Years ago, I was headed home from a business trip. My chariot was a bright yellow Cessna 152. Black highlights on the wingtips and nose set off the iridescent yellow in a pleasing way. I loved flying that airplane.
As I neared home, I positioned myself to enter the traffic pattern on a 45° angle to the downwind for Runway 23. I’d been monitoring the CTAF for more than 10 miles, so I knew I would not be alone in the traffic pattern.
When I made my radio call, I was brief but specific: “Winter Haven traffic, Cessna 12345, 45 to the downwind, Runway 23, number 3, traffic in sight, Winter Haven.”
I repeated the name of the airport because there are five airports within earshot using the same frequency. More than one of them has a Runway 23. Adding a specific location adds one second to the call-out, but clarifies the announcement in an important way.
The first airplane in the pattern was just beginning to turn base, while the second was established on the downwind at midfield. By the time I reached that location, the second airplane would be near its base turn as well.
I expected to hear the airplane turning base make a radio call. Instead, I heard something remarkably like this: “This is ahhhhh…Piper Warrior 12345, ahhhh… we’re holding short of 23. (Long pause). We’re going to Vero Beach today. Gonna grab lunch at C.J. Cannon’s and maybe get a tour of the Piper factory if that’s a possibility. (Another longer pause). Ahhhhh, we’ll be off as soon as the runway is clear.”
The offending pilot held the button down for the entire time.
By the time the fellow at the hold short line was done talking, I was on short final. Two aircraft had landed without the ability to make a call. A third, mine, was about to do the same.
The one person on the field in a running airplane who had no call to make had chosen to interject into the busy pattern communications a long and entirely immaterial itinerary for the day that had absolutely nothing to do with what was actually happening in the air or on the ground.
This isn’t just rude. It’s a safety issue driven by either ego or ignorance. Maybe both.
For all the incredible technological advancements in aviation over the past century, our radio communications still use only one open channel. Whenever we push the button and speak, we control the frequency entirely. Nobody else can make a coherent call. Not to inform others of their intentions. Not to declare an emergency. Not to request assistance. Nope, everybody on that frequency has to sit and wait patiently while one pilot makes their call.
Wouldn’t it be good if that call was necessary, brief, specific, and conveyed information of actual value to other pilots and aircraft? That would seem obvious. Yet, a day spent monitoring most general aviation airport communications would suggest otherwise.
CFIs are notorious for blabbering away with friends on the channel when they should be modeling more professional behavior to their students. While unacceptable behavior, it is at least partially understandable. CFIs spend a lot of time cooped up in an airplane on training flights with limited ability to communicate with their fellow pilots about personal matters. So, they jump on the CTAF to ask about plans for the evening, or whether they can grab a ride home after work, or how some other instructor’s student did on a check ride.
All these queries are reasonable. They’re just being done on the wrong frequency.
The FAA has been kind enough to designate 122.750 MHz as the frequency for air-to-air communications. If you’re ferrying an airplane from one destination to another and being shadowed by an airplane that will give you a ride home, 122.750 is the frequency to stay in touch along the way.
It’s also a useful tool when multiple flight school airplanes head out to the practice area simultaneously. By using the air-to-air communications frequency, each pilot can maintain an awareness of which part of the practice area others are in and which altitude they’ve chosen to fly.
It’s not just convenient. It’s also a safety thing. It works, too.
And while I’m blowing off steam about unnecessary radio communications clogging up the frequency, can we please, please dispense with the absolutely idiotic “last call” announcement?
I have no idea where this started. Probably from the well-intentioned suggestion of a lone CFI who was trying to be polite. But this call has no purpose. Nobody needs to know your last call is your last call. Adding that language to a radio call provides no useful information to anyone but the person making the call.
You know it’s your last call. Let’s just leave it at that. Nobody else needs to know or cares. You’re departing the area. Job done.
This call only happens in the non-towered environment, which is a pretty good indication it has no place in any communications. In the towered environment there’s no need to make that announcement.
One of three things will happen as you depart the airspace. None require a pilot to announce they’re done talking.
The tower may end a call with “frequency change approved.” This means you’re free to switch off the tower frequency and continue on your way. No additional call is required. Alternatively, a pilot may conclude a call of their own with “request frequency change.” If the tower controller agrees, off you go. You’re done. Or you could simply depart the airspace without saying anything or receiving an additional call from the tower controller.
Once you’re out of their airspace, you’re on your own. Class E airspace is a wonderful thing. You can ask for ATC services or not. It’s entirely up to you. But if you do choose to push the button to convey information, please be sure the information you’re about to share is of value to others.
The fact that I may be going to lunch with my friends and might grab a souvenir or two is hardly information other pilots need to know. And as for “last call,” we’ll all figure out that was your last call when we don’t hear from you anymore.
Let’s respect that button and the community channel we dominate when we press it.
Leave a Reply