"After reading Dick Karl's article 'The Practiced Art of Airline Safety' in the October issue, it becomes obvious that the best way to instantly improve the safety of flying and the medical profession is to ban Dick Karl from practicing either of them. I would not want him performing surgery on my open chest or any other body part while he casually daydreams about flying. As for flying with or anywhere near him, I wonder if he might be thinking the following while on an instrument approach to minimums in the mountains at night: 'I wonder what ever happened to the guy I operated on the other … zzzzzz.' " So reads a letter to Flying by Tom Stark of Alachua, Florida. He wasn't the only one.
You may be wondering what I could have written to elicit such a scolding. Well, I admitted to thinking about the commonality of surgery and flying while closing a patient's chest after an esophageal resection. Though I spend most of my time practicing surgery, a week earlier I had spent four great days with fellow columnist Les Abend as he plied his trade as an airline captain. The trip had been very much on my mind and I remarked as to how far medicine has to go in order to become as safe as the airlines. No doubt Mr. Stark and others have never had a stray thought while at work, but I have, as countless readers now know.
Ironically, these reprimands by readers come at a time in my professional surgical life when I have become much more focused on safety. I no longer play music in the operating room; I give a lengthy brief before each case and generally try to mimic what I've seen in aviation. Come to think of it, I am much more focused on safety in airplanes, too.
You wouldn't know that, though, if you read a letter from Dr. Tom Navar of El Paso. Responding to a piece in the December issue where I described a flight from Tampa to New England during which I took our recently out of maintenance Cheyenne way west of course in order to circumnavigate the remnants of Hurricane Ernesto, the good doctor wrote: "To fly any airplane into an area of such weather as Hurricane Ernesto caused, especially following a hot section overhaul is, at least, questionable; at most, irresponsible. To applaud such actions by publishing them in your magazine parallels this. No airplane must fly, regardless of the pilot's ego."
These letters of disapproval were rattling around in my mind over the Thanksgiving holiday when, again, my wife and dog and I were intent on reaching New Hampshire from Florida. The problem was a low that had parked itself off the coast of North Carolina. I remember thinking to myself: "Am I really as unsafe as readers think? Or do I write about my profession and my flying in a way which exaggerates the risk and downplays the caution I try to exercise? Or, are some magazine readers misanthropic scolds with no life of their own, who are essentially, well, jealous?"
Now that I've got 4,000 hours in the logbook and a Boeing 737 type rating on my license, not to mention yearly recurrent training in the Cheyenne at FlightSafety, I find that I've got a growing sense of confidence. Or is it a false sense of ability?
Just how foolish would a flight skirting the Thanksgiving weather be? Our turboprop is a solid airplane, good for 235 knots. The trip would be made on the back side of the low and thus headwinds, not the customary tailwinds, would prevail; up to 80 knots' worth at Flight Level 180. We are certified for flight into "known icing," but I've never taken much solace nor put much stock in this appellation. The whole scenario seemed to be very similar to the flight that Dr. Navar found so inappropriate.
Given the necessary course deviation and obligatory fuel stop, we'd be arriving in the mountains of New Hampshire after dark. Lebanon, New Hampshire, was calling for 5,000 scattered, no significant weather, visibility 10 miles all day and all night. The low was still way south of New England, but it was making a mess in Virginia, North Carolina and, later, New York. There was no moon to help.
I must say that the 737 training changed things. I spent two glorious weeks with people who fly for a living and, although their airplanes are way more capable than ours is, they expect to go. Every time, almost. Many of them had been captains for regional airlines and had tons of turboprop time. Some had flown checks at night in Aztecs and Cessna 310s. At night in ice. Every night.
Was their matter-of-fact approach to weather contagious? They are professionals and I am not. Yet, I do have some experience and am by nature cautious. Isn't this the kind of trip that King Airs and Cheyennes were built for? I thought about those admonishments by readers that I should only think and talk about surgery while operating. I also thought of something a Southwest Airlines captain told me: Keep the cockpit alert and focused, but be sure that things are informal and comfortable. Don't be uptight. Get to know the pilot sitting inches from you. Those informal moments will be an asset if there's an emergency.
