As I pulled into work the announcer came back on, sounding surprised as she said a second airplane had struck the other tower at the WTC. 

I rushed into the break room and turned on the television just in time to see the video of the second airliner hitting the second tower. When the announcer came on saying that the FAA was grounding all aircraft—calling it a “ground stop all aircraft”—I immediately called my father to let him know I was safe. I was a week out from my commercial check ride and flying quite a bit. Dad addressed me by my full name (when you hear the middle one, it means business) and ordered me to stay on the ground.

If you were old enough on September 11, 2001—especially if you were in aviation—that day is probably etched in your memory as well. Airline crews were diverted and not told why until after they landed. People gathered around radios and televisions to listen for information. It was a time of great uncertainty.

Temporary flight restrictions popped up over military bases and other potential targets. Barricades were put up at some airports. Ramps became crowded with transient aircraft that landed wherever they could. It was eerily quiet. I live near a U.S. Air Force base and even they weren’t flying.

There was a 30 nm no-fly zone around Seattle-Tacoma International Airport (KSEA). Basically, if your airport was under the Mode C veil, you stayed on the ground or took a risk far greater than getting in trouble with the FAA. Weather briefings stated that “deadly force was authorized.”

In the weeks that followed, we learned a “new normal.” We filed IFR flight plans on VFR days just for the privilege to head out to the practice area and back. On the day of my commercial pilot check ride, I was using a pink highlighter to color in the newly created TFRs over Port of Bremerton, Washington, and Naval Submarine Base Bangor on a brand-new sectional when I was ramp checked. It was early Sunday morning, and the FAA inspector wanted to know what I was doing out there so early.

Within two weeks of the attack, the number of CFIs at the airport doubled. It was the boomerang effect as those shiny new airline jobs they had all reported to a month earlier were gone, as so many airlines shut down or scaled back.

A few weeks after the attack, CFIs were allowed to fly and some flight schools allowed something called “supervised solo.” It seemed odd that students were allowed to fly and the certificated pilots could not unless they were with a CFI or instrument rated, current, and on an IFR flight plan. And you had to have current approach plates and sectionals appropriate to the mission because ramp checks were still happening.

This created a challenge when we needed to move the company aircraft 14 nm to another airport so it could undergo its annual inspection. My employer was definitely not IFR current, but I was, so technically I was to be PIC on this flight. We didn’t have a current IFR sectional. I had my certificates with me but not my gear bag, which was still at home, and we had to move this aircraft because of a tight weather window.

While he preflighted the aircraft, I ran into the local FBO to see if they had the sectional we needed. The guy behind the counter laughed and said no, so I had better turn into a CFI right quick.

I ran across the parking lot to the newly opened pilot supply shop. It had what I needed, and because there was just a week left before the sectional expired, Tom, the fellow that ran the supply shop, didn’t change me for it.

A few years later, I would be working at that school as a CFI, and Tom would become a friend.

Flight School Fallout

Following reports that the terrorist hijackers trained at U.S. flight schools, there were people who called for them to be shut down for good. The anti-airport types decried aviation as a threat. Thank goodness the hysteria died away after a few weeks, although a few years later we did get the requirement to verify a trainee’s citizenship and prove we had done this by giving them the TSA endorsement.

The endorsement requires verification of the applicant’s citizenship. For those born in the U.S., the FAA approved language reads: “I certify that [insert student’s name] has presented me a [insert type of document presented, such as a U.S. birth certificate or U.S. passport, and the relevant control or sequential number on the document, if any] establishing that [he or she] is a U.S. citizen or national in accordance with 49 CFR 1552.3(h). [Insert date and instructor’s signature and CFI number.]”

A record of the endorsement is made in the instructor’s logbook or other means used by the instructor to document flight student endorsements. CFIs are required to keep these records for five years.

In lieu of this, the FARs said the flight training provider “may make and retain copies of the documentation establishing an individual as a U.S. citizen or U.S. national.” So photocopies of their passports or birth certificates may be on file at their school.

In May the TSA tweaked those rules. TSA awareness training is now required every two years, instead of annually. 

The rules for training foreign pilots were also adjusted as now foreign nationals can use TSA Precheck and Global Entry in lieu of going through the old TSA approval process. In addition, a security coordinator must be named for a Part 141 school. If the training is under Part 61, the CFI who gave the endorsement is considered the contact person.

My fellow CFIs, please find out what method your flight school utilizes. I say this because I recently encountered a batch of freshly minted CFIs who insisted “no one does the TSA thing” anymore. I was pretty sure something got lost in translation.

It turns out the schools they attended—larger academy types—did not do the individual endorsements in logbooks. They had never heard about the CFI providing the endorsement. They were surprised when I told them how we did it “back in the day.”

I can’t help but be concerned that the aviation world may be lowering its collective guard as we get further away from 9/11. The things we were taught to watch for, like people who also wanted to know how to do cruise flight but not take off and land, or who presented large amounts of cash and wanted concentrated training—like six a hours a day—may now be viewed as an opportunity rather than a red flag.

I just hope the aviation industry doesn’t forget what we learned so many years ago.

The post Remembering 9/11 and Lessons Learned appeared first on FLYING Magazine.

The CFI, a recently retired airline pilot who earned his instructor certificate in the 1980s and never let it lapse, stared at me confused. It was 2016, and the concept of vetting learners before instruction began was new to him—no one ever asked for proof of his citizenship, he explained.

That all changed after September 11, 2001.

If you were around on that day, you probably remember exactly where you were and what you were doing when you learned about the hijacked airliners deliberately flown into the World Trade Center’s twin towers and the Pentagon. When it was determined that the terrorists were trained at American flight schools, it sent a shockwave through the general aviation community. It resulted in new security measures, many of which are still in place some 22 years after the event, not the least of which is TSA Security Awareness training and more responsibility for flight instructors, beginning with citizenship verification of those seeking initial certification.

TSA at the GA Level

If you earned your initial pilot certificate before 2004, you probably don’t have a TSA endorsement in your logbook. This endorsement is given by a flight instructor as proof of citizenship of a flight training applicant who wishes to get a recreational pilot, sport pilot, or private pilot certificate. If you already had your certificate, you were not required to have one, even if you were still adding certificates and ratings.

The TSA endorsement for flight training is not the same as the TSA PreCheck that many people have for airline travel. I must stress this, because there have been some flight students—and some CFIs—who insist the TSA PreCheck is the same as the TSA endorsement required for flight training. I assure you, it is not.

The TSA endorsement details can be found under FAR 1552.3 Flight Training.

The instructor must keep a copy of the documents used to provide proof of citizenship for five years. This should give you an idea of how important the FAA thinks this is as other instructor records are only required to be kept for three years. It is important that the non-CFI flight school employees understand that a CFI needs to be the one reviewing the verification documents for providing the endorsement. 

A record of the endorsement is made in the instructor’s logbook or other means used by the instructor to documentflight student endorsements. The instructor also endorses the student’s logbook with the following:

• “I certify that [insert student’s name] has presented me a [insert type of document presented, such as a U.S. birth certificate or U.S. passport, and the relevant control or sequential number on the document, if any] establishing that [he or she] is a U.S. citizen or national in accordance with 49 CFR 1552.3(h). [Insert date and instructor’s signature and CFI number.]”

The savvy instructors take a photo of these endorsements with their smartphones or, in the absence of this technology, make a photocopy  for themselves as a precaution. The school will keep a copy of it as well. If the CFI is building hours for another career, it is very likely they will be leaving employment at the flight school before the five years expires. In addition, if the flight school folds or the records are lost, the CFI will have proof they followed the rules. It is not a labor-intensive process. From document review to endorsement takes less than 10 minutes. These records, be they kept by the CFI and/or flight school, are subject to TSA review.

For the learners, please keep in mind that if you change instructors but remain at the school, you do not need another TSA endorsement. However, if the learner changes flight schools or goes to another school in another area, they will again be required to prove citizenship and receive a logbook endorsement from another instructor if they did not know the student  at the time of receiving the initial logbook endorsement.

TSA Endorsement for Foreign Nationals

It is very common for foreign nationals to come to the U.S. for flight training. Compared to the rest of the world, general aviation in the U.S. is relatively inexpensive and easy to access. However, the vetting of foreign nationals is more involved and as such takes longer because it involves fingerprinting and an application sent to the TSA for approval. No endorsement can be given, and therefore no flight training can be conducted until TSA approval is granted. The TSA has ruled an introductory flight does not qualify as flight instruction.

TSA Security Awareness Training

In addition, flight instructors and flight school and airport personnel are required to undergo annual TSA Security Awareness training. The online course, available from multiple providers, consists of scenarios and quizzes—you click on the correct answer. The course covers a variety of GA from flight schools and flying clubs to private aircraft ownership. After successful completion of the course, there is a completion certificate that are printed out and kept on file at the school or FBO.

For CFIs who earned certification well before September 11, 2001, the TSA Security Awareness training is a reminder of how much the world has changed. We remember when we used to walk down the ramp, peering into the cockpits of various airplanes to see what their panels looked like. This is one of the scenarios we are now taught to watch for. Back in the day, if you did this and the owner of the aircraft was around, they would often open the door and invite you to take a closer look. Today, if you do that you will likely be accosted by someone—possibly even law enforcement—who will want to know who you are and what you are doing. And who can blame them?

Many of the CFIs active in the teaching community are too young to have firsthand knowledge of 9/11. They may have heard about it in school, but they may not have an appreciation for the restrictions placed on aviation in the wake of the terrorist attacks. They have come of age at an airport with a locked gate and National Security Areas on their VFR sectionals.

I am concerned that as we get further away from 9/11 the lessons we learned in the wake of that horrible day will be forgotten. Someone coming into a flight school and asking for concentrated lessons to allow them to solo in three days might sound like a time builders dream to some. But for the more seasoned CFI this scenario falls under the same category as the client who expresses admiration for someone who stole and intentionally crashed an airplane. These are big red flags, and the experienced CFIs give these folks a hard pass.

The post 9/11: The Day That Forever Changed Flight Training appeared first on FLYING Magazine.

The announcer came on saying that all flying in the United States was grounded—anything in the air could be shot down. I immediately called my father to let him know I was safe on the ground. I was a few days away from my commercial check ride and had been flying every day. Dad knew this, and was relieved to hear my voice. He warned me not to fly over any military establishments—Dad was an aerospace engineer and a military man. Before I was born, he built missiles for Uncle Sam.

Ironically, on September 10, I had flown over military establishments—Bangor Submarine Base in Silverdale, Washington, and Bremerton Naval Shipyard. I was accompanied by my best friend, Cristi. Her father had been in the Navy and was based at both locations.

There were two submarines in port. It was a chamber of commerce weather day. There were young men with their shirts off, working on the deck of both subs. I took the Cessna 172 down lower and rocked the wings. They responded by waving their caps. Not even 24 hours later, a temporary flight restriction that measured 5 nm wide and 5,000 feet high was placed over the base.

All Flights Grounded

All general aviation flying was grounded within 30 nm of Seattle-Tacoma International Airport (KSEA). In short, the Mode C veil had become the “bull moose” of TFRs. Dozens of  airports ranging from relievers to grass strips were shut down. This type of airspace closure happened all over the country.

In the following days there were stories of pilots trying to get home by flying low enough to stay below the radar. A friend in Minnesota told me about a Cessna 170 that took off from a non-towered airport despite it being under a TFR. The airplane stayed low to the ground, moving quickly. It was obvious the pilot was trying to get somewhere in a stealthy fashion. Moments later, a pair of military jets streaked by in pursuit. 

The fact that newly certificated pilots had executed the hijackings struck home with the local flight schools. How could security be increased? One day we heard the FAA was going to require flight schools to require fingerprinting and background checks of all their clients. We heard there would be no more private pilot privileges in the United States. Only instrument-rated pilots on instrument flight plans were going to be allowed to fly GA aircraft solo. Flight instructors were going to be required to carry guns. Fortunately, most of that proved false.

The FBI Moves In

The flight schools were visited by the FBI. I was there when somber looking men in dark blue windbreakers with FBI stenciled on the back and military academy rings on their right hands sifted through student and renter records. They were looking for foreign students and renters with last names of certain ethnic extractions. They shared photos of the hijackers. We learned the flight school next store was connected to Huffman Aviation in Florida where two of the hijackers had trained.

This scene played out all over the country. A friend who was running a school in the Midwest told me, with some trepidation, that he had recognized one of the hijackers in the photos. The man had come to his school, but left because the school was too busy and could not meet his timeline. 

The ramp was filled with aircraft that had been forced down by the all-stop. Business jets and single-engine pistons were crowded together like sorority girls sharing a hotel room on spring break. The silence on the ramp was eerie—like something out of a science fiction movie where the world’s population has been decimated by an alien virus. It was the first time many of us heard the noise of the freeway nearby—normally you couldn’t hear it over the sound of aircraft.

• READ MORE: Pilots Share Their 9/11 Stories

Security increased at the airport. Cement barriers were placed to block automobile access to the ramp. More fences went up. There were patrol cars from various law enforcement agencies in the parking lot. “Be ready to show your ID and pilot certificate,” we were told. 

There were discussions about what constituted suspicious behavior in the training environment. The ones that got my attention were: “people who are interested in learning how to take off but not how to land” and “those pilots who just want to fly but are not interested in the knowledge that is required to earn a certificate or rating.”

A Slow Return to Normal

The airspace reopened very slowly, and it was confusing. For GA pilots at non-towered airports, you could fly VFR as long as there was a CFI on board and it was called an “instructional flight.” Private pilots and above who really didn’t need to have an instructor were paying CFIs to sit in the right seat to keep them legal.

If you were IFR current and had the appropriate sectionals and approach plates, you could file an IFR flight plan and fly VFR without the benefit of a CFI on board. I was pressed into service to help my out-of-currency employer move his just-about-to-go-out-of-annual Cessna from Pierce County/Thun Field (KPLU) to Tacoma Narrows (KTIW) where it could undergo its annual inspection. I filed a flight plan for the 15 nm VFR flight. 

My commercial check ride was delayed for several weeks because of 9/11, and finally took place on a Sunday morning. I arrived at the airport early. I had a new VFR sectional and TAC stretched out on the cowling of the aircraft as I used a pink highlighter to mark the new post 9/11 TFRs that had popped up. They were over Bangor, Bremerton Naval Shipyard, the Port of Everett, and that sliver of land east of Jefferson County International Airport (0S9). With the exception of Bangor, which today is a prohibited area, the rest became national security areas, indicated on the sectional with heavy broken magenta lines and a notation: “For reasons of national security pilots are requested not to fly lower than….” with an altitude restriction. It is very polite phrasing, especially when you consider that at first we were hearing warnings about the potential use of deadly force against a straying aircraft and of pilots who lost their certificates, were fined, or ended up in prison for entering the airspace. I don’t know how much of that really happened, but I wasn’t going to risk it. 

• READ MORE: Five Ways We’ve Changed Since 9/11

I was still marking the TFRs when a shadow fell over the sectional. An about-face revealed a very tall man wearing an FAA ID badge. He introduced himself, then wanted to know what I was doing at the airport so early, and why was I drawing on the sectional? He asked for my name and to see my identification and pilot certificate. I held them up but didn’t hand them over, just as I had been taught. 

I explained I was about to take my commercial check ride and I was coloring in the TFRs so I wouldn’t accidentally blunder into one and lose my certificate or be shot down. I pulled out my fully filled out navlog to show him I was staying well clear of these areas. We talked for a few minutes, and he concluded by asking me if I would consider being a CFI because we “needed the enthusiasm.”

What we had were plenty of CFIs, as the airlines cut back on their training classes after 9/11. For a time, most of the flying was recreational, and people who wanted to learn to fly so they could fly their own airplane, saying they felt safer than being stuffed in an airliner with a potential terrorist.

Security Becomes Synonymous With Aviation

There was a new emphasis on airport security and verifying the citizenship of each flight school candidate. The TSA endorsement was added to the list of required endorsements a CFI has to give their learners. Today, airport employees and CFIs are required to take annual training from the Transportation Security Administration. 

The phrase “if you see something, say something” became part of our lexicon.

The fences and locked gates became as common as tie downs and windsocks at all airports. These fences are one of the obstacles—both literally and figuratively between us and the next generation of pilots. I hope someday those fences can be taken down—and aviation will become more physically accessible again—but I am not holding my breath.

The post Remembering 9/11 at the Flight School Level appeared first on FLYING Magazine.

This story originally published in the September 2004 issue of Flying Magazine.

It is about six o’clock in the morning. I am witnessing a brilliant golden sunrise; a few layers of thin clouds accent the picturesque view. The New York City skyline begins to appear as a faint silhouette on the horizon. I am seated comfortably in my office—a Boeing 757. We are the first airplane from our airline to land at Newark airport from Los Angeles since the day none of us will soon forget. My first officer and I had volunteered to fly the redeye; neither one of us cared. We hadn’t slept much over the last few days anyhow.

I glance to the right at my first officer. He is deep in thought as we begin our descent. I am sure he is pondering his reunion with his wife and his three young children. He is a kind and caring man. We have been away for five days on a trip that should have had us back in two. We had spent the extra days sharing our lives with about thirty other cockpit and cabin crewmembers who had also been trapped away from home. Our hotel was the layover destination for the two cockpit crews that never made it.

My eyes, as though drawn by some magnetic force, strain to view the skyline. My mind flashes to the horrific scene of an exploding airplane penetrating the World Trade Center building. I know I had flown that very airplane. I had used that airplane to unite families, friends, and business people. It had become a weapon of mass destruction. I feel violated. As I contemplate the “what-ifs,” a heavy sensation, almost overwhelming in its intensity, begins to weigh on my chest. The sensation rises to my eyes. I have to gnash my teeth to keep tears from moistening them. I reflect on my reunion with my wife. I have never missed her more. It gets harder to fight the moisture in my eyes.

The Focus of Flying an Airplane

The sound of our flight number over the radio interrupts my contemplation. I am grateful. My mind snaps to attention as I watch my first officer key his mike, responding to an unemotional, anonymous voice from New York’s air traffic control center. I focus back to the business of flying an airplane. We have nearly a full load of passengers. They had walked on to the airplane in LA with tired, shell-shocked faces. Some had faint smiles, others appeared nervous and unsure. My flight attendants had the same expressions when I had briefed them on the jet bridge while we waited for the brand-new security procedures to be completed. They had nodded dutifully, with wide-eyed faces. I offered them the opportunity not to work if they felt uncomfortable. None had responded. They just wanted to go home. I then picked up my flight bag and headed for the cockpit door. I swung the narrow door open slowly. Never had I felt such trepidation about entering a cockpit. Never had I felt so far away from home. I took a deep breath before moving ahead. It helped. It was time to go to work.

We are now cleared for the approach. I concentrate on the instrument panel ahead of me. It’s second nature. I glance out the window toward the right side of the windscreen. The ominous gray smoke still billows upward from lower Manhattan. The gray cloud becomes flat, leveling off a few hundred feet above the city. It stretches like a giant menacing finger all the way across the bay to Sandy Hook, New Jersey. My first officer’s attention is drawn away by the view. He has seen the view all too many times on the hotel television. It is much too real now. Quietly, I ask him to look away and to focus on our approach. He responds immediately, as though he is thankful for my interruption. His face is grim and sad, all at the same time.

The windscreen fills up with the parallel runways of KEWR. My first officer’s concentration is completely on procedures, making the appropriate call-outs at the appropriate times. We pass over the threshold with the usual blur of concrete and white markings. I work hard to make the landing smooth. It is. I am sure there is a clap or two from the passengers, grateful to be home safely. I look at the mass expanse of the airport terminal as we taxi toward our gate. There is barely any movement. Perhaps it is the early hour, or perhaps it is the circumstances. Perhaps both.

The guide man, directly in front of the nose, gives me the stop signal by crossing his bright orange wands, forming an “X.” I park the brakes. With a stern expression, the agent drives the jet-bridge toward the forward entry door. I sigh, reaching out to shake my first officer’s hand. He shakes my hand and gives me a weary smile. We are almost home. We finish the parking checklist just like we have always done. I open the cockpit door, watching the tired parade of passengers walking off the airplane. There are no sounds of rejoicing, just an occasional “thank-you.” After the last passenger, we pick up our flight bags and leave the cockpit. I thank the flight attendants on the way out, wishing them a safe trip home to their families. We nod a tired “hello” to the crew about to take the airplane back out on another flight. Nothing really needs to be said. I walk out into the concourse, remembering how much I dislike flying out of Newark because of the distance from home and the traffic. Today, I don’t care.

Almost Home

After a brisk walk to the outside of the terminal, we locate the van that has been scheduled to take us over to JFK, where we had departed five days earlier. The air is cool and refreshing. Another pilot, who had deadheaded on our flight, will be sharing our van ride. My co-pilot engages him in conversation. I hear the other pilot mention that he was flying with a check airman, on his initial operating experience flight, when he was called back to land immediately. I shake my head in sympathy. Their voices drift off into a murmur. We begin to cross the Verazzano-Narrows Bridge. All conversation stops as the island of Manhattan becomes visible. Nobody talks for a good ten minutes.

The sound of my cell phone ringing wakes me from my trance. The caller ID shows it to be my wife. I’ve never been happier to see our home number. I answer, trying to sound upbeat, knowing that I sound tired. I explain to my wife that the traffic is very light, and that I will be home earlier than expected. She is glad that I am back safe. I tell her that I will call when I leave the employee parking lot at JFK. I hang up with that heavy sensation in my chest. I make a deliberate effort to sit upright, noticing the four stripes on my sleeve.

We collect our bags outside the entrance to the employee lot where the van has dropped us off. My first office gives me a warm smile. He has become my friend. He reaches out his hand, and then gives me a hug. I wish him the best when he gets home. I begin to walk in the direction of my red truck. I am happy to see it, as if it were a loyal friend. I am embarrassed at my own sentimentality. I leave the employee parking lot, pressing the quick dial on my cell phone. When my wife answers I have a lump in my throat. I strain to get out the words, “I’m coming home.” I don’t know why such a simple sentence should be so difficult. Fortunately, I think she only hears the words.

I begin the hour-and-twenty-minute drive in complete silence. It is calming to hear only the air rushing by the windows and the whir of the tires on the road. I pass a well-used pick-up truck. Two large U.S. flags are attached to the side rails, flapping rapidly in the breeze. Two men are in the front seat. They see the uniform stripes on my shoulders. One man waves while the other man gives me a thumbs-up. I smile and nod approvingly.

What Matters Most

The lake I have lived on for eleven years looks more beautiful than ever. The water shimmers as I pass. I turn into my driveway. I stare at my house before I get out of the car. It’s the same house I left five days ago. Why does it look different? I collect my flight bags from the back of the truck, and walk toward the front door. There is a lump in my throat. I begin to push down on the door handle, and then my wife opens the door. She is the most beautiful woman in the world. I set my bags down. We hug for a long time. I successfully fight tears. I convince myself that now is not the time.

The phone begins to ring. My wife fields the calls. The calls concern my safe return home, and my readiness to participate in a good friend’s 40th birthday celebration. I nod an “Okay” to her, not totally convinced myself. We are to see a play on Broadway as part of the celebration. We are to travel into the city in a stretch limo with other friends. As my wife talks in an upbeat tone on the phone, I wander outside. I walk to a large bare spot on the lawn where I have obsessed to have grass grow. I thought, after all this tragedy, maybe something new would be born. There is no grass. I am disappointed. It is then that I decide that we do need to celebrate. My friend turns 40 only once in her life. It’s important that we participate in her day. For the moment, I am not tired.

We all meet at our community beach parking lot. Our friends congregate around the white, stretch limo. They smile as they see my wife and I approach. The guys shake my hand. The women give me hugs. They look in my eyes for a long time, saying that they are glad that I am home. I have to look away and gnash my teeth again. I hand out red, white, and blue ribbons to wear. Nobody asks for an explanation. They just put the ribbons on.

I am seated in the back of the limo as we drive toward the city. Smiles are beginning to appear on my friends’ faces. I think about my family. My father had called me almost every day since the tragedy. He knew that I was okay from the beginning because my grandmother, who had passed on years earlier, was always watching. My mother had talked to my wife and knew that it was not me on the ill-fated airplanes. Mom’s only request was to hear my voice for herself. My sister had left a message on my voice mail. She had also talked to my wife. My sister just wanted me to know that she was glad I was safe. A return call was not necessary. I called anyhow.

I have all that I will ever need today. When I forget, I hope my wife will remind me. I am an airline pilot, and I have returned home.

The post Jumpseat: An Airline Pilot Returns Home appeared first on FLYING Magazine.

The silence on the Potomac Approach frequency was stark. It was September 17, 2001, and I was flying a Piper Archer from KFDK in Frederick, Maryland, down to Newport News (KPHF), Virginia, logging two hours down and 1.7 on the return. I filed IFR on a day of shockingly blue skies because that was the only way to operate six days after the World Trade Center towers came down, the Pentagon’s seemingly impenetrable belt line was breached, and a field in Pennsylvania became a final resting place for heroic souls. A defining moment, when I felt viscerally how the world had changed.

Twenty years later, I’m circumnavigating the special flight rules area around Washington, D.C., but I’m VFR and monitoring my fellow pilots and controllers on a sunny summer Sunday without any particular restriction to my flight path beyond my choice to stay outside of Class B. That I choose to just listen stems from my desire to hold on to a certain amount of freedom in my flying—and because the ADS-B In traffic data illuminates almost every target that ATC would call out to me anyway.

One September morning, the ground shifted under us. But we overcame it all. With persistence, we rolled back the most onerous provisions against general aviation; the total lockout of all GA traffic from Class B airspace was on the table at one point. Permission to land at the GA airports inside the flight restricted zone was for only those already based there, and no one save the airlines and government aircraft could land at KDCA. I thought, “How would those ‘DC-3’ airports survive?”

Well, in March of this year, I flew in and out of College Park Airport (KCGS) with a friend with a PIN (I need to get my own now that I’m based back in the Washington, D.C., area). That I have a path to the PIN needed to fly in I also consider a win for GA; you can apply for one by going through a background check and interview. That we’ve maintained that privilege 20 years down the road, to me, solidifies the fact we are mostly responsible, competent users of the national airspace system. In June, I went to a lively hangar party at Potomac Airfield (KVKX), with Washington Executive/Hyde Field (W32) remaining open just a mile to the east.

Leesburg Executive Airport (KJYO) in Virginia has a cutout enabling the relative free-flow of student and corporate traffic. In New York, the Hudson corridor can be flown by anyone with a chart of the VFR flyways.

Read more letters from Julie Boatman: View From Above

And we have flown through it all as an industry, continuing to innovate, continuing to lead with our very best. We’ve seen it in the expansion into commercial spaceflight, and we celebrate the achievements of SpaceX in cooperation with NASA inspiring us into orbit—and beyond.

We’ve seen it in the power that one device—the autothrottle—has brought to single-engine and multiengine turboprops and jets. The assist it gives to those flying single-pilot earns our respect and admiration. We salute Innovative Solutions & Support for its continued drive to apply this efficient, workload-saving technology in future mounts.

And we’ve seen it in the market acceptance of Garmin’s Autoland, the winner of the Flying Innovation Award for 2021. For more on the Autonomi avionics and systems suite, and its application in Piper Aircraft’s PA-46s, see “We Fly: Piper M600/SLS Halo” in these pages. As we’re tying up the bow on this issue, we’re also preparing for the EAA AirVenture in Oshkosh, Wisconsin, where we’ll present the award and see our aviation friends there for the first time since 2019. A defining moment, indeed.

These moments add perspective. Sometimes we see changes coming, and sometimes they hit us like a bolt from the blue. But we have the strength, courage and creativity to navigate the changes, move forward and embrace the opportunity ahead.

This story appeared in the September 2021 issue of Flying Magazine

The post View From Above: Defining Moments and September 11 appeared first on FLYING Magazine.