As a pilot who makes his living working for the airlines, I’m involved in aviation every day, in one capacity or another.  Being a de-facto diplomat for aviation, I love writing articles that might help fearful flyers.

A certain mystery surrounds aviation. Darkness, ethereal haze, or pure magic and sorcery?  Truthfully, I’m the wrong person to speculate in such matters; flying has always been as natural to me as walking. But, for most people—particularly people with a fear of flying, flying is not at all natural. With little effort, one can laundry-list the ill-feelings and discomforts. Too, the inconveniences that must be endured at the airports and the total relinquishment of control are anything but pleasant and test the patience of even seasoned travelers. Crew members, including pilots, have been known to reach their limits of tolerance at the madness of the entire airport scene.

So, flying is uncomfortable and unpleasant and most certainly something that the fearful flyer dreads. All these emotions get dumped into a bucket that we summarily label:  Fear.

Fair enough. I’ve got something to share with the fearful flyer:  Sometimes I experience fear too. What would make an airline pilot fearful, you wonder?  The list is not terribly long, so here it goes:

1. Thunderstorms. We routinely fly around thunderstorms. From April to November, pilots will be navigating around various areas of thunderstorm activity almost every time we go to work. We don’t fly through them, but we sometimes have to “pick our way around them.”   Now, let me explain what this means, and then you can check out the video.  We actually look at our on-board weather radar, which paints pretty color pictures of the moisture content of the thunderstorm, and then we stay out of those colored areas. Oh, I can hear it now!  You do WHAT?  While we trusting passengers read, sleep and fret, you pilot-types are trying to dodge colored blobs on a screen?!  Like on a video game?  Yep. True story. Surprisingly, very little specific training is provided. We learn this game by years of hard-earned experience and become very good at this mysterious art. The game is deadly serious, and when I start losing, I get scared. Real scared. White-knuckle scared. I remember the terrible nights flying air freight, alone, in poorly equipped piston twins and turboprops. IF the radar worked, I didn’t know how to use it very well, and I had no help. No flying partner. No resources. Nothing like now when we have all the modern resources and wonderfully engineered and beautifully maintained airplanes. Still, thunderstorms scare me. This confession made, I’ve seldom spilled coffee in the cockpit, and virtually all of the flights that involve “picking our way through,” are remarkably smooth and beautiful. Thunderstorms are an awe-inspiring sight to enjoy. From a distance.
2. Icy runways and taxiways. Ironically, the airports with major airline service have wonderful snow removal programs. Millions of dollars are spent on personnel and equipment and training. Denver, Minneapolis and Chicago have really impressive operations when the snow flies. Still, the runways can get slick, and, what is almost worse, the taxiways get slick, and they get obscured by low visibility conditions. I landed in New York’s JFK airport on one dark and stormy night. Actually, the First Officer landed the airplane, after shooting a beautiful ILS approach and making a smooth landing on a runway covered with hard-packed snow. It then took most of an hour and a half to taxi several miles to our gate, on taxiways that simply could not be kept clear of snow and ice. That same night, a cargo-carrying jet actually slid off a taxiway and closed part of the airport. It was a white-knuckle operation for me to taxi the airplane and keep the operation safe. Our crew was excellent; the best that the industry had to offer. Teamwork made the operation safe. Still, I’m never completely comfortable, and never completely relaxed, when airport operating surfaces are slick.
3. The absolute greatest fear that I have while flying is an old fear: Fire. There are no fire trucks at thirty-nine thousand feet. Sure, we have procedures to fight a fire, but it still takes ten minutes to descend and land, assuming that we are flying over a sizable airport. Assuming that we make an emergency descent to an airport that we can land on, then what?  There likely won’t be any planning during such a rare and extreme emergency, so we can do nothing but perform our emergency procedures, and then rely on our experience. I’ve been on fire before, fortunately on the ground, and it turned out to be a relatively low-cost loss of an engine on an old freighter that I was flying. Nobody got hurt, though I was fired… (No pun intended.)

So, pilots have fears too. I developed the ideas for this article while riding around the freeway that circles around and through Phoenix on my Harley-Davidson motorcycle. Why would a sane person ride a motorcycle?  Everybody knows that riding is dangerous and filled with risks and countless unknowns. I was not going anywhere. I was completely alone, on a solitary mission to nowhere. Completely pointless?  Probably, but I get my best thinking done when I’m riding that Harley, or in the flight deck of an Airbus.

There must be a primal need to risk and overcome. We all have fears. Some days, I don’t ride. Some days, I don’t fly. Occasionally, I pad around in my robe all day, and don’t leave the house. A sixth sense for danger?  Perhaps… It would be a good guess that all pilots have this sixth sense. We are a risk averse group of professionals. We are constantly weighing any risk against any potential reward. This characteristic is a large part of what makes airline flight as safe as it is.

This post turned out to be more personal than was originally intended. It is not meant to frighten anyone, but rather, to share and enlighten. We all have fears. Thank you for allowing me to share mine. Unlike the fearful flyer’s fear, mine serves to increase my vigilance and enhance my ability to do my job.

As Nelson Mandela said, “I learned that courage is not the absence of fear but the triumph over it. The brave man is not he who does not feel afraid, but he who conquers that fear.” I hope we can all conquer our individual challenges.

Today’s guest blogger is Capt. Ron’s friend, Capt. John.  He has been flying since 1983 and has logged 20,000 hours. He assists Capt. Ron in the live Phoenix classes when his flying schedule permits.

Related posts:

1. Afraid to Fly? Then Meet the Pilots!
2. What’s to Fear about a Short Hop in a Turboprop?
3. Another Routine Day to Fly

During a recent layover in Philadelphia, I had an opportunity to step out of my usual place in the cockpit to fly as a passenger on a commuter flight to visit friends in Harrisburg.  Since I am used to piloting an Airbus 319, 320, and 321, this flight in a turboprop took me out of my comfort zone, and I could briefly identify with what it’s like to be a fearful flyer.

The transition from Captain to passenger is truthfully one that many pilots don’t like to make. Like fearful flyers, we aviators don’t like to give up control, but sitting in the back of a turboprop airliner means that I’m not in any kind of control. It has been almost  twenty years since I’ve flown this aircraft type, a De Havilland Dash-8, and, even after visiting the cockpit, it didn’t look all that familiar. By itself, this was quite a shock, and the young pilots flying the airplane looked every bit as young as I remembered being. I am grey, and they are not.

So, after the pilot-greeting event, which is a professional courtesy, I clambered into the the aft-most seat on the right side of the cabin, next to a window smeared with the remnants of that morning’s de-ice fluid application.

There wasn’t much to see as the cabin of the Dash-8 is quite small and not terribly long. (It was positively cavernous to me back in 1990!) The seats were comfortable, if somewhat upright. The airplane was well-maintained and clean for the most part. The overhead storage bins were large enough for a briefcase, but the carry-on rolling luggage that folks use these days all had to be tagged at the airstair door of the airplane and put into the cargo bin, which is aft of the cabin. (Another relinquishment of control.)

After the flight attendant closed and locked the cabin door, the airplane slowly came to life. The turboprop engine on the right side of the airplane began to make this electrical dynamo whine, and that great big propeller began to slowly whosh-whosh-whosh with increasing tempo, spinning up to speed. More engine and propeller noise followed as our Dash-8 trundled off the ramp and onto the taxiways.  I could see very little from my window and lost track of the airplane’s direction as we taxied toward the departure runway. Soon the other engine made the whine-whosh-whosh-whosh noise as it was started, and the wheel brakes made quiet noises of friction as the pilots used them to moderate the airplane speed on the taxiway. Mumbled announcements from the flight attendant could barely be heard. After a turn onto the departure runway, our aircraft made this great buzzing and rushing sound as it took off into the inky black but crystal clear air.

From my vantage point behind the wing, I could see the right main landing gear, a feat of mechanical engineering. Still, it was quite something to watch these doors open under the engine nacelle as the landing gear leg folded into multiple pieces before being drawn up into this impossibly small void under the engine’s tailpipe.  All this would have made a great amount of hydraulic noise, but we couldn’t hear much of it over the roar and buzz of the engines.

The Dash-8 is a good airplane, but it is not a jet airplane. The vibration of the slowly turning propellers provides a safe although not terribly smooth ride. The vibrations caused by the large propellers reminds me of  how fatiguing this airplane had been to fly compared to the airplanes I pilot today.

As we fly westward, our aircraft climbed to cruising altitude, which was probably twelve or fourteen thousand feet, or one-third of the normal cruising altitude of a jet airliner.  After a few brief minutes smoothly cruising, we began our descent for our landing.

The air was almost perfectly smooth, as it often is after sunset, and as we approached Harrisburg, we could feel the airplane slow, and the vibrations changed as the propeller speed changed. The flaps came down, followed by the landing gear, reminding me of a butterfly emerging from a cocoon. More flaps came down, and I could see the dirty smears of hydraulic fluid, engine oil, and the remains of de-icing fluid on most surfaces.  Grey smears over shiny paint–some things never change.

The flight attendant made a brief announcement that nobody could really understand, and a short two or three minutes later, we touched down smoothly onto the runway in Harrisburg, about 40 minutes after the flight began. The fan-like hiss of the propellers going into reverse helped slow the airplane. I watched with mild amusement as red-hot sparks from the metallic brake pads tumbled from the wheel brakes as the pilots braked the airplane down to taxi speed.   Yes, this is completely normal.  In a jet airplane, we sit above all the machinery and get to miss out on these additional amusements!

With more mumbled announcements from the fight attendant, we taxied to the gate area, and the pilots shut down the engines. We welcomed the sudden quiet before the door was opened. The passengers slowly walked off the airplane with a crablike pace and posture. Luggage was being off-loaded at the same time, so the passengers simply grabbed their bags before scurrying across the chilly ramp and up a staircase into the nearly deserted and brightly lit terminal.

What does all this mean for the fearful flyer, other than a pilot’s travelog? To begin with, I’d like to acknowledge and own my own apprehension about being a passenger on such a small craft with only thirty-seven seats. (Even though that was BIG IRON to me back in 1990!)  The smaller turboprop airplanes are not as quiet or a comfortable as the modern jet airliner, of any size. They sound different too, and the cabin comforts are spartan, by comparison to nearly any jet airliner. Flying in an airliner like the Dash-8, you, the fearful flyer, have the added stimulation of watching all the mechanical wizardry of the landing gear and the flaps, and your mind gets to wonder about all the noises that are different, but normal. Definitely more sights, sounds, and sensations to bother a fearful flyer in a turboprop!  However, turboprops are used only for shorter distance, commuter travel.

Some very important things are the same as on the larger aircraft. Perhaps most importantly, the flight crew of a Captain, First Officer and one Flight Attendant are every bit as professional as the flight crews flying jet aircraft. The maintenance is done to the same criterion. The rules we follow and the airspace we fly in are the same, as are the runways we use. I was completely confident of my safety on this flight.

Turboprop commuter airliners are a valuable asset to our transportation system. They do feel different, they are different, but they are still safe to fly on. I hope you overcome your fear of flying so you can enjoy the full benefits of our airline system, on an airliner of any size!

Today’s guest blogger is Capt. Ron’s friend, Capt. John.  He has been flying since 1983 and has logged 20,000 hours. He assists Capt. Ron in the live Phoenix classes when his flying schedule permits.

Related posts:

1. Another Routine Day to Fly
2. Fear of Flying and Flight Attendant TLC
3. Afraid to Fly? Then Meet the Pilots!

The crew arrived at the airport on a routine but chilly Saturday morning in early March.  It was a cold almost balmy morning due to the absolute stillness of the dark night air. Our passengers—those afraid to fly or not—are also likely making their way to Metro airport. They were no doubt having more of an adventure than we were getting families ready, parking cars, and navigating the terminal areas.

Time zone differences made it the middle of the night for our Phoenix-based crew, yet we share cordial morning greetings riding in the hotel van to the terminal, punchy and wide awake, the too-hot coffee from the hotel restaurant having a positive effect. Michigan mornings like these remind me of my youth, and I crave a cigarette or a dip of chewing tobacco although I quit those habits years ago.

We get to the airplane, and sensing that the pre-flight operation will run better if I’m not there, I take orders for breakfast from the First Officer (F/O)and the Flight Attendants. My treat. This one is on the Captain, and it sure feels good to do something nice and unexpected for my co-workers. I leave the operation in the charge of my flying partner and walk off to stand in line at the purveyor of quality airport food, which, in Detroit, is found under the golden arches, a long walk down the concourse.

The boarding process is halfway finished when I return.  My crew is pleased to get exactly what they ordered. I settle in for a hot cup of ship’s coffee. Airplane coffee: hot, dark and bitter. It tastes good. The F/O says that we are covered with morning frost and that we must de-ice prior to takeoff. This will create a slight delay, but we should arrive in Phoenix on time, in approximately five hours. Fearful flyers sometimes express concerns about de-icing.  However, de-icing is a normal part of  wintertime flying—that is, if a flight originates from some frozen-over city— and one can count on the airplane being covered with frost for the first departure of the day, which normally occurs before the sun is much above the horizon.

We push back from the gate with an almost-full airplane and start our left engine to do a single-engine taxi to the de-ice pad on the other side of the airport. Our frosty airplane creaks and groans as its cold, hard tires roll over the uneven pavement of the taxiways.

In the de-ice pad, we configure the airplane for the application of de-ice fluid. Switches and levers operate valves and flight controls. Checklists and communication. The hot fluid is sprayed on the airplane. That too-sweet smell, reminiscent of automotive anti-freeze, fills the air. Fortunately, the smell dissipates quickly, the end result being an airplane free of all frost and safe for flight.

Our second engine is started, and we are cleared to taxi and then takeoff for Phoenix. By now the sun is up. The sky is a beautiful azure blue, spotted by a low and broken layer of thin-but-dark grey clouds. During our takeoff, the de-ice fluid on the smooth, rounded nose of the airplane, called the radome, runs back quickly over the cockpit windows forming hundreds of thin, opaque zig-zag eddies, looking like a science fiction oscilloscope, but multiplied many times in parallel. The radome houses our weather radar antenna, and although rain is not forecast for our flight today, weather radar is our safety requirement on all airline passenger flights.

As our aircraft accelerated to our climb and cruise speed above ten thousand feet, the eddies stopped, and the fluid pooled in large droplets along the back edges of the windshield panels. I’m reminded of childhood trips in the back seat of the family station wagon, watching a light spring rain dance in whorls on the side windows. From years of experience, I know that this airplane will drip de-ice fluid from her greasy belly for the next several flights. That sweet smell will remain, a perfume of safe flight, for many flight hours. Experienced pilots will remember the hard years of long ago, when such resources were not available. We have come a long way from having a broom, a length of rope, and a pot of warm coffee for de-icing purposes.

Our flight takes us west over Southern Michigan. I know this area well, for Michigan was my childhood home. Looking down, the land seems almost foreign, the towns so close together. The speed limits on the roads are higher now, the towns have grown, and, in so many respects, the world has become much smaller, thanks in part to the jet engines that equip our aircraft.

Lake Michigan slides below us. The southern tip is a brilliant crescent of white ice, miles wide, standing guard in front of the steel mills of Gary, Indiana.  I’m reminded of my early aviation career during Chicago and Milwaukee winters when I flew small-package air freight. Looking back, those were good times. Back then, I only thought of surviving until the weekend and hoping to eventually go to work for the airlines. The paychecks were as minimal as the experience was vast.

It is mostly smooth as we cross over middle America. Better than half of the passengers sleep. One passenger, seated in coach, complains. Two in first class have had too much to drink and blessedly fall fast asleep.

The choppy air begins as we pass south of Pueblo, Colorado.  The F/O turns on the fasten seat belt sign and makes a gentle announcement to the passengers.  The flight crew understands the feelings that fearful flyers often experience when flying through turbulence. We make these announcements for your protection and your reassurance.  Fearful flyers are not alone when they share their flight with us. We understand. We care about you.

Many of the passengers largely ignore the announcement from the flight deck and the flight attendant’s directives, and continue using the lavatories. The turbulence is really only a mild-but-irritating chop, and nobody falls down or complains. Eventually the air smooths out, and we gently descend for our landing in Phoenix.

By some minor miracle, my landing is a smooth one, what we call a “greaser” in the industry. We touch down well ahead of schedule but end up having to hold for our arrival gate. Light westerly winds have allowed most of the fleet to get to the Phoenix hub well ahead of schedule, before the outbound flights are able to depart for their destination cities. The ramp and taxiways are a snarled mess with many airplanes of different sizes but with matching colors.  Eventually, we taxi to our arrival gate and, as the engines make a whining moan as they spool down after shutdown, I look at the clock on the instrument panel and notice, with slight disappointment, that we are a good twenty minutes behind our scheduled arrival time.

Our passengers are quite appreciative of the crew as they deplane, thanking us for the smooth flight. Nobody seemed to be any worse for the wear after being on this airplane for most of six hours.  Indeed, we had flown over much of this great nation, and it is only slightly after 10:00 o’clock in the morning, Phoenix time.

Though we arrived slightly behind schedule, our safe, mostly smooth flight was very typical of the service that the airlines provide. The level of professionalism and concentration that it takes to make these flights happen makes me proud to be part of the crew, proud of the airline I fly for, and proud to be part of the airline industry. When one is a member of a flight crew, he or she is truly surrounded by professionals. These people care. We care.

Welcome aboard!

Capt. Ron’s friend, Capt. John, is once again our guest pilot blogger to bring you his flightdeck perspective. He writes to provide a service to fearful flyers so they can see how incredibly safe (and routine!) flying is.  Capt. John has been flying since 1983 and has logged 20,000 hours. He assists Capt. Ron in the Phoenix fear of flying classes whenever his flying schedule permits.

Related posts:

1. What’s to Fear about a Short Hop in a Turboprop?
2. Can Planes Crash from Turbulence?
3. 3 Things Pilots Fear

I came across this column called Feeding the Fear of Flying about the writer’s fearful flyer husband.  The couple’s solution to cure fear of flying made me smile and reminded me of what we advise fearful flyers to do.

The writer described her own fear of heights (which doesn’t bother her in an airplane) and told how her husband has tried everything to get over his fear of flying.  Well, not everything, because he hasn’t come to Fearless Flight.com for help to my knowledge!

The one thing that made him feel better was to fly in one of those small twin-prop planes, the ones that scare the pants off me.  Give me a big solid commercial airliner and I’m great.  Put me in one of those little tiny cans, and I suddenly remember MY fear of heights.

The writer guessed that her husband’s fear of flying was less in a smaller plane because he felt more in control.  He could see the pilot.  Not being in control seems to bother 90% of the fearful flyers I work with.  I just spoke with someone earlier today who realized that this was a large part of his fear.

The writer and her husband have read that some airlines are considering putting on one of the radio channels a live voice feed from the cockpit to calm the passengers. Pilots can choose to speak on the PA system when they want, but with this live feed, the passengers would sample everything that goes on in the cockpit.  Meet the pilots…up close, personal, uncensored.

Until that day comes with the Pilots’ Cockpit Radio Show, I’d suggest doing something else to Meet the Pilots.  Ask to pre-board because you’re a fearful flyer.  Tell the flight attendants that you’re afraid to fly and that it really helps you to connect with the pilots.

I just spoke with a woman who followed this advice, and it made a huge difference.  She had flown only twice in 38 years when she decided to tackle her fear. She bought the Fearless Flight Harmonizer, then came to the Cleared for Takeoff class and heard our advice:  Meet the pilots.  She said the pilot was very kind and even took her into the cockpit for a few minutes.  During the flight, she kept her eyes closed, listened to the Flight Harmonizer, and visualized being a cork on the water.  It worked!  Now she’s looking forward to many more trips to make up for all that lost time.

You CAN overcome fear of flying by doing something different.  OR you think of all the things the airlines can do to make you feel better about flying.  I’ve learned the answer is inside you, not inside the cockpit.

About the Author:  Diane Owens has been helping people overcome their fear of flying since 2005.  She writes about fear of flying for Fearless Flight.com and assists Capt. Ron Nielsen in spreading the message that flying is the safest way to travel on the planet.

Related posts:

1. Pill-Popping Pilots–Are You Kidding Me?
2. Today Wasn’t A Good Day to Fly
3. The Crashing Side of Flying

What’s going on up there behind the cockpit doors?  Why don’t passengers always get to hear those “This is the Captain” messages over the PA?

The Captain Speaks

Pilots tend to be more emotionally detached personality-wise and therefore more likely to ignore or not attach the same significance to all but the most significant weather, turbulence, or other irregularities that you as a passenger might notice.  This personality tendency, combined with the fact that most pilots will go their entire careers without anything significant happening to them by way of emergencies, makes their day-to-day experience mundane without much to talk about.  This doesn’t  justify their actions, merely explains them.

I recommend to any fearful flyer with whom I work to ask to be able to meet the pilots.  One thing I encourage them to do is to ask for more information about  the flight’s route.  Nearly everyone who does this reports that they were successful in getting the pilots to be more communicative.

As far as predicting turbulence, I’m sorry but we pilots are pretty much unable to predict with much accuracy either the intensity or the duration of turbulence.  We rely heavily on reports of other aircraft who have flown through the area and reported “ride” information to air traffic control.  We strive to always err on the side of caution, and so whenever we get forecasts of turbulence, we always request you fasten your seatbelt in anticipation.  The most likely way to be injured on a commercial airplane is to be bounced around by turbulence if your seatbelt isn’t fastened securely.

I understand that the mere announcement of impending turbulence raises the anticipatory anxiety in even the non-fearful flyer. And then when that turbulence doesn’t materialize, you might feel that we weren’t being truthful.  Worse, you will notice how many people ignore the seatbelt sign usually because they have heard us cry “wolf” before and choose to ignore it.  Unfortunately, I know of folks who have been injured in such cases.

Not forewarning passengers of turbulence that does materialize is the other side of the coin.  Since we rely heavily on reports from other aircraft, when there haven’t been any other aircraft through the area recently or they flew through without encountering turbulence, we’re just as surprised as you are by the turbulence.  This again reinforces how important it is to remain seated with your seatbelt fastened as much as possible, and certainly when the fasten seatbelt sign is illuminated.

Even if you never hear one word from us in the cockpit, please know that your safety is always our number one concern.

Related posts:

1. Can Planes Crash from Turbulence?
2. Turbulent Flight Causes Injuries
3. A Pilot Perspective on Fear of Flying over Water