Close Call

Growing up in Minnesota, we didn't have a lot of oceans. In fact, we had zero oceans. Imagine then, my excitement when I found out my apartment here in Long Beach was just a few miles from the shores of the Pacific. Even though it's February, plenty of good times can be had in sunny California near the beach. You can play volleyball. You can ride bikes and chase seagulls. You can scope chicks. If you're homeless, you can sleep on the sand and not miss out on too much. Some people fish from the pier; others peer at the fisherman while eating fish tacos. All of these are worthy endeavors. It's not really what you're doing at the beach that's important-it's just about being there. The ocean is the great equalizer for Californians. It doesn't matter if you're dirt poor or Kobe Bryant, anyone can enjoy the panoramic beauty of the Pacific. It's February, and instead of playing 'Survivor: Interstate Gridlock' in icy Minneapolis, I'm basking in the glow of 80 degree days, cloudless skies, and the warm ocean breezes. A good way to spend winter, unless you run an Igloo construction corporation.

Throw in the fact that I'm getting paid to fly airplanes and most days I really do feel as though I've won the lottery sweepstakes. What kind of price tag can you put on that? The cynic would say to just look at my student loan tab, and there's your answer, but it's not about money. Sure it's been a brutally difficult road to even make it this far, and I'm nowhere close to where I ultimately want to go, but it has been an incredibly rewarding past few weeks. For the first time since I began this journey, I am starting to see the payoff for my hard work, and it comes in the form of job enjoyment. And actually, the word 'job' is deceiving: I don't feel like I've worked a single day since I arrived out here.

Certainly not without challenges, however. During standardization training, one of the most oft-repeated company mantras was to be extra careful because the students are 'trying to kill us.' Not with guns and knives, or even Anthrax poisoning, but more in the sense that, as novice pilots, they still lack the necessary decision making skills and safety knowledge that are gradually acquired as training progresses. Heck, just read back a few months and I was in the same boat. More than anything, it takes time to become a skilled pilot, and in most cases, it can't be taught simply by sitting in a classroom or reading a book. That's why it's laughable to think I'm anywhere near being ready to fly for an airline, with paying passengers' lives in my hands. I may be done with training, but I'm finding that I'm learning much more now than I ever did before, when I was in the care of my instructors. And some of the most beneficial lessons I learn are often the most dangerous.

I conduct most of my students' training flights a few miles just out over the ocean, where there's usually a bit less general aviation traffic than flying inland over the city. One of the safety precautions I take is to obtain the services of Air Traffic Control and let them know my position and intentions. It's commonly called 'Flight Following', and mainly used for VFR cross country flights, but in the busy SoCal airspace, it's a nice service to have for local training flights as well. That way, they'll be able to let other airplanes, namely the big, shiny jets, what this clown-of-a-pilot is doing some 5000 feet above the sea, besides impeding their final approach course into one of the major airports out here. Once communication is established, they'll tell me I'm in radar contact and give me frequent updates on the altitude and magnetic heading of other aircraft. It's a nice supplement to the tried-and-true method of looking out of the cockpit and scanning the sky. While I'm still responsible for seeing and avoiding all traffic, it's good to have someone looking out for you, just in case. And a few days ago, while training a rookie pilot on multi-engine maneuvers, it may have saved my life. I was training a student in his last flight prior to taking the multi-engine practical test. The weather was sunny and clear. We had been up in the air for nearly two hours, and as I looked at my watch, I figured we had time for a few more maneuvers before heading back to Long Beach. I had him set up a practice maneuver called a Vmc Demo, which simulates losing an engine, and losing directional control of the aircraft, then recovering. Risk is compounded due to several factors, including flying at slower airspeeds and a very high angle of attack, which reduces my ability to see outside the nose of the airplane. As the student began the maneuver, my Portable Collision Avoidance System began to bleep. I glanced towards the handheld device, and its reading showed traffic some 2000 feet above me, in the vicinity of 3 miles. After searching the sky from my right seat position, I returned my attention to coaching the student through the maneuver and kept my PCAS cradled in my hand. Despite the company's generosity in providing us with these, I often find them more annoying than helpful, especially in the busy SoCal airspace. Plagued with inaccuracy, I've often seen other airplanes far closer than I'd like that fail to show up on the device. It's almost like watching 'The Bachelor'; you never really know what to believe. Despite the buzzing, I kept my student in the maneuver, thinking the other airplane was still a ways off. By now, you can imagine where this story is headed.

A few seconds later, the air traffic controller I had been talking to came over our headsets, and gave us the traffic alert: 'Seminole 263AT, traffic 10 O'Clock, 2 miles, SE bound. Turn right heading 030 for spacing.' I responded in kind, and had my student stop the maneuver while we searched for the jet somewhere in our vicinity. I grabbed the controls for a second, gently nudging the airplane in a right banked turn for a few seconds. My PCAS was silent on this round, and now I was legitimately wondering if I'd see the other plane. Still, I thought we were good.

I started talking again to the student, and began to set him up for the next maneuver, when the controller came over the radio once again, only this time with a strong sense of urgency: 'Seminole 263AT, turn right IMMEDIATELY for traffic!' This time, I swung the aircraft sharply to the right, changing our heading by another 30 degrees in just a few seconds. I stabilized the aircraft, and began to rapidly scan the area. It was here I saw the jet, just outside our left window, a few hundred feet below us, on what appeared to be direct path towards our previous position. Just missed us. Whew. Exhale.

You know the feeling you get when you're speeding along on the freeway, and all of the sudden you see the flashing red and blue police lights? You've just been pulled over. Your heart sinks. Muscles tighten, your throat dies up like the Sahara. In an instant, you've gone from being in total control to complete submission. It's terrifying. (Um, not that this has ever happened to me) Multiply that by about 10 and you'll know what I felt that day. Would we have hit the other plane? Probably not, but maybe. I was legitimately spooked. After a few minutes of wiping the sweat off my face and catching my breath, I decided to terminate the flight and head back towards the airport.

I love to fly, and no experience could change that. But when I climbed out of that airplane and set my feet back on the tarmac, I've never felt happier to be on the ground. It only took a few weeks, but I'd had my first real scare as a flight instructor. Let's hope it's along time before something like that happens again. I thanked the approach controller profusely as I signed off, and went on with my day, thankful that I hadn't ended up as one of those horrific aviation accident statistics that I'm always reading about. I lived to fly another day.