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6 / WAYPOINTS
Aviation news By Aviator staff
7 / AIRMAIL
A nostalgic Mallard
9 / GEAR & GADGETS
Four aviation products By Aviator staff
10 / FLYING STORIES
Demotivating governments By Jack Schofield
12 / A PILOT’S LIFE
Red Star – Part 3 By Chris Weicht
15 / VECTORS
GPS dependency
By Michael Oxner
16 / THE PLANE FIXER
Avoiding insanity
By Liana Beussecker
18 / WHIRLYBIRD WRITINGS
Herding sheep By Michael Bellamy
20 / UNUSUAL ATTITUDES
A legendary master By Luke Penner
22 / TALES FROM THE LAKEVIEW
The early days of medevacs By Robert S. Grant
24 / RIGHT SEAT
Risk management By Mireille Goyer
26 / PEP TALK
Need to know more By Graeme Peppler
28 / COLE’S NOTES
Remembering Tony Swain
By W.T (Tim) Cole
30 / WORDS ABOUT A BOOK
His Majesty’s Airship
By René R. Gadacz
32 / EXPERT PILOT
A dark, dark night... By Richard Pittet
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54 / FLIGHT BAG
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Victoria-based commercial pilot and amateur photographer Aaron Burton once again (e-Beaver, 2024) scores a cover photo with this Kingfisher takeoff from YYJ. ON THE COVER
Forty years on, these foreign millionaires are still missing in B.C. By Dirk
Septer
Captain Kate Speer’s globehopping path to a Porter left seat. By Robert S. Grant
What the TSB has been doing for 35 years. By Yoan Marier
Readers of this space will know that I often write of matters related to our military; more specifically, the Royal Canadian Air Force. If not here, then feature articles written by others I select to publish. Stories that hark back to an era when the RCAF was a force to be reckoned with. It’s not that I have any particular relationship to that storied institution, other than a stint as an Air Cadet in my youth. Rather, it was my boyhood dream of being a pilot in the RCAF that drew me into a fascination with all things aeronautical. At some point in my cadet career I decided that the military had no place in my
future (a decision that, much later, had me wondering whether I had made a mistake). But the longing to become a pilot never left me. It wasn’t until my mid-30s, however, that I fulfilled that ambition. Since then, my life has been interspersed with aviation career moves: once running a flight school, then writing for and editing an aviation magazine, now also selling kit airplanes. During much of that time, I was flying my own airplane, something I continue to do. Were it not for the youthful excitement of flying fast air force planes, I might never have taken up flying as a hobby that later led to an aviation-related second career.
We all know that the last two or three decades has seen a decline in the number of flying opportunities in the RCAF, concurrent with a lack of interest by young people in aviation as a career. Numerous institutions have been trying to reverse that trend for years, though not with overwhelming success. That may be about to change.
The evolving reality of world affairs, leading to the now-planned rejuvenation of the RCAF, may once again spark a child’s imagination and draw him or her into the world of aviation, whether by serving our nation in uniform or simply to pursue the dream of flight.
The long-awaited replacements for the RCAF’s fleet of DHC-5/ CC-115 Buffalo Search and Rescue (SAR) aircraft have finally become operational as of May 1, 2025. The Spanish-made Airbus C295 is the CC-295 Kingfisher in RCAF service, and five of the twin turboprops have already been delivered to CFB Comox on Vancouver Island, serving with the 442 Squadron of 19 Wing. The Kingfishers will also replace certain models of the Lockheed-Martin Hercules that were serving as SAR aircraft; specifically, the CC-130H model.
While conventional Canadian SAR aircraft were designed to go low and slow and have short-field takeoff and landing characteristics, the Kingfishers were not designed for this. Instead of relying on human observers peering out of bubble windows, on board the Kingfishers are an array of high-tech sensors and instruments, such as MX-15 Electro-Optical and Infrared Cameras, that can detect persons or objects like a downed aircraft or a sea vessel in distress from more than 40 kilometres away. The Comoxbased Kingfishers will cover not only Canada’s West Coast and out over the Pacific Ocean for 1,500 kilometres, but the entire province of British Columbia as well as Yukon Territory.
The contract with Airbus is for 16 CC-295s spread across Canada, including Winnipeg, Manitoba, Trenton, Ontario and Greenwood, Nova Scotia in addition to Comox,
“The addition to our SAR capability will significantly enhance our ability to respond to Canadians in need and save lives.”
— Lt-Gen Steve Boivin
B.C., which will be home to a newly constructed training centre replete with state-of-the-art flight simulators. Comox’s 418 SAR Operational Training Squadron is responsible for the training of the aircrews and maintenance personnel, and 19 Air Maintenance Squadron will perform maintenance of the Kingfishers.
“Canadians should feel assured that as of [May 1], a fully capable and crewed CC-295 Kingfisher will be available 24/7, 365 days a year throughout Canada’s western territories and waters to support SAR activities,” according to a statement from the Department of National Defence.
The current service standard for response time for 442 Squadron (which
also includes CH-149 Cormorant helicopters) is two hours from the time an alert is received at the Joint Rescue Coordination Centre (JRCC) in Victoria. However, it is expected that calls received during the hours of 08:00 and 16:00 will be responded to within 30 minutes.
“The addition to our SAR capability will significantly enhance our ability to respond to Canadians in need and save lives,” said Lieutenant-General Steve Boivin on May 1. Lt-Gen Boivin is Commander of Canadian Joint Operations Command.
Acquisition of the Kingfisher fleet was budgeted at $2.9 billion with another $2.3 billion to maintain them for 15 years.
The “Great Magazine” did it again! [The photo of the Mallard in the May/Jun issue, Flying Stories] brought back old, favourite memories. I worked for K&N Shipping. Arrow Transport hauled our containers from Seattle to our warehouse in North Vancouver. As a good customer, I was a guest on the owner’s vessel, the MV Hotei, in Hecate Strait. They flew us from Vancouver and landed on the water beside the Hotei in that Mallard. I sat beside the pilot and those big props, spinning right beside me, were intimidating. Bob Bradley, Surrey, B.C.
The Jul/Aug issue’s crossword puzzle contained two errors. 4 DOWN should read: A colleague of 10 ACROSS. 15 DOWN should read: Fan of 10 ACROSS. Canadian Aviator apologizes for the errors.
On page 46 of the May/Jun issue (“The Great London-Victoria Air Race”) we used a photo of competitor Rick Cockburn’s Harvard on the ground during a stopover in Ottawa on its way to Victoria. We neglected to assign credit to the photographer, David Dickens of Monterey, Calif., who was in the nation’s capital that day. Canadian Aviator regrets the omission.
Could you use a pair of compact but effective set of wheel chocks? Innoquest of Woodstock, Illinois promotes its product as “The chock that stays put.” Made of solid polymer with a rubber bottom, the chocks are connected by a cord that wraps around the chocks making them easy to store. They are contour-shaped, preventing pressure points on tires and making them easy to position. Each chock measures 4.25" x 7" x 2" (10.8 cm x 17.8 cm x 5.1 cm). The cord length is 24" (61 cm). About C$111.
Learn more at innoquestinc.com. Available from aircraftspruce.ca
Do you have a favourite pair of sunglasses but have trouble reading the small print of your charts or your iPad app? Do you find that your untinted progressive lens don’t offer enough protection from bright sunlight? Optx2020 of Deerfield Beach, Florida offers their Hydrotac Optx 20/20 StickOn Bi-focal Reader Lenses. Turn those favourite sunglasses into bifocals with the exact amount of magnification you need: 1.25x, 1.5x, 1.75x, 2x, 2.5x or 3x. The lens are both removable and reusable. Use scissors to trim to the exact shape you want. About C$40.
Learn more at optx2020.com Available from aircraftspruce.ca
Do you rely on a cheap, stick-on carbon monoxide detector to protect your life and those of your passengers? Did you know that, even when they work as designed, it might already be too late? Or maybe you have no CO detector in your cockpit at all. Consider the Sensorcon AV8 Inspector Pro from California-based Inspector Tools. The portable lightweight device features adjustable audio, visual and vibrating alarms. It also features a “time-weighted average” function that monitors exposure over a 24-hour period. Battery life is two years, and its built-in loop allows for suspension anywhere in your cockpit. The device measures 3.2" x 2.2" x 0.9" (8.1 cm x 5.6 cm x 2.3 cm) and weighs 4 ounces (113 g). About C$326.
Learn more at inspectortools.com. Available from aircraftspruce.ca
USB chargers that plug into a cockpit’s cigarette lighter socket are cheap and easy to find. Many, however, cause interference on aircraft radios. My Go Flight of Denver, Colorado offers a made-for-aircraft charger that is equipped with both USB-A and USB-C connections. What’s more, it has a digital display that acts as a voltage meter and displays amps out when a device is plugged into it. The charger supplies enough current so that an iPad running aviation apps will continue charging while in use. 12 to 32 V input. About C$78.
Learn more at mygoflight.com. Available from aircraftspruce.ca
Once upon a time, in the days before civil aviation was deregulated, there was a government commission known as the Canadian Transport Commission, the CTC as it was referred to by the industry. Any mention of this CTC always brought forth an expression of exasperation because this committee was a roadblock to doing business in the Canadian aviation industry. Why? Because it was created in 1937 to make absolutely certain that the government airline, Trans Canada Airlines (now Air Canada), would operate without competition.
Staffed with appointees made by the Prime Minister of the day, committee members of the CTC were usually lawyers who knew nothing of the flying business, but were charged with ruling on who could fly, and where. If you wanted to fly some loggers into camp, some native villagers into their village and some sport fishermen into a resort, you first had to ask, in writing, the CTC for approval — in triplicate, no less — to establish your airline. One of your application papers went to the airline closest to your proposed base of operations. He was asked for his comments, and he always had some colourful ones, like his claim that you were out of your mind, that he was already providing that service was called “an intervention” and such interventions always won the day.
So, you couldn’t just plop an airplane into some little town and start hauling your loggers. You had to appear in court first and present your case to the CTC to justify the need for such a service as you proposed, and the odds were that you would fail to be issued a licence because everybody in that courtroom wanted you to fail. So, if getting an application to establish an airline was so difficult, what could a person do? The answer of course was to buy out a guy who already had
a licence, and while you were smugly smiling that you had outfoxed the CTC, they dropped the news on you that it was illegal to sell a licence. An airline’s assets could be purchased but you could not buy the licence. Licences were transferrable, but such a transfer became the subject of another decision for or against the transfer by the CTC and that decision was going to take another year.
So, what you did then was to connive to purchase the licensed airline’s clapped out Cessna 180 for which you would pony up an extra five grand over market value for the aircraft and the owner would then agree to transfer the licence, with a knowing smile, and would then allow you to fly under his name for as long as it took to get the transfer approved. What a game it was, and it was played just like that by a succession of aviation entrepreneurs such as the famous Grant McConachie, whose client, Canadian Pacific Railway, bankrolled his purchase of a whole gaggle of little guys that gave the new Canadian Pacific Air-
lines he had created the route structure to establish a domestic carrier that planned to compete with the national airline Trans Canada Airlines.
It was the game also played by Russ Baker, whose Central BC Airways bought out Jim Spilsbury’s Queen Charlotte Airlines (QCA), allowing Baker to establish Pacific Western Airlines (PWA) as a British Columbia regional service. In more recent years, it allowed B.C.’s favourite entrepreneur, Jimmy Pattison, to buy out and amalgamate six little coastal outfits into a company he called AirBC, which was quick to become the latest B.C. regional service. AirBC ultimately performed over 40 percent of Air Canada’s feeder service and was later sold to Air Canada at a significant profit to become that national carrier’s Canada-wide regional feeder service now known to you and me as Jazz.
So, such a game it was when government regulation prevailed, but the real reason for it all was to ensure that Trans Canada Airlines (TCA), the
airline created by Canada’s Parliament, could operate free of all threat of competition. The Trans Canada Airline Act declared that no other airline could parallel the routes of the national carrier. When Canadian Pacific Airlines looked capable of threatening TCA, an order in council was hurriedly passed requiring that an airline could not be owned by a railway system. While the target was obviously the Canadian Pacific Railroad’s airline division operating as CPAir, it was argued that the Government themselves were in contravention of their own rules as, not only did they own the national airline, but they also owned a railway system — the CNR. Nevertheless, CPAir were relegated to fly only to destinations off the main domestic airway routes across Canada and, when instrument landing systems (ILS) came into being, these systems were installed only at airports
serviced by the government’s TCA.
The Trans Canada Airlines Act had the effect of stifling the aviation industry and the need for deregulation was being espoused by the industry in the face of total indifference by government until one day…and here at last is the story you were being primed for…
“GOD HOW I LOVE AVIATION”
Who are we quoting? Barry LaPointe, an instrument rated commercial pilot and also an AME). Barry held what was once called an ATR — an Airline Transport Rating. He also had a Ford pickup with a big tool kit in the back. He put all this together over his lifetime and has now retired, having created Kelowna Flightcraft, now known as KF Aerospace. Be careful not to abbreviate that company name to KFC, because Flightcraft is no chicken; it is the largest and most significant aerospace company in Canada. So, where does Barry
Lapointe fit into the Trans Canada Airline Act? The answer to that is that he did not fit into it at all. In fact, he shot it down in flames, opening the door for deregulation.
How did he do that you ask? Well, it’s a little long to elaborate on here, so tune into a future issue of Canadian Aviator to get that story. But I assure you it is a good one that you won’t want to miss. And, I might add, it has never been told before in print.
And, while I have your attention, here is an aerospace history question I ask all Canadian aviators to answer upon the eve of the U.S.’s 25 percent tariffs aimed at Canada: What Canadian Government was in power when the Canadian aerospace industry was totally disassembled by caving in to gunboat politics from the U.S. oval office?
I think I just shot an Arrow in the air!
On Monday, June 14, 1937, Soviet Agent Vartanian in Seattle had made radio contact in code with the group at Goose Island and advised them to expect a message on June 17 concerning the arrival of the Tupolev ANT-25.
The departure of the ANT-25 from Shelkova airport near Moscow was recorded as 04:05 Moscow time, or 01:05 Greenwich Mean Time on June 18, 1937, with considerable press coverage. Valery Chkalov was in command, with Georgy Baydukov as copilot and Alexander Belyakov as navigator. As the aircraft took off, photos clearly showed the ANT-25’s departure.
The flight apparently proceeded on schedule. However, communications with the ANT-25 were all handled through Soviet agent Vartanian in Seattle, who in turn received progress messages from repeater stations in Vladivostok and Khabarovsk, Siberia. Vartanian would then translate and provide copies to the US Army Signals Corps at Seattle.
The single exception to this routine was messages received from Canadian Army Signals Corps at Edmonton, which stated that they had received four messages in Russian that they thought had originated from the ANT-25 and were relayed to Vartanian. The first message was received 35 hours after the aircraft departed Moscow, stating, “Everything OK travelling 120 mph, location Prince Patrick Island 800 miles south of the pole on the American side.” Later messages were received from Fort Norman and near Fort Smith, Northwest Territories. The first message received by US Army Signals at 20:32 PST stated, “Entering Alberta and heading for Pacific Ocean.” However, U.S. authorities had expected the aircraft to follow the 120th Meridian through Edmonton and Spokane and on toward its planned destination.
At 21:00 PST a message from the ANT-
25 stated, “Over Queen Charlotte Islands following shipping lanes to Seattle.” But something was amiss here. Only 28 minutes earlier their message was received stating the aircraft was leaving Alberta for the Pacific Coast, an impossible feat for an aircraft barely able to maintain 100 mph, and probably a lot less, against the westerly winds. The ANT-25 was certainly not supersonic.
Navigator Belyakov later sent a message direct to his consulate in San Francisco stating that they had used 2,619 gallons of fuel since leaving Moscow, which was very strange since the ANT-25 had taken off with only 2,000 gallons on board. As the aircraft approached the mouth of the Columbia River at Astoria, it was spotted at 07:15 by a US Coast Guard cutter. One hour later, at 08:16 on June 20, 1937, it landed at Pearson Field. At this point it had averaged only 60 mph since leaving the Queen Charlotte Islands (present-day Haida Gwaii).
The English publication “The Aero-
plane” of September 8, 1937, took issuance with the authenticity of this flight. It stated that there was no possibility for the ANT-25 to stay aloft for anywhere near the amount of time to make the transpolar flight and suggested it had been refuelled. Its editor, C.G. Grey labelled it a “Flight of Fancy”. U.S. authorities, however, recognized the Soviet record claim without reservation.
Had the Russians really completed a nonstop flight? If so, how did they manage to make the 1,900-mile-range aircraft accomplish the feat? If the aircraft was refueled, where did this happen and what evidence is there?
The copilot of the flight, Georgy Baydukov, assumed the position of spokesperson for the tour. Baydukov was interviewed in Ogden, Utah, by a Mr. N. Vishnevsky, who was a Russian-born American retained by the State Department of the United States. Vishnevsky stated that Baydukov advised him that their flight had stopped at Marshall
Field, British Columbia, on the supposedly nonstop polar flight. Whether this was meant as a confidential aside between two Russians is unknown, as most of the American documentation relative to the whole incident is still marked “SECRET.” The reference to Marshall Field is a mystery as there is, or was, no such airfield in the province of British Columbia.
Possibly the reference was to General George C. Marshall, who was the commanding officer of Pearson Field and the United States Army Barracks at Vancouver, Washington. Is it possible that General Marshall masterminded the United States’ participation in this so-called “nonstop” polar flight?
In his own memoirs, General Marshall had mentioned that he considered his post at Vancouver, Washington, to be the end of the line as far as his career was concerned. However, his duties there included the supervision of the C.C.C. (Civilian Conservation Corps.) camps and Public Works projects throughout the Northwest. He had also been visited by none other than the Russian radio agent, Vartanian, prior to the arrival of the ANT-25.
In view of all this, we speculate that the airstrip prepared at Goose Island by the C.C.C. Natives was named Marshall Field in honour of their leader, General George Marshall. In any event, his career certainly skyrocketed after the successful completion of the Russian “nonstop” flights. He was personally selected by Franklin D. Roosevelt over 33 other general officers for the position of United States Army Chief of Staff. Other promotions included U.S. Secretary of State, Secretary of Defense and Special Ambassador to China. He was also the architect of the Marshall Plan in Europe, which won him the Nobel Peace Prize in 1953.
In December 1992 I attempted to find if any of the remaining Elders of the Heiltsuk Tribe remember the bizarre occurrence of 1936 and 1937 at Goose Island. I was able to learn of one Elder named Phillip Hall, who was a young man in his early twenties at the time of these flights, and he remembered a group
of Americans and foreign Native Indians with a large aeroplane at Goose Island. There was also a memory of the arrival and landing of the aircraft.
The Heiltsuk natives were not the only ones to witness the landing of the aircraft. On the late afternoon of June 19, 1937, a vessel travelling in the Queen Charlotte Straits sent a message to the Canadian National Telegraph office in Prince Rupert stating that a large Russian aircraft was observed going down on an island near Bella Bella. This message was relayed to US Army Signals Corps in Seattle who in turn passed it to Russian agent Vartanian, who denied its authenticity.
As stated earlier, in 1993 I interviewed Archie Miller, a long-time resident of Bella Bella who, during the Second World War, served as an RCAF marine officer. In 1943 he was ordered to take men and equipment to Goose Island and to survey the possibility of constructing a runway on the tidal lagoon for the landing of land-based aircraft.
In the summer of 2006, while on a speaking tour of northwest British Columbia, I spoke to a large group at the University of Northern British Columbia in Prince George. At the conclusion of my talk, I was approached by a man who identified himself as a retired BC Forest Service captain on coastal patrol boats. He stated that after the end of the Second World War, in 1946, he was ordered to proceed to Goose Island with his crew and destroy any structures remaining on the lagoon. He was advised that this activity was to remain a secret.
On the early morning of June 20, 1937, the Russian ANT-25 landed at Pearson Field at the Vancouver, Washington US Army Barracks, where its arrival was stated as unexpected, yet two Russian speakers just happened to meet its arrival. George Kozmetsky was a United States Army Reserve officer. Also present was a woman who was a university student. Shortly prior to the landing, U.S. security officer Lieutenant Carlton Bond received an FBI message stating that the aircraft originally destined for San Francisco would land at Pearson
Field where Bond served.
Photographs taken at the departure of the ANT-25 from Moscow show that the right side of the aircraft was painted in white with no markings. However, on its arrival at Pearson Field 63 ½ hours later, both sides of the ANT-25 were emblazoned with the inscription in Russian “The Route of Stalin,” a little hard to do on a supposed “nonstop polar flight.”
We suggest that the flight that departed Moscow’s Shelkova airport was a ruse, with radio transmissions supplied by Vartanian along the way that would hopefully legitimize the flight, and that the actual aircraft took off from Siberia and proceeded via the Aleutian Islands, the panhandle of Alaska, the British Columbia coast to Goose Island, where it was refuelled, and then continued to its destination, arriving at 08:16 PST at Pearson Field on the north side of the Columbia River, across from Portland, Oregon.
The intent to impress the belligerent axis powers with the possibility of Soviet reprisals likely failed. But Franklyn D. Roosevelt’s efforts to support the Russian ruse and bring the U.S.S.R. into the Second World War on the side of the Allied powers eventually succeeded, and the Lend-Lease program was a huge benefit in bringing a conclusion to the war.
In recent years, the surviving Tupolev ANT-25 has been relocated to the Central Air Force Museum at the Monino Airfield military base in Shchyolkovo, Russia, about 35 miles by road from Moscow.
Today, Goose Island is still uninhabited. The tide has come and gone tens of thousands of times since the Russians visited the lagoon over 85 years ago. No sign of their activity remains. The ravens and seagulls continue their eternal vigilance. The occasional visitor comes to hunt deer or geese, which abound. Goose Island is just as rugged and beautiful as it was to Sigismund Levanevsky on that misty day in August, the year before, when he landed the Vultee V1 floatplane on the clear waters of the island’s lagoon.
For over 80 years, the content of From the Ground Up as a literary benchmark that defines the multitude of theories associated to aeronautics. It describes the practices necessary to achieve the highest levels of distinction as safe, competent and skilled life-long aviators.
Through its evolving editions, many generations of readers have used this award-winning title as the foundation of their introduction to the concepts that require thorough understanding in advance of the sought-after hours of flying enjoyment that are the ultimate goal of all who seek to earn their wings and expand their knowledge of flight theory and practice.
The content of From the Ground Up may, at times, seem complex, but the pathway to learning the fundamentals of aeronautics is one that reaps much in the way of personal reward for all who pursue the goal of thoroughly understanding the subject. Indeed, it was by design that its original author, “Sandy” A. F. MacDonald — a man recognized as a “father” of what still stands today as the standard curriculum for ground school instruction — devised this aeronautical textbook to be comprehensive and current while conveying its material in such a way as to enhance the reader’s understanding of every written word.
Not one to permit his vast experience to allow for foregone conclusions, “Sandy” MacDonald’s meticulous care in the creation of From the Ground Up has become the hallmark for its widespread use and respect as the reference textbook of choice in hundreds of flying schools throughout Canada and around the world.
Its latest edition is the 30th Edition. A French-language version is also available under the title Entre Ciel et Terre Totalling over 400 pages of in-depth content formatted in a sequential, logical and easy-to-read fashion, the publication boasts over 360 graphics, charts, diagrams, illustrations and photos. An additional full-colour navigation chart and a sample weather chart are included.
All chapters are current in the latest technological and legislative aeronautical matters and cover such topics as The Airplane, Theory of Flight, Aero Engines, Aeronautical Rules & Procedures, Aviation Weather, Navigation, Radio & Radio Navigation, Airmanship, Human Factors, and Air Safety. From the Ground Up also includes an extensive index, glossary and a 200-question practice examination.
Since the 1940’s, virtually every student — civilian, military, commercial, recreational — who has ever learned to fly in Canada has used From the Ground Up as the primary ground school textbook from which they’ve learned everything one can learn about aeronautics, and about flying. Referred to as “the Bible” of ground school instruction, and updated with every frequent re-print, From the Ground Up has long been considered an essential resource for all with any interest whatsoever in the theory of flight, and in the practice of aviating.
Also available from Aviation Publishers
• From the Ground Up Workbook
• Canadian Private Pilot Answer Guide
• Canadian Commercial Pilot Answer Guide
• Canadian Instrument Pilot Answer Guide
• Instrument Procedures Manual
• Flying Beyond: for Commercial Pilots
• Unmanned: for RPAS Studies
• Flight Test Notes: for Flight Test Prep
For more information about all of our titles, visit us on the web or contact your local pilot supply
frequent question I receive from pilots, including career pilots in a variety of jobs and private pilots as well is, “Should I be in contact with ATC?” As you can imagine, there is a lot to the answer to that question. What are the considerations, and why ask the question? Let’s tackle the first question. It may sound obvious when I ask, “What’s the classification of airspace?” But the answer brings up some grey areas. If you’re IFR, then yes, contact ATC. Until you’re released from ATC’s frequency, you should be monitoring the radio for ATC messages and clearances all the time. If you have to leave the frequency temporarily, talk to the controller first to ensure any messages in the nearterm get through to you.
If you’re operating under VFR and the airspace is Class D or higher, the answer should be obvious. In Class D, pilots must establish two-way communication with ATC prior to entering and remain in contact. Above Class D, VFR pilots must follow clearances and instructions with a lot more care to ensure that the plan for separation the controller is employing works out.
But what about Class E? Should the VFR pilot talk to ATC in that airspace? There is technically no requirement for VFR pilots to talk to ATC. But that doesn’t make it a bad idea.
On to the second question. Why would a pilot not want to talk to ATC? When operating near a busy airport, whether the traffic is mostly IFR or VFR, the Tower will likely know what’s going on with the traffic operating in the airspace immediately surrounding the control zone. Incoming IFR arrivals will be in communication with the Tower, or their intentions will be known, as will their estimate for the airport, if not their exact location. They can communicate this
information to you to help you avoid their flight path. Other VFR traffic operating nearby may also be on Tower’s frequency, so they can offer information they have on those aircraft, as well. Similarly, the intentions and flight paths of departing IFR and VFR aircraft will be known to the Tower to help you avoid each other, even if you’re just outside the control zone.
It seems common for a pilot to want to avoid “bothering” ATC — or to not want to bother with them at all. Sometimes a pilot will choose to do something that can be obviously questionable to avoid the call. Long ago, as a newly-licensed pilot, I flew at 3,501 feet over the airport (because the CZ had a ceiling of 3,500 feet), just so I “wouldn’t have to call.”
Later in my life, I would work that same Tower and would see it from the other side and I realize now that I could very easily be in the way of other traffic. Not having communications with an aircraft in conflict with another can be very stressful for controllers and other pilots. Others have flown intentionally below the floor of Class D airspace in terminal areas so as not to bother controllers, but just below. Again, if ATC knows who you are and, more importantly, what you’re doing, it can reduce a lot of problems. Passing traffic to another aircraft saying, “type, altitude, and intentions unknown” uses a lot of radio time when a transmission may not even be spoken if the controller knows what you’re up to and verifies your altitude and intentions. Often, an aircraft that is showing on surveillance systems but the intent is not known forces controllers to take action with another aircraft on approach to an airport since ATC doesn’t know what the aircraft may do. There may be other safety implications, too. For example, there are good odds that anyone squawking
1200 is an aircraft of the “light” wake turbulence category. The majority of aircraft operating under IFR are “medium” or “heavy,” and this can lead to a wake turbulence hazard.
If controllers don’t know the altitude of your aircraft, and don’t know for certain that you won’t climb, clearing a heavier category aircraft directly over you can be a scary thought. This aircraft may be held up well above you or vectored around you to prevent a hazardous situation for you. This may lead to an increased workload for the controller and the other pilots.
I’ve heard that VFR pilots sometimes don’t feel welcome. That’s understandable. Sometimes the controller is busy, and that makes responses terse. Perhaps the controller may be just having a bad day. In the end, the controller’s interest, and the job, is to keep airplanes separated. That’s much harder to do if the pilots involved are not monitoring an ATC frequency in the terminal area around an airport.
This can also be true in enroute airspace. Even just monitoring ATC’s local frequency can be helpful. I recall passing traffic to an IFR aircraft as, “type and altitude unknown, over the Saint John River southbound.” The pilot of that aircraft heard the transmission and immediately checked in, saying, “I might be that traffic.” I confirmed the identity of the target on my screen and, being able to talk to both pilots, was able to pass traffic information and ensure they saw each other and took action to avoid a conflict.
Controllers don’t like the idea of aircraft passing extremely close to each other in an uncontrolled manner. If you check in and you’re potentially one of two (or more) who could tangle, we can help each other stay out of newspaper headlines.
Ithink I’m going to quit my job,” I told my manager at four in the morning in the middle of the week. It was a terrifying claim to make because what if he didn’t understand? What if he couldn’t help me find a solution? What if he didn’t care?
At the time I was working in an “old boys’ club”, somewhere they hadn’t hired new apprentices in nearly a decade, a place where I was one of three women working alongside 35 men. I had moved to a new city, I worked every single weekend (a four-and-three Saturday through Tuesday), and I was on straight nights (9 pm to 7 am). It was winter on the gloomy West Coast, so I hadn’t seen the sun in days. I was overwhelmed, I was exhausted, and I was miserable. And it all came back to one thing: I wanted to quit my job.
At the time, I was still young enough and new enough to aviation that I didn’t fully understand how the industry can take a toll on my state. In school we joked about Aviation Induced Divorce Syndrome, and teased the pilots we knew about taking a Tylenol for a headache because, what if Transport found out and pulled their medical?
Sure, we laugh about these things now, but mental health in aviation really isn’t spoken about as seriously as it should be. Companies will say an employee’s well-being is a priority but still expect them to work a 20-hour shift with little thanks.
I was raised in aviation and oil and grease. Who was I if I wasn’t supposed to be right where I was? But who would I become if my spiral steepened? I didn’t want to quit; I knew that even as the words left my mouth. I just needed — what? A different shift, or a different base, or a different company? I found all three and found that the grass isn’t always greener.
It was an isolating feeling; certain I was alone in my struggle while everyone around me was excelling and thriving. When I met Ben, we discussed how we
both ended up in the industry: I was raised an airline brat whereas his interest stemmed from the copious amounts of planes that covered his ceiling. He was a child with an avid mind driven by the curiosity in how things worked, so he spent his time taking apart toys and typewriters and electronics. We found common ground with how things fell into place for each of us, his thanks to a grade-nine shop teacher and mine to family history: we both liked planes, and mechanics, and planes need mechanics so maybe aviation needed us.
Ben spent 16 years as an AME in the unique world of aerial firefighting
before he began to wonder what else the world could offer him. He loved his job, but he’d unknowingly let it sink into his personal life to an extent he deemed unacceptable. He told me, “It’s hard being your own audience and watching yourself consistently setting fire to everything you own in a search for an answer to a question you don’t understand.”
He had no idea how much I understood.
In an attempt to separate his career from his life, Ben began taking classes for things outside aviation and sought guidance from a mental health counsel-
lor. And then he did what I thought so hard about doing early on in my career; he set down his tools and he walked away.
With his newfound time and freedom, Ben made incredible personal triumphs. He backpacked New Zealand and he cycled across Canada, and then he settled down for classes in psychology, in what he was sure would be a complete career change. But after moving to a new city with no job to fall back on, Ben didn’t find the same passion he’d initially had in aviation.
He realized he still wanted to work in the industry; he just needed a way to reignite that flame. So he spent his time gaining perspective, on aviation, on life, and on himself, and he formed a new understanding of what his career meant to him, and of how he wanted to balance his life.
So Ben returned lighter, more focused,
and adamant about making his career exactly what he wanted. He took parttime work at a hangar in Vernon and continued his classes with a new mindset: that he was okay with whatever happened next.
He completed his first-year classes in psychology and pivoted to a degree path in technology management. Simultaneously (and on opposite sides of the country), he led both the resurrection of a Q400 from an unfortunate engine fire event, and a heavy check on a Q400 that had just come back from storage. In doing so, Ben found acceptance and confidence in who he was in aviation, and these projects provided him a unique opportunity that successfully re-sparked that passion he’d been missing.
Now his curiosity is alive and well, he’s motivated and challenged, and he’s comfortable. He has a newfound respect of what led him to walk away, and
everything that led him back.
After almost 20 years in the industry, not everyone is as fortunate as Ben. Perhaps we should all take a small sabbatical, or accomplish an incredible feat, or spend some time studying the human mind so we can know for certain why we do what we do, so we can understand the importance of prioritizing our mental health.
As for me, I’ve begun branching out and exploring interests outside aviation. While I know for certain anything airplane-related is where I want to be, it’s been liberating to find I can love something else almost as much. I’ve realized when people say, “It’s just a job,” they’re absolutely right; you are so much more than your 9-to-5 (or 5-to-9!) shift.
When you have the same passion and desire as Ben, and you’ve found your optimum balance, you no longer have to go to work: You get to go to work.
NORTHERN ADVENTURES WITH MICHAEL BELLAMY
Articles regarding the shortage of pilots certainly draw a lot of attention from those who always wanted to fly. Perhaps until now, it was just a flight of fancy. Optimism rising, they look to those who have gone through the process to get an honest opinion of what awaits.
Of course, my experience as it applies to larger airlines is very dated and my preference was brought about by the challenges and the autonomy that I relished flying for smaller carriers. With a new commercial licence along with a float endorsement, I then added a little more time by hauling fuel and whatever was needed to small placer mining operations which covered the cost of renting the airplane chisel charter, remembering the term. Looking back, flying time was certainly a prerequisite for employment, but it was also contingent of what contributions to the company’s operation you could make other than flying. Sweeping floors and cleaning toilets comes to mind. Hardly the encouragement recent flight school graduates are looking for.
As hours grew, so did aircraft capabilities and complexities; de Havilland Beavers and Otters, Beech 18s and various twins. I added at that time a Class 1 Instrument Rating. Medevacs and scheds, single-pilot IFR and, due to distances, receiving clearances on HF radios. My first introduction engaging the autopilot for a precision approach was learning that the pilot was required to advise ATC that you would be doing a coupled approach.
A couple of summers were spent fighting forest fires flying Bird Dog and Douglas A-26 Invaders for Air Spray of Red Deer, Alberta. Now who would not enjoy flying a Second World War bomber, with Pratt & Whitney R-2800 Double Wasp engines thundering on either side, fuelled by 145 octane “testosterone” fighting wildfires? Winter had me talking to Canadian Pacific as a Boeing 737 seemed to be the next logical step for me and oth-
ers. However, the repetition of following the same schedule day after day felt more than a bit anticlimactic.
The growing demand for helicopters, especially in the North, and the machines’ abilities intrigued me. The mechanics and complexity of helicopter components are all related, like the inhabitants of some mountain village. The ‘cyclic’ controls pitch and roll, and is familiar to most fixed-wing drivers, similarly the pedals introducing yaw control. The ‘collective’ on the pilot’s left side controls the main rotor pitch, with the throttle incorporated into the grip, like a motorcycle. A short flight in a friend’s Bell Jet Ranger where, for the first time, I tried my hand at the controls found that the dynamics of the flight were similar to a fixed-wing aircraft. The helicopter controls, though, had a remarkable ease and sensitivity to the pilot’s every input, even when it was unintended. How the machine attained forward, lateral and reverse flight, however, was based on the rules of aerodynamics. Once understood, there were always exceptions to the rule.
Cruise flight was comfortable, especially the dramatic view afforded the pilot
once he or she grew accustomed to not having a cowling or wings to reference the horizon. Descending into a large field had me squeezing the seat cushion, watching the airspeed unwind below 40 knots. My instructor’s hands now assumed a more attentive position as we descended into a temporary hover. “Temporary” referred to my frantic attempts that more closely resembled herding sheep with a wheelbarrow. My friend’s laughter had me releasing control to his hands and the 206 obediently became docile and settled to the ground.
Fixed-wing airplanes generally fly from point A to B and job done. Helicopters, however, with their singular ability to hover and, more recently to cruise at a respectable speed, open the door to all manner of applications. Wildlife surveys, mineral exploration, forestry or simply providing an airborne platform for the client to get a better understanding on what their next job is going to entail. This provides the pilot, with the client seated next to them, to be privy to firsthand briefings on all sorts of exclusive professions. The more the pilot learns from this association, he or she is then able to tailor
the flight directly to their needs. This trust and camaraderie quickly lead to where a customer will ask specifically for you, the pilot, which always impresses your opera tions manager.
This close association with the profes sionals that you fly also expands your knowledge in the subtleties of the terrain you once casually overlooked. Listening over the intercom as they discuss observa tions pertaining to their knowledge gives you a complimentary education in all manner of subjects. I once flew an interna tionally esteemed geologist who described the mountains that were floating by. For him and his apprentices, the helicopter became a magical classroom as he described how the tectonic plates formed them, then pointing to an anticline where the crust of the earth buckled under pressure millions of years ago.
Another contract had me flying paleoanthropologists looking for evidence of early hominids. Pointing out a promontory overlooking a suspected ancient watercourse, we landed so they could investigate. With small digging tools they soon uncovered evidence of stone tools and projectile points thousands of years old.
With my past fighting wildfires with tankers and bringing that experience to helicopters brought on a rekindled enthusiasm as I chased fires from British Columbia to Ontario and into the States.
Flying every mission, the pilot of the helicopter is always at the controls being aware of every circumstance affecting the machine, “machine” being the preferred informal substitute for helicopter in use by engineers and pilots alike.
Multiengine helicopters are also quite capable in the IFR category used in offshore commuting to oil rigs platforms. Also in the medevac field, delivering patients to hospital helipads. On a later occasion, studying the Aircraft Flight Manual for an Aérospatiale Alouette and the Emergency Procedures section, boldly labelled in red, had an appealing caveat. “In all cases the pilot will have situational awareness and the procedures that follow describe the degree of urgency ONLY.” You must of course be familiar with the emergency procedures, but as the pilot, you, as pilot in command, make the call.
AEROBATICS WITH LUKE PENNER
In late May 2025, I had the incredible opportunity to immerse myself in a week-long training camp in Algona, Iowa, under the guidance of Pierre Varloteaux, a legend in the aerobatic world. While I’ve spent years training with my coach Aaron McCartan, who has made me the aerobatic pilot I am, the chance to learn from a former top-five pilot in the world was an opportunity I couldn’t pass up. This experience not only allowed me to broaden my horizons but also offered a fresh perspective on my training journey.
Pierre brings with him the pedigree of l’Équipe de Voltige, France’s elite
military aerobatic team, renowned for producing some of the finest pilots in the world, including the current two-time consecutive world champion Florent Oddon. With multiple world titles to their name, the team’s legacy is well-established — and Pierre’s own record speaks for itself. He was a member of the gold medal-winning French team at the 2009 World Aerobatic Championship in Silverstone, U.K., and holds numerous domestic medals from France’s fiercely competitive domestic competition scene.
Each day in Algona followed a consistent rhythm: two focused flights,
each around 18 to 20 minutes long, the standard duration at the Unlimited level. While brief on paper, these sessions were anything but easy. Pulling +9 and -7 Gs nearly constantly during each flight demands extreme physical and mental stamina. Any longer and figure quality starts to drop off — not to mention the safety risks of vertigo and fatigue.
The first flight of the day typically featured an unknown sequence Pierre had brought from French competitions. The night before, over dinner, the pilots would gather and study these programs. These weren’t casual practice routines — they were some of the most technical and
demanding sequences I’ve ever flown. And while I’m only in my second season flying Unlimited, I met the challenge head-on and left after the week proud of what I had accomplished.
Pierre’s style during flights was calm and observant. He wouldn’t speak on the radio during the initial run-through of the sequence, just as it would be at a real competition, instead recording his detailed commentary for a thorough post-flight debrief. Once the unknown was flown, we’d work through trouble spots. Several times through the week Pierre found a hole in my armour and we trained those weak spots.
and that felt like a personal milestone.
The second flight of the day was usually focussed on refinement: isolating figures and transitions, working through them until the control inputs were crisp, precise and at the correct cadence for optimal score from the judges. Every session was intense. And every minute counted.
This camp wasn’t just about polishing figures; it was about pushing my limits. Pierre came prepared with sequences more complex than anything I’d flown before, and he had no intention of letting me stay in my comfort zone. One particularly brutal figure involved pushing from an inverted horizontal flight to a vertical up-line with a three-quarter inside snap, ending in a tailslide. The challenge here wasn’t just the technical demands or the high negative Gs — it was flying the snap so cleanly that the airplane exited aerodynamically pure, without any side slip or yaw. By the end of the week, I’d flown it comfortably,
My main goal this season is to earn a spot on the Canadian Unlimited Aerobatic Team that will represent Canada at the 2026 World Aerobatic Championships in Batavia, New York. To do that, I need strong showings at both the Canadian Nationals in August and the U.S. Nationals in September. This camp was one of several key steps toward that goal — and thanks to Pierre, it was also one of the most productive.
Pierre’s coaching style is unmistakably French: blunt, sharp and seasoned with dry humour. But under the edge is a deep well of knowledge, and his observations always cut to the core. I appreciated his expert eye — and the way he challenged me to fly sequences I didn’t think I was ready for, only to show me I was.
The camaraderie at these camps is one of my favourite parts of competition aerobatics. Everyone shows up ready to work, and the egos are left behind in the hangar. We share techniques, push each other and debrief over good meals and plenty of laughs. A highlight
for me was watching my good friend Jesse Mack begin his own Unlimited journey, just as I did last year. Jesse will be making his Unlimited debut at this year’s Canadian Nationals in Steinbach, Manitoba. If both of us, two pilots from Manitoba, end up representing Canada at the Worlds next year, that’ll be something special for our small but proud province.
In past camps, I might have pushed for three flights a day, but Unlimited flying demands a different approach. With the high costs, extreme physical and mental demands, and steep learning curve, it’s smarter to focus on quality over quantity. Two flights per day gave me the intensity I needed without tipping over into diminishing returns.
In all, I left Algona sore, exhausted and inspired. I’m eager to take what I’ve learned and apply it to the next two big tests. Hopefully, by August next year, I’ll be standing on the flightline in Batavia wearing the Canadian colours.
The writer flying in the 2024 U.S. National Aerobatic Championships.
My next article will cover the results of the 2025 Canadian Nationals — so stay tuned.
Visitors to the Cat Lake First Nation, 112 miles northwest of Sioux Lookout, Ontario, often remark on the splendiferous forests surrounding the cluttered village. Since the 1970s, an airstrip has provided access to medical facilities but, brief years before, Cat Lake’s Cree-Ojibway rarely encountered airplanes. On September 3, 1932, however, they watched the dramatic splashdown of a de Havilland DH.61 Giant Moth after starvation and tuberculous overwhelmed their destitute community. Pilot G. P. Hicks and Dr. O’Gorman soon determined only mercy missions could save the severest cases.
“One was a woman who was emaciated and in a poor state of health for some time. In consequence, she was unable to catch enough fish for herself, husband and children,” said Hicks. “The other patient was a boy of seven years who had his right leg broken three weeks previously. His leg was badly discoloured and swollen.”
Hicks and O’Gorman carried the patients to the towering transport for a flight to Sioux Lookout’s hospital. Majestic 10-passenger, 52-foot wingspanned Giant Moth G-CAPG belonged to the Ontario Provincial Air Service (OPAS), which was created March 31, 1924, under the guidance of the renowned Roy W. Maxwell. Expected to patrol timber tracts for fires and forest health, the fleet became recognized worldwide as the “Yellow Birds.” When demands dictated, managers dispatched seaplanes or skiplanes into the Canadian Shield’s sharp-toothed spruce wonderlands to assist the native and non-native populace.
Few aviation enthusiasts know precisely when Canada’s first mercy missions took place. Some historians
suggest the moment an RCAF pilot stuffed a “war-wounded” lieutenant into a Curtiss JN-4 on August 9, 1920. Elsewhere, an Avro 594 Avian pushed 343 miles through clutching -40°C north from Edmonton. The frozen-faced crew carried 600,000 antitoxin units to combat a diphtheria outbreak.
By coincidence, Roy Maxwell himself carried out what aviation aficionados believed to be the first OPAS medical mission or “medevac.” During a treaty trip to distribute James Bay Treaty No. 9 payments to Ojibway and Cree northerners, word came of inadequate medical supplies at a remote post. Although superstitious locals had already shot at his Curtiss HS-2L “Devil Bird” years before, he loaded necessities at Ogoki Post, 141 miles northeast of present-day Geraldton, and “…flew back to English River, dropping the supplies into the river directly in front of the post, and then circled overhead until they saw that the Indians who had put out in canoes had picked up the floating parcels from the water,” reported the Sault (Ste. Marie) Star.
The OPAS devoted hundreds of hours to medical and mercy forays where few commercial air services existed. Some writers described the pilots and aircraft
maintenance engineers (AMEs) as wild adrenaline-seeking adventurers. In reality, these skilled individuals in unstable airborne contrivances took only calculated risks into meagrely mapped hinterlands saturated by blackflies and frostbite.
After his Cat Lake flight, Hicks and G-CAPG departed next day into the same forlorn region to assist in another drama. Word from Osnaburgh House, 101 miles northeast of Sioux Lookout, described the plight of two Ojibway sisters. Like children everywhere, they amused themselves in whatever play they could devise. This time, their brother emerged from the family shelter with a double-barrel shotgun.
In jest, he ordered his playmates to raise their hands and pulled the trigger. Shotgun pellets savaged the siblings horribly. Wood splints and tree sap applied by the parents did nothing. After packing both into a canvas canoe, the father paddled 50 miles overnight to Osnaburgh House where radio communication via the Hudson’s Bay Company summoned Hicks. The stately 525-hp Pratt & Whitney-powered Giant Moth traversed the well-watered aerial pathway and alighted on the boulder-dotted lake. The youngest child, age 11, hem-
orrhaged badly and her 17-year-old sister’s nearly severed arm and punctured chest rendered them comatose. Villagers placed them on the Giant Moth’s floor. In spite of enroute turbulence, both survived. Hick’s cryptic report read, “Air travel only means of giving girls a chance of life.”
The Toronto-based Travel & Publicity Bureau decided to capitalize on what Maxwell’s successor, George P. Ponsford, classified as “flights of a mercy nature.” A Lake Superior tourist resort passed word that a camper had walked 20 miles to a railway station to seek aid for his grievously ill companion. By the time medical officials informed Ponsford, darkness curtailed all airplane activity yet pilot George H. R. Phillips decided to attempt a night flight on August 1, 1931.
“Mr. Phillips flew the doctor in along the rocky shoreline of Lake Superior before the chap who had gone out to communicate with Sault Ste. Marie returned to camp,” said Ponsford. “The doctor attended the sick man who was later returned to hospital in Sault Ste. Marie and Mr. Phillips flew back to base the same night.”
Press coverage said nothing of night flying hazards in a seaplane. The cockpit contained few instruments and wings lacked landing lights. Phillips sensed himself downward with gentle throttle and slow speed until the floats contacted unseen high seas. Damage-free on the roiling surface, Phillips could only guess locations of boulders and tree stumps to avoid crumpling the fragile fuselage. No newspaper described his fatigue; he logged over 160 flying hours the same month.
Besides standbys for public good, OPAS pilots occasionally rescued their own. One DH.60 Moth slammed into the spruce when the weary pilot fell asleep in his cockpit and entered a spin. One tree branch sliced his calf muscles, carried upward and ripped a deep chest gash. Another passed through the opposite leg and skewered him to a tree. Workers from a nearby railway line used a hacksaw blade to free him before
another OPAS pilot brought a nurse to the site.
“The nurse gave him a good slug of morphine, then with four section men and the rest of us breaking trail, we made fast time getting him back to the lakeshore and then took off to the hospital,” wrote the rescue pilot. “The walk through the woods hadn’t helped the little Finnish nurse’s appearance. Her stockings were in shreds, shoes ruined and although her dress needed a visit to the cleaners, she didn’t complain. We took her to dinner.”
The accident pilot went back to work and never again fell asleep at the controls.
Pilots needed resourcefulness as well as skill. Edward C. Burton did not receive a traditional friendly welcome after docking his OPAS Yellow Bird Noorduyn Norseman at a fire tower to deliver food supplies. He found the blood-soaked observer days after an axe deflected into his ankle. Burton sliced off the suffering man’s leather boot to remove the crusted sock, returned to the Norseman and retrieved a sack of flour. Scooping a depression, he inserted the foot and packed flour around the suppurating wound. Later, a Port Arthur doctor informed Burton he had saved a life.
Another outstanding episode caught the attention of peoples of both sides of the Canada-USA border on April 11, 1933. Shifting Lake Superior ice floes provided a theatre-like backdrop when
two American fishermen found themselves stranded far from land. The cast consisted of two pilots already known internationally — Phillips and Maxwell.
“These men (the fishermen) had become isolated on a small ice floe that was liable to break up while drifting out into the stormy waters of Lake Superior,” an OPAS memo explained. “Aircraft were used to find the men and later to direct a rescue boat on observations from the observer. State Department Washington have written in high commendation of assistance rendered.”
In the 100th anniversary year since Maxwell led the organization, the OPAS transformed into the Ministry of Natural Resources and Forestry. Instead of obsolete flying boats and gust-prone biplanes, Canadair CL-415 water bombers, helicopters, de Havilland DHC-6 Twin Otters and a handful of DHC-2 Mk III Turbo Beavers wear the yellow scheme. On the same site as the original 1924 hangar, Sault Ste. Marie’s Canadian Bushplane Heritage Centre files contain yellowed pages replete with tales of bowel obstructions, shattered limbs, ruptured appendices and many others. Many situations called for bush planes dispatched into malevolent muskeg or shallow sand bars regardless of citizenship, language or native reserve.
The Centre’s staff have accepted a mission to preserve and show the heritage of the pioneering “adrenaline-seeking adventurers” who saved or comforted the injured and ill.
LANDING BACK AT THE DEPARTING AIRPORT WAS NOT AN OPTION
How long do you want to fly with one door unlatched?” That was the response I gave to one of my students who had recently bought a nicely equipped twin-engine Piper Aerostar and was trying to figure out how to adjust his personal minimums.
An extra engine does change the risk management equation. The odds of an untimely off-airport landing are reduced significantly. Flying in instrument meteorological conditions and over unfriendly environments becomes safer. On that day, the weather was bad enough that landing back at the departing airport was not an option as the conditions were below approach minimums. It was not an option either for more than one hundred miles.
My student had bought the aircraft to commute to Florida where he had a second residence. He knew that the weather usually improves going south and that he could potentially fly to better weather with one engine.
Spending time in the sun was very enticing. That is why he was asking me if I would take off for Florida under these circumstances. However, I did not gave him an answer. Instead, I started asking questions to raise his awareness of all the risks and help him decide for himself which one he would want to tackle and which one it did not, and why.
Truth be told, my personal minimums vary from ‘never again’ to ‘never’ to ‘it depends” and are, well, personal. It would not come to my mind to encourage anyone just to adopt them mindlessly.
Flying is inherently risky as are many things we do every day. To increase our chances to live another day, risk assessment is a prerequisite to making any move. While we routinely assess risk in our daily earthbound life, in aviation, the exercise tends to be more deliberate and thoughtful.
Far too often, though, we talk
about risk management in a vacuum — without addressing the benefits of taking risks. Only fools take risks without regard to benefits. It is the palatable benefits that lead us to accept risk.
To take a calculated risk, we must not only understand what the risk is, we must go one step further and weigh it against the benefits. In aviation, we tend to stop at identifying risks and evaluating our technical abilities to deal with them.
Pilots love to fly. Each flight comes with at least one benefit for us — to be airborne. How much risk is that benefit worth? Well, let me put it this way. Few of us hesitate to take a well-maintained machine thousands of feet above the Earth on a beautiful sunny day.
Risks, per se, rarely kill; it is the overzealous quest for their associated rewards that does. For example, the well-known get-home-itis syndrome is not necessarily grounded in the failure
to identify the risks. It usually stems from an overvaluation of the benefits. To put it in another way: a pilot suffering from the syndrome thinks that the risks are worth it.
Developing a set of ‘canned’ personal minimums outside of the context of benefits may not be as effective at protecting us from making bad decisions as we would expect. A better technique consists of setting up an enticing scenario before considering potential risks and formulating personal minimums.
My student could already see himself and his family working on a suntan on the beaches of Florida and knew that he owned an aircraft capable of flying hundreds of miles on a single engine effortlessly. So, I helped him work through scenarios when nothing was at stake yet.
What if the door came unlatched just after liftoff and he could not land for hundreds of miles to close it properly? Would the potential advantages of taking off without delays instead
“Establishing realistic personal minimums is a necessity to expedite and improve the decisionmaking process, but it is not infallible.”
of waiting for improvements worth everyone's discomfort? If the potential rewards were worth some discomfort, then the next question would be, how much and for how long? Thirty minutes at -15° C? One hour at +15° C? His answers would define some of his personal minimums during instances of low instrument conditions at the departing airport.
Establishing realistic personal minimums is a necessity to expedite and improve the decision-making process, but it is not infallible.
Take, for example, fire. From an early age we learn to avoid it at all cost to ensure our survival. Nobody in their right mind would run into a fire without
proper equipment. Good Samaritans, however, do it on a regular basis — but to save someone else’s life.
That human trait may, under extreme circumstances, lead us to act instinctively. It is not to be underestimated because it can affect the most conservative of pilots.
Just imagine how hard it would be to abide by your strict personal minimums should the life of one of your passengers, or your own, be at stake. Suddenly, flying an approach down to minimums — maybe even a little lower — might not sound that bad.
Testing personal minimums against realistic reward scenarios will help validate them against emotional pulls and make them more potent inhibitors should circumstances challenge their relevance. Without such level of due diligence, developing personal minimums is just a futile intellectual exercise with little safety enhancement value.
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Transport Canada (TC) sets the knowledge requirements for schools that teach students to fly. Their standards also identify the subject matter that students need to know to prepare for their written examinations. For private pilot licence (PPL) candidates, the document which lays out that guidance is referred to as the Study and Reference Guide for Written Examinations for the Private Pilot Licence (Aeroplane), also known as TP12880. For the first time in a while, the document has been updated, its new version having been posted for viewing in the late spring of 2025. For those at TC tasked with undertaking the
update, it was no small process, and a lot in the new document has changed from the old. As always, Air Law, Navigation, Meteorology and Aeronautics (General Knowledge) are the sections from which students have to know their stuff. Below is a summary of some of the things PPL students are, henceforth, expected to know, as well as some of the long-established curriculum items that TC no longer prioritizes.
Students often state that Air Law is the toughest subject to know, a sentiment that is founded in its propensity for being the driest topic to learn. But, of course, pilots need to
know the law. And TC has added a few regulations of which they want pilots to be better aware. This includes sections of the Canadian Aviation Regulations (CARs) related to Registration of Aircraft (CAR 202.13), Qualifications to be a Registered Aircraft Owner (CAR 202.15), Transfer of Legal Custody and Control of Canadian Registered Aircraft (CAR 202.35), and Conditions for Cancelling a Certificate of Registration (CAR 202.57). Furthermore, the laws related to Reimbursement of Costs of a Flight (CAR 401.28), and Medical Certificate Requirements (CAR 404.10) are now identified as “need to know”
subjects. Possession of Hand-held Lasers (CAR 601.19), Language Used in Aeronautical Radiocommunications (CAR 602.133), Requesting Air Traffic Services (CAR 602.134) and Aircraft Equipment Standards and Serviceability (CAR 605.06) are now also on the TP12880 hit parade. It’s not inspirational reading, but TC wants students to know this additional regulatory material to pass their exam.
Under the section for Navigation, TC has added its desire to have pilots know about Aeronautical Information Publication Supplements (AIP SUP) as another source to ensure that they have all the information pertinent to a flight. TC is also looking to ensure that students know about Electronic Flight Bags and Portable Electronic Devices. The latter, of course, have been around as cockpit aids for a while now, but TC is now recognizing them as standard cockpit items and, as such, are wanting to test students on their knowledge of their basic principles of use, their limitations and the sources that power them. So too does TC want to ensure that students know how best to manage the distractions, and fire hazards, that these devices can engender. Also under Navigation, Automatic Dependent Surveillance — Broadcast (ADS-B) has been added as a topic for students to now be fluently brushed up on, as have Traffic Alert and Collision Avoidance Systems (TCAS). What’s been removed from required Navigation knowledge is: VHF Omnidirectional Range (VOR), Automatic Direction Finder (ADF), VHF Direction Finding (DF) Assistance, and Airport Surveillance Radar (ASR).
Not much changes in the study of Meteorology, so TC knowledge requirements are representatively stable. Where they do want students to show significantly broader knowledge is in hazards that are, perhaps, increasingly associated to climate change: hurricanes, tornados, forest fires and dust devils. Under the topic of Meteorological Services Available to Pilots, the Collaborative Flight Planning Service (CFPS) — Nav Canada’s new internet
“Though the jury may still be out on how long it will be before electric aeroplanes are humming around Canadian skies, TC is turning its attention to electric motors and batteries; they want students to have some knowledge on their operation.”
flight planning system — is now another “must know” to manage flight planning. New automated weather reporting equipment in the form of Limited Weather Information Systems (LWIS) and Automated Weather Systems (AUTO) are newly listed, as are Upper Winds and Temperature Forecasts (FB). What’s gone from Meteorology knowledge requirements includes Pilot’s Automatic Telephone Weather Answering Service (PATWAS) and Nav Canada’s Aviation Weather Web Site (AWWS) which has been replaced by CFPS.
Though the jury may still be out on how long it will be before electric aeroplanes are humming around Canadian skies, TC is turning its attention to electric motors and batteries; they want students to have some knowledge on their operation. Also, fuel and fuel system considerations in winter are newly added to TP12880 in the Aeronautics (General Knowledge) section. Also newly found in the document are the topics of roll upset, aerodynamic effects of airborne icing, Electronic Flight Instrument Systems (EFIS) and their
associated principles of operation, their errors and limitations and their power sources. Under the topic of Flight Operations, students need to know about displaced thresholds, porpoising, reference landing speeds (Vref), external loads, maximum landing weight, zero fuel calculations and types of critical surface contamination ice.
Finally, under the Aeronautics (General Knowledge) subsection of Human Factors, it’s now time for students to brush up on visual references, individual health and fitness, fasting, substance use (as opposed to abuse), effects of smoking and vaping, threat and error management, hazardous attitudes, interaction with automation, GPS moving maps, communication with ground personnel, family relationship pressures, peer group pressures and goal conflicts.
All of this is what TC says students should now know. Maybe every pilot should dip into this subject matter too. If it’s important to the pilots of tomorrow, then it should be just as equally important to the pilots of today.
On Friday June 6, 2025, I attended a Celebration of Life for Tony Swain (1934-2025) at the Billy Bishop Legion, located near Kitsilano Beach in Vancouver. This British-style pub is filled with aviation photos and memorabilia. It was a fitting location for Tony’s sendoff as it was his “local.” For many decades he lived just down the street from this watering hole. The event was well attended by his family, friends and fellow aviators. A lone “Harvard” flew overhead as a tribute to Tony’s final flight “west.”
I remember the first time I met Tony and his wife, “The Mary,” in the mid-1990s. He always referred to
Mary in this affectionate manner. It was at a raucous town hall meeting in South Delta in the greater Vancouver area. I was attending the meeting on behalf of Transport Canada to ascertain the facts associated with local demands to shut down the Delta Heritage Airpark (CAK3). This 2600foot “grassroots” aerodrome is located south of Vancouver on the shores of Boundary Bay and is adjacent to the larger Boundary Bay Airport (CZBB). There were allegations by local residents that the Delta aviators were deliberately harassing their neighbours by flying low over their homes and disturbing their quality of life. Tony
and Mary were foremost among the defenders of the airpark and its tenants. After a prolonged investigation and negotiations with neighbours, the airpark was subsequently saved from closure. The successful efforts to save the airpark may, to a large extent, be attributed to the leadership of Tony Swain.
Tony’s early boyhood was in Hull, Yorkshire, England, where he experienced Second World War air raids. I remember him describing a lowlevel strafing run down the street that he lived on, and this incident made a lasting impression on the little boy. This occurrence may have been the trigger
that subsequently found him, in the early 1950s, enlisting for pilot training in the Royal Air Force. A portion of his advanced training was with the RCAF in Western Canada on Harvard and Lockheed T-33 aircraft.
Due to a health issue, he did not continue with a career in the RAF but, subsequently, in 1956, he emigrated to Canada as an aeronautical engineering draughtsman. He initially resided in Alberta but eventually found his way to the West Coast where he met “The Mary,” who ran a fish shop in West Vancouver. They married and were an amazing team for 44 years. Their initial common interests were in the yachting community; however, they progressed to the aviation genre when the couple bought a surplus Harvard airplane that they dubbed “Bessy.” The airplane also displayed nose art of a comely female fish, which they dubbed the “Fish Lady.”
you could hear Tony telling aviation stories and touting the benefits of the General Aviation community.
“The couple were tremendous ambassadors for the aviation genre and were recognized far and wide. They touched the lives of both aviators and non-aviators.”
The couple were tremendous ambassadors for the aviation genre and were recognized far and wide. They touched the lives of both aviators and non-aviators. They never missed a chance for a formation flyover and were especially prominent during Remembrance Day ceremonies. The roar of their formation’s Second World War-era Pratt & Whitney 1340 engines brought many a tear to those attending the cenotaphs that they flew over every year. As they progressed in years, they eventually sold their beloved Bessy that they had owned from 1971 to 2005 (34 years).
Tony belonged to several yachting, racing and aviation organizations. The aviation groups that he was most prominent in were the Western Warbirds Association and the Canadian Owners and Pilots Association (COPA). For many years, Tony was the COPA director for British Columbia and the Yukon. He dubbed himself the “COPA Guy” and wrote a monthly column, “The Pacific Perspective,” in the COPA newspaper. Aviators from all over Canada couldn’t wait to read the next edition of the newspaper to find out what Tony and The Mary’s next escapade would be.
The couple flew Bessy all over Western Canada and the United States, attending many, many aviation functions. They also travelled all over Canada in his role as a COPA director. Tony had a booming voice and had a distinctive Yorkshire accent. He was a great raconteur and at most functions
The aircraft was sold to the Canadian Harvard Aircraft Association based in Tillsonburg, Ontario. The aircraft still regularly flies at airshows and other events and, while she has a new paint scheme, she still bears the name “Bessy” and sports the nose art of The Fish Lady on her cowling. Tony and The Mary were so proud that she continued to fly and carry on their legacy.
When Mary passed away in 2013 there was a very large gathering at the Delta Air Park and the attendees were so generous in their donations that an annual scholarship, administered by the British Columbia Aviation Council, was established in Mary’s name for young women entering the field of aviation. Mary’s scholarship continues to this day. About 10 years after our first meeting, I became a partner in a little aircraft that was based at the Delta Airpark, and I got to know and appreciate this couple and realize how great their impact was on Canada’s aviation community. I was proud to be called their friend.
Tony, as you fly west on your last trip to join The Mary, I wish you the old bush pilot’s blessing: May you have tight floats and tailwinds.
REVIEW BY RENÉ R. GADACZ
BY S.C. GWYNNE
In the early 20th century lighter-than-air ships symbolized the epitome of technological innovation and British imperial ambition. The British government envisioned the HMA R101 as a means to connect the vast reaches of its empire, from Canada to India to Australia, distances too great to fly for the heavier-than-air aircraft at the time. This vision was part of the Imperial Airship Scheme (IAS) under the auspices of the Air Ministry, aiming to showcase British engineering and reinforce colonial ties. The IAS involved the building of two airships, both deemed ‘experimental’ and operating only under a temporary “Permit to Fly.” The R101 (G-FAAW), built in 1927 and larger by volume than the Titanic with a capacity of 5.5 million cubic feet of hydrogen gas encased in thousands of individual gasbags, was touted to be the crown jewel of this initiative. It would take some 400 ground handlers to hold the ship down to tether it to its mast. Beyond the immediate story of the R101 (and of the R100, a second ship, which was developed in tandem with the R101), Gwynne situates Britain’s airship development in the broader context of aviation history. He compares the R101 disaster to other airship tragedies, like the later better-known LZ 129 Hindenburg disaster in 1937, and examines the eventual decline of airships as a mode of transporting civilian passengers, mail, cargo and military materiel. Gwynne reflects on how the R101's story is emblematic of an era marked by Britain’s imperial ambitions and competition with Germany’s far superior zeppelin industry. In fact, German rigid airships were the “first long-range bombers” in the First World War, dropping bombs on Britain (London), France, Poland, Greece and Russia. These are not to be confused with the “battle bags” that were smaller
non-rigid blimps used in scouting and surveillance by both sides in the war.
Gwynne’s portrayal of the airship’s flight dynamics, crew responsibilities and meteorological challenges is detailed. With only primitive instruments (or none at all) to measure airspeed and altitude and to navigate, airmanship relied on skill, intuition and teamwork. The crew’s bane was lack of accurate weather forecasting and nonexistent meteorological ground support. Knowledge of degrading weather systems, humidity, fog, clouds, rain, air temperature, barometric pressure and especially wind conditions — all were key operating factors in properly managing the ship’s buoyancy, lift and weight (crew, fuel, ballast, cargo) to achieve level flight, or at least equilibrium. Any changes in flight conditions, which could be sudden, required an immediate operating response or the ship would drift sideways, sail backwards, buck up and down, or drop like a stone. Burning fuel made the ship lighter, rain soaking its linen outer shell could increase the ship’s weight by as much as seven tons, and an increase of temperature of one degree Fahrenheit equaled a loss of a third of a ton of lift. Leaking hydrogen or hydrogen impurity reduced lift. And so on. Helium was not an option at the time, as it was difficult to produce in even small quantities, and was very expensive.
Gwynne’s narrative is a case study in what happens when politics, ego and poor engineering collide at altitude. One of the most chilling elements of R101’s story is how the airship was rushed into flight without a full understanding of her true operating envelope. The airship was underpowered, dangerously overweight and riddled with structural and mechanical issues; facts, surprisingly, known to those involved in the project.
Yet she was greenlit for a high-profile voyage to India in October 1930. Who were responsible? Key figures include Lord Christopher Thomson, Secretary of State for Air, George Herbert Scott, airship commander, Reginald Colmore, in charge of building and flying the R101 and Michael Rope, the airship’s chief design engineer. Rope and others did caution against flying, but Colmore was the most responsible for R101’s institutional failures. Yet the decision was made to go. Why? Political pressure was the culprit. The flight was meant to impress the world and fulfill the promises made to the British public and Parliament. To abort would have been a public embarrassment for the Air Ministry and the government.
Remember the R100? You would not be wrong to think airships R100 and R101 would have been designed and built by collaborating teams or at least in a setting of friendly competition. This was not the case. Arguably the R100 team had more engineering expertise, benefiting from the brilliant chief designer Barnes
Wallis (inventor of the ‘bouncing bomb’ and of Dam Busters fame in the Second World War), but who personally had contempt for the R101 team’s credentials and abilities. After all, R100 crossed the Atlantic to reach Montreal, Toronto, Ottawa and Niagara Falls in July and August 1930 to safely return to England with only minor mishaps. There was active jealousy, bitterness and rivalry between the teams. That Lord Thomson and the British media played favourites didn’t help either. Wallis was insulted, and he let it be known. The R101’s technical people muddled through on their own, attempting a feat of mechanical engineering — building an airship twice the size of any other in existence — that required stress and torque calculations that had never been done on such a scale.
Between R101’s first flight on October 14, 1929, and her fatal flight on October 4, 1930, the ship underwent relatively few hours of lift and trim manoeuvres, described merely as “joy rides” and “window-dressing stunts.” Even those short flights exposed flaws in the membrane-thin gasbags (made of cattle intestines, known as goldbeater’s skins) and the six-acre-sized varnished linen outer covering that Michael Rope warned about. The ship’s 160 tons of stainless steel and Duralumin alloy girders were deemed brittle and weak. Problems and failures piled up: pipe breakages, gasbags ripped by rubbing on girders, fuel pump breakdowns, venting valve issues and so on. Despite lack of full test trials, admonishments by Royal Airship Works (RAW), unwillingness to recommend the granting of a Certificate of Airworthiness by the Air Inspectorate Department (AID), failure to complete a proper aerodynamic investigation by the National Physical Laboratory (NPL) and, to the chagrin of many, the Certificate was nevertheless rushed forward and handed to Flight Lieutenant H.C. Irwin, R101’s captain, on exactly October 4.
Yes, the R101 was a beautiful ship. Serviced by a crew of 42 and five eight-cylinder Beardmore Tornado diesel engines, appointed with 50 passenger cabins, gourmet dining for 60 people, a lounge of 5,500 square feet, two prome-
nade decks with large windows, kitchen, washrooms, crew accommodations and an asbestos-lined smoking room for 24 people, the R101 was not unlike a today’s luxury cruise ship (though without shops, a casino or water slide). The most astonishing part of this story was the decision to launch despite weather warnings. R101 departed Cardington on the evening of October 4 in deteriorating meteorological conditions: low ceilings, increasing winds and anticipated storms enroute. Even with today’s advanced radar and forecasting models, this would give any pilot pause.
The crash near the towns of Allonne and Beauvais in northern France came less than eight hours after takeoff, on the morning of October 5 1930, between 02:03 and 02:09. The R101 descended into worsening weather when she suffered a catastrophic failure. The airship went into a couple of steep dives, levelled but losing dynamic lift, then struck the ground nose-first. In a matter of minutes, the ship exploded into a hydrogen/air fireball burning at 3,713∞ F, killing 48 of the 54 people on board. Among the dead were Lord Thompson, George Scott and Michael Rope. Gwynne’s account of the crash is devastating in its clarity; he lays out the facts and lets the horror of it settle in. Formal enquiries, reports, much conjecture and memorials in Cardington, the Palace of Westminster and at the actual crash site, followed.
His Majesty’s Airship is not just a historical read; it’s a flight safety case study. It's a reminder that aircraft don't crash because of a single error. They crash when small issues are ignored, when caution is overridden by ambition and when people in positions of power fail to listen to those with operational experience. In aviation, the sky is merciless. It rewards humility, punishes hubris and forgets no mistakes.
His Majesty’s Airship: The Life and Tragic Death of the World’s Largest Flying Machine By S.C. Gwynne Scribner, 2023, 299 pp. Available from The Aviator’s Bookshelf (aviatorsbookshelf.ca)
In the hierarchy of things that can go awry in airplanes, there’s a universal “Worst Thing That Can Happen” list. First up would be structural divergence, a euphemism for an in-flight breakup. Next is an engine or airframe fire, the likes of which sadly took an uncle-inlaw several years back. Then there’s a power loss or outright engine failure, especially in the dark — or over a built-up area, or water. Finally, the total electrical failure at night, which is exactly what happened to me less than 24 hours before my sitting down to write this column.
Truth be told, I’ve had a variety of interesting experiences, the result of many thousands of hours in logbooks and 50 years as a pilot. All events had happy endings. Fly long enough and Law of Large Numbers kicks in, suggesting something interesting will eventually happen to you.
My first in-flight excitement was the result of an engine failure in a single. After I turned pro came a series of unexpected powerplant failures on multi-engine, turbine-powered aircraft (Ask me what I think of the “invincibility” of turbine singles.) Just last September an electrical fire resulted in the total loss of a Piper Aztec we were all set to launch in.
A couple of major parts have departed airframes I was flying at the time, most resulting in no more than a loud “bang” (followed immediately by a strange odour on the flight deck). If you’re a fan of SCUBA, keep an eye out for an air-to-air refuelling hose off a RCAF Hercules somewhere on the ocean floor about 20 miles north of Maui.
A prop spinner once departed a Cessna 150 on me, but not before ricocheting off the wing strut and pilot’s side window. All these things get your attention, but nothing quite like going totally black, in a single … at night.
Central to this story is the total re-do of our 2002 Cessna 182T a couple of years back with a totally new Garmin panel. All great stuff, very reliable and pilot friendly, but with one inherent weakness; literally everything is electrically powered.
Where power plants are concerned, single point of failure is a fact of life for those of us sitting behind just one engine. Instrument panels are a little different story. Here, redundancy is possible, and for not a lot of money.
Having experienced a vacuum-powered attitude indicator failure one VFR day, I became increasingly aware of the risks of IFR flight with a single AI, even in a relatively new 182 equipped with dual vacuum pumps. Long before learning that a G3X Primary Flight Display and Engine Monitor required a G5 Attitude Indicator as backup on the panel, I’d already decided that if one way of differentiating sky from the ground was good, then two had to be better.For nearly two years that little G5 has sat just to the left of its showy G3x cousin, truthfully mostly forgotten by me. Its superpower, as I would soon find out, is a four-hour internal battery, totally independent of the aircraft electrical system except for electrical top-ups of its battery. Add to that internal derived
GPS attitude, altitude, groundspeed and track information. That’s a lot of punch for such a small unit, and the major reason I’d initially insisted on one being installed during the big redo.When my total electrical failure occurred, there were no warnings from the G3x systems display of impending failure. Everything electrically powered just quit. The autopilot abandoned ship first. Next the two-pack of GPS/Coms died, followed quickly by the transponder. The G3x PFD flashed on and off, once or twice, and somehow, I was able to squeeze out a quick call to Calgary Terminal before going dark. Dark, as in everything gone, poof, lights out, radio silence.I quickly grabbed one of three flashlights I keep near the left seat and scanned what I had left to work with. Circuit breakers … check. Did I accidentally shut off the two master switches? Nope. Then it came to me. There in the corner of my panel was my little G5. All alone and shining dimly and, were it possible for such things to have feelings, likely wondering what all the fuss was about.Reluctant to turn the G5’s display to full-bright, I decided to leave good enough alone. With no engine instruments to monitor, I twisted the vernier control of the mixture to full rich. Only then did I notice that I’d gained 1,400 feet of GPS-generated altitude. Un-
less you’re on fire, altitude — even when acquired instinctively and unknowingly — can be your best friend.
Reduced to navigating visually on an acceptable but not great VFR night, I eventually located High River and Foothills Regional Airport. Another aircraft was in the circuit, but with no radio with which to call out my intentions, flaps to extend, nor lights nearby, I delayed my final approach until the other aircraft had taxied clear of Runway 07.
What came next was an “acceptable” flapless landing in the absolute blackness so typical of country airports. Then I trudged through the darkness to our hangar, fired up the tractor, and unceremoniously towed our Skylane back to the barn.
A week later I learned that a failed alternator was the root cause of my problems that night. Of even greater concern were the screwups made by the avionics shop who’d done the panel upgrade. Their final and inexcusable error in failing to activate the G3x’s on-screen Warnings and Cautions feature, so critical to the system, resulted in me being blind-sided by the alternator failure.
A mistake of that magnitude could literally have had deadly consequences had I been in IMC at the time. While the failure rate among digital displays is low, it can still happen. Just as the primary cause of engine stoppages is fuel deprivation, the reason for digital displays behaving poorly has to be a simple shortage of electricity. That, or an incompetent avionics shop.
If you fly at night or poke around in the clouds, I’d encourage you to have a backup attitude indicator and navigation system on board, one independent of an aircraft power source. Lucky for me CEN4 still had runway lights burning all night, as I had no way to activate an ARCAL lighting system.
A final word. Be sure to carry that handheld radio Santa Claus brought you last December 25th. You remember, the one from your Christmas list. Don’t leave it sitting on the charger in your hangar (like some guy I fly solo with). After all, it’s a short flight, and I’ll be back before darkness. What could possibly go wrong?
BY DIRK SEPTER
On the morning of September 2, 1983, Britten Norman Islander
C-GIPF departed the Campbell River airport on Vancouver Island on a 2 ½-hour flight to Smithers in the northern interior of British Columbia.
On board the twin-engine aircraft owned by Central Mountain Air Services Ltd. of Smithers were 37-year-old pilot Mel Melissen and six passengers. Two of these were from the United States: George Cogar (51) from Frankfort, New York and his brother Thomas Cogar (53) of Lynden, N.Y. The other four passengers were all from West Germany: Otto Hermann Stitz (52) of Cologne, Rolf Dieter Falk (56) of Aachen, Hans Hill (56) of Hanover and Peter Hoffman of Mulheim. The passengers were enroute to Spatsizi Wilderness Park for a hunting expedition. They were all millionaire businessmen, with George Cogar being a multi-millionaire. This wellknown businessman had made his fortune in the computer science technology field.
Earlier that morning, Melissen had flown into the Campbell River municipal airport to pick up the six passengers who had been fishing on the coast. They had chartered the Britten Norman to take them to Smithers for the opening of the hunting season. The Islander had left Smithers at 07:30 and arrived at Campbell River shortly after 10:00. Ernie Dreger, the Campbell River airport manager, was operating the gas pumps at the airport on September 2 when the Islander refuelled and took off.
The pilot filed a flight plan with Smithers Flight Service Station (FSS). He indicated that he would fly directly between the two communities using visual flight rules (VFR), which meant he would maintain an altitude at which he could see the ground at all times. Maj. Rad Arthur, spokesman for the Rescue Coordination Centre (RCC) in Victoria, B.C. later described the weather conditions as “marginal” for VFR flying.
After departing Campbell River, there was no radio contact between Melissen and
Transport Canada radio stations. It was later determined that at Campbell River the pilot had not received a comprehensive weather briefing. Melissen had earlier advised FSS that the weather was not bad and that he planned to return via the direct route he had just flown from Smithers to Campbell River. This was confirmed by the time and distance of departure to arrival.
When the aircraft did not show up at its destination by 14:00, Smithers Flight Services alerted the RCC. An immediate initial search of the route to Port Hardy was launched. This search did not only consist of a visual scan of the route but also included an electronic search. This was in the hope to picking up signals from the aircraft’s Emergency Locator Transmitter (ELT). Though the aircraft was equipped with two ELTs, no signal was received.
The Comox-based TRACS (Terminal Radar and Control System) traced the missing aircraft’s flight path to Knight Inlet, 120 nm north of Campbell River, before disappearing from monitoring range. The radar track gave Knight Inlet as a possible location where the aircraft could have gone down. Mountains ranging from 2,100 m to 3,000 m in elevation surround this inlet.
Major Norbert Cyr, spokesman for the Smithers search headquarters, said, “It’s a bit of a long shot but the high mountains and cloud cover combined with the inlet being in line with the direct flight path makes it a logical choice.”
There was no reason to suspect that the aircraft did not take the same route flying back to Smithers. “If he chose to return along the coast, it’s almost certain that he would have established radio contact somewhere along the way,” searchmaster Capt. Bob Dekelver said.
One of the spotters involved in the search who knew Melissen stated that this pilot normally flew via Egg Island, Fitzhugh Sound and then through Dean Channel, usually flying low.
However, two possible sightings were reported from lighthouse keepers at Egg Island and Addenbroke Island Light Station past the north end of Vancouver Island. This led to increased search efforts along the coast.
Maj. Arthur noted that though the sightings were not positive, the descriptions of the aircraft seemed to fit that of the missing Islander.
Furthermore, the times of the sightings fell within the period in which the aircraft might be expected to have been in that general area. As a result, mainland areas were probed with the assistance of Canadian Coast Guard vessel George E. Darby.
Searchmaster Major Don Hanson set up a command centre at the Smithers airport in the hangar belonging to Glacier Helicopters. Three regional Provincial Emergency Program (PEP) coordinators performing administrative and maintenance requirements aided him. Right from the start, there were indications that it might be a long search. Only a few days into the search, Maj. Arthur noted that it could go on for some weeks. He said that there was a “reasonable possibility” that the pilot had diverted from his flight plan and taken the coastal route because of poor visibility. As a result, the searchers would have a much longer and wider area to cover.
In addition, poor weather was hampering the search. On September 6 and 7, fog reduced the visibility and cut the marine visual range to less than a mile. The adverse weather conditions also affected the search of the upper slopes of the mountainsides. The smaller search aircraft encountered turbulent air because of high winds blowing through the mountain valleys. The heavy turbulence also caused many spotters to suffer from airsickness.
By September 6, nine military and 20 civilian aircraft and 55 spotters were involved in the search. The military aircraft included two DHC-6 Twin Otters from Edmonton, Alberta, three DHC-5 Buffalos and four helicopters. With more than 700 flying hours logged up to that date, no significant sightings of any kind had been reported. Though some reports of wreckage had been filed, it all consisted of older debris.
On September 8, while searching near the Mount Waddington area, the crew of a Buffalo aircraft spotted what looked like snowshoe tracks on a glacier. However, it turned out that these tracks were not made by a human being. An air force Labrador helicopter that was dispatched to check them out reported seeing a grizzly bear. Unfortunately, the helicopter scared the animal, which turned around
and started backtracking. Why was this bear in this location high in the mountains at this time of the year? Did it smell something? Could it possibly have led the searchers to the plane wreck?
By September 9, the weather had improved considerably, allowing searchers to cover most of the 34,000-square-mile area between Campbell River and Smithers for the first time. But then, for several days, dense clouds and gusting winds again hampered the search in the Knight Inlet and Mount Waddington areas. Moist air coming off the Pacific Ocean
was pushed upwards by the coastal mountains, ultimately condensing into clouds. These clouds hanging around the mountain peaks made it impossible for aircraft to gain access to the inlet below the 2,100-metre altitude level.
As of September 12, the search had accumulated 1,203.8 flying hours. Depending on weather conditions, each day nine military and some 20 civilian aircraft were participating in the search. On September 13, a CP140 Aurora conducted an infrared (IR) search of some glacial areas with negative results. The operators considered that IR was not at all effective in this type of terrain. Later that day, a call was received from the Search and Rescue (SAR) cell in the U.S. military’s Pentagon for a briefing on the search activities to date.
On September 18, the first air search pass from a 450-metre altitude over the coastal mountains region was completed. No sign was found of the Smithers-bound aircraft with its seven people on board. The search would continue until the 113,636-square-kilometre area would have been combed by spotters from 450- and 150-m levels. The only reason why the search would be halted would be because of weather.
The Britten Norman had been equipped with only two four-day survival kits. This, however, had little consideration in determining how long the search would continue. All the passengers were carrying outdoor gear and clothing for their upcoming hunting trip in Spatsizi.
“And Melissen is also an experienced outdoorsman, so they have the capacity for a long time in the bush,” noted Major Cyr. “The whole idea of this search is to locate the crash site.”
Searchmaster Maj. Hanson noted that the region would be covered twice more by military and civilian aircraft. “Our objective is to cover the entire area within the direct flight route between Campbell River and Smithers three times. How long that will take will depend solely on the weather.”
As the area north of Anahim Lake had been searched, the flights would now concentrate on the Coast Mountains. The weather had not impeded the searchers’ coverage of the flat areas, but cloud cover hanging over the coastal peaks limited the crews’ search capabilities.
Weather conditions again hampered the flying. Now more than three weeks into the search, low cloud cover and winds up to 50 km/h were encountered. “The weather hasn’t really given us a break since we started the search,” said Maj. Hanson. “It seems our planes are always dealing with low cloud cover and, when conditions are clear, winds pick up.”
On September 23, a friend of the pilot and some next of kin (NOK) of the missing passengers contacted some psychics seeking their assistance. The friend took two psychics flying in the Mount Waddington area. Weather throughout the day was marginal. Both psychics agreed that they had strong feelings about this area. They, however, all experienced
varying degrees of airsickness and disorientation. Four days later, friends of Melissen chartered a helicopter to take a psychic into the same area. Again, nothing concrete transpired from this.
Meanwhile, RCC offered a CC-130 Hercules for search operations. The Hercules was turned down because the searching that remained was in extremely rugged mountains.
A week earlier, a friend and business associate of the American family had requested U.S. military support through a congressman. The political pressure escalated the search to very high levels in Washington, D.C. where the decision for support would be made. RCC advised that all US Army Sikorsky H-60 helicopters from Fort Lewis in Washington state were on exercise and support from this area would not be available. On September 28, it was learned that the Pentagon had denied approval for U.S. military support.
missing aircraft was called off. Capt. Dekelver said that for five weeks they had searched extensively the entire area of the flight path but to no avail. During this period, a total of 85 private and commercial aircraft voluntarily joined into the search. On one day, there were 29 civilian aircraft, most from the Smithers area, in the air.
Capt. Dekelver noted that the terrain that had to be searched was “extremely rough,” making a sighting difficult. “It’s probably the most difficult area in
again, constant reference would be made to the missing aircraft.
The dedication of the people of the Bulkley Valley in assisting with the search made a very marked impression with the military personnel of 442 Squadron of Comox and 420 Squadron of Edmonton.
By now the American NOK and their friends started pursuing to rent civilian helicopters and other aircraft to aid the search effort. They were advised that this was not necessary because of the Canadian military and civilian support still available on September 27.
By the end of September, the search was concentrating on an 84,000-square-kilometre area stretching from the Cariboo to the Coast Mountain range. The American NOK continued applying political pressure to receive U.S. military helicopter support. On October 6, searchers were concentrating on the only portion of the route not yet scanned — an area south and west of Mount Waddington. Upon completion of this, the whole corridor between Campbell River and Smithers had been covered. It extended to a maximum distance of 42 nautical miles either side of the filed flight plan route.
The next day, the search for the
Canada in which to find a downed aircraft,” he said. It contains glaciers and snow-covered areas. Lower down, the terrain is densely covered with trees. It can be so steep that conditions can change markedly within a few miles.
The flight would have taken the missing aircraft over some water. Although it was equipped with ELTs, they were not the type that would function underwater.
Once the military aircraft would stop looking for the aircraft, the search would be “placed on reduction.” In a sense, the search never really stops. RCC in Victoria sent out a Missing Aircraft Notification (MANOT) to all airports within the search area. Notices to airmen (NOTAMs) were issued stating, that when flying in the general area of the flight path taken by the missing aircraft, to keep watch. And should another search be required in that area
On behalf of the Commanding Officer of 422 SAR Sqn Searchmaster Hanson extended his sincere appreciation to the residents of the Bulkley Valley for their support during “SAR Melissen.” He called the support and community spirit displayed during the previous month overwhelming. “We are not able to conduct a search of this magnitude without volunteer support from the community," he said. "The degree of support provided on this search has been phenomenal. Your concern and assistance have made my job much easier and should make all of you proud of your community.” Likewise, in a letter to the local Smithers newspaper, The Interior News, W.H.B. Haywood, PEP Area Coordinator for the Town of Smithers, thanked each and every one who in any way assisted in the search: pilots, spotters, sandwich makers, the Rotary feeding trailer (and the people who manned it preparing hot lunches), ground support staff, as well as Glacier Helicopters and the Ministry of Transport.
Bruce Busby, editor of The Interior News and a former bush pilot himself, also paid tribute to the searchers. “That the many eyes involved did their job is attested by the fact that a number of other aircraft were sighted. These were known wrecks but were well camouflaged by years of new growth. A lot of man-hours were involved, a lot of volunteer time spent, a lot of hours flown. It was a superb effort by all. It is indeed sad that the results were not conclusive.”
BY ROBERT S. GRANT
As the geophysical-configured CASA 212 rolled into a gentle 30° left turn, first officer Kate Speer maintained precise bank angle above Botswana’s scrubby trees and lumpy hills. She spotted several wobbling pink-necked ostriches as a technician adjusted his data-gathering equipment. The aircraft belonged to Ottawa’s Fugro Airborne Surveys and cruised at 135 knots.
Saskatchewan raised, Kate had experienced many miles since her first exposure to an airliner flight while during a family holiday. A teenager enthralled by the ultimate airborne office somewhere in her future, she financed private pilot lessons by summer postings with the Canadian Armed Forces Ceremonial Guard on Parliament Hill. Her first solo took place in a Diamond DA20A-1 Katana in February 1999. The following year, Kate transferred to Grand Forks’ University of North Dakota’s prestigious Commercial Aviation Degree program.
“I never got the American commercial licence because 9/11 happened, so I came back to Canada and got an instructor rating,” Kate recalled. “No one could get jobs in post-9/11, so I instructed at Ottawa Aviation Services and faxed and called all the northern operators. No one ever answered.”
Even while Kate enjoyed instructing, she sought to move on, but résumés brought no hirings. Finally, an instructor-colleague who had joined Fugro recommended her for contract work in southern Africa. The company sought self-reliant teams who prospered in foreign environments. After an intimidating interview with the chief pilot overseen by Director of Flight Operations Darcy Wiens, Kate signed on as first officer aboard a Spanish-designed CASA 212-200 for one contract. Her logbook showed a minuscule 1,300 hours.
Powered by 900-shp Garrett AiResearch TPE331 engines and four-blade propellers, the “Casa Aviocar” could depart at nearly 17,000 pounds. Toronto’s Field Aviation replaced its 26 passenger seats with apparatus calibrated to collect sub-surface data. Fugro owned two capable of handling the precision paths expected of geophysical milieus.
Kate favoured the de Havilland DHC-7 in countries like the Republic of Equatorial Guinea during February 2011. A former Spanish colony, it has become one of the SubSahara’s largest oil producers.
In August 2004, Kate stepped inside CASA C-GDKM for a seven-day, right-seat journey from Ottawa. After hours settled into sheepskin seats at 10,000 feet and less than 200 knots in a tube crammed with spares, suitcases and flight bags, the two-person crew crossed the Mediterranean Sea before landing on the so-called Dark Continent. The team laboured on to Botswana’s savannahs, but not as wide-eyed tourists watching wandering wrinkle-eared elephants from crush-proof Toyotas; they came to search for raw materials. After three months without mamba bites or malaria, the project ended and Kate climbed into C-GDKM for the return ferry. When her boots brushed Ottawa’s autumn leaves, she believed the adventure had terminated forever.
Not so. Fugro called again and, several contracts later, offered full-time employment. As experience accumulated global-wide, she became a CASA captain in May 2007 while flogging above Ghana’s red hills. Hours on Cessna 404s, Cessna 208 Caravans, a de Havilland DHC-7 and Grumman Gulfstream II went into her experience repertoire. Left seat or right, she developed skills and leadership traits.
In geophysical survey, every flight demanded meticulous preplanning. Wasted moments and lost time detracted from revenue. On tracks within touching distance of Arctic fog banks or waiting out weather in lands where boiled goat heads graced snack bars rarely seemed mundane. Pilots needed smooth handling with small corrections to maintain survey lines within 25 – 50 metres of centre and less for altitude. In spite of long missions breathing body perspiration, Fugro’s crews maintained positive reputations for impeccable maintenance and safety attitudes.
“Because of aircraft category and hot climate, especially on CASAs and the Dash 7, we calculated WAT (Weight, Altitude, Temperature) limits and got away first thing in the morning, but usually couldn’t take full fuel,” Kate explained. “We’d fly as many line kilometres as possible, come back, do the math and see if we could legally take off again. Sometimes we’d get another 45 minutes of production.”
Kate recalled the Mauritanian capital of Nouakchott in performance-diminishing temperatures as high as 44°C. Deserts presented unique beauty as baked sand wafted into the flight deck, but when turbulence exceeded sensitivity limits, they returned to base. Fugro’s Cessna 404 lacked suitable air vents and opened windows provided little relief. In Cessna Caravans, air-conditioning could not always be activated since systems interfered with readings. Baguettes slathered with peanut butter and body-temperature water bottles became routine, with occasional dauber nests and spiders scuttling along instrument panels.
Two schools of transportation practices existed in higher risk locales like Nigeria. Fugro depended on non-descript vehicles, yet some organizations preferred armed convoys. One airline crew in glamourous SUVs found themselves stopped and robbed, but Kate discovered that toned-down choices blended with Lagos’ donkey-choked chaos. In 2006, kidnappings of expatriate workers and humanitarian personnel became commonplace.
“We’d been stuck in traffic when I glanced up and saw some guys in military Ghillie camouflage suits carrying AK-47s walking towards us looking for someone to rob,” she recalled. “The driver, our local project manager, told me to get down and cover myself with a blanket. They passed us.”
Fugro staff followed health protocols and never neglected preventative medications. One situation in mango-dotted Ghana’s city of Tamale went beyond the control of therapeutic drugs. After dinner at a local restaurant, Kate succumbed to the effects of an extra-strength vegetable curry. A threeday hotel room holiday followed.
Client requests brought Fugro to South American nations such as Chile where survey tracks paralleled the intimidating Andes Mountains. A reconnaissance over Colombian flood plains where cattle mired in mud suggested life rafts should be added to safety gear, which included machetes and long ropes. To add to a tense atmosphere, notices indicated FARC (Revolutionary Armed Forces of Colombia) guerillas. These pseudo-military factions could hit targets with small arms at 656 feet. Kate flew at 590 feet. A competing geophysical company recorded bullet holes. Sadly, the same competitor lost two men when fog-shrouded mountains overwhelmed an inexperienced pilot.
“There are many things I’d loved to have known and been prepared for when I started, where it wasn’t uncommon to be the only woman in the class.”
In September 2013, Fugro completed a sale to which eliminated Kate’s beloved CASA and Dash 7. After 10 years at altitudes low enough to count Congolese caterpillars or Arctic hares, Kate considered a move. No more surfing hippopotami in Gabon or near-misses with Saskatchewan eagles. An interview from a Barrancabermeja hotel room brought her to Toronto’s Porter Airlines.
“I’d enjoyed the work and cameradie and developed so much respect for my boss, who set an example with his high standards. It wasn’t an easy decision this time,” she said. “At that time, other airlines preferred pilots with a lot of [CARs] 703/704 time, but Porter saw value in my experience and took a chance.”
During her early career path, Kate had little interest in flying airliners above cloud-based nothingness. With Porter, her attitude changed. Based at Toronto’s Billy Bishop island airport, routings proved far more challenging than she had imagined. Her Cockpit Resource Management background and precision hand-flying helped meld into rigid airline environments. By November 2017, she became captain and began training and checkpilot duties on the Dash 8 and, in September 2024, transitioned to the left seat of Porter’s new Embraer E195-E2. (At time of writing, Kate had accumulated 10,000 hours.)
“Porter has stayed interesting. In the 10 years I flew Dash 8s, I still get an adrenaline rush every time I land on the island’s 4,000-foot runway,” Kate added. “Now that I’ve moved over to the E195, I’m still enjoying one of the most technologically advanced jets into airports I never thought I’d get to (LAX, SFO).”
Kate no longer utilizes her down-time watching pink dolphins on Venezuela’s Orinoco River or sampling Senegalese slow-roasted goat stew. She enjoys cameradie similar to Fugro times and appreciates Porter’s diverse pairing rosters.
When not flying or writing technical manuals, Kate invests enthusiasm into mentorship and participates in promoting aviation to young people, including Porter’s annual events that introduce girls to aviation with introductory flights and involvement in Girls Can Fly. During earlier eras, every pilot in every movie had a moustache. Now, when face-to-face with Kate, they realize “I can do that too!” Like Kate, they will unlikely forget their first flight deck.
“I’ve met young people, especially women, who didn’t realize the amazing career prospects and others who started training but faced challenging and sometimes inappropriate treatment,“ she said. “There are many things I’d loved to have known and been prepared for when I started, where it wasn’t uncommon to be the only woman in the class. I’ve had some, let’s just say, interesting situations, but been lucky to have had great bosses who treated me no differently. I benefitted from an influential mentor myself, so the least I can do is give back.”
Considered a “chatty” person by peers, Kate encourages flight students, ramp workers or anyone willing to move into aviation. Active mentoring has become important for Kate, who finds herself in a position to inspire others. She never scampered back to Saskatchewan’s wheat fields after the first African bedbug bite and, instead, endured obstructions, gleaned knowledge and amassed experience.
Kate found her airborne office.
BY YOAN MARIER, Chair of the Transportation Safety Board of Canada
For 35 years, the Transportation Safety Board of Canada (TSB) has been at the forefront of uncovering the “why” behind accidents and turning lessons learned into lasting safety improvements.
In 2025, the TSB marks a major milestone — three and a half decades of making Canada’s transportation system safer for everyone. Since its establishment in 1990, the agency has led more than 2,000 independent investigations, issued over 630 safety recommendations, and released hundreds of safety communications across the air, marine, pipeline, and rail sectors.
The impact is clear. Over 80 percent of the responses to TSB recommendations have been fully implemented, helping prevent future occurrences and, in doing so, saving lives.
Every investigation tells a story, and behind every recommendation lies a lesson that has shaped the future of transportation safety. As we reflect on key milestones, one fact remains: safety is not a fixed target. It is a continuous pursuit—one that must be charted with purpose, refined through experience, and reinforced by action.
Reframing seaplane safety (1994)
In 1994, the TSB released its first safety issue investigation (SA9401), which looked at 234 fatal seaplane accidents occurring between 1976 and 1990 and found that, in the accidents where the aircraft landed in water, most fatalities were not caused by the crash itself, but by what happened next. Of the accidents that were investigated, 103 ended in water, resulting in 168 fatalities. Seventy percent of those who died drowned after surviving the initial impact.
failed to use available shoulder harnesses. The TSB’s recommendations were urgent and clear: require personal flotation devices during critical phases of flight, retrofit aircraft with proper restraints, and implement mandatory passenger safety briefings.
This study helped to reframe Canada’s understanding of risk on the water and remains a powerful example of how data-driven insights can lead to meaningful change. In this case, the study, along with other investigations into seaplane accidents, laid the groundwork for significant safety reforms. For example, in 2019, Transport Canada mandated the use of flotation devices for all seaplane occupants during takeoff and landing.
Although change can take time and there is still work to do to improve safety in this area of the industry, these developments, driven in part by the TSB’s persistent advocacy, represent a major advancement in safety for seaplane passengers and crew.
Transforming aviation through tragedy (1998)
On September 2, 1998, Swissair flight 111 departed New York, United States, enroute to Geneva, Switzerland. Just under an hour into the flight, the crew detected an unusual odour in the cockpit, soon followed by visible smoke. Believing the issue was related to the air conditioning system, they consulted with air traffic control and decided to divert to Halifax International Airport.
The study highlighted critical weaknesses in seaplane safety, particularly the limited use of flotation devices and restraint systems, and ineffective passenger briefings. It revealed that poor restraint use, or lack thereof, contributed to injuries that impeded escape, and that even experienced pilots often
As they prepared to land, an undetected fire was rapidly spreading above the cockpit ceiling. Flight data later showed that a series of system failures occurred, prompting the crew to declare an emergency. Moments later, radio and radar contact were lost. The aircraft crashed into the ocean near Peggy’s Cove, Nova Scotia, fatally injuring the 215 passengers and 14 crew members on board. The investigation (A98H0003) into the occurrence became the longest and most complex in Canadian history. Throughout, the TSB upheld its core value: to determine what happened and why, not to assign blame. In its report, the TSB determined that the crew’s actions, including preparing the cabin and dumping fuel, were consistent with what they understood and what made sense to them at the time.
This investigation became a model for modern safety investigations, emphasizing context over fault. It looked beyond cockpit decisions to examine the full operational environment, resulting in 23 safety recommendations. Fourteen of these recommendations were issued before the final report, with six released within a year of the accident due to the urgency of the identified risks. The impact has been profound. Regulators in Canada, the United States and Europe updated flammability standards for insulation materials and aircraft wiring. Smoke and fire checklists were redesigned for speed and clarity. Flight crews today are trained to divert immediately at the first sign of smoke. More than two decades later, the legacy of Swissair 111 continues to shape aviation safety, proving that even in the wake of tragedy, progress is possible.
The
In 2010, the TSB launched its first-ever Watchlist, a program that highlights systemic transportation safety issues that need to be addressed to prevent future accidents, reduce injuries, and save lives.
It was created after investigators repeatedly encountered the same safety deficiencies at accident sites, many of which had already been identified in previous reports. These recurring patterns highlighted the need for a new approach to elevate systemic risks and keep them in focus until meaningful action is taken. The Watchlist set a new standard for how the TSB communicates risk — not just after accidents, but in a proactive effort to prevent them.
The inaugural Watchlist identified key areas of concern, including safety management systems, the need for improved flight data and cockpit voice recorders, runway incursions, collisions with land and water, and runway overruns.
The last edition of the Watchlist, issued in 2022, reflected persistent safety challenges such as runway incursions, runway overruns, safety management, regulatory surveillance and fatigue management. Early this fall, the TSB will re-
lease the next edition. Although some issues have been resolved over the years, the Watchlist remains a vital tool for driving change and keeping the industry and regulators focused on urgent deficiencies.
On May 31, 2013, a Sikorsky S-76 air ambulance helicopter operated by Ornge crashed shortly after takeoff from Moosonee Airport in Northern Ontario. All four people on board were fatally injured.
The investigation (A13H0001) revealed that the flight crew lacked the necessary night and instrument-flying proficiency to safely conduct the night visual flight rules (VFR) operation. After lifting off into total darkness with no visible horizon, the helicopter entered a turn. Within seconds, an unintentional descent developed, and the aircraft struck the ground just 23 seconds after takeoff.
The causes of the accident, though, extended far beyond the cockpit. The operator failed to ensure that the crew was properly prepared and trained for night operations. It also lacked robust procedures and had placed inexperienced personnel in critical positions. Meanwhile, Transport Canada (TC) had long been aware of the operator’s challenges, but relied on a collaborative oversight approach that failed to correct ongoing safety deficiencies.
In response, the TSB issued 14 recommendations targeting pilot readiness, flight rules, on-board technology and regulatory oversight. These included requiring formal safety management systems for all commercial air operators, improving pilot proficiency standards, mandating terrain awareness and warning systems for helicopters, and strengthening requirements for emergency locator transmitters. The TSB also called for more decisive and responsive oversight by TC. More than half of the recommendations have since been implemented, resulting in tangible safety improvements.
Photos of an accident site (A21C0038) in Nunavut, taken hours apart, showing the uniformly snow-covered, featureless terrain, an overcast sky, and snow squalls. In flat light and whiteout conditions, losing the horizon and spatial awareness happens suddenly and unexpectedly.
Our four most recent recommendations in the air industry stemmed from a fatal helicopter accident that highlighted long-standing — and still unresolved — risks in commercial helicopter operations.
On April 25, 2021, an AS 350 B2 helicopter operated by Great Slave Helicopters 2018 Ltd. collided with terrain on Griffith Island, Nunavut, fatally injuring all three on board. The subsequent investigation (A21C0038) determined that flat light and whiteout conditions likely caused the pilot to lose visual reference with the horizon, known as inadvertent flight into instrument meteorological conditions (IIMC). Despite the pilot’s efforts to regain control visually, the helicopter entered an unintentional descent and collided with terrain.
This occurrence is part of a troubling pattern. In Canada, helicopters are twice as likely as airplanes to be involved in a loss of visual reference accident. Yet, the regulatory framework governing helicopter operations in reduced visibility falls significantly short of what’s required for fixed-wing aircraft. Helicopters are allowed to operate with half the visibility required for airplanes, but without the same defences.
procedures, to help them in the avoidance of and, more importantly, recovery from an IIMC encounter.
While it’s too soon to see the full impact of these recommendations, what we do know is that the risks posed by IIMC are well known, and the consequences have proven to be deadly.
Change takes time, but persistence pays off. The TSB’s legacy is built on the dedication of its investigators, experts and skilled professionals who have worked tirelessly and remained steadfast in their commitment to advance transportation safety in Canada. Their knowledge and dedication have contributed to safer skies, stronger pipelines, more secure railways and enhanced safety on our waters.
However, real progress often begins with those on the front lines. Key players in the industry don’t need to wait for regulations to act. Many are already taking the initiative to implement safety measures — enhancing training, adopting new technologies, and strengthening procedures — not because they are required to, but because it’s the right thing to do.
For over three decades, the TSB has been calling on TC to implement more rigorous regulations to mitigate the risks associated with commercial helicopter operations in reduced visibility. Our various investigations involving loss of situational awareness confirm it: relying on an “avoid-at-all-costs” approach to IIMC is not enough.
That is why the TSB issued four recommendations (A24-01, A24-02, A24-03, and A24-04) urging TC to improve commercial helicopter safety by requiring that pilots have the necessary skills and technology, and are equipped with clear standard operating
By staying proactive, anticipating risks, and preparing for the challenges ahead, we can prevent tragedies before they happen. The investigations we conduct, the partnerships we build, and the lessons we apply all serve one purpose: to ensure that, as an industry, we remain ready. Ready to respond, ready to improve, and ready to protect the people who depend on our transportation systems every day.
Ultimately, that is what this work is all about.
Yoan Marier is the Chair of the Transportation Safety Board of Canada and has many years of experience in the field of federally regulated transportation and regulatory compliance.
This book is a compelling tribute to Clarence Alvin “Duke” Schiller, an under-celebrated pioneer in the field of aviation. It spans Schiller’s early life in Canada, detailing his journey from his birth in Iowa to his family’s resettlement in Cooksville, Ontario, and outlines his significant contributions to early aviation, including his time as a bush pilot and his service in multiple air forces.
AUTHOR: Tom Douglas
PRICE: $38.45 (includes shipping in Canada)
The controversial cancellation of the Avro Arrow continues to inspire debate today. When the program was scrapped in 1959, all completed aircraft and those awaiting assembly were destroyed, along with tooling and technical information. Was abandoning the program the right decision? Brimming with information, this new edition also brings to light recently discovered documents that answer whether the U.S. government wished Canada to continue the development of what was considered the world’s most advanced interceptor aircraft. 323 pages with photos.
AUTHOR: Palmiro Campagna
PRICE: $49.99 (includes shipping in Canada)
The Found family’s name is famous among bush pilots worldwide for having built a tough little freight-hauling aircraft designed for hard service in Canada’s wilderness. The author’s father, Sherman, along with his uncle Nathan (Bud) Found, and with financial backing from department store magnate John David Eaton, took on the Herculean task of gaining FAA certification for their dream aircraft.
AUTHOR: S.R. (Rick) Found
PRICE: $26.50 (includes shipping in Canada)
Bush pilot Scott Brandon forms a volatile alliance with Catherine McGregor, an executive jet pilot from California. Together they search in the Yukon for an old Lufthansa airliner that vanished in 1937. Their path of discovery takes them from the genesis of the Third Reich to the boardrooms of an American empire. Like mariners of old, a bond occurs understood only by those who share a passion for flight. NEW
AUTHOR: Michael Bellamy
PRICE: $44.50 (includes shipping in Canada)
The working life of the distinguished surveyor Guy Blanchet reflects the story of northern Canada in the first half of the 20th century. Beginning his career in the boreal forests of Alberta and Saskatchewan, using pack horses and dog teams, Blanchet went north to map large areas of the Barrens by canoe, and soon became caught up in pioneer northern aviation.
AUTHOR: Gwyneth Hoyle
PRICE: $31.95 (includes shipping in Canada)
The tragic fate of the British airship R101 — which went down in a spectacular fireball in 1930, killing more people than died in the Hindenburg disaster seven years later — has been largely forgotten. In His Majesty’s Airship, S.C. Gwynne resurrects it in vivid detail, telling the epic story of great ambition gone terribly wrong. She was the lynchpin of an imperial British scheme to link by air the far-flung areas of its empire, from Australia to India, South Africa, Canada, Egypt and Singapore.
AUTHOR: S.C. Gwynne
PRICE: $36.50 (includes shipping in Canada)
NEW PRICE
This is a beautifully produced coffee table-size book. Solid Canadian history from start to finish, this authoritative book revives a key theme in Canada’s aviation heritage in a landmark year — the 100th anniversary of the end of the First World War.
AUTHORS:
Larry Milberry and Hugh A. Halliday
PRICE: $59.50 (includes shipping in Canada)
Air Canada: The History explores a modern miracle that has made commercial air travel in our country an everyday occurrence. The airline was born in 1937 as “Trans Canada Airlines,” a ward of the Canadian National Railway. Renamed “Air Canada” in 1964 to reflect its status as a jet-age airline, it survived devastating air crashes, financial deficits, self-serving politicians, strikes, privatization and the Airbus scandal. This is its story.
AUTHOR: Peter Pigot
PRICE: $49.95 (includes shipping in Canada)
One of only five Martin Mars originally built, the giant flying boat Hawaii Mars is destined to join the B.C. Aviation Museum after its final flight. Join us on a historical journey through 65 years of operations, from 1945 U.S. Navy transport to 21st century initial attack firefighting.
AUTHORS: Wayne Coulson & Steve Ginter
PRICE: $32.00 (includes shipping in Canada)
THE ROYAL CANADIAN AIR FORCE AT 100
In Canada’s Air Force (hardcover), historian David Bercuson shares the history of the first one hundred years of the Royal Canadian Air Force, from its inception in 1924 to its centennial in 2024. Drawing on memoirs, diaries, unpublished histories, archival sources, interview transcripts and standard reference works such as The Bomber Command War Diaries, Bercuson traces the history of the RCAF as not only a fighting force but also a human institution.
AUTHOR: David J. Bercuson
PRICE: $66.50 (includes shipping in Canada)
This remarkably objective biography, written by Bishop’s son, is a warmhearted, entertaining and often surprisingly outspoken account of the escapades and heroics of a man of great courage. Eddie Rickenbacker once said, “Richthofen usually waited for enemies to fly into his territory; Bishop was the raider, always seeking the enemy wherever he could be found... I think he’s the only man I ever met who was incapable of fear.”
AUTHOR: William Arthur Bishop
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The Contras, the Sandinistas – and the Canadians? A gripping story of how a kid from Richmond, B.C. became a Canadian Forces pilot and deployed to Central America to fly helicopter missions at the end of the Contra War. ‘Loach pilots’ were born in the Vietnam War and were a rare breed by the early 1990s. Carnegie’s first tour was flying the LOH (Loach) CH-136 Kiowa helicopter when he was sent to Honduras and Nicaragua in support of the Contra demobilization.
AUTHOR: Bruce L. Carnegie
PRICE: $30.45 (includes shipping in Canada)
The history of air accidents is a harrowing one. Yet today flying is the safest mode of transportation, thanks in no small part to the work of crash detectives. Whenever a plane falls from the sky, the investigators pick through the wreckage for the clues they need to decipher what happened to that flight. Before the invention of the ‘black box’ and the evolution of forensic accident investigation, the causes often remained a mystery.
AUTHOR: Peter Pigott
PRICE: $46.95 (includes shipping in Canada)
In the early 20th century, Canada’s North was a mystery. In 1874, Canadian Prime Minister Alexander Mackenzie agreed to take up sovereignty of all the Arctic from the British, if only to keep the United States and Tsarist Russia out. But as the nation expanded east and west, the North was largely forgotten. From Far and Wide recounts exclusively the historic activities of the Canadian military in Canada's North. (Hardcover book – 312 pages with photos.)
AUTHOR: Peter Pigott
PRICE: $49.95 (includes shipping in Canada)
The extraordinary history of Canada’s airshow teams is recorded in its entirety. Meticulously researched by a former Snowbird team leader, this 768-page hardcover book documents the scores of Canadian military air demonstration teams that have thrilled millions of airshow spectators for over 85 years. From the Siskins to the Golden Hawks to the Golden Centennaires and Snowbirds, every Canadian demonstration team is represented in the book.
AUTHOR: LtCol (Ret’d) Dan Dempsey
PRICE: $139.99 (includes shipping in Canada)
In A Most Extraordinary Ride: Space, Politics, and the Pursuit of a Canadian Dream, Garneau chronicles his ascent from a mischievous teenager and rebellious naval midshipman to a decorated astronaut and statesman who represented Canada on the world stage – both on and off the planet. With candour and humour, Garneau describes the highs and lows of his life and career, including the awe he experienced first seeing the Earth from space, in this hardcover edition.
AUTHOR: Marc Garneau
PRICE: $59.50 (includes shipping in Canada)
In the trench warfare of WWI, it was soon clear that the calvary would be of little use. Soon, lances and sabres were replaced by silk scarves and machine guns. Combat on horseback was replaced by dogfights in the air. No technology changed more in the five years of the war, and none would have a bigger impact. From Great Britain to Canada to Australia and New Zealand, new heroes took the honour and dash of the cavalry to the air in flying machines – which would change the face of war forever.
AUTHOR: Norman S. Leach
PRICE: $34.95 (includes shipping in Canada)
Throughout history, when threatened by wildfires, our only defense was to pray for rain and run – until aircraft changed the way we fight fires. Beginning with the Canadian “H-Boats” in 1924, aircraft have become indispensable in detecting and extinguishing wildfires. Fire Eaters tells the incredible stories of the Ontario Provincial Air Service, the first government aerial fire suppression organization in history; one of its pilots, Carl Crossley, who invented the water scoop-up and drop-off system; and the Canadair CL-215, the first purpose-built water bomber.
AUTHOR: Peter Pigott
PRICE: $34.95 (includes shipping in Canada)
Within this month’s puzzle are the names of seven famous Canadian aviators (marked with an *). The solutions include the name they are, or were, popularly known by. This means they might include initials or nicknames before their surname. The remaining solutions are all aviation related.
7 Set of aircraft wheels on airliners. 9 Not fore.
13 Used to be held in Reno, Nevada each year.
Certified aerodromes. 15 Red Baron nemesis?
Aviation organization.
Cessna model.
Short for height?
BY GRAEME PEPPLER
1 Europe’s highest paved airport at Courchevel, France, has been the site for which of the following?
a. The start of a ski chase scene in the James Bond movie, On Her Majesty’s Secret Service
b. A stage finish for the Tour de France bicycle race.
c. The launch site for the world’s longest base jump.
d. As the site from which the highest hang-glider launch has ever taken place.
2 When ice forms on an airframe, where does it tend to form first?
a. On sharp objects such as antennae.
b. On blunt objects such as wings.
c. On rotating objects such as propellers.
d. On sloping surfaces such as windshields.
3 Which of the following titles about flying was not written by famed aviator, Antoine de Saint-Exupery?
a. Night Over Water
b. Night Flight
c. Flight to Arras
d. Wind, Sand and Stars
4 Where is the Earth’s magnetic dip angle the greatest?
a. At 45 degrees north and 45 degrees south latitude.
b. At the true north and south poles.
c. At the magnetic north and south poles.
d. At the equator.
5 When is turn error most pronounced in an attitude indicator?
a. At high bank angles.
b. When rolling out at the end of a turn.
c. When accelerating on a constant heading.
d. When making a turn from a northerly heading.
6 Which of the following is true of a European car manufacturer’s logo being directly inspired by aviation?
a. BMW whose logo represents a spinning propeller.
b. Aston Martin whose logo represents the planform of an aircraft’s wingspan.
c. Ferrari whose logo is based on an insignia that was carried on an Italian ace’s WWI fighter aircraft.
d. Mercedes whose 3-pointed star represents its engineering interests in cars, aeroplanes and motorcycles.
7 Eddie Rickenbacker is best known as a WWI flying ace. What famous sporting venue did he own post-war?
a. Pebble Beach Golf Links (Pebble Beach, California).
b. Pimlico Race Course (Baltimore, Maryland).
c. The Indianapolis Motor Speedway (Indianapolis, Indiana)
d. Soldier Field (Chicago, Illinois).
5 years old from Kelowna, BC
• Battling nervous system disorder, myasthenia gravis
• Started travelling with Hope Air in 2022 • 11 trips
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