What is, what was, and what might one day be

Many years ago, I had a client who held a private pilot certificate but hadn’t flown in many years. My task was to get him up to speed, confident, and competent enough to resume his duties as Pilot in Command.

Mechanically he did well. The stumbling point for us was that he had a frustrating habit of clinging to old terminology that wasn’t in common use any longer. As an example, he consistently referred to any given VOR as “the Omni.”

I tried to convince my client that he would be better off using the more accepted term VOR. He made no effort to change his ways however.

One day we were inbound to Hartford Brainard Airport (KHFD) in Connecticut. As we passed over the VOR my client called the tower to announce his intentions. His position report was simply, “Over the Omni,” a phrase I had encouraged him to abandon many times before.

This time was different however, because the tower responded with a line I shall never forget.

“I have no idea where the Armory is, Sir. Can you give me a better landmark?”

Terminology is no small thing when clarity of communications is of paramount importance.

With the significantly reduced number of VORs in North America, the terms VOR and Omni may be unfamiliar to some younger pilots. Which is exactly the point. We all have to shift our language and our familiarity with the tools available to us as technology, regulatory changes, and our own advancing age affect our plans.

These days I spend a good deal of my time working with a wide variety of student pilots, rusty pilots, hopeful pilots with career aspirations, and folks who hope to one day own an airplane. Some dream of owning just a portion of one through a flying club or co-ownership agreement.

Hope truly does spring eternal.

While it is easy to throw one’s hands up at what we might perceive as over-regulation on some issues, or lack of services at the airport of our choice, or unruly pilots who do whatever they want rather than follow the rules (and I can certainly point to numerous examples of each,) we are blessed today. Our aircraft are safer than ever before. Our flight environment is better managed than at any time in history. The general aviation accident rate is lower than it has been in the past, providing us with greater utility at lesser risk. All of which are enviable points.

Truthfully, the general aviation market and environment is as good or better than it has ever been. Our challenge remains, however. The pilots who attend safety seminars are by and large the pilots who least need the refresher. The pilots who don’t attend safety seminars are the pilots who present the greatest threat to the rest of us.

Resolving that perennial issue is a personal goal of mine. One I will not accomplish to any great degree, I know. But it is a quest that I find to be worthwhile.

As was my role all those years ago, I still find great satisfaction in helping other pilots find their way to that confidence and competence that will allow them to serve as PIC in a safe and enjoyable manner.

Confidence is part of the problem. Some of us are supremely confident in our abilities, even without any evidence to support that opinion. Having access to an airplane doesn’t make us talented pilots. Being able to start-up, taxi out, and successfully get the machine to fly shouldn’t be thought of as a badge of honor. The airplane was designed to fly. If enough air moves over its wings, it will fly whether we are at the controls or not.

What separates the good pilots from the not-so-good pilots is a dedication to safety, to established procedures, to checklist usage, to vigilant collision avoidance, and to respecting the privilege of others to fly in the same sky.

That’s a lot of ground to cover, frankly. As it should be. Flying is a great privilege earned by only a small fraction of the overall population. I would suggest we should each value it a bit more highly. Treasure it for the remarkable gift it is, as well as our unique position in the history and legacy of flight.

I am very proud to have learned to fly during the first century of powered, heavier than air flight. That I got that opportunity was an accident of timing. It’s simply the relationship between my birth and the Wright brothers’ first flight. Yet, I am profoundly aware that someday, and that someday may not be far off, the number of pilots who are actually in the aircraft they’re flying will be a relatively small number.

The future of aviation is virtually assured. The form it takes is not.

I am thrilled to have been among the small number of human beings who has had the opportunity to sit in a tube and fabric machine of limited horsepower, point the nose down a runway of grass, and lift into the sky to experience a fuller, more satisfying life. To have been able to do that while helping others achieve a similarly enriching experience has made all the struggle and expense worthwhile.

I choose to look to the past with reverence even as I gaze into the future with anticipation. We are all part of a timeline that is constantly in flux. Let’s do our best to keep up for as long as we can. Then one day we can turn the reins over to younger, equally proud men and women who will take aviation to the next level. As others have done for us.