Bring Back That Lovin' Feelin'

RAAF Base East Sale

I started drafting this article in between meetings at RAAF Base East Sale, sitting outside AAFCANS cafe listening to the melodic drone of a Pilatus PC-21 pitching in to the circuit at the end of an intense 1.2 hour flight. I found myself hoping that the student in the front seat was doing well, and was about to complete a satisfactory flight and progress their piloting journey to Wings one sortie at a time.

I was feeling wistful sitting there. Having just visited the newly built Air Academy, bumping into familiar faces and friends in flying suits that I hadn't seen for over ten years; admiring the new PC-21 training aircraft; being blown away by the advanced technology available to trainees; and feeling for what could have been had I graduated 211 Advanced Pilots Course in 2008.

But the more I tried to pinpoint any feelings of regret or nostalgia, the more elusive it felt. I love working in aviation, and I am passionate about working with Air Force and Defence on aviation problems. I enjoy flying, and like any pilot I turn my eyes skyward when an aircraft passed overhead. And I get to do all of those things today. It took me a few days to reconcile this unsettling feeling that I initially thought was regret or nostalgia.

PC-9/A to PC-21

I was given a remarkable opportunity while at East Sale to look over the PC-21 Flight Training Device (FTD), and to jump in and pilot it for twenty minutes. This opportunity came about thanks to our hosting officer, who through an odd twist of fate knew of me through my writing, although we hadn't previously met. He explained that a colleague of his enjoyed my writing, and that my writing had made an impact on him. I was stunned, and felt happy that my writing wasn't just 'read' by someone else but that it had helped and impacted someone else. He knew I had some PC-9 experience, and was assured that I'd have no difficulty piloting the PC-21 from scratch. I timidly reminded him that I'd been scrubbed off 2FTS, and he good-naturedly laughed it off and said let's get airborne.

So, I jumped at the opportunity to pilot the FTD, and waited patiently for a pre-1FTS trainee to finish her flight, watching her on the Instructor Operator Station. She landed, and I then hopped in (no strap in). I was pre-lined up on runway 27 while the device operator spoke to me through a David Clark headset, explaining controls and appropriate speeds for climb, gear, flaps. He asked if I was good to go and I said yes.

I pushed the Power Control Lever forward steadily and started rolling, albeit slower than I remembered the PC-9. Rotate at 92 knots, ten degrees nose up, gear up; at 120 knots (?) flaps up and climb away at 180. I was at 4,000 feet before I knew it, and aware that I was fixated through the Head-Up Display (HUD). I was performance flying through the HUD numbers rather than attitude flying. I'd occasionally look down at the bright Primary Flight Display or secondary Multi Function Displays, but scarcely knew what I was looking at with the amount of digital information available and my lack of cockpit familiarity. As a couple of Qualified Flying Instructors explained throughout the day - the aircraft is very easy to fly, difficult to operate, and "when it goes off the rails it really goes off the rails."

Fixation Avoidance: During high workload periods of flight, such as the takeoff/departure or approach/landing phases, fixation on the flight director information often occurs. This can lead to an overall loss of situational awareness. To overcome this, the pilot should develop the same "crosscheck" mentality used in normal instrument flight and flying in VMC conditions, while including the external visual scan that the HUD system so easily affords. - Skybrary

Spin

I wanted to do a spin as I find a spin an interesting way of crudely checking out an aircraft's handling (in a simulated environment). I climbed to 6,000, idled, and pulled back steadily as my speed washed off. The jet stalled benignly, dropping the nose, and I applied firm left rudder. I started rotating, keeping my left foot planted for two to three rotations before commencing recovery. Neutralise controls, throttle idle, confirm spin direction (I couldn't find the balance ball so had to go with the direction I knew), and full opposite rudder. The spin broke, I leveled wings and pulled through while gradually applying power and looking for about 180 knots. I think I lost around 1,000 feet which was much less than I'd expected. From what I remember the PC-21's spin characteristics were much like the PC-9's.

Circuits

I then told the operator I'd like to return to base for a couple of circuits. He vectored me to the aerodrome and asked if I remembered my initial and pitch procedures. I laughed and said I remembered how cool an initial and pitch was but I couldn't remember the speeds and heights. He talked me through them as I pointed towards the tower, descending to 1,000 feet at 200 knots. Once abeam the runway 27 piano keys I pitched in about 30 degrees and idled, trying to maintain 1,000 feet and looking for the right HUD roll-out heading. Again, I found it hard to not look at the HUD and to try to look through the HUD to the runway, to my spacing, and to my usual visual cues.

Lined up on downwind I fumbled around with my left hand looking for the airbrake to get below 120 knots for gear and flaps. I managed to push every button on the HOTAS throttle before finding the airbrake, including one that sounded a 'CHAFF' alert in my headset. Speed control was tricky, as I would use the throttle by default and tended to bring the PCL to idle when I was too fast instead of using the airbrake and keeping the turbine spooled up. Eventually configured, marginally holding my altitude and spacing, I started a base turn. On both circuits I rolled in too much and ended up halfway around needing to lessen the bank to salvage my base turn to properly roll onto final. Think wind!

Final approach was straightforward, holding speed and aimpoint easily, and on the first circuit I conducted a touch and go. After landing with what seemed like a slight bounce, tricky to interpret with no tactile or motion feedback, I accelerated and remembered to bring flaps to Take/Off, and rotate at 92 knots. I brought flaps fully up as I climbed and accelerated away to 500 feet, realising I'd forgotten to retract my gear. Whoops, gear up, and I rolled crosswind onto downwind, already at altitude. I was punching in plenty of right rudder throughout the takeoff and acceleration even though it wasn't required thanks to yaw dampening, and I was trimming continously - my 2FTS instructor would have been happy. One thing I noticed was that the HUD climb ladder wasn't the same as the backup head-down artificial horizon. What I thought was ten degrees on the HUD didn't correlate on the HDAH.

By the time I'd sorted out my spacing, height, and heading I was abeam the threshold, speeding away, and needing to configure for landing. The jet was very easily getting away from me and I had to consciously focus on managing one parameter at a time, tunneling in on specific performance numbers rather than keeping the bigger picture. I got everything configured during the extended base turn and landed, rolling to a full stop just past the taxiway.

Helmet Fires

Then I jumped out. Sweat was dripping down my forehead onto my cheeks, and my grey business shirt was soaked through. As I climbed out of the FTD someone quizzically asked if there was no airflow in there.

"No," I replied, "This is pretty standard for me. But in a flight suit at least you don't sweat through and I could hide it a little better!" This is true - every flight I flew I was cognitively working hard, and it manifested physically. It still happens to this day - when I flew with my dad last year I was sweating away, and I'm sure for my upcoming Biennial Flight Review I'll be soaked.

A few more laughs, people asking if I had a change of shirt, etc. All very funny. A decade ago I would have gone and drunk the standard two Powerades that were catered for after a flight and then debriefed with my instructor. This time I stood talking a while longer with the FTD operator before heading out to the maintenance hanger to see a PC-21 up close.

In the hangar I met our hosting officer's colleague, on whom my writing had made an impact. He explained that it was refreshing to read of my own my journey from 211 to growth, overcoming failure, and falling in love with aviation again, as he had been on his own similar journey.

I lost track of time as I looked over the PC-21. Crawling around it, admiring its Swiss factory-fresh paint, laminar surfaces, muscular fuselage, five-bladed composite prop, and interesting aerodynamic features such as the upside-down triangular vortex generators on the outboard leading edges of the wing. The 'doritos' paint scheme even grew on me. In between getting lost in aerodynamic appreciation and curiosities on the jet, I'd look up on hearing the distinctive pitch of a PC-21's venerable PT6 turbine engine on short final approach. The hangar doors were open and I had a perfect view of the flightline and runway threshold. I particularly enjoyed seeing instructors and trainees walking with right-angled discipline across the flightline! This was one of the first flightline safety requirements we had to follow and one that I still abide by today; the logic being that walking parallel or perpendicular to the flightline helped with visibility and predictability;

On Writing

When I write I am aware that my default mode is to write objectively, from my head. Luana always pushes me to write with my heart, not my head. She's right. The articles that I've had the most enjoyment out of writing, and those that have been commented on the most or had the most impact have been those in which I've shown vulnerability and where I've shared myself. Even this piece... the easiest part was writing technically about the PC-21 and my simulator flight, not about what really matters. The most rewarding and cathartic has been where I open my heart and put in words what I'm feeling.

One of my greatest vulnerabilities, even thirteen years later, is not having graduated Pilots Course. For a decade I went and pursued another career and challenged myself in other ways, avoiding having to face that harsh fact and feeling. Luana gently led me to feel again and to go after that which I love, aviation. This also meant building up the courage to face my failures. My heart never wanted to stop flying, but my head led the way for a long time and I tormented myself in not pursuing my love of aviation and in not facing up to my own failure. I went through a journey in learning to fly again, in looking at why I didn't earn Wings, and in understanding myself better and what inspires me and that I'm passionate about. I still haven't entirely made peace with my failing, and I'm not sure I ever will, but I'm mindful of that, and I know that much of that feeling is due to focusing on remembering the positive aspects of Pilots Course.

The gentleman on whom my writing had made an impact and in reflecting on his own journey had this to say:

"We all have our challenges... it can happen any time. We own it, accept it, and those that make mistakes learn the most."

For taking this journey I'm not happy about my failure, but the previous quote about challenges and mistakes rings true - that when we make mistakes and choose to learn from them, we do learn the most. And where I am today I am happy. Happier with the opportunities and love that I've found, that would not have been the case had I earned my Wings.

No feeling is final

For a few days after visiting East Sale I thought I was nostalgic. I reminisced about the PC-9/A, and in the happiness at seeing some friends that I trained with who were now instructors; and instructors that had taught me were now senior instructors or squadron executives. But the more I thought and felt, the more I realised that my feeling wasn't nostalgia or regret.

I did and do love working within Air Force and Defence teams, working with motivated and professional individuals. I also love flying. But I didn't love my PC-21 simulated flight. It was hard work, and it was a fun experience; but it was and is really hard work to operate a military aircraft. It brought back the same feelings I had when piloting PC-9s: hard work, little airborne enjoyment, and never feeling good enough. I look back with a lot of fondness at having spent six years in the Air Force, at having had the privilege to learn to fly in that stellar teaching environment, to have flown the PC-9 and to have fostered a love of flying, and to have made lifelong friends.

Now, I find myself again making new friends in the Air Force and Defence, in finding joy in my work and in indulging my aviation passion at the same time, and in speaking with other aviation professionals and learning from their knowledge and experience. In working on interesting problems not only with military pilots, whom in a sliding door world I may have been one of, but across the broader aerospace industry and community.

And, sometimes, I even get to go flying.