The road to the sky

I haven't always known that I wanted to be a helicopter pilot. In hindsight there were many signs along the way and I thought I'd take a moment to reflect on the journey that has lead me onwards and upwards. When I was a wee lad I didn't have much skill in drawing (not that this has changed!) but I always loved to draw a simple helicopter for people as a gift. One of my aunties cottoned on to my passion and knitted me a nice warm jumper when I was about five years old with a helicopter knitted on the front.

It wasn't until after I finished high school that I even began asking myself what I wanted to do with my life. I undertook a year of Engineering at University but quickly established that this wasn't the career for me. The following Summer during a family holiday at Mallacoota (in the northeast of Victoria) an intense electrical storm developed whilst I was sitting on the balcony of the holiday home. I'd always enjoyed a good storm so I was in my state of awe for mother nature and it was as if the literal shock of the lightning bolts ignited the light globe hovering over my head. This storm had awoken my dormant passion for the skies. Since I was on the search for my future I did a bit of research and found that the University that I had been attending just so happened to offered a stream of science called "Atmospheric Science". I changed courses immediately.

It was around the same time that my folks also gave me a TIF (trial introductory flight) in a fixed-wing aircraft at Tooradin, a small country town north and east of my home town of Balnarring. I remember the feeling that took over me, the feeling one gets when flying in the front seat of an aircraft for the first time. Before me lay all these cool instruments, buttons, gadgets and switches and the view beyond the cockpit continued to expand with the features of the Earth rapidly getting smaller. Once airborne and straight and level I took control of the ship and gave it a bit of a workout before the instructor brought me safely back to earth.

That was it, I'd caught the bug and the dream had been awoken deep within. From then on I began to save and researched about getting my license. I wasn't sure if I wanted to fly commercially and was still enjoying my studies in science so I balanced saving my coin, flying towards a private license (when I could afford it) and completing my degree. There was one point where I took a semester off from my studies so that I could complete the training and in 2007 I passed the test and received my "wings" (private pilots license aeroplane (PPL-A)).

I took a number of passengers up including family and some friends. One of the most memorable passengers and someone who has been very encouraging throughout my aviation endeavours was my Grandad. I remember us both clambering into the small aircraft on a warm day and igniting the engine. Grandad was obviously excited and if there were nerves regarding flying with his low-hour grandson he hid them well. We took off from Moorabin airport and flew around the training area. Upon returning to the airfield we made the final approach with not a word said between us, the tension felt high for this final maneuver. It was immediately after a very smooth touchdown on the runway that Grandad let out a "beautiful landing Jonno!" with a  hint of a relief in his tone.

The day I took Grandad up at Moorabin airport (Grandad tried finding a photo of the two of us but it's been buried in the labarynth of family photos, thanks for this one Grandad!)

The following photos were taken on the day I took my aunty and cousin up from Tyabb. I remember it being a fairly warm day and there was much excitement as I took them on the "Peninsula tour" (one that became a popular route with a lot of my passengers). Thanks Belinda and Helena for digging these out of the archives!

The Cessna 172 was hand towed;

hand fuelled;

and hand flown.

Taking off with some happy passengers...

and bringing them back in one piece...

Throughout my days of learning to fly the fixed wing and during my return to study afterwards I continued looking skywards and often towards the helicopter training area at the aerodrome. Flying a helicopter was an itch that scratching didn't take away so I decided to give it a go. After a trial introductory flight (TIF) at Moorabbin airport I was a changed man! Flying forwards in a chopper is similar (though generally much better visibility) to flying in an aeroplane. It's the lifting off into the hover and transitioning into forward flight that is unique to rotary-wing flying and incredibly exciting, not to mention the range of work that choppers can do. Their uniqueness to aviation fills the rescue and highly versatile jobs (such as fire-bombing in isolated bushland) much better than their fixed wing brothers.

I went on another flight in a helicopter with my little bro, Cabs. This time it was a scenic flight over some vineyards in the Yarra valley northeast of Melbourne and a beautiful memory with my youngest sibling.

Cabs and I on our flight over the Yarra valley

I began looking into the costs to become a commercial helicopter pilot and was disheartened when I realised just how much money I was going to need to fund this ambition. There are two avenues to become a helicopter pilot; you can either join the forces and become a helicopter pilot in the defence sector or you can pay for it yourself. I did think long and hard about this decision since getting all that training whilst getting paid for it was very enticing but whenever I imagined myself in the forces it just rubbed against me the wrong way. So, as a personal preference, I decided to put coin after hard-earned coin into the piggy bank and take the longer and more expensive road to the sky.

Once I completed my studies I was lucky enough to have finished with a degree that could land me an interesting, enjoyable, challenging and well-paid job without further studies. The Bureau of Meteorology takes on a handful (well in my year there were 25 of us) of "metlets" (meteorologists in training) each year who then undertake the year-long diploma of meteorology at the Bureau of Met training school. This was a really interesting year, applying all of my studies to date into the worthwhile field of meteorology which has a direct impact on the community. At the end of the course I was shipped off to Perth to enter the forecasting sphere and have been here ever since. The Perth regional office provides all forecast and warning services to the state of Western Australia, the largest State (1/3 of Australia) resulting in a very diverse range of weather systems (tropical cyclones up north to cold fronts down south) and hence a very interesting part of the world to forecast for.

Working as meteorologist has gone hand in hand with some of my aviation theory (I write the aviation forecasts and warnings), it has paid for the flight training and has been an enjoyable and rewarding experience. Whether or not I continue on as a meteorologist is still to be decided but I certainly have some pretty strong desires of following the rotating disk into the sky as frequently as I can! :) At the moment it's a matter of continuing in my current role until my debts are paid. Meanwhile I'll be probing the industry for jobs for low-hour pilots, most likely in the tourism sector.

Bringing things back to the present, my old man is visiting from Melbourne and it was only two days since I'd passed my test that he became the lucky (and brave!) first passenger. We flew from Jandakot to Fremantle, then did a loop around the Perth CBD before tracking directly for Rottnest Island. The water was a beautiful crystal blue and this was my first flight over water in a helicopter. We landed at Rottnest for a quick drink before making the return journey home.

The happy camper after his first ride in a chopper

Mid-flight between Rottnest island and Fremantle

The ultimate test

The 28th of October started like any Wednesday with the sun rising in the east. That's about where the similarities ended for me though, I was awake at 5:45 with pre-test anticipation/anxiety/excitement. I arrived at the hanger at 7:00 and got stuck into a daily check of the machine I'd be taking my testing officer up in. I then checked the weather forecast and submitted a flight plan, did a weight and balance check for the aircraft, ordered the exact amount of fuel that would bring us up to the maximum all up weight aloud and washed the dead bugs off the windscreen. The time was approaching 9:00 and I was ready for my "client".

We then talked for a good couple of hours about the legislation and other important facts and figures that I should now have at the top of my head. By 11:00 the oral part of the exam was over and I was already starving so I shoved lunch down my throat and had a quick check of the forecast to see if things had changed. The forecast thunderstorms were to be east of our flight, but I was to expect isolated showers falling from cloud bases well above us. The forecast winds had changed so I had to recalculate my flight plan and by 11:45 I was giving my client a passenger brief before finally firing up the engine.

The temperature was approaching 30C and within the confined bubble of the R22 it was even warmer and beginning to rain from my forehead. This seemed to increase the pressure I was already feeling, similar to a pressure cooker on the stove. The departure from Jandakot was eventless and once airborne I opened the vents and the shower eased. The first leg to Beverley, east of hills, was generally as expected though I did have a momentary loss of position before locating the township to the west of my track. Either the SSW'ly wind wasn't as strong as forecast or I hadn't been holding my heading, I'm going with the first.

I was planning to land at Beverley but then my client asked to go to Northam. This wasn't a problem since I'd been there plenty of times prior but it was a diversion nonetheless and I had to figure out a new track to get there, amend my flight plan and make new radio calls that I hadn't planned. He then simulated an engine failure and I had to guide the machine towards a paddock in autorotation. This went well and I got out my "mayday" call and had us set up to land the machine safely enough to walk away from had it been a real emergency.

Up we came again and after overflying York township he asked if we could land in a little paddock next to some trees. I checked my power available, did my confined area checks and brought us down safely onto what was deceptively steep ground (it looked very flat from above). After taking off we (finally) landed at Northam and refuelled. He was putting the pressure on to get back in the air and since I essentially had to make new flight plans to return to Jandakot I was feeling rushed. It was apparently 20 minutes on the ground to refuel and get going again but as he said afterwards there was plenty of time en-route to make all these new plans.

Nonetheless stage two took us through controlled airspace (Victor 66) to the east of Perth and back towards the hills east of Jandakot. After exiting controlled airspace he pushed in the right pedal to simulate a tail rotor failure and I had to recover. I immediately put the machine into an autorotation but with no safe landing areas beneath me I elected to increase the speed and pull power to continue on to Jandakot since the vertical stabiliser helps with the anti-torque in forward flight. With this emergency out of the way I then had to perform a steep turn (> 45 degrees whilst level) before returning to Jandakot.

Once at Jandakot I performed an engine failure from 800ft all the way to the ground, an engine failure in the hover, tail rotor failure in the hover and a jammed control (only one!). We returned to the hanger and I was feeling that I must have stuffed up something so as not to simulate all of the jammed controls. I asked where I should land it and he said "just on the bitumen, we won't be flying again today". I took this to mean that we will by flying again soon, i.e. some remedial training and testing. During shutdown he jumped out of the helicopter and I was left to fill out the log book and empty the aircraft of my maps etc.

Once back inside I handed him the log book to show him the finality of the flight. He offered me his hand to shake and a grin as he said his congratulations :) I couldn't believe it, I honestly thought I'd stuffed up something. He said afterwards that I didn't need to show him every jammed control and was happy with what I had shown him.

We had a long chat afterwards and discussed the flight in detail. It wasn't perfect, there is much I can improve upon, but he was satisfied to the level CASA requires to issue my licence and did say that it was up there with some of the good tests he's seen. As an acknowledgement to my success Rotorvation also gave me a model R44 chopper that's going straight to the pool room! I left the hanger at about 5:30pm after the longest, hardest and most rewarding day of flying I've had to date. I got it!

All the money and hard work paid off when I received this baby!

It's been a hell of a journey. I've dedicated so much time over the past year and a half studying and then, in the past 3 months, flying. I've committed myself to it financially with every dollar I had saved and even had to borrow some doe off the folks to finish it off (thanks mum and dad!). Some dreams are worth throwing everything you have at it, because once you achieve them you are living on cloud 9 (for me it's almost literal!). My log book sits at 98.5 hours in an R22 now, and my licence is on the way from CASA. Happy days:)

Captain Grimes

The lumpy cumulus clouds in the background that developed over the hills provided the roof over my head for much of the flight

Wahoo!

The relief and exhilaration setting in

Jammed Controls

A jammed control won't be leaving a sweet taste in your mouth...

A jammed control doesn't mean that someone has spilt their favourite marmalade jam over the cyclic in front of them, as comical as it sounds. Unfortunately it's a fairly serious emergency that could be encountered in flight for a number of reasons but as I'm assured by my instructors is a rarity. We need to prepare for it nonetheless to be a competent pilot that can respond to any emergency in flight. Essentially a jammed control means that it has become locked into it's current position by a mechanical failure or more likely a pen, pencil, ruler, ring (careful with those marriage proposals!), phone or any other small item could have fallen into the mechanics of the control limiting it's movement.

Once you realise that the control is jammed you immediately go into a state of panic. No, in contrast you follow a set of prior learned techniques to put the machine safely on the ground. Firstly you try some moderate force on the control in an attempt to break or move the locking item out of the jamming position. If this fails we have an abnormal situation that potentially requires some assistance to get on the ground safely so we need to let others know. We do so in the form of a "PAN PAN" call, essentially a call that says we have an issue in flight that is not perilous (that would be a MAYDAY call) but may require some assistance (potentially freeing up all available runways, watering down runways so they're slippery, getting someone on the phone that can help talk us through the situation, etc) and have emergency crews ready to respond to us on the ground. An airport would be the ideal place to land (large, flat and hard surfaces to run the machine on to) but we may have to put the machine down in a paddock, on a road or any other place that would safely accommodate the chopper depending on our location at the time of the jammed control and whether we could continue flying to a further, safer location in our current predicament. Once we've let others know we need to get the machine safely on the ground and the way we do that is different depending on which control is jammed.

Jammed collective

The hand-brake looking control is the collective. The throttle is the grip at the front end (right in this photograph) that you can wind on and off with your left hand.

The collective is the hand-brake looking control to the pilots left that collectively raises the pitch (and therefore lift generated) on all the blades equally and hence makes you go up if you raise it and down if you lower it. As you can imagine it takes more power to go up and less to come down so, via a few other mechanical and computerised links between the collective and the engine, increasing the collective also increases the power supplied by the engine and lowering the collective also decreases the amount of power supplied by the engine. This essentially means that the rotor blades continue to spin at the same RPM independent of where the collective is situated. Clever! 

If the collective is jammed you obviously can't go up or down using this control input. To put it simply, every control input has a primary effect (in the case of the collective to go up or down) and a secondary effect(s). In normal flight with no controls jammed you're constantly counteracting the secondary effects of the control inputs to keep the aircraft flying the way you want it to. To continue flying the machine in a jammed control situation we need to utilise the secondary effect of the other controls. In the case of a jammed collective we can decrease the throttle a touch so that the blades are not rotating as fast as in normal flight (only a few % lower) which means less lift generated by the blades as they're travelling slower through the air. This will initiate a slight descent. 

Then, as long as we maintain a forward airspeed, we can use the cyclic (the joystick-like device that allows you to tilt the disk and therefore move the helicopter in that direction) to change our height. Pushing the cyclic forward will make the rotating disk and therefore the helicopter tilt forward and speed us up as it simultaneously starts us descending. Similarly we can climb by pulling the cyclic aft which will point the nose up and slow us down as we climb. Essentially you trade airspeed for height and vice-versa with the cyclic in this situation. Furthermore, if we wash off enough airspeed by bringing the cyclic aft we will lose translational lift (that's the extra lift we get from moving through the air at speed, covered earlier). Once we lose translational lift the blades essentially become less efficient and we start to descend. We can use this technique to maintain the speed required to bring us down at a steady 300 feet/minute to our landing site. 

Now, the hover generally requires a decent amount of power so unless the collective became jammed during the climb (when the collective is raised significantly and hence we are using heaps of power) the power setting that the collective is jammed at won't be enough to sustain a hover when we reach the ground. In this case we need to do a limited power landing. When we're power limited we need to use the translational lift we get from forward flight to help slow our rate of descent. As such, a limited power landing means we come in at speed and slide along the surface, using the friction of the skids against the ground to slow us down. The lower the power setting the faster we will need to be coming in so that there is sufficient translational lift to reduce our rate of descent. As we approach the ground we can "cushion" the landing by increasing the throttle slightly (bringing the RPM of the blades back up and hence their lift production) prior to touch down so that we "kiss" the ground as opposed to a heavy landing. Once sliding on the ground, decreasing the throttle will decrease lift production, increasing our relative weight on the surface and hence increase the friction which will slow us down quicker. We need to be straight with the pedals as we slide along the ground so as to prevent a rollover.

Jammed pedals

The foot pedals change the pitch and hence thrust produced by the tail rotor.

The pedals control the tail rotor and are sometimes referred to as the anti-torque pedals. Remember, the reason we have the tail rotor is to cancel out the torque that the engine is producing to rotate the main rotor. The engine torque tries to yaw (spin) us right (in an R22), in the opposite direction to the blades. Therefore the tail rotor will produce thrust on the tail to the right to yaw the helicopter nose left and keep us in balance. So the pedals work like this: left pedal increases the thrust generated, allowing the tail rotor to win the torque battle and yaws the helicopter nose to the left; conversely the right pedal decreases the thrust generated and allows the engine torque to win in the torque battle and the machine yaws right. Simply put: Left pedal yaws us left, right pedal yaws us right.

In addition, at the back of the helicopter near the tail rotor we also have a little fin which is referred to as a "vertical stabiliser". The vertical stabiliser essentially generates a force in forward flight (exactly like a wing on a plane) that pushes the tail right which helps reduce the workload and hence reliability on the tail rotor. Thus a jammed pedal in forward flight will make the flight uncomfortable but the real considerations for jammed pedals is in the hover when there is no air moving over the vertical stabiliser.

The vertical stabiliser, as the name suggests, is the vertical fin that (perhaps paradoxically) generates a force on the tail to the right in forward flight. This reduces the workload for the tail rotor.

The tail rotor is situated on the far back left side of the tail boom when looking forward.

Jammed left pedal forward:

If the pedals jam with the left pedal forward in flight the situation is heavily dependent on how far forward the left pedal is jammed. With the left pedal forward you will crab through the air with the nose off to the left of your track and it will feel like you're sliding to the right. The machine will even roll a bit to the right as the air pushes agains the large surface area of the machine. To land you make a normal enough approach to your designated landing area, remember you still have collective (power) and cyclic to move the aircraft around. 

It's when you transition from forward flight into the hover that you require more power from the engine (increase the collective) as the blades lose translational lift and become less efficient. This produces more torque on the machine and requires sufficient anti-torque (left pedal). If the left pedal is jammed just a bit forward it may not be enough to win in the torque battle and the machine will begin yawing right. In this scenario we can decrease the throttle (RPM of the blades) to take some torque away whilst increasing the collective to compensate the lift lost. This will keep us straight and cushion the landing.

If the left pedal is too far forward then as you come into a hover it will be producing too much anti-torque to compensate for the engine and the chopper will begin rotating left. In this case we increase the collective to increase the torque which will level us off above the surface and stop us from yawing. Then a process of lifting the collective whilst winding off the throttle will keep us straight whilst descending to the ground. The third alternative is that the left pedal is jammed at the ideal location for the torque battle to be a tie when you enter the hover making the landing a normal one.

Jammed right pedal forward:

Now if the right pedal is forward when the pedals jam up then you are only going to yaw right when you try and enter the hover as there is insufficient anti-torque to compensate. The rate of right yaw may be quite substantial depending on how far forward the pedal is jammed. One of the landing techniques in this situation is to land at speed since you require less anti-torque (left pedal) due to the efficiency of the main rotor whilst the blades are in translational lift and the vertical stabiliser is playing its part. However with run-on landings we need to be straight, something we usually obtain with the pedals. So we need to do a "trial" run, coming in above the surface at different speeds to ascertain which speed (which directly relates to translational lift and vertical stabiliser inputs) will require the correct amount of power, and hence torque from the engine to exactly cancel the amount of anti-torque produced by the current jammed setting of the tail rotor. So essentially we come in at different speeds until we ascertain which is the speed which keeps us straight and then use this speed to run the helicopter onto the ground, cushioning with the collective. We can make fine scale adjustments to keep us straight with the throttle; winding it on will produce more torque and therefore yaw us right, winding it off will hence yaw us left. 

The other option (and the one preferred as it is suggested by the pilots operating handbook) is to enter autorotation. An autorotation is essentially an unpowered descent. If you take away the power produced by the engine (and therefore torque) you don't require an anti-torque mechanism to cancel the forces so the tail rotor becomes obsolete. This option also allows us to land in a smaller and not necessarily flat or hard piece of land.  

Jammed cyclic:

The cyclic control input. The buttons on the front are to navigate through different radio channels and the red "trigger" on the back side is to communicate with air traffic control and other aircraft.

I think the cyclic is probably the scarier of the control inputs to become jammed. To summarise, the cyclic is the joystick-like device that changes the pitch of the blades at different locations as they spin around the disk. The end result is that it tilts the disk and hence takes the helicopter toward the location that you point the cyclic. To come from forward flight back to a hover you essentially pull the cyclic aft until your airspeed is zero (and pull sufficient power to compensate for loss of transitional lift). So to reduce airspeed without the cyclic we can increase the collective, the secondary effect of which is to bring the nose of the aircraft up and will therefore slow us down. Initially we will climb as we have increased the collective, but once we get slow enough we will lose translational lift and begin to descend as the blades become less efficient. We have now slowed down and are descending. To turn we can use the pedals since the secondary effect of using the pedals is to roll and hence turn the helicopter in the direction you've pedalled. Once approaching the ground we need to cushion the landing by increasing the collective and keeping straight with the pedals. If we are not completely level this is something we have little control over fixing and hence the slower we are the better chance we have of not rolling the helicopter. However being this low and slow prior to touchdown will significantly increase our chances of walking away if the helicopter rolled due to being unlevelled as we run the aircraft slowly on to the ground.

Summary

It does sound pretty scary to have to fly the machine without all the control inputs but learning about how to compensate in flight using the secondary effects of the other inputs has actually been pretty fun and gives me more comfort flying the machine. It'd be similar to driving a manual car and the brakes failed and you needed to bring it to a stop ASAP. Sure, you could just try to run it off the road into a barrier or trees to slow it down, or you could just change down the gears and allow the engine resistance to slow the car down. It may not do a world of good for the engine, but as long as you and your passengers walk out of the situation alive and well then isn't that all that matters? Some of the recovery situations above may result in a bent, scratched and potentially rolled helicopter but, if executed properly, all should walk away to enjoy yet another beautiful day :)

Paddock refuelling, mountain-top landings and bushfire diversions

The past couple of days have been challenging with steep learning curves yet probably some of the most enjoyable and rewarding flights I have done to date. On Thursday we flew the longest flight yet, 3.7 hours of engine running time. I arrived at the hanger at 7am to give the aircraft a good look over, checked the weather forecast and winds en-route, finalised my flight planning and submitted my flight plan and SARTIME with Airservices. We departed at about 9:30 towards the Perth hills again before flying "Victor 66", a route which takes you through controlled airspace to the east of Perth airport. At the end of 66 we tracked southeast over farm after farm toward Narrogin, yet another country town southeast of Perth. This time I found Narrogin airport on time, did all my necessary radio calls, lined up correctly and landed on the appropriate runway. Compared to the previous nav, this was already off to a flying start at being a much better flight!

This was only the beginning of the fun. We couldn't get fuel at the airport so Rotorvation has a fuel dump at a farm east of the township. So we took off from the airport and I had to find this location that I've never been to before and is basically a house and few sheds amongst paddocks, power lines, roads and trees. Again I was able to find it without a hitch, do my confined area checks and put the machine down next to the shed where the fuel drums are kept. This was surreal for me; flying to another location in a plane had always been from one runway to another, but this was the first time I had gotten out of the helicopter in a random paddock. 

After refuelling we departed and not two minutes into the flight my instructors said that he wanted to go to Pumphreys bridge, somewhere different from my planned route, to take a photo. What a pain in the arse! Part of my navigation training is to ensure that I can deal with a diversion in flight. As you can expect there's a few things that need to be considered:

• Find the location on the map and start tracking towards it with a rough compass heading taking into account the wind. This needs to be done properly with a protractor and ruler if doing a long leg but rules of thumb often help out for short diversions.
• Ask the passenger if they just want to fly by it (i.e. in this case for a photo) or spend some time flying over the area. The longer they need there, the more fuel you will burn so you need to ensure there's enough to get home safely or to another place with ready fuel. You may also be limited with daylight if the flight is at the end of the day so you need to know when the end of daylight is and plan the flight to be back 10 minutes before last light for legal, if not common sense, reasons.
• What level should I fly there? Am I going to be impinging on controlled airspace, am I at least 500ft above the ground or 1000ft above populated areas? How high can I be before I have to worry about any cloud bases? Am I flying at a hemispherical level?
• Do I need to be on a different radio channel now? Am I going to fly near any other airstrips that I need to inform traffic in the area of my new intentions?
• Do I know where I am as I'm flying along this new route? Can I pinpoint myself on the map and ensure I'm heading towards this new location?
• We also need to let Airservices know that we have changed our flight plan and potentially our SARTIME so that if we don't cancel our SARTIME they are able to search along the route we have flown for our aircraft.

Once the big checklist is done you relax and enjoy the new view:) I found Pumphreys bridge by more or less following a road there and once the time that I estimated we'd be there came up on the clock we were overhead a junction of roads and a creek that the map said was Pumphreys bridge. I then did a steep turn over the bridge so the passenger could take his photo of very non-photogenic concrete bridge before commencing my new track to the next destination.

We then practiced an engine failure and found a clearing in the trees to put the machine down safely. During climb out of the clearing in the trees my instructor described a scenario where the radio operators asked if anyone in the vicinity of Mt Cooke (our next location to fly past) could help an injured hiker. I gave a (fake) radio call that we were in the area and could render assistance. So we flew to Mt Cooke and I did a recce over the mountain top to find a safe location to put the machine down. There were a few prescribed burns going on around the mountain which was pretty awesome and gave a very clear indication of the low-level wind flow over the area. I set the machine into wind and, flying along the ridge-line on final approach, put the machine on the ground. 

Now those of you that know me know that I would love to be a rescue chopper pilot. This was basically it and a bit. I imagined dropping my Instructor off there (I promise I'll be back mate!) and taking the injured back to Jandakot for medical assistance, well in reality I'd probably drop him at a hospital helipad:) 

We took off from this ridge and my Instructor said that another person was on a burning mountain and if no one helped he'd be burned alive (I know, graphic right!). So I found this new location on the map and did another recce around it and it looked really rocky, like I didn't think it was safe to put the machine down anywhere. I thought maybe this was testing my "command decision making" processes and so piped up and said that I don't think it's safe to put the machine down on top of the peak but could land over there and you could run up the slope. Well my instructor reminded me that the flames were approaching the top and he'd be burned alive very soon. Yeah righto, made me feel like a proper dick. So I looked harder and there was just a very small and relatively flat bit of land that would be suitable. I set up the approach twice (the first time I came in too shallow) and landed on this slightly sloped landing area. Now in reality we wouldn't have been able to do anything at that point as another body would have put us over weight but with some prior planning I could have dropped my passenger in a safe location and picked up the perilous hiker.

Another take off from another peak and we still had time to do another practiced forced landing before making tracks back home. 3.7 hours! After a late lunch and a thorough debrief I got out of there with the clock approaching 4pm. I'd been there since 7am and it had been an intense day of concentration, pressure and enjoyment and I was wrecked. I think I would have blown over 0.05 in a breathalyser despite not touching a drink, I honestly felt that delirious! The whole flight gave me a massive confidence boost in my skill for pre-flight planning, navigation and in-flight changes. Something that would set me up perfectly for my flight the following day.

Landing to refuel in the paddock at Narrogin.

The fuel dump is in a farm of a past student of Rotorovation and regular drives are done out here to ensure there's fuel here when required.

Today I flew solo to Northam. I arrived for the afternoon slot around midday with my maps ready and got stuck into the weather forecast of blue skies, smoke and light southwesterly winds. Not a drama; as long as the fires aren't too intense. This was my first solo flight through controlled airspace, of refuelling and of going somewhere (on my return journey) that I haven't been before. Blades were rotating at 1:30pm and many smoke columns could be seen on the eastern horizon. My instructor warned that the fires may require an in-flight diversion so I was ready for what could eventuate. The flight to Northam occurred without a hitch, the now familiar landmarks approaching when they should be. However there were some good fires occurring along Victor 66 but since I was essentially upstream of the fires the smoke was being blown away from me. Finding the airport this time was much easier, once you've been somewhere once you always seem to remember the layout of a place. I landed and refuelled the machine.

It was the way back when my skills were tested. My return route wasn't the reciprocal of the first and it was becoming clear that the smoke was going to be an issue as I headed towards my first waypoint. I could see that where the smoke was blowing over my track the visibility was really low, but since I had flown through some smoke on a previous nav I thought that I'd get a bit closer to take a look. I noted a main road that, if need be, I could return to that and it would take me back to the entrance of the Victor 66 route. Sure enough, even with the advantage of a closer perspective, I estimated the visibility in the smoke to about 1-2km or so, well below the 5+km that I need to navigate with reference to the ground. I returned to the road and followed it towards Victor 66. I made my radio calls and requested an airways clearance. I then had to do numerous calculations in flight to ensure that I'd be back in time to cancel my SARTIME and wouldn't run out of fuel. As it worked out I arrived around a similar time that I'd calculated whilst on the ground at Northam and so didn't need to amend the SARTIME. Fuel wasn't an issue with full tanks on this route.

This flight gave me a further boost in my diversion skills and a real reason to do one! Things are now starting to approach the end of the licence and after flying some more solo hours I will fly with the chief flying instructor to brush up on any emergencies that could occur in flight and get me ready for the flight test.

Refuelling at Northam.

A good view of the fires from upstream but you can see that the smoke is highly concentrated in the low levels downstream.

Check out that balance Nick! ;)

From A to B; dotting the i and crossing the t.

Navigation is easy. I wish this was the truth for me but at this stage navigation is difficult, stressful, lot's of time in the chopper getting lost, running close to using all the fuel and ripping holes in my pockets. Ok this isn't entirely true. I'm four "navs" in now and it was really only the latest one that feels like I've taken a step backwards.

The first nav, designated as "nav 1", we flew down to Boddington, a small country town about 100km southeast of Perth. We departed east to the Perth Hills and upon reaching the escarpment we tracked direct for Boddington to the southeast. It was a beautiful flight flying over forested areas, past "Mt Solus"(more like "pimple Solus", WA doesn't really have mountains) and over one of Australia's biggest gold mines. At Boddington we turned the chopper west towards the coast and turned north over a slightly larger town, Pinjarra, inbound for Jandakot. This was 1.9 hours in total.

Nav 2 took us east to the hills again but upon reaching the escarpment we continued travelling east for basically a kink in the road and some silo's, a place called West Dale which I can't really manage calling a town. Over West Dale we turned southwest and had to fly through some smoke as there was a large prescribed burn occuring upstream. The sun shone it's orange colour into the cockpit and the aroma took on the bushfire smell as the visibility dropped to around 5-10km. I found our next turning point, North Bannister (no more than a roadhouse), before commencing our return leg home. This flight was 1.7 hours.

The third navigation flight was nav 1 again but this time I flew with me, myself and I. Yep, this was my longest and furthest solo flight to date. It's an absolutely beautiful moment when you're flying through the atmosphere over the world below all alone. I didn't get lost, I didn't crash or miss a radio call and from this flight the main things that I need to work on is holding the heights and speeds that I plan the flight on. Without the extra body of the instructor the aircraft travels faster for the same power setting so I flew this same flight (that we did initially in 1.9 hours) in 1.5 hours.

This brings me to the latest flight that I flew a few days ago. It was my first flight into controlled airspace to the east of Perth airport where you are literally being dictated what level and heading you must fly by a radio operator due to it being a heavy traffic area (inbound/outbound jets). This added a bit of stress to the flight but I didn't feel too overwhelmed at this point. After exiting controlled airspace I flew on to Northam, one of the larger country towns I've flown to on my navs so far and where we actually intended to land (first time on any nav). I found the township of Northam OK but I couldn't find the airport! I was looking at the map, where it should be and could not see it at all. It was a scary feeling. I told my instructor I couldn't find it and, acting as clueless passenger, he said that neither could he. I had to pull my finger out and try harder. I eventually found it and joined the circuit and landed on this unfamiliar airstrip in a fairly flustered state. It was a Sunday so refuelling wasn't available (of course we knew this before we left so we'd planned to have enough fuel) but generally we'd have refuelled here.

After take off from Northam we departed south toward Dale River airstrip, a grass airstrip to the east of West Dale (from nav 2). I'd seen this airstrip in nav 2 so I knew what to look for on arrival, but when the time clocked over 32 minutes past the hour, the time I'd calculated that we'd be there, I again couldn't find it. I looked for West Dale, the kink in the road and the silos, but to no avail. Eventually I found what I thought was West Dale but it wasn't and as I followed the road along to the northwest I came to the actual West Dale... All very stressful and sobering. We calculated the fuel and had enough to just make it home if we made a dead-straight track for Jandakot. We landed at Jandakot and the low-fuel light flickered on (about 5-10 minutes of fuel left in the tanks). This flight was 2.7 hours! The longest time I've spent in a helicopter to date.

There's been some very big lessons I've learned from all of this. The thing about a flight is there's never too much you can do to prepare yourself for it. Of course I do prepare, but I need to do more. The following describes the basic preparation for a nav flight:

• Draw the route on a map and calculate distance and compass headings. 
• Choose the altitude that you will fly on each leg of the flight taking into account height above the terrain, lower limits of controller airspace and what we term "hemispherical levels" (basically eastbound flights fly at odd thousand + 500ft and westbound at even thousand +500ft in an attempt to minimise collision risks). 
• Check the weather forecasts and make the go/no-go decision based on the weather and cloud base - can you fly the heights you've chosen and still be able to navigate using the ground as a reference? My flights have to be completely visual - not in cloud or low visibility.
• Using the forecast winds calculate ground speed for each leg and hence how long each leg will take. Once you add these up you get the total estimated time of the flight which you can then calculate how much fuel you require. We also take an extra 20 minutes fuel on all flights for the just-in-case scenarios (such as getting lost and taking as long as I did to find where I'm at!).
• If the weight of the aircraft, the people on board and the calculated fuel all come up to (or less than) the maximum take off weight rated for that aircraft then you can continue with the flight plan, if not you may need to chuck a passenger out or look for fuel stops along the route. If you can take more fuel, do so! You can never completely know what will happen once you get up there. As my instructor said, the only time you can have too much fuel is when you're on fire. 
• Once the flight is definitely going ahead, you then must lodge the flight with Airservices Australia so they know what aircraft is flying where, when and how high it will be. This helps manage traffic but also gives them somewhere to look if you don't cancel your SARTIME. You must nominate a SARTIME for each flight, basically a time that you must be back by and if you don't cancel it they will (after trying to call you) assume that you've crashed and send out rescue aircraft along your route.

Once in the aircraft you must manage all of the above: ensuring you're on track; that your groundspeed and time for each route is in the ball park and if not, being revised; that the engine is working as it should be; that you're altitude is what you planned; that the fuel on board is sufficient and if not, taking action to ensure it remains sufficient to land safely at a place where you can get fuel; that you'll be back by your nominated SARTIME and if not amending it in flight on the radio. The radio is another big player, you need to ensure that you're on the right frequency and making the right calls at the right times. For example you need to make a "g'day I'm flying over your little airport" broadcast over any airstrip noted on the map, you need to get clearance to enter controlled airspace prior to entering, etc.

As you can see there's a lot to manage. I feel like I'm finally getting on top of the actual flying of the chopper, but this is a completely seperate skill that must be done whilst flying. Once overhead an area, if you're not completely sure of where you are, it's amazing how much you can convince yourself that that road is this one on the map, i.e. trying to make what you see fit on the map to prove you're not lost. 

Being a good navigator is akin to being a good detective. To be 100% sure that this place ahead is the place on the map requires a number of considerations: 

• I've been flying on this heading since x for this long at this airspeed with the wind from that direction, so maths says I'll be here now. 
• Ok so if I'm here I should see this, that and the other thing. If I do, beautiful. This is the "map to ground" mode. 
• If not, it's "ground to map" mode. 
• To convince yourself that features on the ground are those on the map the detective skills need to be at their sharpest. E.g. I see a road or train track. Flying along it will give you the track of it along the ground by viewing your compass. There's a few towns along it. This town has a creek running through it and the only town with a creek running through it is the one I'm after so it must be this one.

The training continues and we'll continue building and sharpening these skills. It will be nice when I'm feeling confident that I won't get lost out there enough to prove to an examiner that I'm 100% sure of my position and couldn't be swayed to think differently. Until then my dining room table remains barely visible beneath the piles of maps and navigation equipment...

The plethora of maps, measuring equipment, pens and the flight computer explode across the dining room table on a daily routine preparing for the following days flight.

The black line details the route on nav 1 to the southeast of Perth (the yellow blob).

We're landing there?

I'm now learning how to land in confined areas. After learning how to safely land and take off from a slope we are now venturing to the Perth hills to find relatively small clearings between trees to put the chopper down. Sounds simple enough when you think that helicopters can go up, down, forwards, backwards and sideways; surely you just manoeuvre it to wherever you want? More or less, yes, but there are myriad of important things to consider. Where a plane may be limited to only land at an airport or airstrip, a chopper does have a lot of options. However the airport and airstrip have been developed to be, through the planning stage and continually reviewed thereafter, as safe as possible and often have documents to follow to ensure the safety of all movements into and out of the landing area. In contrast, the responsibility for ensuring non-airport landing sites are safe and suitable in a chopper lies wholly with the pilot, hence to following steps.

Power: Do I have enough of a power margin (due to the weight of the aircraft, the ambient temperature and the elevation that we're landing at) to get the helicopter safely in and out of there? This will be different for every location, on different days, with different all-up aircraft weight and with different aircraft. If it's a small spot then you may have to approach and depart vertically and this requires a lot of power, whereas if it's a bigger spot then you have options to approach at a shallower angle and use less power.

Passenger brief: The passengers are stakeholders in the safety of the landing and have extra sets of eyes that can help ensure the pilot is fully aware of all dangers at the landing site. Hence we brief the passengers to look out for dangers such as buildings, people, wires, animals or anything that may pose a hazard to the aircraft.

The seven S's.

Surrounds: What's around the landing sight? Buildings, people, fences, trees, wires, etc? Size: Is it big enough to fit the helicopter? Do I have enough power to put the machine in there? Shape: If it's not super big perhaps I could take advantage of the shape so as to keep my approach as shallow as possible. Slope: Often hard to assertion from above but does it look to be within the safe operations of the helicopter? Surface: Long grass can catch fire when you land a hot engine on it, dry dirt can reduce visibility by throwing up dust, etc. Sun: Is it at an angle that means I'll be landing into the sun? This may change you're approach to the area as landing into sun obviously reduces visibility. Stock: Are there any animals around that could jump into fences or wires as we approach? What approach ensures that we don't scare them?

Wind: Where is the wind coming from? We need to try land into wind as much as possible to help with generating lift on the blades. As we fly we are constantly looking for signs of where the wind is blowing. We start the flight with a look at the forecast wind and also the observed wind at the airport so that we have a rough idea of winds in the area. Smoke, flags, wind waves on water, flocks of birds taking off into wind and aircraft drift can all help maintain an awareness of the wind at your location as topography can often create very localised winds and turbulence that changes the direction that you (particularly if you're a meteorologist!) expect it to be coming from.

Wires: The big killer. Wires are responsible for a significant proportion of helicopter crashes as they are very hard to see. We need to look out for anything that requires power such as buildings, sheds or outhouses. We then look for cuttings in the trees to enable a power line to travel through the forest. Lastly we look for power poles. Looking directly for the wires will prove almost impossible. They may be viewable when on the ground with a blank sky behind them but from above with the ground as a backdrop 20/20 vision doesn't really cut the mustard.

Approach and departure: As stated in the above areas there are many reasons our approach and departure will be in the direction we choose them to be. We need to land into wind, we need to try keep things shallow if we are power limited, miss obstructions and wires and not fly over animals.

Turning points: To ascertain all of this information we are flying a reconnaissance circle around the landing area at 500ft above the ground level. Choosing turning points allow us to fly a normal circuit prior to landing and choose where we turn onto our base leg (second last leg) and final leg of the circuit. So, for example, we may elect to turn base at that rock and turn final over that hill.

I had been doing these with the instructor and then after one of the landings he jumped out and said the next one will be solo. Without the extra body the chopper instantly had a heap more power and I flew out of there and repeated all of the above, safely brought it back down and collected my instructor, just as I'd promised - such a dude. I've now been cleared to do these solo which includes taking off from the airport, departing to the hills, finding the area and putting the machine down. After a few takeoffs and landings I then point the aircraft seaward and return to the airport. The weather has cancelled a lot of my flying recently so I'm looking forward to racking up the hours again this week as the winds abate and the skies take on their cloudless view and beautiful shade of blue.

One of the landing areas from the ground. I'm basically in the centre of it here so think of the distance to the trees being the radius of the space.

This is the other spot, and this picture was taken on the far side of the location so you are basically seeing the diameter of the space. Some pretty big trees ahead!

The other chopper in the police airwing fleet, the BK117, also a twin engine chopper with winching capabilities.

Cracking the big 50

Today I completed both the furthest solo flight I've ever flown in a chopper, and also my fiftieth hour of total helicopter time, about ten hours of which are solo. The past week has been about progressively allowing me to do more and more flying solo in the form of a check flight with the instructor to ensure they're happy with my performance of the flight manoeuvre at hand, followed by a period of flying the manoeuvre solo. This essentially means that I can fly everything that I have learnt to date solo, bar emergency procedures which for obvious reasons we don't practice without the instructor.

This weekend we've moved onto practice forced landings (PFLs) which we practiced in the training area approximately 10 to 15 nautical miles to the south of Jandakot airport. The PFL consists of the autorotation manoeuvre discussed in an earlier post, looking for and choosing a place to land, ensuring you land into wind (this includes looking for signs of where the wind is coming from), looking out for wires and fences, a passenger briefing "brace, brace, brace" (which is code for the passenger to sit upright with hands on their seatbelt as would have been briefed to the passenger prior to the beginning of the flight), a simulated "Mayday" call on the radio (to communicate with air traffic control and other traffic of your predicament), troubleshooting the aircraft to see if it can be restarted, and setting yourself up for the landing.

Of course, in a real emergency, this becomes a game of prioritisation depending on how much time you have and things can fall off due to their relative unimportance. The most important thing is to put the machine on the ground safely; communicating your predicament would be beneficial but comes second in the pecking order, etc. This all happens very quickly. We were practicing from 2000ft, and descending at around 1500 fpm gives about a minute to do this (since we pull full power and "go around" at 500ft above the surface - so as not to scare the cows).

Once my instructor was happy with my PFLs I was set to embark on my furthest journey yet as Captain Jonno. I departed to the southwest, flew to the training area and practiced some steep turns (45-60 degree angle of bank) and compass turns (using some simple arithmetic to level out at the correct heading when turning with the compass - it has errors when turning since the centre of gravity is offset from the pivotal point). I then flew back, made my radio calls and entry and landed back at the hanger.

This next week I will be learning how to safely land on a slope and then move on to landing in confined areas, i.e. relatively small areas (compared to the airport I've been practicing on) surrounded by large trees. This is looking like it will be a lot of fun. After confined areas we'll be looking at doing navigational flights or "navs" which includes flying to places I've never been before, map reading, getting lost, finding yourself, etc.

Good old Romeo Alpha Sierra (RAS), the pilots choice out of the three R22s at Rotorvation

The rain dance

The day after my first solo the heavens opened up with shower after shower. Once the first big shower passed through there appeared to be a gap on the radar long enough for an hour of flying so we got the chopper ready and lifted into a circuit. Once airborne we got a clearer view of the state of the atmosphere. Areas of low cloud and drizzle were quickly approaching the airport and so we returned to the hanger and called it a day. The thing about drizzle is, because it is a smaller droplet it doesn't reflect as significant a return beam to the weather radar. Hence, since the radar that we were looking at had either very weak echoes or none at all, we were coached into a false sense of security. However drizzle can significantly reduce visibility for the pilot, not to mention the low cloud often associated with this weather and droplets on the cockpit window ruins the view further. Believe it or not the downwash from the main rotor blades doesn't blow droplets away (!) but enough forward speed can.

The following day was worse; showers persisting and very gusty winds extended over much of southwestern WA. Even though there were gaps in the showers the gusty winds were enough to put a hold on my solo flying. Since I am very early on with my solo flying conditions need to be goldilocks (not too hot and not too cold, just right). More specifically; light winds, clear conditions with no weather (showers, thunderstorms, fog) and no low cloud. Not only does it need to be good for me, but since I drop my instructor at the helicopter training area (a designated part of the aerodrome for chopper operations) to observe my flying where there isn't shelter from the elements, it's not really in my best interest if they're getting rained on. So in contrast to days prior when I could go fly with the instructor in some of these conditions as he could take over if things weren't pretty, my flying is now heavily dependent on these conditions.

It was the third day after my first solo when the showers eased, the winds stepped back to a 12kt S/SW'ly breeze and cloud height was above about 3000 feet. I did a check flight with my instructor before dropping him off on the now-dry grass and continued with my solo circuits. Each circuit is different at this stage, I'm aiming to stitch all of the different parts together seamlessly but at the moment it still feels untidy. This is what the practice is for though. Eventually I will be at a solo standard where I will take off and land back at the hanger, getting myself over to the helicopter training area and back solo.

I'm also lucky with the Rotorvation hanger sandwiched between the police airwing and the rescue helicopter hangers so every now and then I get a glimpse of some pretty beautiful, albeit noisy, machines (check out the video of the RAC chopper lifting off below - future Jonno!).

The police airwing Dauphin looking epic from head on.

The RAC rescue helicopter taking off. This is a Bell 412 twin engine aircraft.

At one with the sky

The past few weeks have been getting me ready for today; ensuring that I can operate the machine in all stages of flight, that I could put it on the ground in the event of an engine failure, that I would know how to react if that light came on or if that gauge showed something erroneous, and of course to ensure that all of my written tests and questions in my student handbook have been completed and marked. With the massive checklist all signed off I was technically ready to go solo today and as such woke early with anticipation.

During normal flying procedures of circuits and hovering my instructor asked me to land the aircraft. He then proposed the question I've been wanting to hear my whole life; "are you happy to fly this machine solo?". Well, the photo's say it all - he sneakily took a few shots whilst I was busy doing a turn in the hover. The moment I took off into a hover the thought of "holy shit I literally have complete control over this and have to have complete control over this if I want to put it back on the ground in one piece" entered my head. This soon wore off as I did a clearing turn; literally a turn in the hover to ensure that there are no other aircraft around prior to taking off. 

I then went on to do about ten circuits in a row; a racetrack style course constituent of a take off, a 180 degree climbing turn, levelling off at about 700 feet above ground level, a 180 degree descending turn and landing back at the same place. Clearing turn, repeat. It was the first circuit when the reality of the situation hit me that I'm literally flying this completely without help. The instructor generally sits next to you with their hands near or on the controls and I've never been absolutely sure that they're not helping a bit with this descent or that turn. It's weird, I reflected with my instructor after the flight that it felt like I had much clearer thought and more time to think without an instructor telling you all of these stories the whole time whilst you're trying to remember what you have to do to fly. However it was by about the third circuit when I became aware of my own conscience coming in with an instructor-like voice "watch your speed Jonno, don't over-boost the engine, rate of descent is a little high, balance the aircraft, look at the windsock, this is a beautiful descent, stop waggling the cyclic!".

It's a very sobering thought when you go to look past your instructor in the left seat whilst on the lookout for other traffic and the seat's empty. It very quickly requires you to be absolutely aware of the aircraft (it's speed, height, attitude), the engine (temperatures, pressures, RPM, remaining fuel and therefore time in the air), other traffic (Jandakot is one of, if not the busiest, airports in Australia in terms of aircraft take offs and landings and a lot of them are other student pilots new to flying), radio traffic, birds, etc. It's been a very steep learning curve to date and I don't see it plateauing any time soon. Loads of fun though:) As can be seen in the photos below, the weather was on my side, mostly sunny day with a 10kt N/NE'ly breeze over the airport. Winds and inclement weather are set to increase over the next few days so the solo flying will be tested further yet.

What happens when the engine quits in a chopper?

When I used to tell people that I wanted to learn how to fly a helicopter they would say one of two things, and sometimes both. The first was something along the lines of "cool/awesome/sweet as bro" or any other excited exclamations. The second is "aren't you scared of falling out of the sky like a brick if the engine quits?" The answer to this question is simply "no".

If and when the engine quits in a chopper you do have a very short window to react before the RPM of the main rotor blades get dangerously low, and by this I mean the result could be catastrophic. However once you enter the "autorotation" ("auto" for short cos we're lazy 'er in oz) I'd rather be in a chopper than a plane if the engine spits it. 

Imaging the engine goes in a helicopter and you start to descend. Now, if you set the machine up properly the airflow that is now moving up through the rotating blades is like wind for a windmill. This means that as you descend, the airflow blows the rotor blades around to keep them spinning (hence the name autorotation), ensuring the rotor RPM remains where it should. You then choose a landing spot and as you approach the ground you can use the spinning blades to slow down the rate of decent and even stop the airspeed. This means a heli can land in a car park, on the beach, between trees, in a backyard, etc. whereas an aeroplane has to land on a long, generally flat and hard surface if it's engine was to stop.

Over the past few lessons I've been learning how to do running take offs and landings (dragging the skids along the ground), used if you are power limited but the landings are good practice for autorotations since you may still have some speed when you make it to the ground. I've also been learning "quickstops" which are essentially all in the name: you have forward speed, generally level and you bring the heli to a hover ASAP. This is good training for the coordination required in the auto.

The weather this week has been touch and go with passing showers, the odd thunderstorm and gusty winds at times. It has been good to get experience in real world weather, with larger inputs required on all controls and more to think about whilst in the ever changing fluid of the atmosphere. The hanger of Rotorvation is over the road to the police airwing hanger, hence the photos of the machine that I want to fly in one day :) The Airbus helicopters dauphin (french for dolphin due to the shape of the body) has a weather radar in the nose of the aircraft to help detect showers and thunderstorms ahead! My kind of chopper!

WA Police Airwing Dauphin helicopter

Another storm roles in from the coast