Pilots

If the three most important rules of real estate are location, location, and location, it might seem odd that Brad Bertling has managed to make a success of a flight school located in the middle of the southern California desert, 30 miles away from the nearest civilization. But to Bertling, it makes perfect sense. He says that for what he does, he's got the best location in the world. And although it might look like an awfully desolate spot to some, Bertling thinks he lives in one of the most beautiful and unspoiled playgrounds a pilot could possibly desire.

Bertling lives on 160 acres of desert acreage on the east shore of the Salton Sea, south of Palm Springs, California. He owns and operates the Salton Sea Air Service, which offers intensive "accelerated" flight instruction for seaplane, multiengine, commercial, and glider ratings. The main building on the property is a mobile home, which is the start of the first real house Bertling has ever had there. For 20 years, he lived in a travel trailer. The appeal of the property, however, is not the living quarters.

Beyond the house and his 3,200-foot-long, laser-leveled dirt runway, the ground slopes away to reveal the full expanse of the Salton Sea, with the snowcapped Santa Rosa Mountains to the west and the colorful Chocolate Mountains to the east. And although it is at least 80 miles away to the south, Bertling can also usually see Mexico. Bertling's property is surrounded by state-park land, so there are no other buildings or signs of civilization in sight. Sitting at his front door, Bertling owns the entire valley.

Ground instruction at Bertling's flight school is given in a one- room, open-air hut, shaded by a palm tree and overlooking this same view. Flight instruction takes place in one or more of eight very clean and well-maintained aircraft that Bertling owns, including a Piper Cub on floats that he keeps in a 1,000-foot-long, spring-fed canal he built so he could park the airplane on his property.

Depending on which course they are taking, Bertling's students spend one or two full days in ground school and flight training and take their check ride. Bertling acknowledges that this approach is not effective for everyone, and he screens potential students carefully to make sure they have the necessary skills and background to benefit from an accelerated course. Bertling maintains, however, that "if a student is current, with good flying skills, and is willing to study and work hard, it works very well and is a lot of fun."

Fun in Bertling's book is flight training that is part teaching and part adventure, and it is clear that he enjoys it more than any other kind of flying he could do. Instead of multiple approaches in a crowded traffic pattern, for example, Bertling's multiengine students find themselves on a guided tour of the Imperial Valley.

In-between instruction on identifying critical engines and demonstrating VMC, Bertling is pointing out where the San Andreas fault has left a visible shift in the land, identifying some of the many kinds of wildlife in the area, or telling how the Salton Sea was created in the early part of the century. Students who take flight instruction with Bertling also get a hands-on history and geology lesson, as well as a reminder that they should look outside the airplane more often and really see the land over which they are flying.

Bertling's seaplane students don't receive the tour of the valley, but they get another kind of adventure. The Salton Sea covers 450 square miles of land, and it is almost entirely deserted. There are no boats or jet skis to avoid and no high-rent homeowners to complain about seaplane operations, and there is very little air traffic. In fact, flying Bertling's Cub over the Salton Sea is somewhat like stepping into a Wild Kingdom episode. Bertling says there are 350 different species of birds native to the area, most of which he can identify, and the sight of dozens of multicolored birds taking off and skimming the water as the airplane passes by overhead is truly spectacular. It's almost as if the Salton Sea is Bertling's own personal playground, which helps explain why the location holds such appeal for him.

If he were conducting routine hourly flight instruction, his remote location would undoubtedly be a problem. But for students devoting a single weekend to getting a rating, guaranteed good flying weather is more important than a convenient location, and Bertling can promise that about 350 days a year.

The path Bertling has chosen has not been an easy one. Because of his remote location, he has to be fairly self-sufficient. Both he and the one other instructor who works with him are certificated airframe and powerplant mechanics, and everyone pitches in to maintain the airplanes. He usually works seven days a week, and luxuries in the desert are few and far between. "Many people I talk to say they wish they could have something like this," he says. "I say they could, but they'd have to work hard for quite a few years to have it."

As far as Bertling is concerned, however, every sacrifice has been well worth it. "I fly, do maintenance, and ferry aircraft, but I'm not required to do anything, and I don't have to wear a suit and tie," he explains. "If I want time off, I just schedule it. I fly 350 days a year, which to me means I've got 350 days off. The only time I'm working is when I have to do maintenance on the aircraft."

Sitting in his palm-tree-shaded ground-school hut with a gentle breeze blowing through the open door, Bertling pauses to look out over the sea and the purple-tinted mountains beyond. "Actually," he says, "a lot of people would think it was hard to do what I've done, but I feel like I've been on vacation for the last 20 years. And in all that time, it hasn't ever gotten old."