A FLYING CAREER MAINTAINED BY ENGINEERS

As the youngest of four children (with a sister and two brothers) I grew up with hand-me-downs. Fortunately, the attraction of Dinky Toys and model planes was stronger than tea parties with my sister’s dress-up dollies. Because as hard as I try, I can’t imagine how dollies and tea parties in pink would have translated into half as interesting a career as the one I enjoy now as a helicopter pilot.

THE FACT THAT MY ELDEST brother (ten years my senior) flew fighters in the South African Airforce (SAAF) probably played a strong role in my passion for flying machines too. As a teen, I often begged him to drop me off at “Uncle Mike Spence” on Saturday mornings to help fabric dope Tiger Moths at his hangar at Krugersdorp Airfield.

The fact that Mike would trust a laaitie to crank the inertia starter on his rare World War II-era Bf-108 Taifun also made a tremendous impact on me. Many a Saturday was spent around Uncle Mike’s skottel braaiing wors and being inspired by fancy flying tales. Later, John Illsley, one of my teachers at Pretoria Boys High, continued to nurture my fascination by taking me and other flying-besotted schoolboys to Fly-Inn to help service and fly in his 1943 Auster Mk V. Through these early experiences, I learned that the men who built and maintained these magical machines all had one thing in common: they were as passionate about flying machines as I.

But back to the present. The enormity of a commercial helicopter operation is made possible only with the support of a large team of stakeholders. One of the most important departments within such an operation is aircraft maintenance. Like any vehicle, helicopters require constant upkeep. Rotary winged aircraft are generally even more mechanically complex than their fixed-wing cousins, requiring super-specialised skills to keep them running.

A common joke in our community is that helicopters comprise a million parts rotating around an oil leak until metal fatigue sets in. Helicopters are made of carefully designed components that are highly susceptible to wear and failure, and they really work hard. As a result, helicopters have stringent component time-management systems for flight duty and in terms of their functional lifetimes. And sticking to those systems is paramount if you want to stay safe … and alive.

Early in my career, as with other junior pilots, I had many quiet days waiting around the hangar for a flight to come in. Instead of wasting my time staring off into the sky, I took the opportunity to learn from some of the other hangar residents: a peculiar breed called the maintenance guys.

Unlike the machines on which they work, there is no operating manual for the maintenance guys. You just have to befriend them and learn what makes them tick. Besides, an engineer is only too eager to have another set of hands to assist with a cumbersome, tricky assembly. Having a background as a motorcycle mechanic, it was natural for me to slot in and get some grease on my hands.

Over the past thirteen years, I’ve had the opportunity to work alongside some incredibly gifted engineers on types like the Airbus Squirrel, Bell 205 Huey, various Robinsons and the occasional Alouette. The majority of the older, more experienced engineers were from the SAAF, having cut their teeth on Alouettes and Pumas. This wealth of experience was invaluable, as I was able to tap into it at will, as long as I made myself available and didn’t give my unwarranted opinions (too often).

Ultimately, this brought about a speciality in my career that I would never have imagined when I first started training: as a maintenance test pilot. What helped me to gain confidence in the challenging new role was the shaping of my mechanical brain. The ability to diagnose faults or even tweak a helicopter to give its all is a black art best left to the grease wizards, but as I delved into their knowledge, and as friendships grew, I soon learned some helpful tricks. From blade balancing and tracking, to engine performance checks, I was able to become not only a more competent flyer but also a safer one. And by understanding more of the mechanical goings-on, I could give more accurate feedback to the engineers after a flight, which, believe it or not, they seem to appreciate. (I mean, they are engineers, but are also human).

One such engineer was Vaughan Powell, who possessed a particular tool that I could relate to: his sense of humour. It was possibly the best tool at his disposal – which I learnt during a “challenging” Robbie rebuild test flight. An almost-mishap during an autorotation became something we could laugh about in retrospect only because of Vaughan’s lighthearted demeanour. Without that, I might still be traumatised by the experience. Over the past few years, we ended up spending many hot afternoons in the same hangar where I once enjoyed my youthful days with Mike Spence.

Vaughan Powell 1969-2021.

You may have heard it said that you get test pilots and tyre kickers. I have been both in my career. But as I look back, I realise my times with the maintenance guys, including Vaughan, were all priceless experiences that hopefully make me more test pilot than tyre kicker today.

On 11 August this year Vaughan Powell, age 52, passed away from Covid-19 complications. A family man, good friend to many and generous with his time and words, Vaughan will be missed. Rest in peace, big guy. j

The post-rebuild test flight.