A flying life written in flight logs
At the end of each flight, after I’ve shut down the engine, tied down the plane and squared away my flight gear, there’s one final task to be completed—the filling out of my flight log. In this case, a slender, rectangular book filled with lined and columned pages. I write down the basics of the flight, filling out, from left to right: the date, the plane type and identification, my point of departure and arrival, whether it was a training flight or I was pilot-in-command, the flight conditions (night, instrument, etc), whether it was a local or cross-country flight, how many landings I made and the total flight time. At the end of the page, there’s a block for remarks. In this space I’ll write down things such as the number and type of approaches I flew, the purpose of the flight (lunch with a friend, a flight with my father to the Baseball Hall of Fame, or perhaps a beach day with my wife) or something noteworthy about the flight itself (“Emergency landing!”). These are the moments of my flying career, a shorthand chronicle of my personal milestones and adventures.
The practice of keeping logs, said Tom Crouch, senior curator at the National Air & Space Museum in Washington, D.C., dates back much further than aviation itself. “Ships kept logs for millennia,” he said. The logs listed in chronological order the various voyages, the places of port, purpose of voyage, position reports, details about the cargo and the crew, and any noteworthy observations or incidents. The logs could be used as a legal document in cases of disputes over pay, or as a tool in the investigation of a disaster.
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| My collection of flight logs. |
At the end of each flight, after I’ve shut down the engine, tied down the plane and squared away my flight gear, there’s one final task to be completed—the filling out of my flight log. In this case, a slender, rectangular book filled with lined and columned pages. I write down the basics of the flight, filling out, from left to right: the date, the plane type and identification, my point of departure and arrival, whether it was a training flight or I was pilot-in-command, the flight conditions (night, instrument, etc), whether it was a local or cross-country flight, how many landings I made and the total flight time. At the end of the page, there’s a block for remarks. In this space I’ll write down things such as the number and type of approaches I flew, the purpose of the flight (lunch with a friend, a flight with my father to the Baseball Hall of Fame, or perhaps a beach day with my wife) or something noteworthy about the flight itself (“Emergency landing!”). These are the moments of my flying career, a shorthand chronicle of my personal milestones and adventures.
Logs have been around as long as aviation itself. The Wright Brothers kept detailed notebooks, recording in dispassionate detail the results of their experiments. After his landmark flight of December 17, 1903, Orville Wright wrote: “The machine lifted from the truck just as it was entering on the fourth rail. Mr. Daniels took a picture just as it left the tracks.” The machine, as Wright called it, flew unsteadily for “about 100 feet from the end of the tracks” before darting into the ground. Time aloft: about 12 seconds.
In most cases, logs are pro forma, listing in dry notation the very basics of a flight. During flight training student pilots need to keep a log in order to prove the minimum requirements needed to get a private license, and later on as they advance through the ratings and aircraft types. Some logs are more elaborate, taking the form of diaries or scrapbooks. But whether they detail a single flight, a pilot's entire career, or even the history of a single airplane, logs are a part of the history and culture of flying.
In some cases, they contain milestones in the history of aviation. In either case, they tell a story, and can give us an insight into a time and place in aviation history.
On December 23, 1986. after more than nine days of dodging storms, battling fatigue, troubleshooting multiple mechanical problems and constantly worrying about whether he and co-pilot Jeana Yeager would have enough fuel to make it home, pilot Dick Rutan gently guided the twin-engine Voyager onto the runway at Edwards Air Force Base in California to the cheers of thousands of well-wishers, completing the first non-stop flight around the globe without refueling. After shutting down the engines and securing the aircraft, Rutan was handed his flight log.
Opening the book to the first open line, Rutan began filling in the blocks. Date: Dec. 14-23; Aircraft Make and Model: Voyager; Aircraft Identification Mark: 269VA; Points of Departure and Arrival/From: EDW(Edwards Air Force Base); To: EDW (penning in an arrow between the two with the notation: 25,012 Stat Miles; No. of Landings: 1; Conditions of Flight/Night: 98; Actual Instrument: 88; Total Duration of Flight: 216.3.
Then, in a small space reserved for “Remarks,” Rutan wrote in World Flight. He then added a little flourish: little smiley face, perhaps chuckling to himself. At the time, any flight that ended at the same place it began was considered by the FAA to be a “local” flight. For Rutan, this flight was “just once around the patch.”
Then, in a small space reserved for “Remarks,” Rutan wrote in World Flight. He then added a little flourish: little smiley face, perhaps chuckling to himself. At the time, any flight that ended at the same place it began was considered by the FAA to be a “local” flight. For Rutan, this flight was “just once around the patch.”
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| The pages of Dick Rutan's flight log for his record nonstop global flight, completed Dec. 23, 1986. |
The practice of keeping logs, said Tom Crouch, senior curator at the National Air & Space Museum in Washington, D.C., dates back much further than aviation itself. “Ships kept logs for millennia,” he said. The logs listed in chronological order the various voyages, the places of port, purpose of voyage, position reports, details about the cargo and the crew, and any noteworthy observations or incidents. The logs could be used as a legal document in cases of disputes over pay, or as a tool in the investigation of a disaster.
The Wrights' diaries and research notes cover everything from the brothers' aeronautical research to their financial dealings, and as such are more than simply a flight log. “The Wright brothers’ notes really served a dual purpose,” said Crouch. “They were a historical record of what they achieved, to be sure, but they needed a record of everything that happened for their engineering.”
One of the earliest dedicated flight logs in existence is that of Benjamin D. Foulois, an Army lieutenant with a background in ballooning. In 1909, Foulois was ordered to take possession of the Army's one and only airplane, designated Signal Corps No. 1, a Wright Model B twin pusher plane. Dispatched to Fort Sam Houston in Texas, his mission was, he later wrote, “to learn the secrets of flight with a minimum of damage to me and the machine (in that order), and experiment with the airplane, design, the engine, and its fuel and oil systems for use in making future airplane and engine specifications.” His handwritten log covers a period from February 1910 to July 1911, and records in day-to-day fashion Foulois' trials getting the plane assembled and ready for flight, the details of his 64 flights, as well as his many frustrations with weather delays, breakdowns, and frequent mishaps. His total time in the air: Nine hours and 10 minutes.
Foulois' journal—like all those of the early aviation pioneers who kept written records—was personally produced. As the military became increasingly involved with aviation, the logbook would become a more standardized document.
Founded in 1912, Britain's Royal Flying Corps (in 1917 becoming the RAF) issued logbooks to its pilots. The books, which look much like ship's or seaman's logs produced at the time, contain pages lined and columned with headings to be filled in. The grid format provides for a more uniform collection and review of data and is, from an airman's point of view, simpler to complete. In one example from 1913, the pilot penned in on one page the date of a flight, the machine, passenger, time in the air (broken into hours and minutes) and course. On the opposite page, they wrote in the height achieved, distance, weather and remarks. In looking at the entries, it’s interesting to note their rationale given the limitations of the technology at the time. The planes were invariably slow and unreliable, capable of carrying only light loads (thus “passenger” in the singular) over short distances (thus “course” and “distance” versus “route” and “destination”) and invariably in smooth air with light winds (thus the generalized category for weather). At this time, there are no stamps or endorsements indicating that such logs were mandated by higher-ups. If anything, the purpose of the log seems as much to document the capability of the planes as that of the pilots. At this point in aviation history, all pilots were essentially test pilots.
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| Flight log of Royal Air Force bomber pilot, 1943. |
Logbooks also became an important component of civil aviation. In the United States, barnstormers, airline pilots, and airmail carriers all kept logs, in many cases simply to make sure they were properly paid. The Air Commerce Act of 1926, which set forth the first regulations governing the certification of aircraft and licensing of pilots, also made flight logs a requirement. In addition to setting down the rules and basic format of a pilot’s log, the act required logbooks to be regularly certified. The law also mandated logs recording the maintenance of individual aircraft. Before this, maintaining aircraft generally fell to the pilots who flew them. But as the technology became more complex and maintenance became more specialized, logs were deemed necessary to document an individual aircraft’s mechanical history and airworthiness.
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| The Parker P-51 pen, namesake for "P-51 time." |
The Civil Aeronautics Administration in 1940 relaxed the rules governing pilots’ logs. The new rules mandated that pilots keep only a “record of the flight time used to substantiate recent experience or qualifications for certification or ratings.” No verification was necessary; when it came to logging most of their flight hours, pilots were on an honor system. Airlines considering a new hire first looked at a pilot’s total hours, generally requiring a minimum of around 1,500, so the rules became an invitation to lie. The practice of padding a logbook with “P-51 time” (so-called for a popular pen, the Parker 51) became a well-known, if seldom admitted, practice. Though the consequences of getting caught are serious (falsifying a pilot’s log is a federal offense), “it probably happens more than you realize,” said Barry Schiff, a retired TWA pilot and aviation writer. In most cases, he said, the culprits are never caught unless an incident prompts a closer look. Investigators can sometimes check the accuracy of a log by cross-referencing it with records kept by insurance companies, airport operators, and air traffic control. And today, with all aircraft required to have equipment onboard that broadcasts their position, all flights can be tracked and recorded.
Freed from the obligation of keeping a regular flight log, many career pilots gave it up as soon as they get their ticket. “There's no reason,” explained retired Col. Leonard L. Griggs, who quit keeping his pilot's log soon after getting his wings in the early 1960s. A pilot in Vietnam who went on to a career at the FAA and as head of Lambert International Airport in St. Louis, Griggs said he let his bosses track all his time. Keeping a logbook, he explained, was a useless chore. Besides, “nobody corroborates them. It's like reporting your golf score.”
Like Griggs, many airline pilots don't keep a log. Same goes for most astronauts, according to NASA.
Nevertheless, said Schiff, most pilots do maintain a personal log, if for no other reason as a habit ingrained from their student pilot days. The books also become a kind of diary. For Schiff, “Flying has been the centerpiece of my life since I was 14. My first logbook begins in 1952 and I wouldn't take it anywhere. It's a treasure.” Over the course of his more than 50-year career, Schiff amassed more than 27,000 hours of time in the air. His collection of logbooks stack more than 14 inches high.
Though most pilots stick with the standard flight log, a few get more creative, squeezing in expanded descriptions of a particular flight or even creating more elaborate scrapbooks to document their flying. “I've run into some international pilots who pasted into their logbooks stamps or coins from every country they visited,” said Schiff. For some reason, Schiff said, “overseas pilots are more dedicated to keeping an accurate log.” Exactly why, Schiff wasn't sure.
As an aviation writer, Schiff said, “I'm constantly going into my logbooks to find when a certain event happened if I'm going to write about it.”
The bottom line in a pilot's log is total hours. While it tells nothing about how those hours were accumulated, it gives a thumbnail sketch of a pilot's commitment and dedication to flying. A pilot’s total hours can be a point of pride, a badge of honor.
My collection of logbooks stands at just four, representing a current total of 2,400 hours of flight time—more than some, less than many—but they are some of the fondest moments of my life. They include my first solo; the day I got my private license; a flight down the Hudson River Corridor with my father; my second date with my future wife, flying over the beaches of Cape Ann; a cross-country trip across the American West with my son tracing the route of the Oregon Trail from Kansas to the northwest coast; a moment during cross-country flight above the clouds when an air traffic controller alerted me to oncoming traffic—a “flight of four”—and suddenly there are four WWII warbirds off my nose, and one, perhaps knowing I’m there, peals off and does a loop—an airshow for an audience of one.
My collection of logbooks stands at just four, representing a current total of 2,400 hours of flight time—more than some, less than many—but they are some of the fondest moments of my life. They include my first solo; the day I got my private license; a flight down the Hudson River Corridor with my father; my second date with my future wife, flying over the beaches of Cape Ann; a cross-country trip across the American West with my son tracing the route of the Oregon Trail from Kansas to the northwest coast; a moment during cross-country flight above the clouds when an air traffic controller alerted me to oncoming traffic—a “flight of four”—and suddenly there are four WWII warbirds off my nose, and one, perhaps knowing I’m there, peals off and does a loop—an airshow for an audience of one.
The books, and the memories they contain, are a treasure to me.
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