few months in online conversations about failing out of new hire airline training—usually at a regional airline. Part 121 carriers keep their training statistics pretty private, so there’s no way to know if the surge is real and to what extent. But anecdotal evidence suggests that it is, and when you think about it, it makes sense. 

Before COVID-19 and for a bit afterward, there was a real shortage of qualified regional applicants—to the extent that many pilot groups saw raises of 100 percent or more. And there was a great deal of pressure to push new hires through training and onto the line.

I have friends who were simulator instructors and check airmen during that time, and they have stories of struggling applicants being afforded extra training sessions, multiple check ride attempts, and double or even triple the normal amount of initial operating experience (IOE) in an attempt to get them through.

• READ MORE: On the ‘Bax’ Foot: A Lifelong Writer Tackles the Spoken Word

But lately all the regional airlines have plenty of qualified first officers and even more qualified new-hire applicants—it’s qualified captains they are short on. It has become increasingly difficult to receive an interview at 15,00 hours. 

Jonathan Ornstein, Mesa Airlines’ longtime CEO, recently revealed that the company has more than 2,000 apparently qualified applications on file, all competing for a relative handful of new-hire slots. Thus, there’s no real pressure to hold new hires’ hands through training. In fact, the incentive goes the other way. The regionals need first officers who can pass captain upgrade training and IOE as soon as they’re legal to do so. It makes financial sense to winnow any that struggle as soon as possible. Brutal, but understandable.

One of the largest regionals has reportedly gone to a “two-and-through” policy. You are given one “freebie”—be that a check ride bust, training event repeat, or even extra preparatory sim session. The second one results in automatic training failure and termination. 

A friend was caught by this policy when his training partner, an older career changer, struggled and was offered “refresher” sessions before two check rides. My friend wanted to help his training partner and served as seat support for both sessions, only to have them counted against his own record, with summary termination the result. He now has an airline training failure as a permanent stain on his Pilot Records Improvement Act (PRIA) file.

This should indicate how seriously you need to treat airline training. You are not particularly needed at the regional airlines now. Training is not a gimme, nobody will hold your hand, and if you do struggle, you cannot expect much sympathy or flexibility. Compared to primary and secondary instruction, most airline training is much less spoon fed—the onus is generally on you to study, show up with the answers, and shine in the sim.

• READ MORE: How Professional Pilots Can Survive Probationary Periods

If you suffer from check ride nerves, best find a way to calm them now. To be a professional pilot is to be a professional check ride taker. I would suggest that before even applying for the regional airlines right now, you should have total confidence in your ability to make it through a fast-paced, unforgiving training program.

That said, anyone can have a bad day. You might have shown up prepared, studied hard, done everything right—and still messed up. Maybe that got you rattled and affected your  performance, especially knowing that your job—your career, even—was on the line. I’ve never trained under that kind of pressure and can’t say for sure I’d handle it well. Perhaps you didn’t, and now you too have an airline training failure in your PRIA file.

What now?

First, you need to know that your life is not over and neither is your career. There are plenty of pilots working with a training failure somewhere in their past. Having this on your record is less concerning than being fired from a job for cause, aircraft accident, or FAA enforcement action, DUI/DWI, or losing your medical. You still have the same flight time and certifications that you had before the failure. I’ve never heard of the FAA suspending or revoking certificates, or even giving a 709 check ride, based on someone failing out of an airline training program. You can still make a living flying airplanes.

• READ MORE: Allure of International Flying Lies Across the Glittering Sea

The course of your career has changed, though. I’d argue that the “training/CFI/regional/major in five years” rocket ship career path was already becoming unrealistic as the pilot shortage wound down, but in any case, that gate is shut now. Its closing was always a possibility in this industry—perhaps even a probability. It slammed shut for every pilot of my generation when the Twin Towers fell on 9/11, and yet, as dark as things seemed for a while, many went on to have wonderful careers. My own career path took turns I never saw coming, and they led to some really interesting experiences and lifelong friends. I wouldn’t go back and change anything, even if I could.

In their current hiring mood, the airlines will likely not take a chance on you while your training failure is fresh. Your mission now is to build a record that puts your failure squarely in the past and shows that it was a one-off event. Take whatever time you need to get your head right, then jump right back into it. Get yourself into a position to pass a check ride as soon as possible.

If you’re going back to flight instructing, add that CFII or MEI rating. If you can land a Part 135 gig, better yet—it will require passing an approved training program and a 135.293 proficiency check, plus potentially a type ride depending on the aircraft. Most corporate gigs also involve a type ride. If nobody is calling just yet, a single-engine sea or glider rating can be added to a commercial certificate fairly cheaply. Just get back on that horse and pass a check ride.

• READ MORE: Financing the Pro Pilot Dream…Without Getting Scammed

I don’t normally advocate job hopping, and it can be a red flag to HR departments. But I will say that following a training program failure, you’ll need to go through two or three full training programs without incident to become competitive for a top-tier job. If you can do that with a single employer, fine. Move up to a different airframe as soon as you can. If you need to switch employers to pass another training program, do so after a decent interval.

No matter where you go, you’ll need to disclose the training failure on each application, and it will likely come up on every interview. Depending on how you handle it, this can become your biggest stumbling block or an unexpected asset. It is so important that you do not play the blame game. Regardless of what actually happened, you need to develop a credible explanation of why you weren’t ready, what you got wrong, what you learned from the experience, and how you are better equipped now to pass a tough training course.

Unfortunately, you’re in a poor position to judge whether your explanation is actually any good. This is where paying an interview prep company can be extremely valuable, especially if you’ve worked your way back to applying for a top-tier position. With some polishing and a solid post-failure history to support it, the tale of how your lowest moment turned you into a better person, and a better pilot, could just be the exact thing that eventually lands you that dream job.

The post After a Training Fail, What Comes Next? appeared first on FLYING Magazine.

In this edition of V1 Rotate, FLYING contributor Sam Weigel walks new and aspiring professional pilots through probationary periods—why they are important and practical tips for how to survive them.

• READ MORE: Financing the Pro Pilot Dream…Without Getting Scammed

The post How Professional Pilots Can Survive Probationary Periods appeared first on FLYING Magazine.

When I was in my early teens, I once asked an older pilot if he had any advice for someone just starting flight training, and he half-jokingly replied, “Ah, yes, have rich parents!” I didn’t quite recognize the sage wisdom of this advice and failed to follow it, having had the temerity to get myself born into a large family of rather modest means.

So I scrapped and schemed and worked a number of odd jobs through my teen years to pay for primary training and then went off to college and amassed an eye-watering level of student loan debt while completing my advanced ratings, all to graduate just after the 9/11 attacks. In retrospect I was fortunate. My seemingly poor timing put me in a very good position when the pilot shortage finally gathered steam, and as expensive as flight training seemed then, it has become even more so. It was also an era of easy borrowing and low interest rates.

If you, like me, lacked the foresight to be born into wealth and are now trying to finance your dream of becoming a professional pilot, you face greater obstacles than I ever did. Post-COVID inflation has made most things more expensive, and everything in aviation from used aircraft to engine overhauls to insurance has outpaced it. Meanwhile, interest rates have skyrocketed, with prime lending rates above 8 percent for a full year now and most unsecured loans at least 3 percent above that. Few reputable banks are offering noncollege flight training loans these days, and this void has been filled by lenders who can be described as little better than loan sharks. Predatory interest rates of 17 percent or more are common. 

Sadly, many of the flight schools appear to be willing accomplices, prominently advertising “easy” financing “as low as 4.5 percent” or some similarly unrealistic rate. Many of their partner lenders will not reveal actual rates or terms until the student has already been accepted to the training program, with a proposed start date. Every week there are posts on aviation forums by students who have just learned, shortly before starting training, that their proposed $130,000, 15-year loan will end up costing $250,000 or more, with monthly payments above $2,000. Unfortunately, many see little alternative but to sign on the dotted line, justifying the terms with optimistic career earnings projections and the perceived rush to get their ratings “before the pilot shortage is over.” It’s an effective trap for lower-income kids with a dream but not much financial literacy. 

Honestly, had I been put in that position at 18 years old, I probably would have signed on the dotted line myself. I was financially illiterate at that age too. I’ve learned a lot about money since then, though, and about the aviation industry. Let me offer some really sound advice:

• Be very wary of any flight school that requires significant money up front. There are many cases of schools suddenly closing or otherwise absconding with students’ funds or refusing or delaying repayment of the balance after the student has flunked out or quit midway through training. At the very least, they should require no more in your account than is required to complete the next block of training (e.g, private pilot certificate, instrument rating, etc).

• If a flight school’s preferred lender isn’t upfront about rates or terms, be very skeptical. Anyone who requires you to be accepted at the school and have a start date before revealing loan terms is likely springing a debt trap on you.

• A hard truth of aviation is that the majority of those who start primary training quit before earning their private pilot certificate, and the attrition rate for professional programs is similarly high. Not everyone will enjoy flying, and not everyone is cut out for it. You won’t really know if it’s for you until you’re at least through primary training. Don’t make any momentous financial decisions until then.

• Career earnings for a pilot can be high, but also vary quite widely depending on timing, keeping a clean record, maintaining a Class I medical, networking ability, and sometimes just plain dumb luck. Do not base financial decisions on best-case scenarios. And in any case, plan on several early years of earning less than $50,000, perhaps substantially less.

• Do not, under any circumstances, accept any substantial loan at more than 12 percent interest. It will be a millstone around your neck. Unlike most debt, student loans are not dischargeable in personal bankruptcy. Having to repay a crippling amount of high-interest debt early in your career will cause a high level of stress and may well lead to career decisions that prioritize short-term earnings over long-term advancement. 

• There was a period during the pilot shortage when it made some sense to spend more and even accept less than satisfactory loan terms in order to finish training quickly and reach the airlines ASAP. In my opinion, that period is over. Hiring is starting to return to traditional norms, and there’s even a bit of a glut of low-time pilots. It’s difficult to be hired at regional airlines at 1,500 hours right now, for example. 

All of this points to doing your training in a way that minimizes borrowing until interest rates come down. First, get as far into your training as you can while paying cash. If you have a decent job now, pay cash to train toward a private pilot certificate at a local flight school while still working. Make the decision to quit and take on debt only once you have your certificate. If you don’t have a job that will pay for primary training, put major effort into securing aviation scholarships and grants. Most aviation organizations offer them, and you should apply for every single one. Some are relatively small, but the dollars add up, and there’s a multiplicative effect as your name gets out there. In fact, this is a fantastic way to get a head start on networking.

When you reach the point that you simply have to finance your training, shop around. You’ll be surprised to find there’s a fair amount of variance among private student loan lenders—not all are loan sharks. If your intended school is pushing use of a predatory lender, I’d be very skeptical about training there. After all, when the lending is more lucrative than providing the actual training, that makes the training a loss leader—and quality is likely to suffer accordingly.

• READ MORE: 6 Mistakes to Avoid When Looking for Pilot Training Loans

Rates vary significantly based on credit scores and history. If you know that you’ll be applying for loans in the next few years, put a strong effort into increasing your credit history and scores now. Alternatively, you’ll get better rates by having a cosigner with good credit. This doesn’t need to be a parent, but given that they’ll share responsibility for the loan with you, you had best have a good relationship and proven yourself trustworthy to anyone you ask to cosign on a loan.

The Federal Reserve is expected to start lowering interest rates next summer. As long as your lender does not tack on substantial origination fees, you may well be better off taking multiple smaller loans throughout your training, versus one big loan at the start. And while variable rate loans can be a gamble, I think they’re a decent bet now, so long as yours is adjusted monthly or quarterly and is tied to a fair index (the former standard, London Interbank Offered Rate [LIBOR], has been discontinued, and Secured Overnight Financing Rate [SOFR] is the best replacement). 

Finally, the best interest rates going these days in the U.S. are for federal direct subsidized and unsubsidized Loans. For the 2023-24 school year, they’re set at 5.5 percent for undergraduate students and 7.05 percent for graduate/professional students. The catch is these loans can only be used at nationally accredited institutions, which largely limits you to college flight programs (both four-year and two-year). With pilot supply and recruiting returning to normalcy, however, I think that college programs will become attractive again.

Even if the major airlines do not reinstate their long-standing degree requirements, a degree will always be preferred and may well make the critical difference as the hiring process becomes more competitive.

The post Financing the Pro Pilot Dream…Without Getting Scammed appeared first on FLYING Magazine.

In this special edition of V1 Rotate, FLYING contributor Sam Weigel explores New Zealand in a Cessna 172. On the agenda? A spectacular multiday, self-fly tour with FlyInn to locations including Mount Aspiring, the Pyke River valley, Milford Sound, and Sutherland Falls.

• WATCH MORE: V1 Rotate: Flying Yourself Into Mexico’s Baja Peninsula

The post V1 Rotate: New Zealand by Air appeared first on FLYING Magazine.

In November and December, my wife, Dawn, and I traveled to New Zealand for a month and flew a Cessna 172 around the South Island for eight days, a spectacular tour which will be featured in the V1 Rotate video episode posting on February 16. Though I was accompanied by a New Zealand-licensed flight instructor and therefore didn’t require a local license (they aren’t certificates in NZ), I did complete all the requirements for the New Zealand Civil Aviation Authority’s “Validation Permit,” which is basically a short-term, limited-purpose license conversion. Accordingly, I have been awarded NZ private pilot privileges until June. This is admittedly pretty low on the scale of aviation bragging rights, but it was interesting to go through the process and see how another country’s aviation authority approaches pilot certification. 

As an FAA-certificated pilot, you are allowed to fly aircraft within the U.S., as well as N-registered aircraft in any ICAO member state (193 countries comprising the vast majority of the world). Beyond our shores and U.S.-registered aircraft, though, piloting requires converting your FAA certificate(s) to their foreign equivalent(s). There are a few reasons one might be interested in doing this. 

The first, and most common, is foreign citizens returning to their native country after completing flight training in the U.S. because of the lower cost of flying here. There are now several schools in the U.S. that offer direct European Union Aviation Safety Agency (EASA) pilot licensure, but the more common route is to earn one’s FAA certificates here and then go through the conversion process back home.

The second scenario involves U.S. citizens converting their commercial or ATP certificate with the intention of working overseas as an expat (or emigrating), or as a hedge in case of a downturn in the U.S. economy, airline industry, or political situation. This was quite common in the “lost decade” after 9/11, when thousands of furloughed or career-stagnated U.S. pilots sought opportunities overseas at the same time that many foreign operators were facing an acute pilot shortage. Right now the U.S. is well ahead of most of the world in both pilot compensation and hiring, but this could change, and in any case a scenery shift will always appeal to some. Unless you are a dual citizen or otherwise have a right to work in a foreign state, however, obtaining a work visa may prove harder than converting your certificates.

The last scenario involves a U.S.-certificated pilot who spends a lot of time overseas, or is taking a lengthy vacation, and wishes to fly locally registered aircraft for pleasure. This usually involves issuing only a PPL (depending on the country) and perhaps an instrument rating.

Every country’s aviation authority sets its own requirements and process for converting pilot licenses, except in cases where multiple countries have combined their authorities into a single agency, as in the case of EASA (which covers the entire European Union, plus Norway, Iceland, Switzerland, and Lichtenstein). It helps that ICAO has coordinated three standard levels of licensure that are recognized by all member states: private (PPL), commercial (CPL), and airline transport (ATPL). A fourth ICAO license, multi-pilot (MPL), is not recognized by the U.S. or Canada. Instrument and multiengine ratings are well standardized and usually convertible, though maintaining currency and recency of experience can differ greatly. However, the FAA’s non-ICAO-standard certificates, such as recreational or light sport, usually cannot be converted. 

Almost all conversions require obtaining a medical certificate issued by the converting authority. If not yet in-country, this might involve a special visit with associated time and expense. Medical certification standards vary, as do the guidelines for waivers and special issuances. In some cases, your current FAA medical can be used for a limited time frame, after which you must obtain a local medical of the appropriate class.

The simplest license conversions typically involve countries with similar regulatory structures, often neighbors. New Zealand and Australian licenses are easily interchangeable with a simple form. Converting a U.S. certificate to a Canadian one is a fairly simple process involving a 10-to-15-hour online class. The U.K.’s Civil Aviation Authority (CAA) resumed responsibility for licensure after Brexit, and its licenses were interchangeable with EASA until last year. They are still virtually identical and easily convertible. Some Middle East countries and others with a high percentage of expat airline pilots (notably excepting India and China) accept FAA, EASA, and U.K.-CAA ATPLs with a minimum of fuss.

• READ MORE: Make a Run for the Border

Most countries, however, present the potential convert with significant hurdles and no small amount of bureaucracy, particularly for CPL and ATPL. These can include a logbook review, submitting police records and undergoing a background check, undergoing mandatory ground and/or flight training, sitting for various exams, and passing a check ride or flight review. Even for my humble New Zealand short-term PPL validation, I had to log ground and flight instruction in weather and mountain flying from a NZ instructor and then complete a flight review. It’s worth noting that NZ, like many countries, uses a type-rating system even for piston singles. My BFR took place in a Cessna 172, and I am type rated in the “C172” only. To fly any other type, I would need to seek training from an appropriately rated NZ instructor. Similarly, to fly at night I would need to obtain a night rating. 

The most common target for converting FAA certificates is undoubtedly EASA. Converting a PPL in the EU is a reasonably simple proposition, an instrument rating or CPL somewhat less so, and an ATPL least of all. The Europeans—and really, most aviation authorities worldwide—place a much greater emphasis on knowledge testing than the FAA. ATPL conversion candidates must sit for 14 separate exams, testing knowledge of aerodynamics, weather, systems, regulations, air traffic procedures, and so forth. In addition, there are many ground and flight training requirements, capped off by a check ride. It’s a lengthy, expensive, and cumbersome process, yet thousands of European professional pilots (and a few Americans) have gone this route. 

Ultimately, flying is flying the world over, and the differences from country to country are relatively minor in the scheme of things. Compared to the difficulty of learning to fly and earning your FAA certificates in the first place, exporting them for use overseas is usually a pretty reasonable process and an enlightening one that gives a sneak peek into how various aviation authorities go about their business.

The post A Primer on Pilot Certificate Conversions appeared first on FLYING Magazine.

Here at V1 Rotate, we frequently remind new and aspiring professional pilots that an aviation career is a marathon, not a sprint. Especially in the early stages, the grind of flight training and hour-building creates a real risk of burnout. Finding ways to inject adventure and enjoyment into your flying isn’t a frivolity. It’s an investment in maintaining a positive state of mind as you start your career, as well as a way of broadening your experience. One excellent adventure for a newer pilot is flying across the border to Canada, Mexico, or the Bahamas. 

Personally, all my initial international experience was at the airlines, and it wasn’t until I owned my Piper Pacer from 2014-16 that I flew a light aircraft to the Bahamas and Mexico. I wish I had known how easy it is. I would have done it years earlier. With a little planning and legwork, even fairly new private pilots can safely make cross-country flights to International destinations. The Aircraft Owners and Pilots Association (AOPA) maintains an excellent comprehensive database of what’s required for each country—Canada, Bahamas, and Mexico. 

That said, here is a summation of the requirements as they exist at this time.

Aircraft Requirements

The first thing you need is an airplane that can be taken internationally. It’s obviously easier to simply own an aircraft (with the permanent registration certificate in your name—not a temporary one), but there are also quite a few rental aircraft that are permitted to be taken across borders. If your FBO/flight school doesn’t allow it, look around. Many Florida FBOs authorize Bahamas flying for their aircraft, as do several places in the Phoenix, San Diego, and Los Angeles areas for Mexico. If you take a rental aircraft, make sure you get a notarized letter of authorization confirming that you have permission to take the aircraft out of the country. 

Canada and the Bahamas welcome experimental aircraft, but Mexico recently banned them. Mexico also requires a 406 MHz ELT. You should have a Mode C transponder, though you don’t need ADS-B in Canada or the Bahamas (Mexico’s ADS-B mandate mirrors the United States’).

The U.S. removed the need for aircraft to have a radio station license some years ago, but the requirement remains in place in the Bahamas and Mexico, and U.S. law technically requires it when flying outside borders. It is quite easy to obtain one via FCC Form 605.

If crossing an air defense identification zone (ADIZ) for Bahamas or Mexico, your aircraft should have 12-inch N-numbers. Temporary N-numbers, such as those applied using painter’s tape, are acceptable (Duct tape is a little too permanent and may take paint off). 

Your aircraft will need a U.S. Customs and Border Protection (CBP) user fee decal to reenter the U.S. It costs $35 per calendar year and can be obtained at the CBP DTOPS website. 

Avgas is limited in Mexico, the Bahamas, and northern Canada. Pay close attention to your aircraft’s range, call ahead to verify 100LL availability, and carry extra (sealed and secured) jerrycans as necessary. All three countries have a good deal of remote terrain that makes good survival gear a necessity and satellite communication (Garmin Inreach, SPOT, etc.) a very good idea. The Bahamas requires life vests. Better yet, rent a life raft from one of the several Florida FBOs that offer them at reasonable weekly rates. 

Pilot and Passenger Requirements

You should have at least a private pilot certificate and a valid third-class or greater medical certificate to fly to Mexico or Canada. The Bahamas accepts both light sport pilot certificates and BasicMed certification. 

You’ll need an FCC-restricted radiotelephone operator’s permit to fly internationally. It’s a one-time license with no expiration, and the process to obtain it is fairly easy and very similar to the aircraft radio station license.

You and all passengers should hold a valid passport with at least six months remaining before expiration. Make sure your passengers have their passports with them.

Leaving the U.S.

U.S. CBP requires pilots exiting the country to file an eAPIS manifest with the names and information of all crew and passengers aboard at least 60 minutes before departure. You’ll do this on the eAPIS website.

You’ll need to file an ICAO-format IFR or VFR flight plan, which is a bit different than the domestic format. If crossing an ADIZ VFR, you’ll file a DVFR flight plan and put your expected crossing time in the remarks. 

If VFR, activate your flight plan after departure, then call the appropriate air traffic control facility and obtain VFR flight following. A discrete transponder code is required for crossing the border, whether entering an ADIZ or not. Before the border, ATC will hand you off to the foreign controlling facility. 

Entering Mexico

In addition to U.S. CBP eAPIS, you must file a Mexican APIS manifest 24 hours before departure and again one hour before departure. There are a couple third-party pay websites/apps to do this, or you can do it by emailing an excel spreadsheet—see instructions here and spreadsheet here.

You will land at an airport of entry and park in the designated international arrivals box. A military or customs official may approach and inspect the aircraft. If they don’t within a few minutes, it’s OK to get out and enter the operations building. The process varies by airport, but in general, you will file an arrival report with Despacho (which closes your flight plan), and then bring it to several different officials to complete various steps and get the arrival report stamped in turn. These include completing a declaration with customs, getting passports stamped and completing FMM forms (passengers only) with immigration, and obtaining an entry permit from the Comandancia. The cost for single-entry and multiple-entry permits is the same, so if possible, get the latter. 

Once you’ve completed all formalities and have the requisite stamps, you’ll file and open your onward domestic flight plan with Despacho. This works quite differently from the U.S.: It only tells the authorities where you intend to fly and has no search and rescue implications. It lasts until the next airport with a Commandancia (generally, those with a control tower), covers all intermediate airports, and can be open for many days until you close it at the next Despacho. 

Entering the Bahamas

Freeport, Marsh Harbor, Bimini, and Great Harbour Cay are preferred airports of entry, as Nassau is busy and expensive. Call the appropriate customs office before departure to give your ETA and confirm office hours. Prior to landing, close your flight plan with Nassau Radio on 124.2 or 128.0. 

Upon arrival you’ll complete immigration procedures and fill out an inbound aircraft declaration and C7A Bahamas cruising permit ($50), which allows you to move about the Bahamas as desired. Bahamian customs officials tend to be pretty friendly and helpful. Flight plans are not required within the Bahamas, though they can be filed, opened, and closed with Nassau Radio as in the U.S.. VFR flight following is available from Miami Center, though radar coverage is spotty at lower altitudes in the outer islands. 

Entering Canada

You must make your first landing at a Canadian airport of entry. Between two and 48 hours before entry, call CANPASS at 1-888-226-7277 and provide advance notification of arrival. If there is no customs official present when you land, call CANPASS again. It may clear you to enter or (rarely) have you wait for a customs inspector to arrive. 

Returning to the U.S.

Once again, you must file an eAPIS manifest with CBP at least one hour prior to departure—and if leaving Mexico, you must also file an APIS manifest with Mexican immigration at 24 hours and one hour prior to departure. Additionally, you must call the CBP office at your intended airport of entry to make advance notification of arrival at least one hour (and no more than 23 hours) before your expected arrival time

File an IFR, VFR (Canada) or DVFR (Bahamas, Mexico) ICAO flight plan, with ADIZ crossing time (if applicable) in the remarks section. If VFR, a Mexican flight plan will not get passed on to U.S. Flight Service, so contact FSS directly and activate once within radio range of the U.S. border. 

You need to be on a discrete transponder code when crossing the border. If returning from the Bahamas, contact Miami Center for flight following. From Mexico, the U.S. FSS that activates your flight plan should be able to provide a transponder code. From Canada, getting radar service from the appropriate air traffic control facility will yield a transponder code and a smooth handoff to U.S. ATC. 

After landing at an airport of entry, park in CBP’s designated yellow parking box and do not leave the airplane until cleared to do so. The customs and immigration process is usually quick and painless. Once you’re cleared, move the airplane quickly so others can use the CBP parking box. And be sure to close your flight plan if VFR.

The post Make a Run for the Border appeared first on FLYING Magazine.

FLYING contributor Sam Weigel offers up a special edition of V1 Rotate, recapping an incredible flying adventure he took with friends in his Piper Pacer. The adventures in store? Dirt biking and grey-whale watching, along with great food and great company. Weigel outlines the flight plan and sets the stage for how to make a trip of your own in following episodes.

The post V1 Rotate: Flying Yourself Into Mexico’s Baja Peninsula appeared first on FLYING Magazine.

One of the personally interesting aspects of this historic pilot hiring wave has been that, in my day job as a Boeing 737 captain, nearly every single week I encounter flight attendants who are commercial pilots, or are in flight training, or are considering taking the plunge.

This is a very welcome development that will do wonders to increase the diversity of our pilot corps, as well as help tear down lingering barriers between our pilot and flight attendant groups, an unfortunate aspect of our company culture. Management apparently agrees: Several years ago they created two accelerated hiring paths to the flight deck for our flight attendants, which has stirred immense interest among our cabin crew. The early participants are now at the qualification level where I’ll be flying with them soon, and I’m really looking forward to it. 

When I encounter anyone who is interested in flying professionally, flight attendant or not, I often suggest that they first go get their private pilot certificate before making any big commitments. Flying, and especially at the professional level, isn’t for everyone. Not everyone will enjoy it, and not everyone is cut out for it. Too many people discover this only after quitting their job and putting a lot of money and time into professional flight training. In my opinion, the time to discover whether a flying career is right for you is during primary training. My airline apparently agrees because it made a private pilot certificate a prerequisite for our basic flight-attendant-to-flight-deck hiring path (the advanced path requires a commercial certificate).

Similarly, I often suggest that those who are interested in taking primary flight lessons first go on a discovery flight, or introductory flight lesson, to make sure it’s right for them. Or better yet,  go on several discovery flights with multiple flight schools and instructors to gauge which is right for them. Most FBOs and flight schools offer 30-minute introductory lessons at a somewhat discounted rate, sometimes via a Groupon coupon. This has traditionally been intended to give the prospective learner a somewhat rosy picture of what piloting a small airplane is like, a quick hit of the good stuff to ‘get ‘’em hooked’ with none of the messy side effects. I have always thought, however, that students, instructors, and schools are better served by giving prospective aviators a realistic look at what learning to fly is like—and that they should treat the experience as an extended interview of a prospective instructor and flight school.

There is no standard format for a discovery flight. Every school, and in many cases each instructor, does it differently. Some conduct a preflight briefing; others do not. Some walk the student slowly through the preflight inspection; other instructors do it quickly themselves and get the student in the air ASAP. Some give the student significant instruction; others barely let the student touch the controls. Sometimes it varies based on the time available or by just how deeply a particular discovery flight (and perhaps instructor fee) has been discounted. When I was instructing, I knew a few CFIs who openly talked about discovery flights being a rare chance to manipulate the controls themselves for almost an entire flight. Based on recent conversations with discovery flight recipients, this still seems to be a common mindset. That’s a pity.

• READ MORE: That First Flight

I’m no longer an active flight instructor, but I make a regular point of taking nonpilots flying in my Stinson 108.  Whenever they show the slightest interest in learning to fly, I conduct their flight in the same fashion as the introductory flight lesson I was afforded at age 13, and the way I tried to perform discovery flights when I was an active CFI. This includes a ground briefing to explain what we’ll be doing, what they should watch out for, and what they can expect to learn and accomplish. Then I’ll spend a good 15 minutes talking them through the preflight inspection, getting their hands on fuel sumps, brake calipers, the oil dipstick, and cowling fasteners. Finally, we go flying for 30 to 60 minutes. I have them follow me on the controls during takeoff, then I level off and trim out and get right into the business of teaching the basics of aircraft control. This includes coordinated turns, which can be tricky in my Stinson, but everyone seems to get it after a few minutes. I fly a circular course, so we can get back home quickly if the student starts looking green. Every 10 minutes or so, I take the controls to show a scenic point of interest, giving the student a short break in concentration and an example to emulate. Our loop always ends over bustling Lake Union, for a spectacular view of downtown Seattle with the majestic backdrop of Mount Rainier.

I understand this is an idealized introductory flight lesson, one given at my leisure during ample free time, and not necessarily always realistic given the demands of instructor and training fleet scheduling. Not to mention the economic considerations of offering a discovery flight cheap enough to attract casual punters. For this reason, if you’re a prospective student, I would avoid those cheap, advertised 20-to-30-minute discovery flights, which are likely to involve little instruction and  insight into your prospective school or instructor. Instead, I would request a two-hour block of instructor time with a full 45 minutes of flight time. This will give you the opportunity to make a thorough evaluation.

When you show up 15 minutes before your scheduled start time, how is the atmosphere of the place? Harried and chaotic or organized and calm? Does somebody greet you promptly and appear to know what you’re there for? Your instructor may well be finishing a lesson with another student. How do they handle the transition? Is there a quiet briefing area, and do you notice other instructors briefing their students before their flights? Does your instructor explain what you’re going to do without resorting to jargon you don’t know? When you go out to the airplane, does your instructor seem rushed? Do they teach you the preflight or at least talk through what they’re looking at? Is the airplane beat up with apparently inoperative equipment?

While the instructor is taxiing out and taking off, do they explain what they’re doing? After takeoff, how soon do they give you control, and how do they handle the transition to active instruction? Rest assured, your aircraft control will be pretty rough at first, possibly enough to make most pilots squirm with unease. How does your instructor react? This is an excellent chance to gauge their patience. Are they paying attention to what you’re doing and how you’re doing it? Are they adjusting their instruction when you don’t understand something? Do they seem in a hurry to take the controls or to return to base? After the flight, do they give you a debriefing and a chance to ask questions? I’d suggest a frank discussion about the instructor’s experience, their students’ check ride pass rate, their career goals going forward, and the chances of them sticking around the flight school during your planned time frame for primary training.

Let’s say you do three of these introductory lessons at three flight schools with three instructors. At the end, you should have about 2.3 hours logged (which certainly counts towards PPL requirements), be getting pretty good at basic aircraft control, and have a good idea of the differences between flight schools and instructors. Hopefully, you’ve found one that you mesh with well. When you consider the considerable cost of ineffective instruction or having to switch schools or instructors midstream, I’d say these 2.3 hours of discovery flights should be money well spent.

The post Voyages of Discovery Can Be Money Well Spent appeared first on FLYING Magazine.

Airline pilot and instructor Sam Weigel takes a look at the recent accident involving a CFI and student who flew into a thunderstorm in a Piper PA-28 Cherokee and died. Weigel goes through the positive aspects of instructing and how the experience can give pilots great skills for future professional flying.

• READ MORE: NTSB Preliminary Report on Kentucky Fatal Crash Released

• READ MORE: Death by Time Builder

The post Instructing Isn’t for Everyone, but It Gives You Great Skills appeared first on FLYING Magazine.

I’ve been trading texts with a good friend of mine—an airline pilot we’ll call “Scott”— regarding the flying career of his 27-year-old daughter, “Karla.” Ever since she decided to start flying in her late teens, Karla has had the goal of eventually working for Scott’s airline and would ideally like to fly a trip with him before he retires in a few years.

To this end, she attended a university with a popular collegiate aviation program that has an official relationship with said airline and whose alumni are well represented in its ranks. While in school, she took a semester to do a flight operations internship with Scott’s airline. And after instructing for a few years to build her flight time, Karla was hired at her dream airline’s wholly owned regional airline, which has a flow-through agreement in place by which its r pilots advance to the mainline carrier in seniority order, albeit at a metered rate.

By all appearances, Karla would seem to have done everything right, and in normal times I think her career moves would have made sense given her goals. But the past two years have not been normal times. Karla has been at her regional airline for 13 months now and is becoming increasingly frustrated by the perception that she’s stuck there with no way to advance. She’s still a ways from upgrading to captain and will need to be in the left seat for two years before she is eligible to flow to mainline.

Meanwhile, Scott’s airline has been hiring historically huge numbers of pilots—2,500 per year—many of whom have similar qualifications to Karla. They are not, however, hiring from her regional outside of the restrictions of the flow. By going to her dream airline’s associated regional, Karla has unwittingly put herself at a huge disadvantage. Now she is watching in frustration as the mainline ranks fill up with young, ever-senior pilots. She fears the music will stop on this hiring cycle before she has a seat. 

This has been a common hiring dynamic at the airlines for years before the existence of ubiquitous flow agreements: Major airlines have long been loath to sap pilots from their associated regionals and add to their staffing woes, much preferring to poach pilots from competing carriers’ regionals. During the current pilot shortage, a common workaround has been to go from a regional airline right seat to a low-cost carrier like Spirit, JetBlue, or Frontier (all of which were reduced to hiring low-time regional first officers by mid-2021), where one becomes attractive again to mainline recruiters. Scott’s airline has hired quite a few pilots from Karla’s regional by way of Spirit or Frontier, sometimes pausing there for as little as six months. However, over the summer the job market has tightened just enough for the low-cost carriers to get pickier, and they are avoiding pilots who they think will not stick around. Karla has applied to all the low-cost carriers without success. Her college, internship, father, and current regional all betray her mercenary intent.

I can sympathize with Karla’s dilemma. I too was “stuck” at the regionals after 9/11—for a full decade as it turned out. For many pilots of my generation, it’s wryly amusing to see ambitious twenty-something pilots scramble to escape the (now well-paid) regional airlines after as little as one year of employment in the sector. But to be honest, I feel that, in a perverse way, I was almost lucky to be stuck in place when I was. Yes, I was making little money without much hope of advancement, but most everyone was in the same situation. The majors were hiring precious few, so I didn’t have to worry about missing the boat, and that helped me enjoy my time at the regionals. In comparison, today’s regional pilots like Karla have every reason to worry that they are getting left behind and growing increasingly desperate to avoid that fate. It’s a little sad to see.

I’ve advised Scott that if Karla can’t attract the eye of a low-cost carrier, she should change her focus to the other two legacy major airlines. Chances are they are all too happy to poach pilots from Karla’s regional. Even though these airlines aren’t the one Karla’s been dreaming about working for all these years, they have similar fleets and contracts, her flying opportunities and earning potential will be on par, and her seniority progression might be a little better. And once she’s on property at a mainline career, Scott’s airline might come calling after all. 

For those who are applying to the regional airlines, I think Karla’s case should be considered as a cautionary tale. If your end goal is a particular major airline, think long and hard about whether you want to work for any of its associated regional airlines. Be especially wary if it has a flow-through agreement in place. Flows have a time and place—and  I was hired at my major airline via a flow-through. But in this hiring cycle, they are velveteen handcuffs.

The post Stuck at the Regionals: The Downside to Flow Agreements appeared first on FLYING Magazine.

Professional pilot and FLYING contributor Sam Weigel updates the progress on his hangar home project and details some of the possibilities that come with international nonrevenue travel.

Weigel also answers a burning question from a member of the FLYING V1 Rotate audience: Will my tattoos keep me from getting a job with one of the majors? 

• READ MORE: 6 Things to Know Before Launching Professional Flight Training

• READ MORE: How to See the World for Free and Occasionally Sleep in Airports

The post Will Tattoos Prevent a Pilot from Being Hired at a Major Airline? appeared first on FLYING Magazine.

Three months ago, I wrote a V1 Rotate primer to the wild and wonderful world of non-revenue travel, a benefit that all U.S. Part 121 passenger airlines and many freight carriers offer their employees, including pilots. This week, we’re going to talk about another form of travel benefit that is specific to pilots and is offered by every Part 121 carrier and some Part 135 operators. 

Jumpseat privileges are typically available mere days after receiving your employee badge, yet some employers do a minimal job of instructing new hire pilots in their use. Jumpseating is an area where it’s very possible to step on toes and even get yourself in trouble if you run afoul of the rules and etiquette, so it’s worth becoming familiar with the process early on.

A jumpseat is an extra seat in the cockpit (or sometimes two, particularly on A320s and widebody aircraft) that is intended for use by check airmen conducting line checks, FAA observers, or relief pilots in an augmented crew. When jumpseats are empty, which is often, airlines in the U.S. and Canada make them available for use by off-duty pilots—both their own employees and those who fly for other airlines, for both commuting and for personal travel. This is important because normal non-revenue travel requires that a passenger seat be empty. In the post-COVID travel boom, it’s not at all unusual for flights to be 100 percent full, and then the jumpseat is the best seat on the plane—nevermind that it’s often cramped and poorly padded. Without the use of the jumpseat, commuting would be far more difficult.

• READ MORE: 6 Things to Know Before Launching Professional Flight Training

I should note that the seats in the cabin normally used by the flight attendants are also known as jumpseats. Many aircraft have more cabin jumpseats than standard flight attendant crew. The extras are usually available for use by commuting flight attendants—or, in their absence, by “on-line” pilots [e.g. those employed by the operating airline].

Jumpseating, as a verb, refers to more than occupying an available jumpseat. It encompasses the use of jumpseat privileges. This can be on your own airline or on another carrier with which your employer has a reciprocal jumpseat agreement. It can refer to use of the cockpit jumpseat, a cabin jumpseat, or “flowing back” to an available passenger seat. In every case, the use of jumpseat privileges is considered a professional courtesy extended by the flight’s captain at his or her discretion. This makes it distinct from non-revving, and is where a lot of the unwritten etiquette (and potential for ruffled feathers) comes into play. Additionally, when jumpseating you are considered an additional crew member, which is another area with potential pitfalls.

The first of these is dress. Here, airline policies vary somewhat. You will never go wrong jumpseating in uniform. Most airlines accept business wear. Many (but not all) accept business-casual and 95 percent of the time, you’ll be okay in slacks, a polo or button-down shirt, and reasonably dressy shoes. Wear sneakers and you’re straddling the line and might get called out. Do not be the schmuck who shows up in jeans and a T-shirt because the flight “unexpectedly filled up.” Also keep in mind that you are subject to the very same rules regarding alcohol as if you were working the flight. At some airlines, it is 12 hours from bottle to throttle—or bottle to jumpseat.

• READ MORE: How to Pace Your Flight Training Like a Pro

Procedures for “listing” for the jumpseat also vary. Some airlines allow you to simply show up at the gate and present your credentials to the gate agent, and they will list you on the spot. Others require you to list yourself online or by phone. You need to do your research beforehand, particularly when jumpseating on any carrier for the first time. The Air Line Pilots Association (ALPA) App, available for both iOS and Android, is an excellent resource for jumpseat policies and procedures. It can be used by any airline pilot, not just ALPA members.

Whether listed or not, identify yourself to the gate agent as a flight deck jumpseater. They will verify your employment credentials (I’m being intentionally vague here; the process is anyways fairly opaque to the pilot). Once checked in, wait nearby until the end of boarding unless the gate agent invites you to board earlier. If the pilots arrive at the gate after you, this is an excellent time to introduce yourself to the crew and ask the captain for a ride, so long as they’re not late and harried.

When there are multiple jumpseaters, each airline has a priority list to determine who gets the seat or seats. Check airmen and FAA observers get first whack at the flight deck jumpseat. After that comes on-line jumpseaters; these might be sorted by seniority, time of listing, or time of check-in. Next often comes pilots who work for associated carriers (regional pilots on their mainline partner or vice-versa). And finally, unassociated off-line jumpseaters, usually in order of check-in time.

Once all revenue and non-revenue standby passengers have been cleared, the gate agent will go down the list of jumpseaters. They will normally first fill any unused passenger seats (“flow-back”), then the flight deck jumpseat(s), and finally any extra cabin jumpseats (for on-line pilots only). In the case of both on-line and off-line jumpseaters, the gate agent may ask the on-line pilot if they’re willing to take a cabin jumpseat to get the others on. It’s good karma to accept—or better yet, volunteer. The entire system of jumpseating is essentially built on “we’re all in this together.”

No matter which seat you are assigned, so long as you are traveling on jumpseat authority (and haven’t switched over to a non-rev listing), you are still a jumpseater. This means that as you reach the aircraft door, introduce yourself to the lead flight attendant and ask to speak to the pilots. Entering the cockpit, wait for the crew to finish any checklists or briefings, then introduce yourself and ask the captain if you can catch a ride. Have your company ID, boarding pass/jumpseat form, and FAA certificate and medical all ready at hand. If you have been assigned the flight deck jumpseat and haven’t jumpseated on that model of aircraft before, tell the captain this so they can brief you on how to deploy and stow the jumpseat, use of the audio panel and oxygen mask, and emergency egress procedures.

• READ MORE: Soft and Short Field Operations: Relevant to Professional Pilots?

While jumpseating, you are considered part of the crew. In the flight deck, observe sterile cockpit below 10,000 feet and keep your phone off and stowed the entire time. Though not required, it’s good form to don a headset and monitor ATC as you observe the crew and scan for traffic. I’ve saved several crews from potential pilot deviations while jumpseating, and I’ve had several sharp jumpseaters save me from embarrassing mistakes. Falling asleep on the jumpseat is a bit of a faux pas, though it’s understandable when it happens to tired pilots who have just finished a trip.

If on a flight attendant jumpseat, you are an oddity to the passengers and are a prime candidate for a live stream. Don’t nap or read in passenger view, and keep the phone stowed. If you were lucky and snagged that last empty first class seat while wearing civvies, keep in mind that booze is off-limits even to jumpseaters in passenger seats.

Lastly, I will note that use of the flight deck jumpseat internationally is usually restricted to on-line pilots (except at some cargo carriers)—but off-line pilots can still jumpseat overseas if there are passenger seats open. You will have to check in at the ticket counter, outside of security, and you may need to get a supervisor involved as many overseas ticket agents are unfamiliar with jumpseat procedures.

Once you are hired at a carrier that has jumpseat agreements, your union’s jumpseat committee is an excellent source of information and can answer any questions you have. If the subject interests you, volunteering for the jumpseat committee is a low-pressure entry into union work. 

The post A Seat To Jump For appeared first on FLYING Magazine.

Looking back over the progression of professional flight training, there are a few things that airline captain Sam Weigel now wishes that he knew then.

This week, Weigel details six of those.

For one, use of the trim is a skill to be honed early and used often. “Early in your training, get in the habit of constantly trimming and you’ll find the flying much easier,” Weigel says.

For another example, go-arounds shouldn’t be considered failures, either, according to Weigel. He says all his scary landings stemming from botched approaches during training could have all been prevented with a timely decision to just go around.

“Let me tell you something that will make things easier,” he says. “An approach is a maneuver that ends in either a landing or a go-around, and either is a perfectly normal outcome.” 

• READ MORE: Grass Strip Landings with a Pro

The post 6 Things to Know Before Launching Professional Flight Training appeared first on FLYING Magazine.

Over the last few months, I’ve seen a lot of chatter online about the pace of flight training—both from students who feel theirs is excessive and those bemoaning their perceived slow progress. 

I’ve also seen a lot of pilots in accelerated training programs complain about getting severely burned out on flying, often about the time they hit 200 hours (as little as three months in). The major theme underlying both discussions is haste, an almost universal sense that the clock is ticking on the pilot shortage and, if you don’t want to miss out, you’d better grind your butt off and get your chair before the music stops.

Reinforcing this zeitgeist are ubiquitous tales of 24-year-olds getting hired at the likes of United and Delta just a few years after sailing through their own zero-to-hero programs. For many who have thrown themselves into the training mill over the past two years, this is the career standard to which they aspire and the motivation that keeps them going. It’s also an effective bait for flight training organizations to dangle before aspirants’ eyes, convincing them their reward will be well worth the premium associated with signing on the dotted line.

When discussing the ideal pace of flight training, there are a few basic assumptions that need to be plainly stated. Yes, seniority matters a great deal at the airlines: regional, legacy and low-cost, passenger and cargo, union and nonunion. Yes, getting hired earlier gives you greater control over your life with a wider array of options to make good money or command a good schedule (or if you’re senior enough, both). Yes, this is a cyclical industry, and every hiring boom is inevitably followed, at some point, by lean times. Yes, the airlines have added many thousands of young, forever-senior pilots to their ranks in the past few years.

However, anybody getting into this career needs to accept that there is a great deal out of their control and also recognize there are a lot of acceptable career outcomes that don’t involve being a widebody airline captain by your 40s. Yes, the industry is cyclical, but you can’t time it. Nobody in the industry saw 9/11 coming. Nobody predicted the regional hiring boom of 2007 would abruptly cease in 2008. When COVID-19 hit, absolutely no one foresaw it leading directly to record-shattering hiring within 18 months. Personally, my timing couldn’t have been much worse, getting my ratings just in time for 9/11 and the “lost decade” that followed. This simply meant I was on the leading edge of the next upswing. Actually, there’s no such thing as “bad timing” in this career. There are the few that get lucky and the many that ride the waves as best they can, sometimes to places they never saw themselves going.

Which brings me to the airlines. I personally think we’re past the crest at the majors. To be sure, the legacy airlines will likely continue to hire as elevated retirements continue for some years, but most of the captains (and most certainly the widebody captains) for the next three decades are already on property—young and forever senior. Low-cost carriers still have enough attrition and growth that there’s a bit more opportunity available. Startups and regionals probably offer the most possibility of advancement, but long-term pay and stability will always be major question marks with these carriers.

I suspect many of those starting their training today—or really anyone still significantly below ATP minimums—will face significant stagnation at the airlines, which, with today’s work rules and pay rates, can still yield a pretty decent career. The smart move in that case, I think, will be to look beyond the airlines to other industry sectors, many of which are still quite hollowed out of experienced pilots because of attrition to the majors. This includes corporate aviation, the fractionals, air taxi operators, general aviation—and, interestingly, the military. These are sectors where seniority is not nearly as important and jumping between employers is much more common. Building qualifications (type ratings and time in type), networking, and keeping a clean training and employment record are how you advance. In other words, there’s no game of musical chairs here. You don’t have to stress about making a mad rush through training to grab that winning seniority number. That’s a particularly salient point when the mad rush is driving some pilots, well, mad—before their career has even begun.

I used to instruct at a flight school that offered accelerated courses often to students who came to California on a training holiday. We did a three-week private pilot course, a two-week instrument rating, and a five-day commercial-AMEL. This is fairly ambitious. It involved two flights per day, sometimes more when weather and maintenance caused delays, with all remaining time devoted to ground training or self-study. A distinct minority of students completed the courses in the allotted time. To be honest, they were freaks of nature: sharp as hell, overprepared, and possessed of unusual stamina and stubbornness. For the mere mortals, you could see the exhaustion set in and retention plummet over the course of the second week. They weren’t bad students or bad pilots by any means. They were basically human. Most of us can only drink from the firehose for so long.

There was a time—back when I was a broke kid scraping together $60 for an hour of dual in the Cessna 150 every month or two—when I would have killed for the chance to fly three or four times a week. Fortuitously, it turned out murder was unnecessary. I simply had to choose to rack up a mountain of student loan debt. But I still remember that morning in college when I woke up— after maybe four hours of sleep— and realized, with a disgusted groan, that I had to fly in a couple hours. Sixteen months after starting school, I had my CFI—which, compared to a flight academy, is glacially slow, but I was nevertheless severely burned out. I got a much-needed break—and a fateful introduction to airline life—with a flight operations internship at Trans World Airlines. Since then, I’ve completed several accelerated courses: CFII, MEI, and seaplane and glider ratings—and licensed skydiver training, which is truly drinking from a firehose. These were all intense but short—a 100-meter dash, if you will. They were nice challenges but too quick to burn me out. Trying to crank out your private, instrument, commercial and multi in six months or less is, by comparison, an Ironman Triathlon. If I’d chosen to go that route, I don’t know that I would have made it through.

I’m not saying nobody should go to an accelerated flight academy. It certainly has its place. Some people thrive well in that environment. Sometimes life circumstances only allow limited time for training. But I very much hate to see otherwise promising pilots become burned out on flying early in their careers—or even abandon their dream altogether—all because there’s a perception that you need to hurry through or you’ll miss the boat. It’s important to recognize there is more than one boat in this industry, especially at this point in the hiring cycle, and  there are a lot of different ways to get on one. The important thing is to find a way that works for you without leaving you exhausted and dreading the days you have to go fly.

The post How to Pace Your Flight Training Like a Pro appeared first on FLYING Magazine.

Occasionally getting off the beaten path is an important experience for pilots, according to airline captain Sam Weigel.

“Many young pilots get their private and commercial licenses without ever having flown off of unpaved runways or short ones, or ones that are just short for the density altitude, or ones with obstacles or mountains around,” Weigel said. “Instead, student instructors simulate these conditions on long, paved runways, going through the motions without ever experiencing the effects of real-world conditions.”  

• Soft and Short Field Operations: Relevant to Professional Pilots?

This week, Weigel flies to three grass strips to review the important short- and soft-field techniques a pilot can hone while visiting them.

The post Grass Strip Landings with a Pro appeared first on FLYING Magazine.

When I was a young regional pilot in my early 20s, I scoffed at some of the mainline captains I met who seemed hopelessly out of touch with the realities of the modern aviation industry. Ah, the arrogance of youth. Now I’m the mainline captain and occasionally surprised to discover an industry trend that has been years in the making without me ever noticing it. Recently, when in the normal flow of cockpit conversation I mention that I own a Stinson 108 and finishing up a hangar-apartment on a 2,400-foot grass strip, a large majority of my younger first officers (FOs) say they have never landed on anything other than pavement. This is rather shocking to me.

I expect this out of military aviators, at least those outside the C-130 and C-17 communities, but many saying this come from a civilian background. In many cases, these FOs note the schools they learned to fly at—and instructed at—prohibited off-pavement operations altogether, for both training and renting, as well as operations at runways less than 3,000 feet in length—and sometimes above a certain elevation. Now that I think about it, the last several FBOs from which I rented aircraft had those same restrictions.

• READ MORE: Anatomy of a Bomb Cyclone

I’m guessing this is all insurance-driven. You can most certainly operate a Cessna 172 safely off of a 2,000-foot grass strip, if you pay close attention to weight, field condition, and density altitude, and use good technique. But the accident statistics suggest not everyone does those things, and so the insurance companies charge more to cover those activities, at least among students and renters. At a time when insurance costs are already quite onerous, most schools forgo the extra expense.

Of course, both the private and commercial airman certification standards (ACS) still include soft-field takeoff and climb, soft-field approach and landing, short-field takeoff and maximum performance climb, and short-field approach and landing as required tasks. In the absence of actual soft and/or short fields, both the training and the checking is simulated—going through the appropriate motions on long, paved runways. Sounds about as exciting as kissing your sister.

I’m going to tell you two stories from my early career that demonstrate the difference between simulated training and real-world experience. The first occurred during the summer between my junior and senior year of high school, when I was a brand-new private pilot. I was working at a lumberyard with several friends my own age. We generally spent slow periods dreaming up ways to get in trouble. One Saturday, we hatched a plan to fly a Cessna 172 to Grand Casino Hinckley in Minnesota after work for dinner and some illicit underage gambling. Back then, the casino had a private strip, and we reasoned that nobody would check the IDs of patrons who flew in. We were right.

However, this involved putting four people into a Cessna 172. We were all pretty skinny back then, and I called the flight school and told them to leave the airplane at partial fuel since we’d be right at maximum gross weight. Mind you, I had never flown a 172 at max gross weight. I was also picking up the guys at a 2,500-foot grass strip with trees surrounding it. Plus, it had rained the previous evening. You can see where this is going.

• READ MORE: The Risks of Owning an Aircraft While Training

I did all the soft-field things I had been taught, at least until liftoff, and was feeling pretty good about myself when the 172’s haunting reed-vane stall warning went “woo” and woke me out of my stupor. I put the nose down and didn’t like what I saw one bit. We had drifted well to the left of the strip (hello, P-factor!), and some very big pine trees were flashing by mere feet from my left wingtip. The only smart thing I did that day was not panic and very gingerly nursed the airplane back to centerline while holding it in ground effect, even as the trees on the far end loomed. We cleared them by 20 feet or so, and we were halfway to pattern altitude before the near consequences of my stupidity broke through the adrenalin and I started shaking uncontrollably. My passengers were blissfully oblivious. I had nightmares about those trees off my wingtip for years, and even today the thought of them puts me into a cold sweat.

My second story takes place a few years later, as a brand-spanking-new 20-year old CFI in Southern California. I had an aircraft checkout scheduled with Mathias, a German renter who was planning to head out on a long cross country. Our checkouts included a mandatory stop at Big Bear Airport (KRBF), elevation 6,752 feet msl. Mind you, prior to my own checkout several weeks earlier, I had never been to an airport at more than 2,000 feet msl. That instructor had mentioned “only come up here with an [Piper] Archer (180 hp); don’t take a Warrior (160 hp)”—but the front desk had dispatched Mathias a Warrior instead of the Archer he reserved. I didn’t want to delay Mathias’ cross-country flight. It was a relatively cool day. Looking at the takeoff and climb charts, it looked like we should have the required performance…it just required a little interpolating off the right side of the chart.

Runway 26 at Big Bear is 5,850 feet long, and off the end is a small lagoon and then a causeway with power lines, and then Big Bear Lake. Well, we lifted off after maybe 3,000 feet—but by the time I realized the airplane wouldn’t climb out of ground effect, there was no runway left. I figured we’d have to fly under the power lines, but by getting down to a couple feet over the lagoon we were able to build enough speed to mush up and over them. Then we got back down into ground effect and flew the length of the lake that way, finally clearing the dam and diving down the canyon to San Bernardino. I later found out this particular Warrior had nearly 6,000 hours on the engine since its last overhaul and was probably making no more than 130 hp on a good day at sea level. Once again, young and dumb.

• READ MORE: How to See the World for Free and Occasionally Sleep in Airports

I’m aware that both of these stories could easily be construed as evidence in favor of a soft/short/high airport ban, perhaps even deletion of those specialized skills from the ACS. After all, why does someone headed for a career in the flight levels need to know how to land on anything other than pavement? With gobs of power and balanced-field calculations on every flight, there’s not really any such thing as a truly short field in most jets, operating into most of the airports on their regular dance card. To this I have two answers: First, my own post-9/11 career demonstrates that in this unstable industry, and your own path to the flight levels may take a few detours you didn’t anticipate. Secondly and more importantly, it is exactly because airline flying is so middle-of-the-envelope that one should use their time in light aircraft to gain skills and experiences further out in the margins.

Let’s not dismiss the importance of the fun factor. In the rush to get trained and up to 1,500 hours before the pilot shortage music stops, a lot of nascent professional pilots have burned out on flying. That’s really sad. I’m convinced that keeping the fun and adventure in training and time building is the best way to build a foundation for an enjoyable aviation career. And a lot of the neatest places to fly happen to be soft and/or short strips, sometimes in mountainous locales.

For my next video episode of V1 Rotate (July 21), I’m going to take you to three such airports in the Cascades range. I’ll show you some of the real-world techniques that will keep you safe when you venture off pavement, and we’ll have some fun exploring a really beautiful area of the country.

The post Soft and Short Field Operations: Relevant to Professional Pilots? appeared first on FLYING Magazine.

Owning your own aircraft for flight training and building flight hours can be wildly rewarding, but it also comes with risks. 

Airline captain Sam Weigel shares his experience of owning a 1953 Piper Pacer while he was building hours early on and how he navigated an unexpected turn of events.

• READ MORE: How To See the World for Free and Occasionally Sleep in Airports

“Thinking back to the years when I was training and time building, I did not have $20,000 to lose,” Weigel said. “Such a financial setback might have killed my career before it even got started.”

• READ MORE: Should You Buy an Airplane for Training and Time Building?

The post The Risks of Owning an Aircraft While Training appeared first on FLYING Magazine.

One of the benefits of working for the passenger airlines in the U.S.—and some cargo carriers—is the ability to travel as a “nonrevenue passenger,” or “nonrev.” Over my 19 years of working for three airlines, my wife and I have been avid nonrevs and traveled to more than 60 countries on 27 major airlines from five continents. 

Over the years, I have found newcomers to the industry often misunderstand the scope of their travel benefits, their employers frequently put little effort into educating them, and their older coworkers frequently and rather cynically denounce the usefulness of nonrev benefits.

The basic idea of nonrevenue travel is airlines frequently have empty seats, and when they do, employees of that airline, their affiliates, and other airlines (usually in that order) get to use them, “space available” or “standby,” for free or by paying a nominal fee. Airlines try not to have empty seats, sometimes through the use of heavy overbooking—which can backfire— and therein lies the challenge—and the adventure—of nonrevving. When you’re traveling standby, anything can and will happen, and it pays to be flexible, give yourself extra time for travel, and adopt a Zen attitude.

• READ MORE: Choosing the CFI Route

The easiest form of nonrevving is going on your own airline—or, if you work for a regional airline, going on your major airline partner(s). This is because you’ll have a website on which you can check exact flight loads, review the standby list, and “list” yourself with a standby reservation. You’ll also have the highest priority on your own airline, and most give their own employees access to first-class or business-class seats. Travel on your airline is also usually free, except when departing from international destinations, where you’ll be charged a departure tax.

That said, you’re doing yourself a disservice by limiting yourself. There will be routes your airline doesn’t serve or on which other airlines provide more service, and sometimes when your carrier’s flights are booked full, other airlines’ loads are lighter. 

My wife and I have experienced very good luck with the strategy of taking our own airline across the Atlantic to Amsterdam or Paris, or across the Pacific to Tokyo or Seoul, South Korea—often in a first-class seat—and then continuing to our destination on a European or Asian carrier. It is particularly noteworthy that European Union airlines tend not to overbook because of the punitive penalties they incur for involuntary denied boardings, and in more than 20 nonrev segments on EU carriers, we have always got on the flight.

Back in the “bad old days,” travel on other airlines was done via “ID90” paper passes issued by your own airline—often a long and troublesome process. It’s far easier and cheaper these days. Most OAL passes are now ZED, or Zonal Employee Discount, which is a flat fee based on distance, plus taxes. These are as little as $30 and usually less than $150 for even the longest flights. Most airlines now use Electronic ZED, or e-ZED, with passes and refunds issued on a fairly user-friendly website that also lets you check general flight loads and lists you on your desired flight. It’s still smarter to purchase and list OAL passes before the day of travel, but I have walked between various ticket desks at international airports inquiring who has seats open, and once I found a suitable candidate, hopping on the e-ZED website to purchase the pass and list myself.

Most airlines used to have a rather strict dress code for nonrevs. This has relaxed considerably in the states and somewhat overseas but still varies by airline, so check your airline’s pass travel agreements for details. In any case, I’ve always found it pays to dress nicely as a nonrev because you have a better shot at one of those elusive business-class seats.

• READ MORE: How To Prepare for Your First Airline Training Program

When traveling on your own airline, you can usually check in online 24 hours prior to departure. When traveling OAL, you will usually need to check in at the airport—domestically you can often do so at a kiosk, but internationally you often need to check in with an agent. Overseas, some airlines make you wait at the check-in desk until they assign your seat, which can lead to a last-minute rush through customs and security to make your flight. Otherwise, make your way to the gate at your own leisure, park yourself somewhere within audible distance of the gate agent, and wait for them to call your name. Some airlines/airports provide screens  to monitor the standby list and see when you are issued a seat, but even with these the gate agent will often call you to the podium.

At most airlines, the standby list is ordered by seniority among mainline employees, then seniority among affiliated regional airline employees, then parents and retirees, then buddy pass riders, and then OAL employees. Some airlines issue their employees a limited number of “vacation passes” each year that can be used for super-seniority on the standby list.

As a nonrev, you are expected to be unobtrusive, so you really don’t want to be harassing the gate agent with questions about seats available or your place on the standby list. Some will react extremely poorly to any nonrev approaching the podium without being called. That said, they do make mistakes and sometimes become rushed and overlook people at the end of the boarding process, so once the boardings have reduced to a trickle, it pays to stand somewhere you’re very noticeable. When I haven’t been called, they’re printing the final paperwork, and I know there are still seats available, a polite “I’m sorry. I may have missed it. Have you cleared nonrevs already?” yields good results.

When your name is called, collect your boarding pass and board with your assigned group. I will usually introduce myself as a nonrev to the flight attendant at the boarding door, give them my seat number, and tell them to let me know if I can help (believe it or not, I have been called on twice during security situations). When traveling OAL overseas, I often bring chocolates or a small local treat for the crew. This has occasionally yielded an upgrade when there were open seats in business class, and the gate agent didn’t give me one (policy usually prohibits this for OAL nonrevs), but it’s not the sort of thing you should ever ask for. Again, on the airplane you need to be as unobtrusive as possible. Be coy—or just silent—about your nonrev status with paying passengers.

• READ MORE: A Superheated Shortage

What if the gate agent closes the jet bridge door without calling your name? The flight likely went out full, and you’ll have to move on to Plan B, C, or D. But don’t leave the gate until the flight actually pushes back. I’ve got on several flights by sticking around the gate when people senior to me have already left.

Nonrev benefits normally extend to spouses, dependent children, and parents (though parent benefits on OALs vary). Usually you’ll also have a limited number of “buddy passes” to distribute to friends of your choosing. Be very careful who you give these to. Buddy passes are fairly expensive (equivalent to ID90s) and travel at very low priority, and their chances of getting stuck are high. Be sure that not only your buddies but all of your pass riders are familiar with nonrev policies and etiquette. You are responsible for your pass riders, and any misbehavior on their part may result in pass privilege suspension or other discipline for yourself. Also, do not under any circumstances sell or trade buddy passes to strangers. That will absolutely get you fired.

There are plenty of other nuances to nonrevving, but you’ll find the techniques that work for you with time. It’s definitely something that becomes easier and more natural with time. Normal people find it crazy that I’ve twice gone to Thailand and only found out whether I was going around the globe westbound or eastbound five minutes before departure—but for a nonrev, that’s par for the course. Unpredictability and spontaneity just come with the territory.

The post How to See the World for Free and Occasionally Sleep in Airports appeared first on FLYING Magazine.

The pilot shortage continues to evolve, particularly when it comes to recent hiring changes at the regional and cargo airline level. Recently, a regional airline introduced a new wrinkle for its prospective pilots—a legal agreement requiring all new hires  to commit to working for it for at least three years.

• READ MORE: Is the Pilot Shortage Over?

Boeing 737 pilot Sam Weigel goes through the details of this legal agreement from a professional’s perspective—why it’s making a stir in the pilot community, and what it ultimately will mean for future hiring.

• READ MORE: Building Flight Hours When There’s No Appetite for Instruction

The post Regional Airline Contract Boxes In New Pilot Hires appeared first on FLYING Magazine.

In my previous installment of V1 Rotate, I noted some of the reasons that a fledgling professional pilot might choose not to flight instruct, and listed a number of alternate means of time-building. Most of those alternative jobs, however, have their own downsides in terms of pay, safety, being VFR-only, only being available in certain areas, or being tough to break into. 

I noted that the well-connected candidate with geographic flexibility is likely to have the most choice in how they get to 1,000 hours and beyond. The unspoken implication, which I most certainly did not intend, is that awkward homebodies might have to resign themselves to flight instructing after all.

I really dislike the idea, rather widespread in some quarters, that flight instruction is the time-building method of last resort. I need to be careful about how I say this, because as I’ve noted before, there’s a strong tendency in aviation for more experienced pilots to dole out advice to newcomers based on what worked for them 20 years ago—and a related attitude that insists that because one paid their dues in a certain manner, the new kids must do so as well. I try to avoid both fallacies. I do recognize that flight instructing is not for everyone. I know the downsides are real; I lived them, and the memories are still vivid two decades later.

• READ MORE: Building Flight Hours When There’s No Appetite for Instruction

And yet, so much of the “flight instructing sucks” discussion places the job in relation to those that are not necessarily obtainable to the average 300-hour pilot, rather than the more realistic alternatives. And flight instructing does, in fact, have some major upsides. No, instructing isn’t for everyone, but I do think it’s a better option than many of the naysayers realize; you’d be doing yourself a disservice to dismiss it out of hand.

One really major advantage of the CFI route is its availability and universality. There are FBOs, flight schools, academies, and collegiate flight programs in every corner of the country. The vast majority are willing to hire a 300-hour fresh CFI straight out of flight school, which is true of few other flying jobs. This isn’t to say you won’t have to pound the pavement to find the right fit for you, or that you won’t have to establish a relationship and convince them to hire you—but you’ll know where to start looking, and you won’t have to necessarily go far.

• READ MORE: Is the Pilot Shortage Over?

More to the point, you most likely won’t have to wait long to get hired and start building flight time. The sooner you get in the game and start grinding, the better. Aviation employers love job candidates with a continuous work history and a steady progression of flight time, while a lack of currency—or a history of lapses—is a red flag. A bird in the hand is definitely better than two in the bush here. If you can start instructing in two weeks, this is vastly preferable to taking three or four months off looking for a “better” alternative.

The universality of the job also lends itself to portability. Once you are instructing actively, you’ll tend to have more options. Not getting many hours during the winter in North Dakota? Make some calls to sunny Florida. School not maintaining their airplanes well or delaying that raise they promised? Dust off the resumé. A mercenary attitude can help stave off some of the downsides of the job. This isn’t necessarily true of some of the other entry-level positions like diver-driving or banner towing, where there are far fewer operators in any given area and most hiring takes place before the high season.

I won’t lie, being a CFI can be hard at times, with long hours, inadequate pay, indifferent aircraft, a high level of dependency on weather, and the occasional frightening close call. These seem to be common themes among entry-level jobs. It’s just the price of admission. The better schools minimize some negatives (low pay, poor maintenance), and others change as you gain experience and are assigned more advanced students (weather cancellations, nature of the close calls).

The instructing itself, on the other hand, can be incredibly rewarding. If you love flying and are good at it, there’s absolutely nothing better in aviation than passing on that love and those skills to another human, seeing their eyes light up when they “get it.” I enjoyed flying with the majority of my students and kept in contact with some of them for years afterward.

• READ MORE: Networking Strategies That Will Get You Noticed by the Airlines

Many new commercial pilots doubt whether they have the ability or the patience to teach. So did I. The actual teaching is really not that difficult, the FAA’s emphasis on Fundamentals of Instruction notwithstanding. You’re not teaching high-schoolers trigonometry here. You’re basically just a knowledgeable enthusiast explaining something you enjoy to someone who’s motivated to learn and letting them flail around a bit, mostly learning from their own mistakes, keeping things from going too far, and giving them the occasional pointer.

Instructing requires a reasonable base of knowledge, some humility, some empathy and patience, basic communication skills, and a little familiarity with human nature. Those are pretty much the requirements for everything you’ll do in aviation, by the way. When I think back to the crappy instructors I’ve known over the years—and I’ve met a few—lack of teaching ability was never the problem. It was always a large ego that got defensive about gaps in their skills or knowledge—or else they simply didn’t want to be there, considered instructing beneath them, and were indifferent about helping their students succeed.

I often hear the charge that flight instructing is excruciatingly boring. This one really flabbergasts me. Flight instructing was many things to me, but boring was never one of them. Mind you, the rare near-death experiences certainly kept me on my toes, but besides that, I had a wide variety of students from private to ATP, each one had different strengths and weaknesses, and I varied my lesson plans daily according to their recent triumphs and stumbles and to accommodate the vagaries of weather. I took my students to a wide variety of airports to give them the broadest possible experience, and often our destination was determined by what sort of grub we were in the mood for. If you find flight instruction boring, you’re doing it wrong—and jet flying may render you downright catatonic!

If, knowing all this, you still prefer a job where you’re the one manipulating the controls at least half the time, I can’t fault you that. I still enjoy the physical act of flying and get to partake every other leg. But regardless of the path you choose, I’d highly suggest you at least get your CFI certificate. You’ll learn a ton, and you never know when it will come in handy.

The post Choosing the CFI Route appeared first on FLYING Magazine.