No place left to go

When I first learnt to fly there were queues for circuit training from daylight to dusk at Bankstown Airport. And should you seek to escape the rat race of the Bankstown environs, you could practise a forced landing to the ground at Erskine Park, St. Marys or Wallacia.

Or why not fly a precautionary search at ‘The Oaks’ and do a low-level circuit of Hoxton Park, before returning to Bankstown and landing on the north-south cross runway — weather and traffic permitting.

The Sydney basin was full of airfields and the skies were crowded with people learning to fly. Today, many of these have disappeared with only the odd orange and white striped telegraph pole offering any evidence that a thriving airfield once existed.

As I wandered along the Bankstown flight-line recently, aircraft were relatively few and far between and many parked there had grass growing up through their undercarriage — a far cry from the halcyon days where finding a spot to park was akin to scoring front row tickets in the MCG members’ stand.

Where aircraft after aircraft once touched down, I now half-expected to see dingoes and spinifex dawdling down the runway, although the presence of a hardware megastore reminded me I was not in the outback.

Bankstown Airport is a tarnished example of general aviation’s apparent fall from grace but there are still many regional airports fighting for their very survival, while others already have been ploughed under and divided into quarter-acre blocks or industrial areas.

These airports are under constant threat as local councils try to balance their ledgers by selling a perceived liability for a lucrative profit, while divesting themselves of an aspect of their portfolios they’ve never really understood.

A long time in the making

Airports do not spring up overnight and many have significant histories as the first and perhaps only lifeline for remote townships or as a satellite airfield born in the dark days of World War 2 — and could even put up their hands to be heritage listed.

Whatever the particular origins, airports were developed when land was plentiful and the population sparse. But even in these earliest days the airport was recognised as an essential component of any growing community’s infrastructure and formed a central hub for commerce.

The 1950s saw the operation of many airfields back in civilian hands as their wartime use had now ended, to be replaced by a rapidly growing network of regional airline services. To the backdrop of healthy economic growth and government-subsidised air routes, airports were abuzz with Avro Ansons and DC-3s crossing the perimeter fence with their precious passengers, mail and freight.

So critical was the airport’s role that the Commonwealth recognised many local councils needed help to manage the technical aspects and financial aid to maintain and improve this now cherished infrastructure.

Consequently, the aerodrome local ownership plan (ALOP) was founded in 1958 so the Federal government could oversee the management of over 400 regional aerodromes and about 80 major airports. It was a scheme that ensured the survival of the airport’s role in the community but by 1990 the landscape had changed and so had the future for airports around the nation.

The first sign of things to come appeared in 1988 when 23 major airports became the domain of the Federal Airports Commission (FAC) and the corporate model that accompanied the change. Cost recovery became the new mantra and landing fees and parking charges became the norm.

Overnight, aircraft began to display the appropriate stickers on their flanks to advise the patrolling fee-collectors that they were ‘financial’ and permitted to park at airfields such as Bankstown. The days of ‘user pays’ had well and truly arrived for aviation.

The major turning point came in the early 1990s when the government divested itself of almost all 400 aerodromes they had managed under the ALOP. In a major act of privatisation, the operation of airfields was passed to the local councils — a mixture of unwilling, unsure and unable to adequately manage their new assets.

With a shortage of funds and expertise at local government level, the future of the nation’s airports was set for uncertain times.

The perfect storm

Aviation had now changed greatly since 1958 and the ALOP. Back then, the nation was riding a post-war wave of growth, the two-airline policy was alive and well, regional air routes were subsidised and fuel was relatively cheap.

By the 1990s the aviation cost base had increased dramatically and the government subsidies and policies that had seen TAA and Ansett rule the skies had either decreased or disappeared. New players and ‘low-cost’ carriers were emerging in the airline world, creating new competition and producing new pressures on fares and profits. The community also had changed.

Once keen observers at the airport fence, the general public had previously craned their necks and squinted to catch a glimpse of a jet airliner overhead with its dark tell-tale plumes trailing behind. The world was now a very different place.

The population had grown and the airports once been surrounded by fields of green were being encroached upon by the urban sprawl. The wonder and convenience of air travel had been transformed from a privilege to a pestilence under the age-old guise of complacency. Familiarity had bred a very tangible contempt.

Community appreciation of airports had disappeared and their vital roles conveniently overlooked. Local councils now had to manage these capital intensive facilities without any apparent source of funds and very little voter-based incentive.

Many airports no longer hosted a regional airline service and the economic flow-on from a full Fokker Friendship had passed. From their perspective, they now possessed a large tract of land that might have a flying school and maintenance hangar but little else — even the refuelling truck had been replaced by an automated bowser.

A small amount could be raised by landing fees if a system was installed to monitor aircraft movements but would hardly cover the cost of painting a centreline.

There was grass to be mown, runways and taxiways to be maintained, toilets, fences and signage — the list seemed to go on with no apparent means of funding from the limited local council budget.

With little aviation expertise, local governments were caught between a rock and a hard place. Some hired out their airports for drag-racing, markets and other non-aviation related activities.

A few aerodromes promoted aviation manufacturing while others designed air parks and sub-divided the land into building sites for aviator’s holiday homes. While there have been a few success stories such as Temora and Bundaberg, the general tale is one of woe.

At airports such as Bankstown, ownership moved from the FAC to a fully privatised model where corporations tried to recover their costs far more aggressively than a local council. Landing fees, hangar leases and the like grew dramatically, forcing many operators and maintenance facilities to walk away.

Yet as the aviation businesses faltered, the precious land was opened up to commercial development and warehouses and outlet stores now stood where there had been busy avionics shops and maintenance facilities.

In 1990, the government had included legislation that at its core the airport should continue to be used for aviation-centric activities. It is a difficult issue to monitor and the balance often is challenged as aviation businesses continue to dwindle and urban real estate becomes increasingly attractive.

This is not merely attractive in the sense of airport leasehold but alluring as a redesignation of land usage, either residential or commercial. Hoxton Park in NSW is a case in point: warehouses now stand where runway 16/34 had hosted aircraft as far back as World War 2.

And with the demise of Hoxton Park and the closure of runway 18/36 at Bankstown the Sydney basin was left without a north-south runway — with the exception of Kingsford Smith Airport — in a region that boasts a proud history of southerly changes.

Whether managed by a council or corporation, airports are now seen as little more than a burdensome component of a balance sheet that needs to pay for itself. The marvel of flight cannot even find willing supporters in the citizens it supports and in many cases, their protesting voices are the loudest in the halls of government.

And all the while, property developers circle with open cheque books and an apparent answer to the problem.

Short memories

For the managers of airports the issue seems to be one of simple economics. Unfortunately, not everything of value can be readily measured, continually causing issues in an era of ‘key performance indicators’.

Just as an insurance policy seems of dubious value when the premiums fall due, some of an airport’s intrinsic value is only evident when tough times befall the community. So when a bushfire threatens, a flood levy nears its limit or a critically ill child needs rushed to a capital city hospital at 2am, the airport’s availability is taken for granted.

As the list of regional aerodromes facing extinction grows there is some sympathy for councils faced with a budget blowing out and no true understanding of aviation. But sympathy can stretch only so far and councils can’t have it both ways.

More than only providing aerial access for their current constituency, local council representatives continually talk up growth in their community. They publicise future projects and job opportunities that will be created — and the cash that will flow into the local economy as a result of the prosperity.

Yet if a local council genuinely believes its region is destined for greatness, surely an airport is an item of fundamental infrastructure to support such growth, especially with the rising prevalence of ‘fly in-fly-out’ workforces. So it should aspire to once again have a regular air service to transport tourists and businessmen alike.

And should electoral promises reach fruition but the local airport has already been sold, what then? The time, cost and red tape to acquire new land and build a new facility makes the current operating budget and administration pale by comparison. But perhaps that will be another mayor’s problem further down the track.

Once an airfield is gone, it is gone. As soon as the land is available it will be reassigned to build homes or factories and all traces of aviation will disappear.

No place to go

Aviation in the modern age has an image problem. Despite fares cheaper than a Saturday night cab ride, aviation still has a perception of being the domain of the affluent. Even with cleaner engines, lower noise emissions and tailored flight-paths, the noise of air transport has become a community burden and political football.

Once recognised for its daring and an integral part of the national identity, it’s now more often seen as a noisy nuisance and the airport the fixed point at which the industry butts up against the community.

Like so many things, aviation’s importance is only obvious to the masses in its absence. During the pilot’s dispute in 1989 and last year’s grounding, it became evident within 24 hours how much Australia was reliant upon reliable air travel.

The number of interdependent livelihoods that reeled in horror when the aeroplanes weren’t flying stretched from endeavours as varied as critical care to kerbside cafes. Suddenly, everyone had a stake in the noisy nuisance. Without It, their world had taken a decidedly significant turn for the worse.

Major capital city airport owners have the flow-through of air traffic, passengers and parking to turn a profit on their investment while smaller city airports such as Bankstown and Archerfield try to achieve a positive ledger through increased user fees and diversifying the range of industries that call the airport home.

For these airports it’s a balance of economics while operating as a community-aware neighbour. For regional airports, the stakes are even higher because the airport provides a valued lifeline — sometime almost literally.

So, should a regional community lose that lifeline simply because it does not have the population or regular air traffic to generate the revenue to maintain an airport? There are some forms of infrastructure critical to our community that cannot necessarily fully fund their existence.

Does this mean that every road should be a toll-road and every fire hose should come equipped with an EFTPOS machine? After all, these airports originally were built and funded by Australian taxpayers, not local councils.

Handing the airports back to those councils in the 1990s has left many with a headache they don’t know how to cure. Even if they recognise the value of the airport to their communities in every role from commerce to medical evacuations and natural disasters, they can’t make the books balance.

Ultimately, the airports begin to deteriorate under the weight of minimal maintenance and the developers’ offers begin to look very attractive. Perhaps it’s time for the ‘aerodrome local ownership plan’ (ALOP) to be revisited in a 21st Century format. For this scheme not only supplied funds but operational and technical expertise.

In a climate of economic cuts every hand is out for funding and there are some very worthwhile recipients in the queue. However, for regional airports the issue is critical, particularly those without a regular air service.

They exist under the constant shadow of closure and with every day that passes, facilities look even more forlorn and the numbers of visitors and occupants dwindle. And so for the local council, the economic equation becomes dire.

Once these airports have gone they are lost to the community along with all the benefits they can offer. Without a change in direction, there will be no place left to go.