The road not taken

With me there was never any doubt; I wanted to fly. When I first saw the inside of a Cessna 172 as a new student pilot, I was in my mid-twenties. Soon afterward, I started a career in an entirely different industry, halfway across the country, and my flight training became...overcome by events.

A dozen years later, I was also approaching the big Four-Oh, and I decided to make a preemptive strike against a midlife crisis by considering a career change. After reviewing the results of several aptitude and personality tests, my career counselor (a gentleman with the very memorable name of Larney Gump, to whom I remain indebted) suggested that I resume flying and "see where that leads."

So I visited a number of flight schools in the Maryland and Virginia suburbs around Washington, D.C., and during these visits I picked up the inside story on flight training and the aviation industry from several chief flight instructors and professional pilots. I put this information into a list of pros and cons regarding my prospects for a new vocation in the left seat. Here's the story of what I came away with, and what I decided to do about it. I'll also put this in perspective by discussing how things worked out for me, as well as what I've learned in the decade and a half since.

On the plus side, I loved flying. What better way to earn a living than doing something you love? I also thought working 15 days a month might be cool (OK, 20 if I included the commute to and from a hub city). Then there was a six-figure salary somewhere off in a hazy future. At the time, I was also seriously considering optometry school, and flight training would probably be one-quarter the cost--or even less if you considered start-up costs of a sole or joint practice. I could have remained in the D.C. area while learning to fly, and I even had the option of continuing with my then-employer on a half-time basis.

I wouldn't have to worry about academic credentials, since I already had two degrees--one of them was in meteorology, which I knew would come in handy when interpreting weather; any prospective employer might think so, too. I'll admit that there was also the high-profile, macho "glamour" appeal, though I suspected that might be overrated. A flying career would allow great freedom in family vacation and personal travel, thanks to reduced or almost free courtesy passage.

Among the biggest draws were the demographics predictions that said there would be large numbers of pilots retiring in the next few years, in conjunction with a hiring boom. Some other check marks in the "plus" column were the prospects of a notable expansion in my circle of friends and, in the long term, the anticipated large chunks of free time might allow me to develop second career interests or a side business. The "pro" column looked pretty good.

But then came "con." The reality flash from one local pilot was that I would likely get tired of flying the same routes, going by the same procedures, and I'd be inundated with company procedural minutiae. He said I'd get bored with computerized cockpit controls and that by the time I was wearing epaulets, I wouldn't really be "flying." I'd be working in a large organization (no shock for me there), but with much less autonomy than I was used to (oh). I might get stuck in or near some undesirable hub city, and based on what I was hearing, I would always have a significant commute to work; it was highly unlikely that I'd live within five miles of my home drome, as I do now.

I would be away from home regularly, and I wouldn't be there when my wife and children needed me. Another sour note was that I'd be pretty low on the salary totem pole for the first few years, maybe as many as 10 years. I'd probably have a younger boss.

Then there were the uncertain job prospects. The word from those who'd been there was that health benefits would be uncertain at best with the regional carriers. Then there was mandatory retirement at age 60. I could get unceremoniously bounced from my job if I developed any significant health problem. Oh, and I'd better get used to working irregular hours, too. Actually that was a nonissue for me, after years of following the tides in marine science, and then later in flight dynamics where I helped to keep telecommunication satellites in orbit--in both cases the time of day or night means almost nothing.

Where would I get the money for our kids' college educations? And say sayonara to the discretionary income we'd been used to. There was the hard-boiled prospect of paying my dues in uncertain flying conditions, operating potentially uncertain equipment, while building hours as a freight dog, towing banners, or whatever.

There was a resounding thump as I fell off my cloud: The "nays" outweighed the "yeas." If I was single and didn't have children, it would have been the other way around.

So I learned to fly and flew all I could, for myself, but on a non-interference basis with my family's needs. And for me, that was the right decision. One of life's many ironies is that when you close one door, others invariably open. Over these last 15 years, I've enjoyed some unexpected benefits from having earned my pilot certificates, along with the other ratings and endorsements I've added to broaden my experience and learn as much as I can.

On at least one occasion, my being a pilot actually helped me land a nonflying job: During an interview at a firm that later became part of Orbital Sciences Corporation, in addition to promoting what I'd hoped was my guru-level knowledge of flying telecommunications spacecraft, the subject of flying aircraft came up. It turned out that the interviewer's dad had flown with Wiley Post, and although my meager exploits could hardly trump his, I'll just say that when someone is looking for an applicant who can walk on water, they'll still be impressed when you tell them you can fly.

But even if you aren't looking to open employment doors, there are other value-added lifetime benefits you might not have considered. Flying teaches planning and the value of an organized approach to any enterprise (like cross-country flight), and generally encourages a "have it ready beforehand" approach to things. I tend to look for problems before they find me, which helps on the ground as well as above it. We learn about equipment maintenance and the importance of regular service and routine replacement of critical components. Pilots learn to read--and to some extent, predict--the weather.

Aviation introduces us to the importance of the relationship between health and performance, and to continue flying, we come to respect and cultivate continued good health. We also expand the envelope of familiarization with our body's reactions to changing climate and temperatures. Then there is the analytical consciousness, which might help someday when you wouldn't expect it, like I'd noticed once when I was driving on an icy road and suddenly found myself starting to slide. Instead of panicking, out came the checklist, so to speak...speed: slowing--check; seat belt: tighten--check; brakes: pump lightly--check.

One of aviation's most profound intangibles is simply what we get to see and feel when we fly, and I just cannot omit an obligatory paean to the panoramas and aesthetic epiphanies that all pilots eventually experience. As far as my own reminiscences are concerned, I could certainly share a few. The first one that comes to mind is soaring in a single-place Schweitzer 1-26 sailplane during my lunch hour on a day when there was so much lift that I could have stayed up all afternoon. Then there was the time I contributed a flight as part of a school fundraiser and got to share awe-inspiring cloud-canyon vistas with a local family.

On another occasion I remember an absolutely spectacular Maxfield Parrish cloudscape on the way back from a Civil Air Patrol search and rescue mission on Maryland's Eastern Shore, late one July 4 afternoon. Zooming along at a lazy 200 knots not much higher that 200 feet above the hills near Harpers Ferry, West Virginia, in an L-29 jet is a memory that won't fade anytime soon, but then I could say the same for the sensation I got in a Piper Cub each and every time I left the grass runway at Haysfield, Maryland, near Baltimore. So, yes, there are sublime insights as well as visceral thrills aplenty. I've known many moments such as these, and their influence can be quite powerful.

Of course, magic and sentimentality do have their limits; but there are some more whimsical associations. Things like having your head on a swivel while driving slowly in close quarters, or dashboard flow pattern double-checks before exiting a parked car, or even having a better weather eye for those family outings.

From habits in our nonflying lives, to what and how we think of ourselves; from routine actions or procedures all the way up to how we look at life--they're all affected by the precepts, disciplines, behavior patterns, and even just plain motor activities of aviation. And you know, those 15 years between then and now went by so quickly--and in less than half that time from now, the nest will be empty. One guess where I'll be.

Jeff Pardo is an aviation writer in Maryland with a commercial pilot certificate for airplanes, and instrument, helicopter, and glider ratings. He has logged about 1,300 hours since 1989. Pardo has also flown for the Civil Air Patrol.