Afraid of FEAR

I’ve just finished reading a book about life
in a small town in Alaska. The author is a newspaper reporter
in the town, and she paints a colorful, real and sometimes
humorous picture of the people and events there. Having lived
in Alaska for many years, the writer has come to know many of
the intimate details of its people, and is probably accurate in
her descriptions when she discusses the rather odd lifestyles of
some of them.
Inevitably the stories involve transportation
around the largest of the U.S. states, and that means
discussions about airplanes. Bush planes in particular. I was
a bit surprised to hear that someone who has lived up there for
so many years, still has the big fear of flying. She describes
several trips into and out of “the bush” and her home. Each
time it’s a story of being terrified half to death of the tiny
planes, the crazy pilots, lost aircraft, and the retelling of
crashes that killed old friends.
Everyone knows people who fold up and lose
their logical thinking when confronted with boarding a “tiny
plane”, one with just four (or six) seats. To them, it’s like
stuffing themselves into a coffin. We as pilots, never
experience what these folks go through, and thus don’t totally
understand the nature of their fears. I suppose it’s not our
job to know what’s going on in their minds, but it ought to be
to calm and reassure them about any danger they anticipate. And
to be effective in doing that, words may not be enough. It
takes a strong, calm and decisive attitude on the pilot’s part.
Basically the pilots needs an outwardly physical appearance of
being in control.
Good pilots always use checklists. In my
opinion, anyone who doesn’t is an accident just waiting to
happen. We also go through the passenger briefings completely
and clearly prior to startup. But when you think about it,
these two procedures can be enough to scare the life out of the
already nervous passenger. They go away with stories of the
pilot who doesn’t know what he’s doing. “He needed to check
notes before he took off”! And they don’t feel comfortable
being reminded that “In the unlikely event of finding ourselves
upside down in the water, here’s where the lifejackets are”. I
actually had an employer once who suggested I skip the checklist
when passengers were on board!
To the pilot, it’s all good fun. But I will
speak only for myself on this one. If I am flying in the back
of a jet airliner, it’s me who is the nervous flyer. Even with
the little knowledge I have about the dynamics of an airplane
crash, I know that there’s a chance of surviving in a Cessna
180, particularly if I’m the one flying it. At least that’s how
I reassure myself. But if this Airbus goes down, there’s no way
I’m getting out of it alive. Over and over I hear how
ridiculous this fear is. Airbuses just don’t go down! Or it’s
very rare that they do. That may be true, but just the same, I
always know I’m on the one that is going to explode in flight.
Just as it’s the bush pilot’s job to calm
and reassure his passengers, the airline captain can work that
magic on his passengers too. I recall flying from Calgary to
Vancouver one dark and stormy night in the winter. Glancing out
to the tarmac from my window seat, I was surprised to see the
captain doing the walk-around was a fellow I knew well. It was
prior to 9-11 when airline regulations still allowed passengers
to visit the cockpit. Maybe I could make a request to the
flight attendant to go up and talk to him after departure. But
just then, another pilot I knew sat down beside me. He flew as
a captain for the same airline. He had finished his rotation
and caught this flight to deadhead home to Vancouver. A
coincidence for sure, but here I was aboard a flight with two
fellow pilots I respected and trusted. For the entire flight,
we were buffeted around in a raging snowstorm, but my seatmate
never once even glanced out the window or showed the slightest
concern. We never discussed the turbulence, the weather, or
anything that was initially going through my mind about the
perceived danger I was facing. In spite of the seatbelt sign
staying lit, it wasn’t long before I felt pretty calm about it
all.
The author of the book I’ve just finished
describes some of the bravado actions and comments that came
from a few pilots she had encountered. These pilots were what
I would call “unprofessional”. They have a responsibility,
whether they know it or not, to their passengers as well as to
their employers. At the end of the day, the pilot may return on
time with an airplane that’s not been bent, but his company may
find that all the advertising they can do won’t bring back the
paying passengers he has scared off.
The stories of lost, crashed or broken
airplanes, of people dying and of people surviving, will always
be with us. But the statistics point to a safety record in
aviation that’s enviable among other forms of travel. I
know it logically. I know that my chances of dying in a
car crash are greater than of dying in an airliner going down.
Sitting next to a pilot who actually flies the airliner,
observing his demeanor, his outwardly calm appearance, did more
than reading all the statistics. I’m hopeful that anyone
with me when I’m at the controls will feel the same.