Fitting in

After some research I applied to two regional airlines and was fortunate to receive offers from both. A chance encounter with two pilots at a restaurant broke the tie, and some weeks later I began my first airline ground school. The course was about six weeks and encompassed several phases. The first was “basic indoc,” in which we learned about the company and how it did things. A lengthy aircraft systems course was next. Then we practiced cockpit procedures in a “paper trainer” before moving into the simulator.

I had heard gouge—insider information—that the systems class was the major hurdle, and this proved correct. My airline flew turboprops, and it turns out they are more complicated than jets in some ways. We spent hours tracing electrical pathways, identifying key valves in the pneumatic and pressurization systems, dissecting the engine subsystems, and learning what each light in the cockpit meant. That was particularly challenging, because a given light often did more than one job. High-pressure air tapped from the engine to run accessories might be above the proper temperature, or it might be over pressure. Or the valve controlling the air might auto-close for one of several reasons. Any one of those occurrences would trigger the single associated warning light.

While I did not object to the course being rigorous, I became skeptical of the emphasis on nuts-and-bolts details. Did we really need to know the rpm of the recirculation fans? Why were we required to memorize verbatim a paragraph describing the function of the engine’s autofeather system? I’m a former teacher, and I was unable to resist questioning some of these practices. As politely as I could, I asked if we were to demand this information from a random line pilot, would he or she be able to recite it? Probably not, was the reply. At least they were honest about it.

I was embarrassed to find myself struggling with these basics and playing catch-up on the many details of day-to-day line flying.Systems class ended with a lengthy exam. Study hard, they told us, because even someone familiar with the aircraft’s systems might not do well. Afterward we were asked for our feedback. The chief pilot was there, and I attempted to demure. But at the instructors’ urging I gave a critique based on my education background: “If a person with good knowledge of the aircraft’s systems is in danger of not passing your systems test, then it’s a poorly designed test. It’s apparently not measuring systems knowledge.” This had the effect of sucking all the air from the room, and it probably did not do good things for my reputation within the company. But we had all passed and would go on to simulator training.

I’m often asked what it’s like to fly the sim, and I say it’s a lot like flying an airplane. A full-motion simulator is impressive, and one quickly forgets it’s not the real thing. It moves along with the visuals on the screen, lights flash, alarms blare, and it can be quite intense. I learned later that the sim is not perfect, and it is in fact often harder to fly than the real aircraft.

Airline procedures generally are designed for two pilots. While I had some experience in multi-crew cockpits, I was unprepared for how intricate the cooperation is between two airline pilots. Some tasks always belong to the captain (such as taxiing, since most airliners have a single tiller on the left side of the cockpit for nosewheel steering); some to the first officer; and some are shared or swapped depending on who is the pilot flying and who is the pilot monitoring. At my airline there was a great deal of required verbiage, exchanges of flight controls, and coordinated tasks at specific times in a flight. These tasks had to be learned very precisely, and I frankly did not have an easy time of it.

Simulator training is based largely on emergencies. Very little time is devoted on the first day to “normal” flying. After just a few regular takeoffs and maneuvers, warning lights begin flashing as the instructors fail engines and induce systems problems. We frequently practiced a worst-case scenario called a “V1 cut.” This simulates an engine failure during takeoff at exactly the moment we are beyond the point of a runway abort and must continue flying. Every time we began a new scenario, we knew something bad was going to happen. It made me jumpy, and I often found basic airmanship deserting me when I tried to execute the required verbiage and procedures in the chaos. At times I felt like a student pilot again, and no doubt I looked like one on a few occasions. When things got frustrating I reminded myself that the bar should be set high for this type of work.

My sim partner was a highly competent veteran at the airline who seemed alternately amused and exasperated by my difficulties. With his help and some personalized attention from our instructor, things eventually came together for me, although later in the process than I would have preferred. After passing my checkride I returned home with a new type rating in my wallet, despite having never flown the actual aircraft. I also wore my airline uniform for the first time, and felt like an imposter as I learned to travel as a “non-rev” (see sidebar at left).

Following a long weekend off, I began the initial operating experience (IOE) phase. These are normal revenue flights—with paying passengers aboard—supervised by a qualified training captain. It was strange to fly the actual aircraft for the first time in this setting, but that is the industry standard. My captain for IOE was experienced, amiable, and patient with me as I sorted out the differences between sim training and real flying.

Despite all the standardization in aviation, there is a lot of tribal knowledge about how to do things at my airline. There are preferred techniques for certain situations, and IOE is the place to learn them. It was strange to go from the sim’s focus on emergencies to everyday flying with both engines running. The airline didn’t really teach things such as visual approaches, although some know-how was needed in the turboprop to perform them efficiently. I was embarrassed to find myself struggling with these basics and playing catch-up on the many details of day-to-day line flying. Landings were particularly different in real life, but to my relief, considerably easier than in the sim.

There was also a surprise in store for me in the airplane’s technology. Our airplanes had older GPS units, and we were given very little training on them. But some of our aircraft had no GPS at all, which I found startling in this day and age. Controllers were often surprised to hear us respond “Unable” when asked to go direct to a waypoint. On at least one occasion this caused an operational problem when the ILS was not available at one of our destinations.

Apart from the technicalities of flying, I also needed to absorb certain points of etiquette among crew members, and initially I was unaware of some of them. I was mortified to learn after several weeks that I was annoying our flight attendants by stowing my bag improperly. I also made a paperwork error that resulted in extra work for a captain, for which I still feel badly.

Other first officers predicted six months before I might feel truly comfortable and proficient, and that was about right. After five weeks I felt I had achieved a basic level of competency. Over the next months I gained experience in specialty situations such as deicing, thunderstorm avoidance, windy takeoffs and landings, bird strikes, and troubleshooting typical real-world problems with the checklist. I flew with an FAA inspector in the jumpseat peering over our shoulders during every phase of flight. And I was the pilot flying one day when a warning light required a return to our departure airport. By the sixth or seventh month I felt I was a fully contributing and capable crewmember.

Along the way I found that an FO’s job is to be part chameleon, adapting to the captain’s style. I saw that having two flight crewmembers is hugely valuable for double-checking our work. “Good catch!” we would say, when one of us called attention to an oversight. Most captains I flew with were pleasant people (although a few were more pleasant than others), and I learned something from each of them. I also learned to cope with the drudgeries of airline work: commuting to a base, bidding for a schedule, sitting reserve until I could “hold a line”—and, of course, being away from home a lot.

I enjoyed flying at a regional, partly because I was somewhat relieved to make it to that level at all. Aviation is not my first career, and I suspect those who start younger have some advantage. There were a few bad days early on when I questioned my suitability for the work, but repetition is a good skill and confidence builder. I later moved into flying chartered jets, and there’s no doubt I have my Part 121 experience to thank for that opportunity.