Michael Kelly has never been a good flyer. He isn't much good with figures, either. Could he still be pilot material?
'Everyone can fly," Capt Kyle Johnston says cheerfully, "so this is not about telling you that you are, or are not, a candidate to be a pilot." He sits me at a PC equipped with a joystick and rudder pedals. "We will be assessing hand-eye co-ordination, concentration, memory, orientation and ability to multitask." Gulp.
This is my initial exercise at the Pilot Training College of Ireland, at Waterford Airport, where I am taking part in a pilot skills assessment day. The first task tests my control skills, which turn out to be close to nonexistent. I can use the joystick to centre a moving box on the monitor. I can also centre a little moving circle using the rudder pedals, although this is a little harder. Then, to my horror, they start to test both together. As I frantically jerk on the joystick and paddle the pedals I know it isn't going well. My score sheet confirms it: I score one out of seven.
Next up is a slalom event, in which you use the joystick to move around a course, like a skiing game on a PlayStation. It is fun, and much easier than the first test. Four out of seven. I am, briefly, on a roll. Section three - maths - returns me to earth with a thud. I get the sick feeling in the pit of my stomach that only maths exams can give you. All I can think of is how my teacher used to say I would never amount to anything, mathematically speaking. I used to laugh at him.
It starts gently enough, with basic addition, multiplication and the like. But then the odd zinger appears. "If 2x+13=21y, what is the value of y when x=4?" Aargh. Ordinary-level Leaving Cert again, and I'm still stuck. Can I get away with using the calculator on my mobile phone, I wonder, looking around the room for a CCTV camera. "If the speed of sound is 760mph and Mach=1.0, what is the speed of an aircraft at Mach=0.6?" I can think of a theorem of my own: "If calculator=used every day for the most basic maths, then score in any exam will be=disastrous." Correct. Two out of seven.
With my confidence knocked I start the fourth section, on memory. Brilliant: I have a memory that would give Jimmy Magee a run for his money. I am given readings for altitude, speed and other things and have to remember them. No bother. Six out of seven. Pride restored.
Uh oh, I think as the word "orientation" appears at the start of section five. Not my strong suit. Sometimes I get lost on the way to the office, which is 30 paces from my kitchen. There are three panels, representing aircraft instrumentation. I have to decide the direction of the aircraft and whether I am ascending or descending. I have no idea what is happening. Are we going east or west? Up or down? Safe or in peril? On fire, perhaps? Who knows? How do flights get from A to B at all when the instrumentation is this complex? One out of seven.
The final section is task management. Readings are given out, and I have to adjust the instrumentation accordingly. Every now and then an error light comes up, and I have to switch it off within three seconds. I'm an MTV child, so of course I can multitask. Five out of seven.
After 90 minutes I emerge a beaten man, wondering what on earth I have done to warrant such treatment. My overall score, 19 out of 42, is not bad at all, according to a very kind Johnston, a former Aer Lingus captain who is now the college's chief ground instructor.
I lick my wounds before being handed over to Darragh Owens, a flight instructor, for my maiden outing. "People coming down for the assessment have very little flight experience, so we want to see how they will react," he says. Any notions I have of being able to sit back and admire the views - and try to spot my house - are quickly dispelled. "I will ask you to control altitude and heading, and trim the aircraft or bank the aircraft by turning. I will also be looking for orientation skills, so I will say 'Take me back to the airport' and expect you to know where the airport is. Finally, I will reduce engine power to idle and get you to judge a glide and manoeuvre without engine assistance." At this point I black out.
Owens administers smelling salts, then we head to our Piper Arrow single-engine training craft. Alarmingly, it has rudder pedals, and I wonder what one out of seven will translate as here in the real world.
"Okay," says Owens as we trundle down the tarmac. "Try and keep the plane centred on the runway using the rudder pedals." Damn rudder pedals. We swerve to and fro until Owens has had enough and takes the controls.
I should say I'm a terrible flyer. I hate being in the air. I spend commercial flights in a heap, clasping the armrests. It's the noises I hate. The clank under the left wing. The rasping wheeze from the right engine. Is it supposed to sound like that? But flying up front in a small aircraft is totally different, perhaps because you can see where the noises come from. I watch Owens's face intently, looking for signs of panic. There are none. The take-off is not the hold-on-to-your-seat moment you get on a commercial flight. It's far gentler. In moments we are airborne, climbing slowly over the countryside.
Our flight takes us over Woodstown and Dunmore East, across the mouth of the Suir towards Hook Head and then along the Co Wexford coast in the direction of Kilmore Quay. As it is a beautiful sunny day we have a perfect view of the Saltees Islands, to the south. As Owens remarks philosophically, flying makes you realise just how small we are.
He allows me to take control of the aircraft, to see if I can maintain our altitude and heading. For altitude he tells me to keep an eye on the dials and try to keep the craft at 3,000ft (900m). You lift or lower the nose by pulling out or pushing in the wheel. It takes a while to get used to how gradual the movements are: it takes time for the aircraft and instruments to respond.
Next he asks me to bank by turning the wheel left or right. As the wings tilt I can't get it out of my head that we could go into a spin and spiral to our deaths. We don't, of course. Owens gives me a B for both manoeuvres. Out of relief, presumably.
There is a routine, called trimming the aircraft, that essentially helps you to "manage the loads". I know this because I write it down when Owens tells me. I try it twice, but I am still none the wiser. I score a poor C. "Okay, Michael, take us back to the airport," Owens says nonchalantly.
I know that if I turn and keep the sea to my left we will get home eventually - or end up in Cork. I turn the plane roughly to where I think we need to go and look confidently at Owens, feeling pleased. He could have said "We're heading for Kildare now", but he's far too polite, and instead he takes the controls to correct us. I take some photographs. Ever the sport, he marks me down for a B.
The final part of my flight involves a terrifying "manoeuvre without engine assistance". Owens reduces the engine to idle, and I have to try to glide the aircraft towards the runway. I make a bags of it, trying desperately to gain altitude, which is impossible without engine power and inadvisable when you're trying to land. Owens patiently takes over, and in moments we touch down smoothly. My "glide judgment" rates a generous C.
The people at the Pilot Training College of Ireland tells me I am pilot material, which is very kind of them. I did see my house from up there, by the way. My gutters need doing.
The Pilot Training College of Ireland is at 051-876706 or www.pilottraining.ie
THE MILE HIGH CLUB
There's a scene in the film Catch Me If You Can in which Leonardo DiCaprio, as Frank Abagnale jnr, walks through an airport with a string of beauties on each arm. The prestige of being a pilot may have faded since commercial aviation's infancy, but some of it remains. What's more, these are boom times for pilots. Hundreds will be recruited by Irish airlines in the coming year, according to one estimate, and the New York Times claims that demand worldwide will grow for the next 20 years.
Many trainees' passion for aviation begins with a gift of an introductory flight. Capt Mike Edgeworth, the chief executive of the Pilot Training College of Ireland, got bitten by the bug as a boy attending an air display at Abbeyshrule Airport, in Co Longford. "I think it's quite black and white. People tend to know after their first flight," he says.
Edgeworth, who studied civil engineering, was able to indulge his love of flying in the 1990s, in post-liberalisation Moscow, where he ran a telecoms company. "The availability of aeroplanes for flying was tremendous, because many of the military airfields were literally handed over to whoever was there when the regime broke up. A lot of these guys were trying to attract foreign currency, so I got the opportunity to fly incredible aeroplanes and meet really interesting pilots."
In 1999 he sold his business and, with money under his belt, pursued aviation. "Initially, I intended to get my commercial pilot licence here in Ireland, but the facilities really didn't exist. Aer Lingus and the Air Corps were taking on small numbers, and my age would have been a barrier. The only option was private schools in the US and UK, and doing it module by module." Having completed his training, Edgeworth started to see a business opportunity. "I felt it wasn't right that a guy who had the money in his pocket had to go overseas to train. I was pretty sure there was a need there."
Since it began training pilots, in 2002, the college has accepted students from 25 countries. Graduates work at Aer Arann, Ryanair, CityJet and other airlines. Its most popular course enables students to work at an international airline in 14 months. The cost of the course is a whopping €75,000, however - a tad more than an average third-level qualification will earn you. "It is a lot of money, but . . . it's less than one year's salary for a captain."
Can pilots still enjoy the odd Leonardo DiCaprio moment? "There is still prestige involved in the career. A pilot's job is to be responsible for maybe 300 people in the air. I would consider that a greater responsibility than a doctor or surgeon who is looking after one person. Pilots are highly respected, and rightly so."
'IT'S A BOYS WITH TOYS THING'
CAPT ALEX JEFFERS
The 37-year-old, who became a captain with Aer Arann this year, started training in 2003. "It's a boys-with-toys thing. I started flying privately as something fun to do," he says. After he left school, Jeffers went to Wales to train as a piano tuner. Then he ran the piano department in his father's music store. Having earned his private pilot's licence, he decided to start commercial training. "I didn't have any great master plan to leave the piano business. It was gradual. I was forced to ask myself what I was doing all the training for." Jeffers had a hunch that a small airline such as Aer Arann would suit his lifestyle. "They are happy to have a guy my age who is more settled and less interested in doing long-haul routes. I like the fact that I can be based in Cork and get home each evening. Some people say that flying turboprops is entry-level, but I actually think the flying is more interesting. There is less autopilot involved." Becoming a captain two years after finishing training is impressive. "I have progressed quickly, probably because I had a lot of hours under my belt when I started, and also because I am slightly older than your average graduate. They like having someone a bit more mature in the cockpit." Jeffers, who owns a light aircraft, flies instead of taking the car whenever possible. "I went to Galway the other day from Cork, and it took 35 minutes. Why would you bother driving?"
'THEY TOLD ME IT WASN'T TOO LATE'
KATIE COLLIS
The 34-year-old from Monkstown, in Co Dublin, worked for finance companies in her 20s but didn't enjoy the nine-to-five lifestyle. "I was going out of my mind. They were good, pensionable jobs, but I just wanted to get out and travel," she says. In May 2005 Collis (below) joined Emirates' cabin crew. She enjoyed the travelling but increasingly wished she were in the cockpit rather than the cabin. "On my breaks I would be asking the pilots a load of questions," she says. "I did some flying back in 1997 for about a year, just privately, and I loved it. But it was really expensive. I did think about doing my commercial training back then, but there was nowhere in Ireland to do it, and any colleges abroad were so expensive." Pilots at Emirates encouraged her to do something about her love of aviation. "They kept telling me it wasn't too late, that if I wanted to do it I should just go do it. I suppose, when you get to your 30s, you are more certain about what you want to do with your life." Collis has a few months left with Emirates before starting at the Pilot Training College of Ireland, in February. Is she put off by the fees? "Not really. THE earning potential is considerable, so it's a good investment. I researched quite a few colleges and a lot of them were a lot more expensive." And after college? "I would be happy to get a job in any airline, but of course you keep your dream job in mind. For me it's flying jumbos across the Atlantic for BA."
There were strange looks when Trevor Clarke announced in the staffroom that he was leaving teaching to become a pilot. The Dubliner taught music at the King's Hospital school, in west Dublin, until February this year. By March he was a first officer with Aer Arann. "Flying never entered my head until five years ago. I was taking a choir to Prague, and I remember saying to a friend on the flight that I would love to be in the cockpit. That friend bought me an introductory flight as a present." Clarke was hooked. "I would work all year and then, during the summer months, go off and do more flying."
He estimates that he spent €130,000 over four years to get his private and commercial licences. "Because I spread it out over such a long period of time it ended up costing more." He did his initial training in Florida and the final stage in Waterford. "They train you to fly with the windows covered up, so that you have to rely on the instrumentation. Very cool stuff." He clearly remembers his first solo flight. "I was up with the instructor for a few circuits, and when we landed he just said: 'I'm getting out. You're on your own.' It was so nerve-racking, but my landing that day was the sweetest I ever did."
Within weeks of completing his training Clarke had a job offer from Aer Arann. He is now based in Cork. "I still have my music. I play the organ at Kinsale church, and I am in a band with two other pilots. I loved music all my life, but once I started flying I knew it was something I loved more than that."
FROM YOGA TO FLYING
SANDRA FEARON
The 34-year-old Dubliner (below left) is in Florida, on the first leg of her training. "The course is very intense. You study every minute that you are not flying." Fearon was a psychologist and yoga teacher before deciding to become a pilot. "It was very satisfying to see people reassess their lives and follow their dreams, which in turn encouraged me to go for my own dream of becoming a pilot," she says. "One of the earliest things I can remember is being about three years of age and being brought up to Dublin airport by my dad, to see the planes, and just knowing that it was what I wanted to do. When I was 17 I did a few lessons, but for various reasons I could not pursue it, and I went for my second choice of psychology. The interest never waned, and now I'm just going for it. There was a real sense that it was now or never." Fearon is spurred on by the recent experience of her first flight alone. "Nothing can prepare you for the reality of flying solo. There is a great sense of freedom and an incredible silence without the instructor there. Landing a plane by myself was one of the most amazing and satisfying experiences. After that I just wanted to go up again and again and get my licence as quickly as possible." Where would she like to end up? "I would love to work with commercial airlines and, ultimately, maybe within a corporate or executive airline."