Legendary pilot and instructor Pete Gillies reflects on 48-year career

Pete Gillies: It had little, if any, effect. I was way too young to appreciate what Dad was doing. And the same with Mom, who was one of the original WASPs [Women Airforce Service Pilots] and flew military aircraft until the WASPs were disbanded. I was surrounded by aviation during those years, so it meant very little to me. It was only years later, when I had to drive over 400 miles across the hot desert to have a weekend at home from college, that I finally got my PPL Airplane ticket so three friends and I could rent a Piper Tri-Pacer and fly home and back.

I grew up on a small ranch near San Diego. My interests then were my horse, tractors, guns, my old pickup truck and my wonderful girlfriend. Aviation was not an interest at all. Dad always took time to answer questions I brought up about anything mechanical. How stuff worked. He would take time to draw things out for me and explain them in detail. I have tried to carry this on during my lifetime. I have great respect and admiration for the engineering and maintenance professions, and I’ve said for years that if I couldn’t fly, I’d want to be an AMT.

During my freshman year in college as a Forest Engineering major, I discovered amateur radio, and this changed my life completely. From that point on it was all electronics. After graduation I spent a year with Hughes Aircraft before joining the Army for two years in the Signal Corps. The next 15 years were as an R&D technician with two San Diego-based companies, during which time I obtained Commercial ASMEL and Instrument ratings and would fly corporate flights when not working on the bench. I had zero knowledge about helicopters and no use for them — way too noisy and just a bunch of parts destined to destroy each other eventually.

P.G.: The company I worked for in San Diego in 1967 specialized in designing and manufacturing equipment involved in the analysis and control of sound and vibration. I agreed to ride along in a Hughes 269B to try and figure out what was producing an annoying noise that bothered people near the airport. During the flight, the CFI asked me if I’d like to fly the helicopter. I had thousands of hours of airplane time, including dual in Lears and Citations, so naturally I thought I was possibly the second greatest pilot on Earth, and therefore could fly anything, right? Yes. Of course. The pilot gave me all three controls and said “You’ve got it!” And I did. I had it under full control — for one or two seconds at a time — after which he would say in a loud voice, “I’ve got it!” And what did he do to stabilize the machine? Absolutely nothing. What? I couldn’t believe it! I tried and tried… No joy. Back to the airport, pride and ego gone. Zero.

I agonized over this for two days, went back to the FBO, and laid $50 on the counter for one hour of dual, with a different CFI and a different helicopter — a Brantly B-2B. I became totally hooked on helicopters and have never looked back. A commercial add-on required only 25 hours of dual and solo combined, so with 26.4 hours total time I was now a commercially rated helicopter pilot, ready to fly anything with two or more rotor blades, doing any kind of job. 

I kept my day job for five years while I moonlighted any and all opportunities to fly helicopters. Traffic watch, passenger rides at Sea World, photo flights, banner towing, sling jobs, power line construction, all over San Diego County and up to 18 miles offshore with no floats. The Brantly B-2B, 269As and Bs, Bell 47s… Life was simple then; I could rent just about any helicopter in town. Insurance? Never a question. 

In October of 1972 I visited Western Helicopters in Rialto, hoping to borrow or rent a side puller for the Bell 47 I was then flying on power line construction. I was hired on the spot and given a Bell 47G-3B-1 with side puller and fuel truck to set up an operation for Western in San Diego. The rest is history… 

P.G.: Bob Jones, my CFI during 1967 in San Diego, loved autorotations and shared his enthusiasm with me. I have always thought of them as a fun maneuver and a mode of flight that all helicopters love best of all. But as a utility pilot with 48 years of flying in the field over all sorts of terrain, I have a big disagreement with how autorotations are taught to primary students. In its simplest form, an autorotation is nothing more than a flat pitch descent followed by a flare and a running landing. So simple. So easy. And so unrealistic once you’ve left the airport and the world of the PTS, ink still wet on your rotorcraft-helicopter certificate.

My expertise in doing and teaching this maneuver is based on never doing them in the sanitary and defined way mandated by the industry training programs and the need to conform to the PTS to pass initial and recurrency rides. 

A “training” autorotation and a real-world total-surprise complete engine or drive-line failure are worlds apart. This is the area I operate in. No nice smooth hard surface below. No warning whatsoever that the helicopter will instantly be without power to the rotor system. How do you handle that and live to see another sunrise? Cyclic back. Pitch down. Pick a place to land and make that spot! Period. Done. Learn how to make the helicopter go where it needs to go during the descent. How about airspeed? Doesn’t matter. Direction of flight? Doesn’t matter. What matters is having the rotor in the green and making the spot you’ve chosen. And rotor r.p.m. is the most important and critical thing to have during the descent.

I could go on and on about autorotations. There’s lots more to what I’ve touched on. Don’t get me started!

 

P.G.: Almost too many to choose from, but let me pick the one with the greatest potential for disaster.

I was doing a survey flight in the mountains in an MD 500D. The doors were off, and I had three passengers. The left-rear passenger let a “hoodie” sweatshirt leave the helicopter, and it contacted the tail rotor. There was no vibration, but also no yaw control. I was at about 60 knots IAS, and had 250 pounds of fuel on board. My altitude was about 2,500 feet above mean sea level, and I had a ridgeline about 100 feet below that was a dam construction site. There was a huge haul road in the canyon ahead. I planned to land on the road, but a large transmission line was in the way. I tried to lift over the power line, but the drag caused by the lack of doors was too great, and the helicopter began spinning to the right. I pitched full down, cyclic flare, vertical descent, with partial power applied to reduce the rate of descent, intending to make a normal landing on the ridge line below. The helicopter was now spinning at about one revolution per second, and I pulled full pitch as I felt we were about to hit. We made contact on a slope of about 20 degrees, and the ship disintegrated in pretty much all directions. 

It slowly rolled down slope and came to rest upright, fortunately, with lots more canyon ahead. We were lucky the ship stopped rolling where it did. The engine was off, but I did not turn it off. The entire instrument panel was gone. There was no glass anywhere. Somehow, the only serious injury was to the right-front passenger, who had a dislocated hip. The two rear passengers and I were able to walk away.

Why did we all survive? Because I kept some power applied during the vertical descent, minimizing the impact forces. There were no broken bones, no back injuries. Spinning is not a problem; hitting hard is a problem. Don’t chop the throttle to keep from spinning. Use the engine and rotor system to generate thrust to reduce the impact forces in a case like this. It worked! Never stop flying the aircraft.

P.G.: A pilot who wants to learn, wants to share, wants to teach, and has a goal of helping the student become the best pilot in the business. Remember that we are all students forever. Leave your pride and ego at home. Vow to lift every pilot you fly with to your level of skill and knowledge with the hope that they will continue on and be the best ever in the business.

P.G.: When you spend a few hours in the cockpit with a true “been there and done that” pilot, and you see his or her eyes light up with a “Wow! Did I do that?!” look on their face, you have just felt the tremendous satisfaction that comes from flight instruction. A firm hand shake or fist bump or hug after a flight session is very addictive for both parties. You know you’ve connected. Knowledge and skill has been transferred. You’ve done your job well. 

The flip side is when your student for the first time is able to hover successfully while handling all three controls. The surprise and smile of amazement and pride will always be there.

This has happened to me countless times since 1975. It has made me a better pilot in every way, but the true joy comes from being able to see how one has helped fellow pilots reach their goals and become well known and respected in our industry. One’s legacy is important. Leave it all here. Don’t take anything with you when you hang up your helmet.