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.

“Two years ago, 1,500 hours and a pulse was enough to get you an interview at the regional airline of your choice,” recalls V1 Rotate’s Sam Weigel, who flies a Boeing 737 for his day job. As hiring begins to slow at regional airlines and cargo carriers, Weigel asks—is the pilot shortage over?

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

The post Is the Pilot Shortage Over? appeared first on FLYING Magazine.

It was the spring of 2001, and after years of being foretold, the pilot shortage had finally arrived. 

The major airlines’ hiring was in full swing, smaller upstarts like Southwest and JetBlue were rapidly expanding, and the regional airlines’ competitive minimums had fallen well below 1,000 hours. There were rumblings about slowing business-travel bookings for that summer and beyond, but this did little to darken the sunny outlook. Flight schools everywhere were jam-packed.

And yet, my own options appeared to be surprisingly limited. As a 20-year-old college student with fresh commercial and CFI tickets, there were few flying jobs available, and that first step from 300 to 1,000 hours looked like a formidable one. 

Flight instructing appeared to offer the best chances of employment, and unlike many of my peers, I thought I would enjoy instructing and didn’t mind going that route. But even there, in the middle of an instructor shortage, flight schools were rather cool to the overtures of a newbie CFI they didn’t know. My first inquiries into summer instructing jobs went nowhere.

Finishing up an internship with Trans World Airlines, I got a hot tip from a regional pilot at my crashpad about a busy flight school in the Los Angeles area. They didn’t pay much, but their instructors flew a ton, and they were known to hire low-time CFIs. 

My first email and phone call to the flight school manager garnered a noncommittal response. Undeterred, I jumpseated to LAX the next weekend and navigated LA’s abysmal public transit to Brackett Field (KPOC). The surprised manager offered me the job, pending completion of my certificated flight instructor-instrument (CFII) and certificated multi-engine instructor (MEI) ratings. I finished them in one week and went on to fly 400 hours in three months. This first experience proved crucial in jump starting my career—particularly considering the events of that September and the following years of aviation turmoil.

Twenty-two years later, so much in the industry has changed, and yet some things stay the same. 

CFI Reality

Today, despite a historic pilot shortage that puts the mini-shortage of the late ‘90s to shame, it is still remarkably difficult to land that first flying job—which, with the advent of the 1,500-hour rule, is more critical than ever. Aviation forums are full of newbies lamenting their inability to find a time-building gig. Another frequent topic, closely related, concerns many low-timers’ hesitancy to resign themselves to flight instruction. “Isn’t there a better way?” they ask.

I want to be clear here. There is a strong tendency in aviation for experienced pilots to dole out advice to newcomers based on their own career of 20 or 30 years past, and there’s also a common attitude of “I endured this, therefore you should endure it too.” Just because flight instruction worked out for me, and just because I mostly enjoyed it and was fairly good at it, does not mean it is the right path for everyone.

There are some very valid reasons not to want to instruct. It is hard work, carried out in basic aircraft of middling performance and sometimes varying states of maintenance in a noisy, cramped, and sometimes hot and turbulent environment. It is one of the more genuinely dangerous sectors of aviation, as detailed in this V1 Rotate episode. You don’t get to manipulate the controls that often. You have to be constantly alert, because students like to find novel and clever ways to kill you. This vigilance is hard to maintain if you feel like you’re stuck in a rut, teaching the same lessons over and over. 

Not everyone is cut out to be an instructor. It requires organizational ability, good communication skills, steady nerves, and the patience of Job. The hours can be quite long and the pay, while somewhat improved since my day, is still nothing to write home about unless you can carve out a niche for yourself as an independent instructor. Depending on your area and what type of students you have, your income may be highly weather-dependent.

But the reality is that most of these things apply to every position that is realistically available to the 250-hour freshly minted commercial pilot. Basically, no matter what you do, your first flying job is likely to be hard, uncomfortable, and possibly dangerous work. It will probably involve unsexy aircraft, and it’s probably not going to pay a lot relative to the small fortune you’ve invested in training.

This is a bit tough for today’s new pilots to swallow, because they’ve heard so much about the unprecedented pilot shortage that has been raging for six or seven years and all the opportunities it has afforded. The hard truth, however, is that the shortage is unevenly distributed, and at present, there is no shortage of 250-hour pilots. In fact, at the moment there’s not even a shortage of 1,500-hour pilots! 

Unless and until this changes, which I find unlikely given the current elevated volume of training, you will likely have to hustle for your first flying job, and your life just might suck for a year or two.

Entry-Level Alternatives

That said, your entry-level alternatives to flight instructing are essentially as follows, roughly ordered from easiest to hardest to break into:

• Buying flight time (perhaps via aircraft ownership): There are a surprising number of people doing this as they race to 1,500 hours. I think they may be surprised when they get there. I would be loathe to hire an airline pilot who had never proven the ability to hold down an aviation job. This is, by far, the most expensive option —but probably also the most enjoyable, particularly if someone else is footing the bill.
• Flying skydivers:  This can yield a lot of flight time at busy drop zones (DZs), especially in good weather on the weekends. It may involve turbine aircraft such as Caravans or Twin Otters. Good stick and rudder flying but zero instrument experience, which may be off-putting to future potential employers. Smaller DZs may fly only Cessna 182s or 206s, and some have legendarily sketchy maintenance.
• Ferry flying: Good cross-country experience, getting to fly a wide variety of aircraft. Low barrier to entry; essentially, anyone can hang out their shingle as a ferry pilot (and many do). Initially unlikely to get enough time to be a full-time job unless hired by a well-established ferry operation.
• Towing advertising banners: This is primarily over tourist destinations in high season, notably the Florida beaches from November through April (some operations move north for the summer season). Hones stick and rudder skills, but strictly VFR with the same resumé implications as diver driving. Largely Piper Super Cubs and the like, and the tailwheel experience is a big plus.
• Traffic watch, fire spotting, pipeline patrol, fish spotting, aerial survey: these classic time-building jobs have all been partially replaced by unmanned aircraft systems (UAS), and I expect that trend will continue, but there are still some gigs out there. Fairly boring flying that involves long stints at cruise, but likely to build flight time fairly quickly.
• Aerial application (cropdusting): One of few time-building opportunities in many rural areas of the country. It can be tough to break into as today’s agricultural aircraft are fairly complicated and expensive, and this is a tough job to do well without experience. Demanding, relatively dangerous flying, and constant exposure to toxic chemicals carries long-term health implications.
• Part 135 SIC: Acting as PIC under FAR 135 requires 1,200 hours for IFR operations and 500 hours for VFR-only (common in Alaska and backcountry areas). However, many Part 135 operators use copilots where required by the aircraft type certificate, by their ops specs, or by their insurance carrier. This is high-quality time, often under IFR, that is attractive to future employers. You may be able to upgrade to PIC once you meet the time requirement.
• Private SIC: There is a growing segment of private owners that are required by insurance to operate with two crew, even in single-pilot aircraft, which can lead to opportunities for low-time pilots. These gigs traditionally pay little and offer spotty flight time, and in some cases, you may need to get a type rating (which has become incredibly expensive). But entry as a 250-hour pilot is absolutely possible, if you know the right people.
• Business Jet SIC: Once unthinkable as an entry-level gig, today’s regional pilot pay has robbed corporate flight departments of enough applicants that average SIC-hire times have fallen considerably. I’ve heard of multiple pilots getting hired into bizjets with minimal time in the last year, but it’s still far from the norm.

What all these jobs have in common is that they are all less prevalent than flight instructing positions, some are confined to particular areas of the country, and many of these jobs—particularly in twin-engine and turbine equipment—are extremely dependent on who you know, especially as a low-timer. This is one reason that I place so much emphasis on networking early in your career.

If you, for whatever reason, have decided that flight instructing is not for you, then you need to really up your networking game, and you also need to have a high degree of geographic flexibility. If you’re not able to move or you haven’t networked extensively, I’d suggest you give flight instruction a second look. I’ve listed a lot of the negatives above, but there are some pretty great positives, too.  

The post Building Flight Hours When There’s No Appetite for Instruction appeared first on FLYING Magazine.

Unlike many other professions, commuters to an airline or fractional pilot job make their trip by air, which allows for a degree of complexity along with the flexibility in where you can live. Sam Weigel walks you through the commutes of his career along with thoughts on how to choose if this is right for you.

The post Commuting to the Line appeared first on FLYING Magazine.

One of the major milestones of an aviation career is passing your first Part 121 training program. Whether at a regional or national airline, cargo carrier, or major, it is likely to be unlike anything you’ve done before. 

For those from a civilian background, Part 121 training will be much more structured and proscribed than Part 61 or even Part 141 certification courses, while also being longer and more in-depth than previous aircraft checkouts. For military aviators, you’ll find airline training to be highly compressed compared to what you’re used to, with lower expectations regarding systems knowledge but a much faster pace of learning. Going from a civilian CFI or even military instructor pilot (IP) to airline training is a big jump, one made more stressful by the knowledge of how important passing your first Part 121 program is to your career. Failure at this stage would make it difficult to get hired elsewhere.

Thus far in my career, I’ve had the pleasure of preparing for, undertaking, and passing five different initial qualification (IQ) courses at three different airlines: Bombardier DHC-8 (Q400), Embraer 170/190, McDonnell-Douglas MD88/MD90, Boeing B757/767, and Boeing B737. I went through three of these programs as a new hire, one as a transitioning first officer, and one as a captain upgrade. Three were under the airline’s Advanced Qualification Program (AQP), and two were under old-school Part 121. Between these five programs, I’ve developed a pretty good system of preparing for airline training in ways that have set me up for success; each program has been easier than the last. These preparation tips are what I’d like to share with you today.

Clear Your Schedule, Clear Your Mind

When you’re first hired at an airline, there’s a lot out of your control, and your inclination will rightly be to take the first class that is offered and get that coveted seniority number. That said, I would highly suggest that you build a buffer of a few weeks between your current flying job and your class date. For civilians, this might mean a missed paycheck at a moment when you’re unlikely to be flush with cash. It’s tempting to work up to the last possible minute. I’d suggest you consider the extra time off an investment in setting yourself up for success. Most military aviators have terminal or separation leave to bridge the gap; if you can, I’d suggest using it to build yourself a buffer.

The reason for this is that almost all airline training programs today require a certain amount of self-study beforehand, usually including a mandatory computer-based training (CBT) course. You can certainly complete this while working at your current job, but retention is likely to be shaky, and you’re less likely to study more than the required minimum. Transitioning to a new transport category type—and especially an entirely new type of flying—requires a total and conscious “brain dump” of your current aircraft. This is difficult to do while still flying it.

Get ‘The Gouge’

“Gouge” is military slang meaning the body of unofficial knowledge that one needs to pass a training program, start a new job, or fit in at a new posting. It implies a peeling away of unnecessary errata, telling you only what you really need to know. Gouge is often passed between new and old squadron mates and also extends to a transition to civilian flying. There is gouge about applying to airlines, acing interviews, and even passing training programs.

Over time in the civilian world, “the gouge” has become increasingly standardized and even officially adopted. For example, there are third-party training guides commercially available for all the most popular aircraft types (for the Boeing 737 alone, there are at least four, and I have two of them). The airlines have been increasingly accepting of “the gouge” and, in many cases, make it freely available to students. Every fleet at my airline, for example, publishes a Learning Objectives Document (LOD) with every systems question one might be reasonably expected to know, a Student Guide that finely details every lesson and checking event, various PowerPoint tutorials, FMS and auto-flight training software, and E-Brief videos that powerfully demonstrate every single maneuver you will do in training. All these are extraneous to the officially required manuals and CBT. They are resources of which the savvy student will avail themselves, and the sooner the better. It behooves you to make a good contact in the fleet you’re headed to—line pilot, check airman, or sim instructor, in ascending order of preference—and get “the gouge,” official and unofficial, in addition to the required manuals and training materials, well before you show up for class.

Study Early, Study Often

Once you’re actually in training, you will be drinking from a firehose. It will take enough effort to keep up; what you really don’t want to do is fall behind. The better prepared you are beforehand, the easier it will be to keep your head above water.

The very first thing I would start studying are the flow patterns for your fleet. Knowing your flows cold—even before you understand the systems that each flow covers—will make your early training go far, far smoother. Get a set of physical cockpit posters, tape them up wherever you are doing most of your studying, and practice your flows often. Once you move to your training hotel, bring the posters and put them up in your room.

The next things I work into my study are limitations and memory items. This is rote memorization, and you must learn it verbatim, so you can start studying these before you have much understanding of the aircraft. These items lend themselves to flash cards. I have created a thick deck of 3×5 index cards for every aircraft I’ve trained on. You can study these alone or use a non-pilot friend or family member. I use my wife to quiz me over dinner, in the car, and at the bar, and have always had limitations and memory items down cold at least two weeks prior to training.

If this is your first Part 121 operation, I would memorize everything in the flight operations manual (FOM) that relates to flight planning, dispatch, op specs (especially!), dangerous goods, and Part 117 crew flight and duty limitations and rest requirements. These all lend themselves well to rote memorization and flash card quizzing, and are important to get down sooner rather than later as airline programs vary widely in how much effort they put into teaching these items during ‘indoc.’ My airline, for example, includes a single hour of classroom training on op specs. For those unfamiliar with them, this barely scratches the surface.

Only then do I start learning aircraft systems. The company-provided/required CBT is a good starting point. I jot down notes and questions while going through it, particularly noting any items I got wrong on the CBT quizzes. After completing each system, I read the corresponding chapter of the aircraft systems manual, answering my questions and making further notes. Then I refer to the LOD, and then to my commercial study guide, noting any points of emphasis. Finally, I prepare flash cards for that system before moving on to the next section of CBT. I generally ensure that CBT is complete at least one week prior to training, giving me that week to study flash cards and start on procedures.

Once all this is done, you’ll have the knowledge required to start learning procedures, referring to your fleet’s aircraft operations manual. These will be taught early in your training, usually in a “paper tiger,” procedures training, or flight training device. It’s not necessary to have them down cold (except the associated flow patterns), as there will be subtleties of timing and emphasis best imparted by an instructor, but these lessons will go smoother if you are at least familiar with the procedures beforehand. The ground procedures are the most intensive (preflight, pushback, engine start, taxi, before takeoff, after landing, and shutdown/parking) and take the longest to get down, so place your emphasis there. In-flight procedures come much easier, and in-flight maneuvers take place much later in training (usually in a full-flight simulator), so you can delay study of these items until later.

Prepare Your Bubble

I don’t have kids, my spouse is self-reliant, and I’ve never lived in the same city as the training center while doing IQ, so this has always been pretty easy for me. It will be much harder for some of you. Nevertheless, it has to be said.

You need to create a training bubble for yourself, into which as few distractions as possible can penetrate. This means taking the airline up on their offer of a training hotel, even if you live nearby. It means leaving the spouse and kids at home. It may mean saving yourself the time and stress of commuting home when you have only one or even two days off between training blocks. This doesn’t mean you should spend four or five weeks nonstop in the pressure cooker of the training environment. It means that when you aren’t in the classroom, procedures trainer, or simulator, you need to leave yourself significant time to study, exercise, eat healthily, socialize with your training partner or partners, and study some more. The distractions of family and home life impede you from doing these things, so you need to minimize them. Explain the importance of what you are doing to your family; they’ll understand.

In a later installment of V1 Rotate, I’ll cover passing the Part 121 training program itself, but using these guidelines to prepare will go a long way in setting you up for success. 

The post How To Prepare for Your First Airline Training Program appeared first on FLYING Magazine.

What can you look forward to as a successful professional pilot, if you play your cards right? Airline captain Sam Weigel introduces us to his “dream home” in progress on a grass strip in the Pacific Northwest.

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In early 2004, I was a newly-married freight dog flying single-pilot Part 135 for Ameriflight. A longtime colleague had just perished in a crash while covering my sometimes-hazardous route up California’s Owens Valley. I decided to redouble my efforts to get hired at a Part 121 airline. 

This being a few years after 9/11, the majors were all in pretty tough shape, and even the growing regionals could still be very selective about who they hired. My airline of choice was Horizon Air, then the best-paying regional ($28/hour during the first year!), but they were notoriously choosy, and so far, my efforts to land an interview had gone unrewarded. 

I called up my friend Brad Phillips, then a second-year Horizon first officer, and asked what extra steps I should take. He suggested flying up to Portland, where he’d give me a personal tour of the Horizon flight operations center. I did so forthwith, and while roaming the halls, we came across one of Horizon’s longtime chief pilots, the late Spike McKinsey. Upon learning I was both a UND alum and an Ameriflight pilot, Spike jotted down my name and promised he’d pull my application and take a look. One week later, I got the call to interview. My friendship with Brad set me on the path that led to where I am today.

While at Horizon, I met a guy named Mitch Nastri, who struck me as exceptionally friendly. We hung out a few times, but Mitch would also call me once a month, often at the same time of the month, almost like clockwork. It was uncanny. When I left Horizon for Compass in 2007, Mitch knew about it and followed up, asking how it was going. He came over to Compass himself a few years later. He continued to call me regularly just to chat, and over time I discovered that Mitch and I had quite a few friends in common, including in some places you wouldn’t expect. In fact, he was quasi-famous in my circle for his regular correspondence. I asked him about this once, whether he had a spreadsheet with a calling schedule, and he denied it. He said that whenever he had some downtime, he’d go down his contact list, see who he hadn’t talked to in a while, and call them. Mitch is, to this day, the most effective networker I’ve met in aviation. It surprised nobody who knew him when Mitch was hired by United Airlines in 2013—very early in the present hiring cycle—with zero turbine PIC time. He had seven internal letters of recommendation.

These two anecdotes amply demonstrate the role that networking plays in airline hiring—and it is even more important in other sectors of aviation, particularly business aviation. These days, because of the pilot shortage, it would be easy to downplay networking’s importance, assuming that one simply needs to accumulate the required certificates and experience, apply, and wait for the inevitable phone call. This would be a mistake for several reasons. 

First, the pilot shortage will not last, and there is no guarantee you will be at your dream job before the music stops. There’s a high likelihood you’ll have to hustle sometime in your career. Secondly, even amid a historic shortage, setting yourself apart from other candidates and scoring the call to interview can be surprisingly difficult— ask anyone applying to the regionals at the moment. Third, having contacts throughout the industry will ensure you are better informed, make better career decisions, and have a wider range of career options. 

Supposedly hard-and-fast requirements are often not so critical when you have trusted employees vouching for you. Conventional wisdom in 2013 was that you absolutely, positively needed 1,000 hours of turbine PIC to get hired at United. It turned out that wasn’t true for a strongly recommended candidate.

Networking is one of the few things you can do for your aviation career that is free (or very nearly so) and you can also start from day one—or before you ever begin flight training. In fact, the sooner you start, the better. The people you meet early in your career will end up in every corner of the industry, while later, your circle will become more circumscribed. I would argue you have better networking opportunities as an FBO line boy than a flight instructor and better opportunities as a flight instructor than a regional pilot.

The actual networking process largely consists of being friendly, actively interacting with every pilot you meet, asking lots of questions, asking for contact info, and then following up regularly. You don’t need to impress anyone with your skills or knowledge; just asking questions and demonstrating an ability to follow through is enough. I give out my card readily to anyone who mentions they’re training to be a pro pilot or are planning to do so, and the percentage that reach out is minuscule. Only a few have called, texted, or emailed twice, and I remember their names. Twenty years ago, I kept track of contacts on 3×5 cards; today, there are numerous apps for doing so. Make notes every subsequent time you connect with a contact. I think making a contact schedule is probably overambitious, but Mitch’s strategy seems a good one: every time you have some downtime in a quiet place, go down your list of contacts and see who you haven’t talked to lately.

One final piece of the puzzle is that prospective employers often value recommendations from employees who have actually flown with the applicant. A letter of recommendation that carries firsthand observations of the applicant’s flying skills is powerful. Check airmen who have observed you professionally— conducting check rides or line checks—are particularly helpful. After a successful check ride, get the check airman or examiner’s contact info and stay in touch. Other times you might be able to finagle a ride with a contact or invite them along on one of your flights. If you fly for a regional airline, offline jump seaters can be useful contacts, particularly if you connected well over the course of the flight or if something unusual happened. Again, the important thing is to follow up promptly and stay in contact over subsequent months and years. 

The post Networking Strategies That Will Get You Noticed by the Airlines appeared first on FLYING Magazine.

Professional pilots, like V1 Rotate’s Sam Weigel, take dozens of check rides over the course of their careers. This week, Sam shares some of his best tips for not only passing your next check ride, but also enjoying it.

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