A Pilot Personality?

While I was training for my private licence, my instructor informed me that I do not have the typical pilot's personality. What he meant was, I was a scatterbrain: I rarely had my papers in order, I never carried a watch with me (and no, I was not breaking the law  by not carrying at timepiece, my instructor always had one not to mention the fact that I had my cell phone), and I usually had a "good-enough" attitude. When asked to do something, like maintain a specific heading, I took that as a general guideline. I mean, this was the Fargo we were talking about. It wasn't specific, so why should I try to be? And I didn't particularly care if my heading indicator went out, I had my compass. And who really needed instruments when you're looking outside anyway? Plus, I live in a remote town, far from any aviation supply place, so yes, I might have gone to Canadian Tire a few times to get screws. They looked the same to me, they fit in the holes, and they kept the cowling on. What's wrong with that? Apparently, plenty, not to mention the fact that pilot's don't think that way.

Lately, however, I've been flying with a few other pilots and I'm starting to think he was wrong, or at least a little confused. I believe he's mostly correct in that most pilot's don't think that way, they can't. They'd most likely never make it through the training required to become an airline pilot. And instructors couldn't think that way either, or their students would never pass the test. Not to mention a great deal of pilots do like their checklists and instruments and follow everything perfectly. But instead of suggesting I do not have a "pilot's personality," he should have said that I do not have the "nosewheel pilot personality." Because I think that is where the difference lies, in the nosewheel pilot versus the tailwheel pilot.

Now, before I go further, please do not take offense. This is simply an observation I've made and when you look a little closer, you'll most likely agree. Not to mention the fact that I am not the only one who's noticed this. My tailwheel instructor described planes like this: the personal jets were for the elite rich, the Cessnas and similar planes were for the business men, and the taildraggers were the redneck plane. And if you look on youtube, you'll find plenty of tailwheel pilots labelling themselves as redneck, so it's not just me.
Let me relate it to something else, because pilots aren't the only ones with this dichotomy. Take the car industry (or car hobbiest industry) for example. There are "car show" guys and "car" guys. The "carshow guys" (and girls, I'm not trying to be sexist here, it's just easier to keep it as one thing) have their vintage vehicle that has been immaculately restored and is perfectly street legal. Police officers smile and sigh when they drive by, quietly and slowly, enjoying their vintage vehicle on a beautiful afternoon. Now, "car" guys are a little different. They don't spend time restoring it to the original, they spend their time and money making it fast, powerful and badassed. And if they happen to have money left over for a paint job, well, great, but if not, the sound of it alone is enough to make up for the rust on the exterior. And while the car show guy may know the cops because they've talked about cars together, the car guy knows the cops because they stop them everytime they drive by for reckless driving, racing, and noise pollution. 

In the aviation industry, the nosewheel pilots are your typical "carshow guys" whereas your tailwheel pilots are your "car" guys. Just look at the nosewheel planes. They're nice and luxurious, with leather interiors and full instrument panels.Their engines are built for speed to get from one airport to another quickly and smoothly. They're usually fully certified and in impecable working order. On the other hand, your typical tailwheel probably has the interior ripped out entirely to save on weight for hauling animal carcasses. The engine is powerful to support the overly large tundra tires. And it's quite often put on owner maintenance because when you're flying into the middle of nowhere, it's pretty hard to get aircraft certified parts. It's a simple fact, the nosewheel is citified, the tailwheel is countryfied. One takes you to civilization, the other takes you away from it. And along with that comes the pilots who fly them. You've got your city mouse, going into the big airports and you've got your country mouse, flying into the middle of nowhere to hunt or fish away from the rest of the world. Checklists and procedures don't apply when you're landing on the top of a mountain or on a riverbed.

So, I'm sure there are exceptions out there, nothing is ever absolute. But in terms of pilot personality, there's definitely more than one. And what would the world be like without a little contrasting personalities. The moment you add a motor to anything you're going to have differences of opinions and airplanes are no different. Basically, your nosewheel is your sleek BMW and the tailwheel is your jacked up four-by-four. I just have to decide which vehicle best suits my personality.

Okay, I don't have to decide. I know. My airplane personality is definitely the jacked up 4x4. I'm sure the beamer is nice and luxurious, but I don't care, because it's just not cool to me, only expensive.

Ahh, Texting During Engine Failure!

I went for a flight the other day. It was cold, miserable and gray, but I hadn't been flying in a few days and was suffering withdrawal. I was simply going to go up, see how the clouds were (they were pretty low) and then come in and perhaps phone someone to go for a flight if the conditions were good. However, when I hopped in the Fargo I wasn't in the mood for a solo flight, so I made a quick call to someone I'd been avoiding taking up. Why? Because he's a wee bit of a know-it-all and I didn't feel like listening to him tell me what to do the entire time. But I thought, I'm comfortable enough now, I'll just take him up for a quick jaunt and tell him where to go if he gets too opinionated.

So, he came down to the airport and we took off...just after he referred to a Cessna 210 as a Beaver and told me where I should expect the incoming plane to be. But I kept my opinions to myself, sensing his discomfort being in the tiny Fargo at the mercy of someone he'd always insisted on telling what to do. And he did seem quite excited, when I asked him if he was ready (something I asked every passenger just before I apply full power to take off) he said, absolutely, and I do believe his voice was free of the fear most of my passengers seem to have.

First things first, we had to dodge the geese that decided at that very moment to head west, right across our path (I yelled first, I guess they didn't hear me). I'm guessing the Fargo is much too quiet to give them any warning as they weren't fazed at all by the incoming propeller. So, I turned quickly and managed to avoid them.

Soon, we were back on track. As my passenger pointed out the sights to me, I kept my eye on the clouds, which were coming in quickly (this was a bit of a high point since that meant the Fargo was actually climbing...one benefit of the early winter) and my oil pressure gauge. The thing was, my oil pressure wasn't quite where it should be. It was just shy of the green but I'd figured it wasn't a big deal. It was cold and the Fargo is rather little, but I figured it would have gone straight into the green on the climb out. Unfortunately, I was wrong.

We flew for a little bit. I levelled out and applied full power, attempting to bring up my oil pressure. Instead, I'm pretty sure I detected the tiniest little drop. Nothing big, it could even have been a figment of my imagination, but I decided to check things anyway. I pulled out my cell phone. My passenger looked at me and demanded to know what I was doing (rightfully so, I've seen the pictures of people getting into accidents from texting and driving and I'm pretty sure the consequences of crashing in a plane due to texting would be much more severe). Not to seem concerned, I just said, oh, nothing, and proceeded to send a text. My husband was at the airport helping my partner in the Fargo with his new, super awesome PA-12, so I figured I'd just send him a little text asking if the oil pressure was okay, and my passenger wouldn't know the difference.

My text was returned quickly stating that the oil pressure being low definitely wasn't okay and did I not check the levels before I'd left? Instead of replying the obvious, yes, I did check it, I simply said, we're going in and turned back to the airport.

My passenger now had his head glued to the oil pressure gauge, as I'd told him what was going on. It was a mightly slow flight those 8.8 miles back to the runway. Now that we were fixated on it, I was sure the needle was dropping at a steady rate and the Fargo was losing power. Not to mention the fact that I was sure they were worried and panicking back at the hangar knowing we were losing oil pressure and needed to get back. I expected to see them standing outside the hangar, their heads tilted skywards, desperately hoping to see us come in safely, ready to come to our rescue the moment I had to drop it in a field. However, my passenger no longer told me what to do. I think being completely at my mercy in a bit of a sketchy situation made him run out of things to say.

So we came in. I debated taking the quickly route and landing in a tailwind on the runway from which we'd just taken off, but I took the chance that the Fargo could make the downwind. It did, but I kept things close and just dropped it down, making sure to still keep my landing rather perfect as I didn't want to hear how to improve later when my passenger recovered from his panic. Although, he did mention that it was a good landing, "you didn't even bounce or anything!" Wow, thanks I guess? Either way, I didn't care too much, I was safe on the ground and now my husband and our friend could stop panicking at the hangar worrying that I wouldn't make it in safely.

But when I looked around, they weren't anywhere to be found, as in, they weren't standing outside the hangar watching us come in. Oh, I thought, maybe they'd watched us come in safely, then went back to their work on the PA-12. So, I taxied to the hangar as quickly as I could.

When I got into the hangar, neither of them even turned their heads, so engrossed they were in the task at hand...getting the PA-12 airborne. The only thing they said to me was to go ahead and leave the Fargo outside as they didn't want to have to move it when they pulled out the 12. Oh. Okay.

So there I was, excited to be alive and survive such an incident, and they were buried in the plane that, although it was cool and exciting and getting its a new motor, it was still on the ground and posing no life-threat to anyone. You'd think they would have been a little concerned, at least if not for my friend at least my husband would have cared a little to know his wife was safely on the ground. I guess next time I'll make sure I run into trouble when the PA-12 is up and running. At least he'll be able to take it and land in the field containing my charred remains and salvage what he could, taking off again like a rocket!