Pilotage

We pilots can be our own worst enemies. We rail about uninformed, stereotypical, and sometimes prejudicial mass media reporting of general aviation. (Seen recently above the fold on the front page of a major metropolitan daily: "Love of Flying Ends In Death.") Yet, a few who fly inflict at least as much damage on the public's image of light airplanes — and the people who fly them — as do the sensational newspaper headlines and the unscrupulous critics of general aviation. How? Here is but one example:

On a recent trip to Florida to pay some mother-in-law dues, I was puttering about outside when I heard the distinctive high-rpm whine of a single-engine airplane at full power. I was about a quarter-mile inland and didn't give the airplane much more thought. Lots of lightplanes fly up and down the beach on enjoyable sightseeing missions, though at more sedate power settings. I've done it plenty of times myself.

Some pilots fly fairly low over the water, paralleling the coastline a comfortable distance offshore. Flying low over the water may not be the safest method of beachcombing, but it is legal as long as the pilot maintains at least the minimum required vertical and horizontal separation from people on the beach and on boats. The airplane I heard was hidden by tall Australian pines that formed a swaying green wall between me and the shoreline.

My full attention turned to the airplane when I heard the engine falter, then surge. The pilot apparently cut the throttle, then applied full power. I looked toward the beach and saw a Piper Warrior or Archer — it was a little too far away to get a positive ID — shoot up over the trees in a steep climbing turn. At the apex of the climb the airplane nosed over, still banked sharply, and headed back down. It was a poor attempt at a wingover.

I could still hear the engine screaming as the pilot continued up the beach. Again it shot up over the trees, this time in a wings-level climb. It soon ran out of inertia and airspeed, and again the pilot nosed it over into a steep descent.

This exuberant swooping up, down, and around went on for several minutes until the pilot tired of the antics and headed back to the airport. It looked as though some hotshot was trying to impress a passenger or someone on the ground.

I wasn't on the beach to see how people reacted to the impromptu airshow. Some probably were impressed with the pilot's daring and enjoyed the spectacle. Some may have resented the noisy intrusion of the whining engine. Some may have heard the abrupt power reduction and feared the airplane had "stalled" and was about to plunge into the water. And some may have thought it a brazen, unsafe, and uncalled-for display of flying.

Count me in that last group. From my vantage point it appeared the pilot was too close to the beach to be flying so low. I believe the pilot violated FAR Part 91 minimum altitude restrictions. Not only that, the wingovers and power-on stalls were performed at too low an altitude. If the pilot had misjudged altitude or the engine had hiccuped, there would have been no opportunity to set up a glide in the dim hope of making a controlled landing or ditching. Make no mistake, buzzing is hazardous. The AOPA Air Safety Foundation's monthly "Safety Update" reported that more than 75 percent of the 22 fatal general aviation accidents that occurred in February were caused by reckless low-level flying. And that is for a poor-flying-weather month.

But beyond the reg-busting low altitude of the flying and the pilot's apparent total lack of concern for his or her own safety and that of the passengers (if any were aboard), it seems to me the pilot made a lasting impression on the people who witnessed the spectacle. The impression made goes something like this: Small airplanes are primarily recreational vehicles flown by thrill seekers, much like the overpowered speedboats and noisy personal watercraft that people lying on the beach see zooming around just offshore.

Not to denigrate speedboats and personal watercraft, but thrill seeking is an unflattering and inaccurate characterization of lightplane flying and lightplane pilots. Unfortunately, it is an image that has dogged small aircraft almost from the beginning of controlled flight. Back when flying really was risky business — and that was a long time ago — the "thrill seeker" moniker may have had some basis in fact. The image may have no relevance today, but it is perpetuated by cliche-driven movie makers and television producers and beach-bum pilots.

The one I saw performing had a part in permanently tarnishing the image of small airplanes and the people who fly them. Most of us appreciate having the freedom to fly. We recognize and respect the fragile relationship that general aviation has with the larger public. The above-the-fold front-page newspaper headline I quoted earlier is a succinct description of how most people view flying light aircraft: It's a neat thing to do if you are daring enough, but ultimately a dangerous and possibly fatal pursuit.

The pilot entertaining the beachcombers that day confirmed their suspicions that people who fly small airplanes are risk takers. I don't think I'm being too melodramatic to worry that those beachcombers will think back on that episode whenever they see a small airplane. If they have never flown in one before, it's not likely they ever will unless they enjoy roller coaster rides.

I'll admit that when I saw the airplane twisting and turning at low altitude, I considered calling the control tower at the local airport and reporting the incident. I didn't place the call because I don't believe in pilots turning in other pilots for such offenses. All that accomplishes is the expansion of the FAA enforcement bureaucracy, and who wishes for that?

Despite all the regulations that define and control general aviation, flying light aircraft largely is a matter of adhering to an honor code. Other than the rare ramp check, we never encounter an aviation cop unless we commit an obvious error or are involved in an incident or accident. We are left to observe and adhere to the rules on our own, and that is fortunate indeed. For the most part we do a good job of following both the formal and the common-sense rules. Sometimes, though, a scofflaw mocks the honor code. That makes it tougher on all of us.

Later that week the local paper reported that police had received a complaint about a noisy small airplane flying over someone's house for about 20 minutes two days in a row. The complainant "wanted to know the number of the plane so he could report it to the FAA," the paper noted, adding, "Police were unable to locate the noise."

Most pilots spend the time on the drive home reviewing their just-ended flight. It's an opportunity for candid, constructive self-criticism aimed at self-improvement: What did I do especially well, and what could I have done better? I wonder if that beach bum thought through a post-flight briefing. If so, there had to be an admission of gross stupidity.

And embarrassment. Sheepish, red-faced embarrassment is the least of the punishments that could be doled out for the damage inflicted that day. Not physical damage, but something more permanent: damage to the cause of convincing the public that flying light airplanes is safe, and sane.