Intermission?

I have a confession to make.

I've been avoiding making another post because I just didn't know what to say. When I returned home in mid-August from six weeks of full-time helicopter school in Hawaii, I came back to my life and job and uncertainty about how to continue with helicopters.

On the one hand, learning to fly was, and is, an incredible experience. Now when I see a helicopter flying, I smile and reflect on the bond and shared knowledge and experience I have with that other pilot. Not many people know what it feels like, and now I do. Plus, being up in the air like a bird is an incredible feeling, and I'd like to feel it more.

On the other hand, I'm not sure I can, or should, continue -- at least not right now. The fact is, flying helicopters is an incredibly difficult endeavor, requiring vast knowledge and experience.

As it stands, I've got around 30 hours of experience in the air, about halfway to my private pilot's license. I could crank out the rest of the license on weekends over the next several months, but the problem is, that's not really an end in itself.

As one instructor put it, the private rating means you know just enough to get yourself killed. Now that I've had a taste of flying, I agree with him. True competency requires at least a commercial pilot's rating, which is a whole additional level of investment in money and time.

I must admit that when I started this, I had no idea how much was required. It's a very technical, professional skill, not unlike being a lawyer or a doctor. It requires literally years of full-time study and training to become competent. That would be a huge investment to make in something I'm not planning on doing professionally -- not unlike, say, going law school just because I find law interesting. Hardly practical.

More importantly, it's a use-it-or-lose-it skill. In order to stay competent, and consequently safe, a helicopter pilot really needs to be flying all the time, at least every week or so. So, I could get my private license, but to stay safe, I would need to fly often, which is very expensive.

Which brings me to my final consideration: money. As I write this, the United States and the world are in a dramatic economic downturn that is affecting just about everyone on the planet to some degree. The stock market has crashed, and consequently the assets I was using to fund my helicopter adventure have been significantly devalued. Selling stock now would be a bad mistake.

So even if I wanted to continue with helicopter school right now, and part of me really wants to, the economic situation renders it moot.

I've been avoiding this post, because I felt I was facing failure. I didn't want to admit after all my enthusiasm and hype that I was, well...quitting.

But now that I've written it, I don't feel that way.

The truth is, my experience in Hawaii was incredible. Facing my fear of heights was an enormous achievement, and I can look back on that for confidence in any future endeavor.

And although I didn't blog about it, my time in Hawaii also led me to grow in other very important ways, such as in my family relationships (family pictured), as well as my personal health. This blog, as well, was part of that experience, and it's been unexpectedly rewarding. The response to my writing has been very flattering and encouraging.

I do feel wistful that I didn't complete my license as originally planned. But my real goal was to learn to fly a helicopter, and I did that.

I began this adventure by saying that a journey of a thousand miles begins with a single step. I took that step, and now the journey continues. Whether or not my path will one day cross back through this place, I cannot say.

So, until then, I'll leave you with this thought from my first day of helicopter school, when even hovering seemed beyond my reach:

The only difference between impossible and possible is belief.

Don't forget that.



P.S. Any travelers who should happen upon my words here can probably reach me at jake(-AT-)jakesibley.com. I'll be glad to hear from you.

How much can you fit in your head?

When I got into this, I figured it was going to be tough. I was right. What I didn't realize was how much other stuff you have to learn when you're learning to fly helicopters -- or more specifically, how much other stuff you have to learn to get your helicopter pilot's license.

Here are some of the major areas of knowledge (although I'm leaving some out, I'm sure). Each of these is a vast subject unto itself:

Aerodynamics of helicopters
Where do I start? You have to learn the physics of lift, weight, thrust, and drag. (The latter would include profile drag, form drag, induced drag, and parasitic drag.) You have to understand the physics of airfoils. The consequences of rotor blades changing angle and/or speed. Newton's laws. The Coriolis effect. Bernoulli's principle. Gyroscopic precession.

But wait, there's more. You must understand the incredibly complex interdependent relationships between the controls, the main rotor, the tail rotor, the engine, and the aircraft body, all of which are subject to changes in the others, but in very complex ways. Remember when I said that helicopter pilots couldn't possibly understand all the technical information in Principles of Helicopter Flight? I was wrong. They do.

Physics of air
Helicopters are incredibly sensitive to changes in the density, temperature, pressure, and moisture content of the air in which they are flying. It's very possible, if you aren't careful, to take off at one airport, travel to another where the air is different, and not be able to hover or land. So not only do you have to understand the physics of these air qualities, but also how to predict how they will affect the helicopter, from minute to minute and place to place.

Weather
Obviously, if you have to know the physics of air, you also have to know what the air is doing where you are, and where you are going to be. So you have to understand weather theory, weather patterns, forecasting, cloud types, precipitation, fronts, storms. You also have to know how to find and obtain the relevant weather reports for your flight, and then decode them -- because all weather information is published online in a highly abbreviated form that looks like gibberish.

Aircraft systems
You have to understand how your helicopter works. Not just put the gas in this hole, like with your car. You have to understand spark plugs, carburetors, transmissions, alternators, oil systems, fuel systems, electrical systems, and so on. You have to know where these things are, so you can check them before a flight, and you have to know what the consequences are if one of them stops working correctly. So you can recognize the problem and address it. While flying.

Instruments
There are several essential instruments: Altimeter, airspeed indicator, vertical speed indicator, manifold pressure gauge, and compass. (Am I forgetting one?) You must not only understand what they are and what they are telling you, but also how their insides work and under what conditions they might give you bad information. Here's an actual question from the FAA pilot's test:

In the Northern Hemisphere, the magnetic compass will normally indicate a turn toward the north when:
a) the aircraft is decelerated while on an east or west heading
b) a left turn is entered from a west heading
c) the aircraft is accelerated while on an east or west heading

The answer is C.

Navigation
While GPS makes it much easier for aircraft to find their position, you still have to learn all the old methods used with compass, pencil, plotter, and navigation beacons, of which there are several kinds, all different.

Oh, and have you ever seen an aviation chart? It's a kaleidoscope of colors, lines, and symbols, all of which mean something, and if you're flying near any of them, you better know what they mean. Here's a picture of the San Diego area:


Rules and regulations
You know how every so often there's a Popular Science article about how we're all going to have flying cars in fifteen years? My helicopter instructor and I had a real good laugh over that. People have enough trouble staying between the yellow lines and stopping at red lights. The rules and regulations you need to know and follow to be a pilot are far more complex. Believe it or not, there is a lot of traffic up there, and lots of rules to follow.

Airport operations
Obviously, airports have serious potential for accidents, not just because aircraft are taking off and landing there, but because there are so many aircraft in a small area. Not to mention fuel trucks. So you have to understand all the procedures, signs, and lights that are used at airports. And you have to be able to look up any airport in the country to get all its particular idiosyncrasies before you go there. Remember how I said all weather information is in highly abbreviated, cryptic code? Yeah, same thing with airport info.

Radios and communications
Pilots and air traffic controllers speak a different language. First, you have to learn the language. Then you have to learn when you're supposed to talk, and when you're not. And what you're supposed to say. To whom. But that's just part of it.

You also have to know how to operate your transceivers, which are the radios you talk with, and the transponder, which broadcasts your aircraft's position and altitude. You have to know what frequency you should be talking on, depending on who and where you are. And what transponder setting you should use.

You have to know what to do if your transceiver stops working and you can't talk. And how to communicate if you've been hijacked. You should probably also know the transponder setting used by the military to identify unmanned targets. Might want to avoid accidentally advertising yourself as one of those.

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So those are the basics. To think I could learn it all in six weeks was nuts. What does that mean for me now that I'm back from Hawaii and back at my day job?...well, I guess that'll have to be the subject of another blog post.

On helicopters and fairy tales

Despite Harrison Ford's visibility as a helicopter pilot, I don't think helicopters share the same glamour that private airplanes enjoy. While pilots are cool, helicopter pilots are kind of...different. (I actually enjoy this.)

That said, helicopters just acquired some romantic allure with the recent announcement that Prince William, second-in-line to the British throne, is going to become a helicopter pilot. Time Magazine reports:

Britain's Prince William announced on Monday that he will train with the Royal Air Force (RAF) to be a full-time search and rescue pilot...He has decided to enroll in an 18-month training program to fly Sea King rescue helicopters. Read more...

So now the crown Prince will be be riding his steel stallion into dangerous circumstances and risking his own life to rescue those in distress.

Romantic? Undoubtably. Good for helicopters' public image? Sure.

And in a fairy tale of my own, I'm going to go ahead and assume this blog inspired the Prince towards his career decision.

Shout out to my sky sista

I want to thank "Jen," who left this comment on my blog a couple posts back:

I just wanted to say how much I enjoy reading your blog. I had my first lesson in an R22 last month and was immediately hooked, but I share all your reservations and fears! It's so reassuring to read of someone else going through the same thing. Most flying blogs are very technical and miss out the whole emotional element of learning to fly. I've done 3.5 hours now, not sure how far I'll take it, but I'm sticking at it so far!

The delicious irony is that I've made a calculated effort to include interesting technical information to keep this blog from devolving into a self-absorbed personal drama bore-fest. Who knew!

As for you, Jen, I appreciate the reading and the comment. I have a few friends and family who very kindly keep up with my ramblings, but for the most part I often feel like I may as well be writing to a black hole. So thank you, you just made writing this blog worth it.

Keep up the flying, I'll be right here.

Are you paying attention?

Some time after my instructor surprised me with an autorotation, we departed the cliffs of the north shore for a pleasant flight back to Kona Airport.

I'm fairly comfortable flying the machine straight-and-level now, so I was able to glance around a bit and take in the view as I flew. I felt wonderfully relaxed as we cruised lazily south in smooth air 1500 feet above dark lava fields.

For safety, we traveled over a lone highway that bisected the lava below; in helicopters, you always want a safe landing spot in sight, and the broken volcanic rubble was not very inviting.



After some time without any conversation, Grant prompted me for the wind direction, gently testing me on what pilots call "situational awareness." We discussed various wind indicators and agreed on a general direction.

"Do you have a spot in sight?" he asked. I was puzzled by this needless question. Obviously the highway was our spot; we were intentionally following it, and there was not much else but rugged lava.

"Sure. The highway," I said, wondering exactly how stupid he thought I was.

"Ok. Engine failure," he said, and cut the throttle.

Now here's the thing. If a helicopter experiences catastrophic engine failure, the pilot has a few seconds -- like maybe three -- to initiate autorotation, or else the rotor stalls and you fall from the sky like a stone.

"Fuuuckkk!" I exclaimed, utterly stunned.

It was already over. Grant had taken the controls and initiated the autorotation for me. My brain sputtered and sizzled, grasping to cope with an onslaught of stimuli.

"You got it," he said -- our phrase for exchanging controls -- and I reflexively took it back, my synapses surging into action. I won't bother re-listing all the things a pilot has to process in autorotation, but I will say the experience was like being suddenly wrenched from sleep by a bucket of ice water, a blaring freight train, and a pack of rapidly advancing blood-thirsty hyenas.

I managed to get a grip on myself and keep the helicopter under control in the descent. We coasted down to within a few hundred feet of the highway, re-engaged the engine, and then gradually resumed our altitude and course.

My thundering pulse eventually eased, but I was mentally rattled for the rest of the flight. If I'd been alone, I would have been dead. It was a very effective lesson. You must always be ready. Always.

Express elevator, going down

The other day my instructor and I flew over the shoulder of the volcanic ridge that crowns the island of Hawaii. It was a spectacular flight that took us to the heavens at five thousand feet. The chilly air dimpled our skin, wisps of cloud fluttered at our feet, and stark sunshine streamed into the cockpit. Cows in the fields below looked like pepper spilled on moss.

On the other side of the ridge, I was happily filming some video when he hit me with the first of two surprises that day.

"Autorotation in three-two-one."

Without even giving each count a full second, he flattened the rotor blades and cut the throttle to enter an engineless descent. I was caught a bit by surprise, and you can see the lurch in my footage as gravity is momentarily lost.

"You asshole," I jabbed, jokingly. I tend to curse when I get suddenly spooked by heights, so much so that my first instructor instituted a three-expletives-per-flight rule.

Besides being used for emergency landings, autorotation is the express elevator down in a helicopter. He was using it to quickly lose altitude down the long slope to our next objective, the seaside cliffs of the northern shore. Halfway down, it became apparent that our descent was too steep to clear the cliff edge and glide out over the sea.

Rather than re-engage the throttle, he chose to demonstrate a peculiarity of the helicopter's design. By allowing rotor rotation to slow to 90% of normal RPM, a Robinson R22 pilot can maximize the glide angle in an autorotation, buying more horizontal distance per altitude lost.

It's a maneuver not to be taken lightly. At any value below 97%, the Low RPM Horn begins wailing, alerting the pilot of the vulnerable condition. At any value below 80%, the rotor stalls, and you fall out of the sky.

So there we were, falling almost 2000 feet per minute without any engine power, the rim of a cliff looming to cut short our approach to the sea, and the Low RPM Horn lamenting our imminent demise. I'm proud to say I wasn't really fazed; I just kept filming.

My instructor's tactic worked, and we cleared the cliff with room to spare. I've shared a short clip below. As you watch it, notice how our altitude changes relative to the clouds as we float down from a mile high to nearly sea level.



I'll share my instructor's second surprise that day in another post.

Somewhere beyond the sea...

The other day I mentioned "good news," but never finished the thought. That day, I had my flight evaluation with the chief instructor. It went well; by some miracle I demonstrated a respectable entry into autorotation.

The procedure calls for a rapid "Left hand down, right foot forward, right hand back," to settle into a controlled, engine-less descent. It's a precise sequence.

Going into the evaluation, I'd never done it without hands-on assistance, so my procedure that morning was "Left hand down, right foot forward, right hand back, pray." The helicopter cooperated, and I passed, clearing me for solo flight.

Which brings me to this morning: I flew for the first time by myself!

My instructor and I did a short flight to begin, then he got out and cut me loose to fly around the airport a few times. On the radio, I introduced myself as a first-timer, so the control tower was kind enough to slow their machine-gun chatter to a more intelligible pace.

See if you can spot the use of ETL in this video. There's nobody in the bird but me, and a beautiful day for it indeed.

[Edit: This video was originally set to music, Bobby Darin's "Somewhere Beyond the Sea." It was much better that way, but the copyright authorities objected. Oh well, just sing along in your head.]