Mark R. Twombly used to enjoy aerial sightseeing trips around Washington, D.C., in a Cessna 172.
Living and flying in Southwest Florida has given me a vision problem: I'm seeing the world through rose-colored glasses.
Nothing wrong with hunky-dory, except that my local perspective does not take in the harsh restrictions affecting some pilots and airplane owners — restrictions that could too easily spread to all of general aviation. That frightening potential became evident on a recent visit to College Park Airport in Maryland.
It has been several years since I've flown into College Park, which is conveniently located northeast of Washington, D.C., inside the Beltway. I used to land on its 2,607-foot Runway 15/33 regularly. The airport is only about a mile from the University of Maryland, where my oldest son studies and works, and there's a Washington Metro subway terminal adjacent to the field that can get me anywhere I need to go in downtown D.C. Also, the 94th Aero Squadron restaurant on the southeast corner of the field gave me a $100-hamburger reason to head to College Park.
Along with the practical reasons for landing at College Park, it made me feel like I was a small — a very small — part of history. College Park lays claim to being the world's oldest airport in continuous operation. In 1909 Wilbur and Orville Wright set up operations on what is now College Park Airport, and began training Army Signal Corps cadets to become the U.S. military's first pilots. College Park has been in business ever since.
In recognition of that unique historical standing, the College Park Aviation Museum opened on the airport grounds five years ago. I happened to be in Washington recently, and drove over to College Park to visit the museum and have a look around the airport. The museum is excellent, but I was shocked at what has happened to the airport.
The last time I flew in, there were some 90 based aircraft that, in combination with transients like myself, made about 600 takeoffs and landings a month. On my recent visit I saw no more than 30 lonely looking airplanes, some of them resting on tires gone flat from disuse. Incredibly, transient traffic now is forbidden at this super-convenient, publicly owned, public-use airport. The monthly traffic count? How about a pitiful 180 or so? The maintenance and avionics shop on the west side? It's moved to another airport outside the Beltway.
What happened to College Park? The same thing that has happened to Washington Executive/Hyde Field and Potomac Airfield, the other two airports that make up the so-called "DC 3" ("DC 4," actually, because Ronald Reagan Washington National Airport has been declared off-limits to all general aviation traffic). The Transportation Security Administration and the United States Secret Service have deemed the airports too close to the nation's capital and, on that basis alone, a security threat. The result is withering operating restrictions for pilots.
We're all aware of the absurd no-fly restriction imposed on general aviation traffic when the government declares a temporary flight restriction (TFR) whenever and wherever the president travels. (I'm still puzzling over the rationale of prohibiting all general aviation aircraft within miles of a TFR airport, only to have the presidential entourage travel to and from the airport in a highly visible motorcade so the president can grip and grin directly with voters.) But those of us around the country who are mostly unaffected by TFRs would be dumbstruck — and effectively grounded — by what has taken place at the DC 3.
Here's what it takes to fly out of College Park, Washington Executive, or Potomac:
First, as noted, you have to be based at the airport. Second, you have to be fingerprinted and undergo a background check by the Secret Service. Now, at least, you exist in some security office's computer hard drive.
After that you must watch a videotape on security procedures to learn what you must do to fly, and what you cannot do when you fly. For example, you cannot practice takeoffs and landings or any other kind of training, nor are any maintenance flights permitted that would depart and return to the same field.
You must secure your aircraft with a device such as a locking steel cable wrapped around the propeller. The lock must be installed before you can leave the airplane for any reason.
You must file a flight plan for any flight by telephoning the Leesburg Automated Flight Service Station in Virginia and providing your confidential pilot identification code. Once filed, the flight plan is forwarded to the Secret Service.
Before takeoff you must telephone Washington Approach to obtain a departure clearance, and after takeoff follow special routing out of the area. Flight plans also are required for all arrivals, and VFR flight plans must be canceled on the ground by telephone. The Secret Service is alerted when a flight plan is canceled.
Pilots at College Park Airport, Washington Executive/Hyde Field, and Potomac Airfield who continue to operate despite these onerous restrictions deserve all the sympathy, encouragement, and support we can give them. They truly want to fly.
The prospect for improvement in the near term appears bleak. Fortunately for College Park, it is owned by the Maryland-National Capital Park and Planning Commission, and the severe drop in income that has occurred at the airport has an insignificant effect on the commission's overall budget. The airport also is hoping to become the new base for the Prince George's County, Maryland, police aviation unit.
Also, the excellent College Park Aviation Museum is popular with local schools and attracts pilots and their families visiting the Washington, D.C., area, which helps keep the airport visible.
No one disputes the need for effective security measures in our nation's capital city. But given the truly insignificant risk posed by light aircraft, and the close proximity of other airports that have no such restrictions, it seems unfair in the extreme to penalize College Park, Washington Executive/Hyde, and Potomac.
The question each of us should ask is, "Will my airport be next?"
My recent visit to College Park drained most of the tint from my rose-colored aviation glasses. All it would take to turn them impenetrably black is for the president to decide that he's had enough of Texas gentleman ranching, and begin to take his refuge in the South Florida sun instead.
E-mail the author at [email protected].
