"What are you, a fighter pilot?" "Where's your ejection seat?" "Are you planning to crash?" "I can understand wearing the helmet in a cub, but why do you need it in the Cessna?"
These are some of the questions I get asked, with large doses of sarcasm, from time to time in the lower 48 states. In Alaska however, it's a much different story. Up there people know the reality of traveling by light airplane, and they see a friend with a helmet on and give a quite nod of respect. For all the joy and pleasure in aviation, some of the things we do for work or fun in a flying machine is about as safe as riding a motorcycle. We tell ourselves otherwise, but the data speaks for itself. Part of this reality is based on what I refer to as 'Novelty Flying' vs. 'Utility Flying'.
'Novelty Flying' is what people do on a nice calm Saturday morning in the springtime because they love aviation, and they have the money to partake in it. There's nothing wrong with this.
'Utility Flying' however is a totally different beast. Utility flying means that if we don't get into that small backcountry strip this afternoon, the lodge doesn't get it's next round of clients, and the ones currently there will miss their flights back to the big city they live in. It means accepting that MEDEVAC trip at 2am in bad weather. It means the realities of staying focused while delivering load after load of Diet-Coke, Mountain Dew, and Potato Chips onto a gravel strip, covered in patchy ice, with flat light, and a light crosswind, somewhere in Western Alaska, over the span of an eight hour day.
Utility Flying is work, and when accomplished in light piston singles or single engine helicopters, it's hazardous.
For those of us that do this type of flying, we sometimes have to say goodbye to old friends or new acquaintances. Let me say that it's no fun at all to attend the funeral of a good friend during the prime of his life.
I don't mean to suggest that flying is terribly dangerous, in many ways, if a pilot has good judgement it's still a far more efficient, and safer means of transportation that driving. Mechanical failures are rare, controlled flight into terrain does sometimes feel like an epidemic. Because of this, I think that we should take relevant precautions.
If you live in the Rocky Mountains, along the fjords, or near the deep tree covered slopes of the Appalachians, it's hard to beat a good lightweight helmet, and a survival vest. If you live in an urban part of the country, you could probably skip the vest, but that helmet is worth it's weight in gold - trust me, especially if you have to stick your experimental onto a freeway during rush hour.
Not convinced? Try renewing your medical with a head injury. A positive element, is that in cold winter weather the helmet is warmer. In turbulence it gives bump protection (I've cracked the vinyl in a 182 with my helmet while towing a glider), and around rotor or prop wash the ability to drop the visor and keep sand or snow out of your eyes is invaluable.
I've said these things many times to many friends, and have been fortunate to have smart people mentoring me along the way. Eventually my wife convinced me to write a book on the topic called Aviation Survival: A Practical Guide to Surmounting Crash and Post Crash Perils. It's basically a reference to help sort through the myriad of available options. You'll find it on Amazon in eBook format.
I plan to release an updated version in 2022. If you have any interest in learning more about protecting yourself and your passengers in an aircraft accident, or addressing the threats that follow in a survival event, then this is the book for you. My expectation is the $9.95 you'll spend will probably save you some heartache at some point, if you're shopping for gear, it will save you some money by helping you make the right selections, and if nothing else, it'll prove an interesting read over a cup of coffee beside the wood stove.
