Turbine Pilot

High pressure, fast pace

Not long ago, I was getting ready to go to type school for the Canadair Challenger CL-601, the business jet that the Canadair Regional Jet is based on. I didn't know much about the Challenger, but I had seen pictures and been in one once. To add to the fun, I was going to be taking the airline transport pilot (ATP) and Challenger type rating checkrides at the same time. And to top it all off, there was a job on the line as well. No pressure.

One of the biggest challenges of my aviation career was in front of me, and it was no time to be at anything less than the top of my game. So, though legally IFR current, I went down to a local FBO and signed up for 10 hours in a simulator/torture chamber. The instructor knew my experience level and what was at stake. I wanted to be so instrument proficient before I left that I could fly a partial-panel NDB approach inverted down to minimums, while eating dinner and reading Tolstoy.

The secret of your success

Going through a type-rating course is sort of like drinking from Niagara Falls. It's not that you can't do it; it's just that you have to be really thirsty for knowledge. You can avoid drowning by getting the course materials ahead of time and reviewing systems and limitations before the first day. Use the course syllabus to focus on each day's class material the night before. Even if it's a short review, it's much easier to follow in class if you've already seen the material, instead of coming in cold and trying to keep up. The more you learn before you get there, the less you have to learn after you get there.

Another way to ease the burden is to share it — find folks that you're compatible with and study together. With the encouragement (and pressure) of friends, you will likely study more, and if you run into a roadblock it's great to be able to get a fresh perspective. Study after class — you have no idea how cool you can look until you hit happy hour with flashcards on your favorite airplane systems.

Type rating courses vary in length, but most are between two and three weeks long. The first half is systems training in the classroom and the second half is flight training in the simulator, with some days of overlap. The simulator is generally harder to fly than the actual airplane, because it doesn't always give that "seat of the pants" feel and seems less stable than the actual airplane. Any extra time in the simulators or mock-ups running checklists and flipping switches in between sessions is time well spent. Except for landings, once the simulator is mastered, handling the airplane is a piece of cake.

Bouncing back

Day 1 of my simulator training, everything was great. Day 2, I crashed. Now, unless you are goofing around in the simulator and the instructor has said something to the effect of, "I bet you can't do this," crashing is not really an acceptable outcome during any training event. It is even less acceptable if you are in the actual airplane.

I couldn't believe that I crashed. I had watched other people crash, but I had never crashed. Contrary to popular belief, the simulator does not flash "Game Over" and request that you insert another quarter to get three more airplanes. It just turns red (like it's embarrassed) and makes a lot of noise.

We had been doing multiple raw-data ILS approaches in the simulator (raw data is flying an approach without any flight-director guidance, just like in a Cessna 172). Now, I should point out that in a jet, going raw data is an emergency all in itself for many pilots. It was late at night; I was tired and had a serious case of tunnel vision. I was going to keep the needles centered if it was the last thing I did. It was.

My sim partner did not call "minimums" like I was expecting, so I just kept going. Eventually, if you do that, you hit the ground. If you meant to do it, we call it a landing. If you didn't mean to do it, we call it a crash . The way some folks land, it's hard to tell the difference.

I left the training facility that night, and for the first time in my flying career my confidence was shaken. Suddenly it was no longer when I was going to finish training, but if.

No one else, not my sim partner or 'nstructor, seemed that concerned about it, but I was devastated. I'd had a bad night. One more bad night and I would be having one of those conversations in the chief pilot's office. It felt like I had to kick a 45-yard field goal as time ran out to save the season. No pressure.

I told a friend what had happened. My friend resisted the obvious "well, if you fly like you drive" comment and was very supportive of my irrational ramblings. Both my friend and my sim partner told me to forget it, that I was a good pilot, and tomorrow would be great. They were right. Learn from it, forget about it, and go on. The next night I was back in the simulator and everything was great. Thank goodness.

The big day

Your actual checkride comes in three parts: performance, oral, and flight. The performance section usually requires planning a flight just like any other checkride. The oral involves a review of aircraft systems that can range from question and answer to actually drawing systems out on a board. You are not expected to be perfect. Answer what is asked and don't go overboard. If you don't know, say you don't know, but be prepared to look it up and know where to find the answer.

The flight portion involves some emergencies and several engine-out approaches. Generally there is a practice checkride the day before that covers everything you will see on the actual checkride. You are being evaluated on how well you manage your available resources — airplane, crew, ground support — as well as how you fly the airplane during normal and emergency situations. If you are the flying pilot, you have the easy part. Your sim partner is trying to figure out and get through about a billion checklist items. If you fly, let your sim partner work the problem. If you want to work the problem, fine, let your sim partner fly.

A successful checkride is a slow checkride. Don't get tunnel vision; try to keep the big picture in sight. Make sure that everyone is comfortable with the pace of what's going on. Take as much time as you need to sort out any problems. If necessary, go somewhere, hold, and get your act together. Don't make the situation worse by being in a hurry and missing something. Many times a straightforward problem that can be easily fixed turns into a major catastrophe because someone got sloppy running a checklist or forgot to fly the airplane.

Generally, it's in everyone's best interest that you pass. No one is out there to try and trip you up. In fact, many times they just want to teach you something. Have an open mind and treat the checkride as just another part of your learning experience.

I got my type rating — now what?

Employers treat type ratings differently. For some it is just the beginning of the training process, while for others it is the training process. When I got my last type rating my employer greeted my triumphant return with another checkride. I couldn't believe it; with my type rating burning a hole in my pocket, I thought I was done. Apparently not. I had another oral, which I was acing, right up until the check airman asked, "What is the amount of thrust generated by the APU?" When they ask something like that, you've passed, because at that point they are just trying to find anything you don't know so they can say "gotcha!" at least once). On my aircraft checkride, we did stalls, steep turns, and even had to do a single-engine NDB approach with a circle to land in a 20-plus-knot crosswind. That was a lot of work. This was in direct contrast to my previous employer, who looked at my new license, pointed to the airplane (just in case I wasn't sure what it looked like), and motioned toward Minneapolis.

A type rating — how important is it to have one?

A type rating is permanent; like a college degree, it lasts forever. It is proof that you were trained for that airplane. It also says a lot about you that you can complete a type rating course along with the ensuing oral and checkride and be qualified as a captain in that airplane. Second-in-command training is valuable but temporary — you may have to provide all sorts of paperwork to prove it, and the training is viewed as less meaningful than a type rating, whether that happens to be true or not.

Is buying a type rating worth it?

In the best of hiring times, competition is fierce. The best of times, unfortunately, has just come to a close. Hiring has slowed drastically over the past year and when that happens competition and hiring minimums go up. It also means when hiring picks up, there will be a pent-up supply of applicants and minimums will remain high for some time.

So, back to the original question. A year ago, I wouldn't have bought a type rating or paid for training to get a job. But now it would depend on my financial position and whether there was a job attached to it. There doesn't seem to be as much of a stigma associated with paying for training as there might have been just a few years ago.

I have had several friends who have paid for training and for most of them it has worked out pretty well. Mike paid for a type rating, which got him into a much larger and more desirable airplane, which in turn made his flight experience more valuable to future employers. In addition, the bumps in salary he got as a result more than offset the cost of the type rating. Thor had several job offers, including a captain's seat at a commuter, but took one that required him to pay for a type rating. For Thor, the salary, benefits, and breadth of experience more than offset the cost of the type rating. It was a tough choice for both Mike and Thor, but for them, at that time, it was worth it — and both had been offered jobs contingent upon getting the type rating. You need to evaluate the situation in your own terms and make the decision that is best for you.

If you have a choice, type ratings for newer or larger aircraft are generally more valuable than those for older or smaller aircraft. Certain type ratings also make it easier to get contract work. Think of what will make you look better to future employers — not that you want to move at that time, but just in case something happens it's always great to have a contingency plan.

If you are going to pay for training, get as much bang for your buck as possible. Try to get a type rating out of it even if it means paying a bit more. Make sure there is a solid job waiting for you when you get out. Try to have the new employer pay for the training and reimburse them as part of a training bond or contract. That way, the employer has more incentive to keep you because you have more incentive to pay them back while employed there.

Get training from a recognized training provider. Discuss with them contingency plans if you fail a checkride or need additional training — is it included, are you on an annual contract, or is it a one-shot deal? Don't be bashful — you don't want to pay all that money and end up with nothing — no job and no type rating.

There are more personal benefits to a type rating as well — it's sort of like summer camp for airplane geeks. You meet new people and learn about flying backgrounds that you may have in common — it always makes me thankful for the things I haven't had to do. Sure, it's stressful, but you get to spend a great deal of time with people who love airplanes and quite often make lifelong friends.

Marc K. Henegar flies a Boeing 737 for Alaska Airlines.