Apart from my instructor, a guy named Si Campbell, whom I’ve written about before, my aviation role models were Bob Hoover, whom I met when I was about halfway through my primary flight training; Neil Armstrong, who took a stroll on the Moon when I was 10 and Betty Skelton, an amazing pilot I unfortunately never got to see fly in person, though I was lucky enough to meet her in later life.
These were all people who were amazing pilots and did things in airplanes that mere mortals like me could only dream of doing. Not that I ever intended to roll like Bob or wring it out like Betty, let alone risk it all like Commander Armstrong. But I was inspired by them, nonetheless.
I also knew from early on in my flying career whom not to idolize. There was a former F-4 jock who flew an Aerostar who delighted in overflying the ramp at our little home airport maybe 100 feet off the ground at way better than 200 knots before wrapping it around for an otherwise normal landing. I was inspired by him—inspired, that is, not to be a tool. Not to fly like that just because I could (or might be able to one day).
I think pilots get this role model stuff better than we give them credit for. In my experience we choose judiciously. Pilots are naturally good at calculating risk. Getting good at it is, in fact, about the most important part of learning to fly.
And that means thinking for ourselves. The question that I literally got asked when I was a kid was the old cliché, if so-and-so jumped off a bridge, would you do it too? If I had answered honestly, I would have said, “I don’t know. Tell me more about this bridge.”
Jumping off bridges was my kind of fun, though I picked my bridges carefully and watched how others did it. I would find out how deep the water was, make sure there were no sunken logs or black moccasins waiting for me. And there were a few bridges that I declined to take the plunge from, because even my 10-year-old self understood that you’ve got to weigh the risks before you leap.
I probably don’t have to tell you that with the whole Martha Lunken bridge underflyment affair, aka “Lunken’s Lunge,” the subject of risk has become a hot button topic for pilots. And this is especially true for those who teach flying, who model good pilot behavior for others and, yes, even those of us who write about flying, like me.
There are so many areas of disagreement that the Lunge have twisted open, like a stubborn oil filter waiting to spill its dirty secrets. One of the most interesting to me is the question of role modeling. If you know Martha and have read her stuff, you know that her entire persona is that of, well, whatever is the opposite of a role model—I guess “the bad girl.” She’s the one who says things and does things that normal humans are too polite or cautious to do or to say. The Lunge was on brand. Hell, getting caught was on brand!
So, she’s not a role model. Never wanted to be, never said she was. Still, the concept of role models in aviation, and what our obligations are, interests me greatly, and not just because I’m someone who holds forth on matters of flight. I’m hardly alone in that, though. Instructors, educators, hangar flying philosophers and, yes, writers, all have some exposure to this thorny question.
That is, how do we approach messengers about risky propositions? Do we have a responsibility to discourage any flying activities that fall outside the cautious middle? Are we obligated to put out a big rhetorical stop hand when the subject of flying more toward the risky side of the spectrum comes up in otherwise FAA-endorsed conversation? And what kinds of flying does that actually apply to? If you look around, you’ll find there’s essentially zero consensus on these questions, in part because the presumed answers seem so obvious. And that is far from the truth.
We are, after all, in the game of getting people to fly in the first place. and in terms of relative risk, encouraging people to become a pilot is a terrible thing to do. Flying introduces a level of risk into people’s lives that is greater than most of them have ever experienced. As I’ve written before, it’s on the order of riding around really fast on winding roads on a motorcycle. We know why we do it, but those reasons are closely connected to the reasons that pilots who push the envelope do what they do. Where do we draw the line, and why?
Aviation seems a special case. A friend of mine writes all the time about how fast he rides on his bike, even on twisty mountain roads. So, he’s talking about doing something quantifiably risky that’s also illegal, because he’s speeding and admits as much. When it comes to such things, is he a bad role model? I guess that depends on who the audience is. Might I be tempted to buy a bike and do such things? Yes! In fact, he’s encouraged me before to do that very thing. Is he a bad guy for that? Hardly. I’m a big girl and can make my own decisions on stuff like this. Is he a bad role model, though? He kind of is, but I’m happy he is. In the end, I’ll make my decisions about what I do and I’ll own those decisions.
But when it comes to airplanes, a different set of rules seems to apply, and I’m not saying this to call anyone out for inconsistencies. I’m just wondering aloud how we should think about the kinds of attitudes and approaches we model for other presumably less experienced aviators, or even to would-be pilots. Is it okay for pilots to post videos of themselves or others doing risky stuff, say, flying to and from gravel bars or landing on improvised hillside runways? What about so-called “waterskiing” in a plane, which is the act of flying so low over a body of water that the tires (tailwheel planes, only, obviously) are skimming along the surface. It’s questionably legal, and there are obvious risks, not only to the pilot and any passengers but to people on or in the water, too. Is the posting of such videos encouraging other pilots to do the same thing? In a way, I think they are, but I also think that we’re dealing with an audience of grown ups who can reach their own decisions about what’s safe and right.
Watch this video by Trent Palmer as he prepares to land his Kitfox on the side of a desert mountain. The takeaway isn’t that he’s a daredevil. Quite the opposite, in fact. He approaches the landing with great forethought and with safety at front of mind.
So I’m not going to preface the presentation of off-airport hijinks with a pack-of-smokes-style warning label. What pilot doesn’t know that flying into an 800-foot, one-way riverside strip nestled among granite peaks is a dicey thing to do? And if you’re going to do it anyway, I hope you get great training and weigh the risks every time you head out. But I’m not going to tell you not to do it.
If I am a role model in any way, I hope it’s as someone who asks questions that need asking, such as, asking how dangerous it really is to fly under a bridge? Asking the question doesn’t presume the answer that it’s not risky, so let’s go out and do it. It’s that we should think about such things, because when it’s time to make those kinds of judgments, when we’re up there among the thunderstorms or planning out your next backcountry landing spot, you’ve got to be your own role model.
