Communication Breakdowns

The other day, at Fargo’s Hector International Airport (KFAR), there was something that happened that aspired—lusted, even—in vain to be a taxi “incident,” but was demoted to a mere taxi “occurrence.”

Hector’s a fair-sized airport, with a tower and three runways, four if you count the concrete which used to be a runway until it was retired and became a taxiway. (There’s nothing sadder than an old runway in disuse.) Hector also seems to be an airport famous people use to go through U.S. Customs so they aren’t mobbed by paparazzi.

And So It Begins

A taxi sign was missing. I noticed it the other day, and two new taxiways—with signs—were added. One taxiway apparently changed its last name. I was taxiing on taxiway Charlie to parking, and was told, “Cross Runway 18, hold short of Bravo for a Pilatus coming your way on Charlie.”

I read that back, and as I crossed Runway 18 and saw the oncoming Pilatus, I noticed there was no sign for the upcoming perpendicular taxiway Bravo where I was told to hold short. I saw where taxiway B was, but no sign of the sign. So I held short of “the asphalt formerly known as Bravo.”

When I was cleared to taxi ahead on Charlie, it bothered me—did I miss the taxiway B sign, or was there not one? I asked the tower if I could back-taxi and look for it, and tower said, “Knock yourself out; do a one-eighty, stay clear of Runway 18.” So I did. 

When I asked to return to parking, tower responded, “Did you see what you wanted to see?” Me: “Yes, there IS no taxiway B sign, I was right. For some reason, it’s missing, I feel better.” The next day I saw a Notam: “Directional sign missing, Taxiway C.” Technically correct, but nothing about a missing Bravo sign. The ATIS warned, “Caution: non-standard taxiway signs,” when it should warn, “Caution: useless Notam.”

It Gets Better

Recently, on landing rollout on Runway 18, Fargo tower said, “Turn left on Bravo Three—oops, I mean Bravo Four, I gotta get used to these new signs!” The airport had reshuffled the taxiway deck.

Taxiway B3 became B4 because they added Taxiway B3 and B2 up at the north part of the airport, plus two new taxiway exits from the Fargo Jet Center ramp to Taxiway B. Meanwhile, Taxiway B3 became B4. But these new taxiways, B2 and B3, were a mystery to one King Air pilot. He called for taxi clearance from Fargo Jet Center, and ground cleared him, “Taxi to Runway One-Eight, full length via Bravo Three, Bravo, Bravo One.”

The pilot had been used to taxiing from Fargo Jet to Runway 18 via “Charlie Two, Charlie, Bravo,” which was the onliest way to get there. Until Tuesday. Suddenly he was presented with all these new Bravos—a riddle wrapped in a mystery inside an enigma inside his headset. The pilot was like an old horse who knew the way from the barn and through the gate to the field, but they moved the gate. He eventually recovered and went on his way.

Not Just The Pilots

Sometimes it’s ATC that gets confused. I was rolling out on Runway 18 recently, at night, and was told by tower, “Turn right on Alpha Three for construction on Bravo, turn right on Alpha, cross Runway 27, right on Charlie, hold short of Runway 18, remain this frequency.” 

Thanks to the calm winds, Fargo was landing both Runways 18 and 36 because of course they were. So I repeated all that back and did all that, and was holding short of Runway 18/36 at Charlie, which is up toward the north end of Runway 36. I waited. And waited. 

Tower cleared a regional jet to land on Runway 36, but they were a couple of miles out. I had oodles of time. Scads. I could have shut down, gotten out of my airplane, hooked the little towbar on the nose gear and pulled the airplane across the runway. The regional airliner came in on final and landed, finally, minutes later, and I watched them on landing rollout on my iPad, and then out the window with my iBalls as they passed Taxiway E. The only remaining turns off the runway were Runway 27 or Taxiway A1, at the end, since I was blocking Taxiway C.

Tower: “Skywest 1234, turn left on Charlie, left on Alpha, right on Tango to parking.” The proper call, of course, would have been, “Skywest 1234, as you turn left on Charlie, beware of FOD as your engines may ingest a Lancair holding there.”

When I heard the tower make that call, I keyed the mic and said, “Fargo Tower, Lancair 12345 is holding on Charlie short of Runway 36.” The tower asked if I could make a 180-degree turn, and I told them I could. Tower, as if he was broadcasting at Chicago’s O’Hare Airport instead of at Fargo, said, “Lancair 12345, do a one-eighty on Charlie, left on Alpha, left on 27, taxi Runway 27 to Charlie Two, left on Charlie Two, Right on Charlie to parking, remain this frequency.”

Several circuit breakers popped—in my head, not in the aircraft. Two aircraft on the surface of the airport at Fargo, neither of us moving, and the ground controller speaking at 25, with gusts to 40. As I turned on my landing light again and started the 180, I keyed the microphone and said, “Taxi via Charlie, left on Alpha something, standby the rest, 12345.” After getting the tower to read back the taxi clearance and writing it down—even using shorthand until my pen ran out of ink and I had to “swap out”—I finally made it to parking.

Follow-up

But then I did a very dangerous thing for a pilot—I begin to think. I thought, “How in the name of Wilbur Wright did Ground taxi me up to Runway 36 and have me hold short for several minutes, then try to taxi an airliner into my face?”

I had already shut down my engine when I entered into this dangerous maneuver (thinking), so I called tower on my handy-dandy handheld radio, which I carry because I’m a nerd. I asked for their phone number and then called them on the phone to ask why they tried to taxi an airliner right onto my back.

The controller explained, helpfully, that he forgot about me. He said, “As soon as I keyed the mic and made that call, the radar controller behind me said something. See, I didn’t want to turn the airliner onto Runway 27, because we don’t like to use the runways to taxi on.”

I almost said, “Then why did you have me taxi halfway down Runway 27?!” but choked that back, with great effort, gulping the words and later spewing them out where they can do no harm. He almost said he was sorry—I could hear it in his voice—but I don’t think the FARs allow them to. But I think maybe he clicked “S.O.R.R.Y.” in Morse code with the microphone. 

Making Sense Of It All

A lot of ink and pixels have been spilled over the years discussing how best to deal with local ATC and/or the mix of experienced and inexperienced pilots on the CTAF at a non-towered airport. One thing often missing from these discussions is what happens when ATC screws up, and how we should deal with it. Another way to look at the challenge: If ATC at a towered airport can make that kind of mistake—forgetting about a flib and clearing an arriving transport to taxi over it—think about all the possibilities for mayhem at a non-towered strip.

I hear some pilots argue that people shouldn’t make so many radio calls at non-towered airports. These calls clutter up the airwaves. Who cares if you are taxiing to the runway, or clear of the runway, taxiing to the fuel pumps, or forty-five to downwind, or on downwind, base or final? I’ll tell you who cares: The parents of a 17-year-old student pilot flying solo in the pattern. They do. And the grandparents. And, hopefully, the student’s CFI.

For me, what’s the lesson from all this? I should have keyed the mic while the regional jet was still on long final and reminded the tower I was holding short, because I definitely had time to cross and there was deafening silence for a long time on the radio. Tower did, indeed, forget about me. 

If a tower controller with full view of the runways and taxiways can make a mistake, couldn’t a mere pilot make a mistake at a non-towered airport? Taxi onto a runway with someone landing, or take off from the opposite end, or miss someone landing on a crossing runway, the sod surface I see at many airports? 

The answers are yes and yes.

What To Do?

So, we gotta be vigilant—if Fargo tower makes a mistake, I must instantly try to capitalize on it, and get something from it. No! Just kidding. If someone else—pilot or ATC—makes a mistake, I should take the high road, be understanding and conciliatory. No radio ridicule. No smarmy, know-it-all radio call. No back-talk, no smack-talk. Meanwhile, I truly want to do this right, without embarrassing myself, or even the controllers, though they sometimes deserve it. 

But, alas, I have strayed from the straight and narrow. A few days later, I’m taxiing to the “north T-hangars” at Fargo when the tower asked me, “Lancair 12345, is Taxiway Hotel open?” It was indeed partially closed, the oh-so-simple-to-read Notam said, and only the middle 25 feet was open. 

The actual Notam read something like this: “TWY H midl 25 ft usbl all rst orng cnes and stff gd luk.” I said to the tower controller, “Lancair 12345, the middle twenty-five feet is open, I believe.”

“Oh,” the tower controller said, “From here, it looks closed.” Because he was looking at it from the tower view, from the side, and it looked all orange cones. But no, I had to mouth off. In response, they sent me to the other end of the airport, closed up and went home.

Serves me right, I guess.