Flying the Line — Bare, Webbed Feet Required

A small brochure produced by an American float manufacturing company says that floatplanes are more forgiving than land planes enabling an easy transition to water work. Certainly not! Though this might theoretically be true if you could, for instance, choose the time you flew. On a blue sky, calm day floatplanes are magic; however, commercial seaplane operators rarely get to choose the conditions they fly in.

In any one day a pilot may do 20 sectors, each one on a runway that the pilot constructs as he uses it, mentally working out approach and overshoot areas, width, orientation. Everything that you take for granted when you enter the pattern of a surveyed airport must be done by you. Down on the threshold of your average airport, lined up with your pre takeoff checks done, do you wonder if at runway’s end you will be airborne? You know from your flight manual that in these conditions your machine requires 750 metres; checking this against the strip length in your publications you can relax.

Now consider your imaginary threshold on a waterway. “Can I use this channel? Will I be airborne by that sandbank? Yacht? Fisherman?” Taking off into a 30kt (55kmh) breeze a hundred meters may be all the distance needed; however, on a calm, glassy water day, friction between the water and your hulls can slow a fully laden seaplane so much that no amount of useable channel is enough. All you can do is return to base, throw off some weight and try again. This time after a couple of miles you’re still not airborne but you feel her wanting to fly. You carve a squiggly line following the channel. To reduce friction you rock from float to float using your ailerons. Up on one float an extra knot of airspeed is gained, a convenient boat wake bumps you into ground effect. There you accelerate until eventually you establish that “Yes, I will become airborne”. I would doubt that there is a seaplane pilot who hasn’t misjudged then thanked whatever God they look to for giving them the barest of margins.

“Give me this one and I promise not … Phew, piece of cake really.”

“What About My Landing.”

Recently I spent time flying seaplanes on the Gold Coast. Not only is this the busiest Mtaf in Australia but the magnificent Broadwater (our runway) is home to literally hundreds of vessels. All of whom have right of way over you and all of whom are not looking skywards for traffic. “Which way will that sailboard turn? What about the water skier? If he falls? Which way should I turn to avoid those three boats towing parasailors? That cruiser puts up a huge ‘wake. Where will I land to avoid it?” These are just some of the factors that must be considered on every approach.

In a land plane when your wheels touch down the job is virtually done; with a seaplane you’re only halfway there. Nearly every seaplane pilot has bruised an aeroplane between touching down and tying up. You are in a sophp(225kW) machine with no brakes and marginal steering. Throw in a blustering breeze and you’ll pump up the heartrate of any water pilot.

A typical day will start early. First your aircraft must be launched, fuelled and preflighted. On a cold winters morning it is incredible how much inventiveness will be needed to do all this without getting your feet wet. It never works; your shoes will always have come off. However there are not many professions which consider bare feet as part of a normal uniform! Once a week (maybe) you prepare and lodge a flight plan. Local knowledge gets you round which is why it takes from two to 10 months to bring a pilot completely up to speed. It takes this long for him or her to learn the area and its idiosyncrasies. Your morning began with calm conditions and blue skies. Murphy’s law will fix that. Soon you have a gusting breeze, low ceilings and marginal visual conditions. Amazingly every one on frequency is at 500 feet and clear of cloud. We all know how true that is.

Tracy in the office calls you on company frequency. “No they have not cancelled, they’ll be here in five. When will you be back”

Somehow you have become like a doctor always 20 minutes late scrambling to make up time so you can fit all the jobs in and ferry back to base before last light. “Now where exactly is that unlit channel marker?” you think to yourself about 10 feet from touchdown.

Safely on the water you pull up at base. Today you have a couple of helpers, so trailering, washing and bedding down your aircraft only takes half an hour. Salt water rips into aluminium so you pay particular attention to joins and hinges as you wash her down. Then every other day WD40 and Blackbear grease is liberally applied to every exposed moving part. If you’re lucky you leave by 6.30pm having been at work since 6.30am. All this for single engine Vfr wages.

“Another early one tomorrow mate.” Peter the boss says, catching you walking to your car. “Got a load to take to the reef at seven.”

“Yeah, no worries”, you reply “just hope they are small Japanese.”

“No such luck, it’s two couples from Arkansas or some place like that.”

“Great, just what I need.”

Apply for a job flying seaplanes and one question will be “How many water landings have you done?” Time sitting at cruise (fat, dumb and happy) doesn’t count but making command decisions all day at 100 feet does. Short sectors are the general rule; most water pilots have four landings for every hour of airtime. That’s four takeoffs as well. Most times takeoffs will (hopefully) equal controlled landings. One pilot I knew who did training for a major seaplane company believed that only one in 10 pilots would be able to make the grade flying aircraft that float. To be a good seaplane pilot does take attributes which are not a prerequisite for a commercial pilots licence.

When most of your time will be spent manoeuvring at low level in aircraft with barely more than an Asi and tacho for instruments, the ability to maintain outside eyes and feeling hands is essential. This is a learned process; hopefully you learn quickly enough that you employer doesn’t write you off as an uncoordinated oaf. I have seen a few pilots who would have eventually made it, but in commercial ops, ‘eventually’ won’t pay the bills.

The water is a foreign environment; long serving seamen will tell you they still have much to learn. Past experience with water craft is a must. Knowing how to sail is the best as you have to be constantly assessing prevailing condit seaplane is not the place to learn about the complexit tides, currents and channel markings.

Most of the seaplane flying in Australia involves tourists. They naturally expect and demand an incredible amount. A pleasing, outgoing personality is essential. On a given day you might be teaching snorkelling, driving a boat, helping frail old ladies over rough shorelines, giving lectures about coral formation, serving champagne lunches or any number of other tasks not required flying night freight. You will also be expected to carry out these activities with aplomb under all weather conditions. There is clearly more to this than piloting.

Commercial seaplane flying can be an extremely demanding and frustrating venture. The financial rewards are small and ask any aviation insurer what the risk factor is. After a string of long bad weather days you know there has to be a better way to make a dollar. Just then, another pilot will wander up to you and say “What a great job, in the sun all day, no worries.” You will look at him expressionless and exhausted, wanting to disagree, but knowing your gripes will fall upon deaf ears.

Then there are days when you feel as one with your machine, every takeoff is effortless and every touchdown brings exclamations from the passengers. The air is crisp and the sun shines. A light breeze blows, steady but not excessive. All day you know there is no other place to be. You could actually be working for a living! You can see the beauty of beaches, bays and rivers as if for the first time. You are the master, able to splash in wherever you want. No restrictive flight procedures, no collar and tie.

On the radio you hear a 737 calling Coolangatta tower. “Would take the pay check.” You think as you haul your machine over into a descending turn onto finals, right hand functioning automatically selecting flap and adjusting power. You roll out of the turn moments before your float kisses the water. Touching down a jet of spray shoots out from each hull. Throttle opened to keep her on the step, you boot rudder to turn left following the channel. You’re now a speedboat doing 40 knots (75kmh). 50 metres from the marina you pull the throttle to idle and concentrate on guiding long wings between two wharf pylons that stand next to your dock. Shut down and tied up a minute later you help your passengers off.

“Thanks for a great day, son.” Says Bill, half of one of the couples you took across to the reef. He shakes your hand and in doing so, palms you an agreeable tip across. Respecting his wish for discretion, you slip the bill into your pocket. “I just love American customs” you think. After the group photo session you say goodbye as a limo whisks them away. Satisfied and smug you make a coffee and put your feet up for the first time today.

Revelling in the quiet, you look past your sand encrusted bare feet to the water, watching as your runway calms. The waves abating, first to ripples then to an oily smoothness as twilight settles. A glorious sunset, like a curtain coming down on a stage show, forms a backdrop to the end of a day in what is probably the best job in the world.