Learning Experiences

Getting paid to fly doesn't make you a professional pilot

I had just finished my commercial pilot checkride when my flight instructor asked me if I would like to make some money giving scenic rides at an airshow the next day. I couldn't believe that I was finally going to be paid to fly after six years of using money my mother gave me for clothes to pay for flying lessons. I would have done it for free just for the chance to fly to the airshow and watch Bob Hoover in his Shrike Commander and the Flying Farmer in his Piper J-3 Cub, but I eagerly accepted the sum of $25 that was offered for the day.

That morning I filled up the Cessna 172 with fuel in anticipation of being ready for my first paying passengers before I left for the 20-minute flight to Concord, New Hampshire. Although I enjoyed watching the performers that morning, I was anxious to get to the intermission when I would have the opportunity to take up my first paying passengers.

Finally the big moment arrived, and I managed to work my way past the crowd of people and out to the airplane where the wife of the owner of the local flight school was already beginning to lead a passenger into the 172. It was then that I began to get worried. There were two rather plump ladies attempting to situate themselves in the backseats, while their companion, who was blind, stood by with his cane. I quickly started doing the math and came to the obvious conclusion for a newly minted commercial pilot--we were clearly going to be outside of the weight and balance limits for the airplane.

There was no time to check the graph or add up numbers on a calculator, but even without that luxury my experience told me that putting these two ladies in the backseats was a bad idea. No problem, I thought naively, I will just put one of the ladies in the front, and that will help even out the load. They sweetly informed me that this would not do, as their gentleman friend always liked to ride in the front. It was then that I began to think that I must have been chosen for a "Candid Camera" prank. How else could I explain why a blind man needed to ride in front--on a scenic flight?

"Are you sure you wouldn't be more comfortable in front?" I asked the larger of the two ladies.

"Oh no, he rides in the front every year," they said in unison. Before you could say "aft CG," they were all buckled in, with the cane positioned so that it would not interfere with the rudder pedals--the least of my worries as I pondered the effect of the pounds in the back.

Not totally neglecting everything I had learned in my flight training, I decided that for takeoff I would trim the aircraft forward and plan to climb out at a higher speed. How bad could this be? As soon as I reached liftoff speed, and the airplane became airborne with hardly a wiggle of my finger on the yoke, I knew the answer to that question. We leaped into the sky like a vulture taking flight, and I soon found myself briskly spinning the trim wheel to the full forward position. This did little to alleviate the problem of the tail-heavy aircraft, and I had to lean into the yoke with my elbow wedged into my ribs for leverage to keep the nose from springing higher into the air. My only consolation was that my front-seat passenger could not see the sweat pouring down my face as I gingerly banked the airplane around for the short hop back to the airport.

I quickly pondered the best strategy to take on final approach and decided to use just 10 degrees of flaps, lots of speed, and a prayer in the execution of my first landing as a professional pilot--professional indeed. As the white lines of the runway slipped under the airplane's nose I gently released my elbow from its nook in my ribs. The nose rose eagerly up to greet blue sky as the squeal of tires hitting pavement filled my now-crimson ears.

When we had taxied in and my three blissfully ignorant passengers had extricated themselves slowly from the airplane, I was filled with remorse for the mistake I had made and an appreciation of the fact that we had all arrived unscathed. The trio thanked me for their flight and disappeared into the crowd without a clue as to what had just transpired, but I was never to forget. I have shared this story every semester when I teach freshmen about moments, arms, and datums, and I hope that it conveys the importance of an otherwise dull lesson in numbers and graphs.

The following year I was asked to give scenic rides again at the airshow, and my first passengers were the blind man and his matronly companions. I took off with less fuel, more sense, and a keen understanding that getting paid to fly does not make you a professional pilot.

"Learning Experiences" is presented to enhance safety by providing a forum for students and pilots to learn from the experiences of others. It is intended to provoke thought and discussion, acknowledging that actions taken by the authors were not necessarily the best choices under the circumstances. We encourage you to discuss any questions you have about a particular scenario with your flight instructor.