View from the tower
There can be little doubt that an airport looks its best from the control tower. True, pilots may lay claim to this, insisting that nothing equals the view from the front office window of an airplane in the final stages of its approach, but for earthbound controllers, the tower is absolute tops.
The panorama afforded by the wraparound windows set at 60 or more feet above ground level is nothing short of breathtaking and the sight of the tiny airplanes, ground vehicles and people moving far below transports one back right into our childhoods’ dream world of model railways. In addition, there is very little happening at an airport without the tower people being aware of it and this tends to impart a sense of power. It is only natural that controllers in the tower should have their share of stories to tell.
After passing my written tests, my first appointment had been as a trainee for aerodrome control. There were two other guys on my shift, one of them an old hand, our instructor, the other one only a few months ahead of me in seniority, but already fully licensed. As it happened these two could not strike it off very well together, always finding some excuse to get into an argument. The arguments were invariably lively, often being just short of violent and the subjects encompassed the widest possible variety with the least possible connection to the work at hand or to aviation for that matter.
For me, this afforded a unique opportunity. Apparently they had absolute trust in my abilities and in a very short time indeed I found myself working without supervision, while the two of them fought it out in the background. This was a tremendous boost to my ego, the somewhat shaky grounds for this trust notwithstanding.
Our runway was being extended at the time, but to keep traffic moving even when the work was being done right next to it, the first 300 meters were closed down . This had the effect of making airplanes fly higher over the work area, thus making everyone happy. When they got around to putting on the topmost layer of asphalt, however, this could only be done when no plane was nearby, as the steam-rollers were too high to be left on the new stretch of runway when a plane swooped overhead. We got around this problem by warning the construction supervisor over the radio a few minutes before a plane was due to arrive. This way they had time to pull their equipment over to the side, to a safe distance from the runway.
As usual, I was full of the pleasure of issuing landing clearances and when my two friends got into one of their customary arguments, it was just fine by me. That I somehow forgot to warn the steam-roller operator of an approaching plane came as a bit of a surprise. It was dark, the pilot came in low, touching down just at the far end of the closed-off 300 meter section, and the next thing we heard was the slightly shaken voice of the construction supervisor as he cheerfully announced:
“Tower, for your information, we can lie down on our bellies here, but we find it rather difficult to turn the steam-roller on its side…”.
I finished my trainee period in the tower under proper supervision.
Night shifts in the tower
There is a lot of discussion these days on duty cycles, fatigue, sleep patterns and so on. We had the solution (of sorts…) decades ago. Night shifts in the tower were an experience unto themselves. At this particular airport there was very little traffic after midnight and it was only natural (though against regulations), that controllers should find a case for getting some shut eye. People react differently to having to stay awake in the small hours of the morning and the temptation to close up shop can be strong indeed. We took turns at who would answer the odd aircraft with the impudence of departing at night, with the rest of the shift immersed deep in the sleep of the honest and true. The controller detailed for watch this particular night was one of the heavy sleepers and was far away in nod land when good old Aeroflot asked for clearance to start engines for a flight to Moscow. Our controller woke up enough to coordinate the flight’s en-route clearance, switch on the lights on the taxiways leading to the runway-in-use, but after delivering the clearance to the pilot over the radio, he went back to sleep. And not a light sleep, either.
The Aeroflot captain taxied to the runway, and finding it dark, but also because rules required it, he called for line-up and take-off clearance. There was no response from the tower. The poor chap called again, no doubt switching to his reserve set, but again, there was no reply. Holding in front of a darkened runway, with his engines gulping fuel, he must have guessed the reason for this strange silence. Knowing full well that there could be no approaching airplane nearby (who would try to land on a dark runway, after all), he applied power and carefully inched his machine onto the runway. He had had plenty of experience in this, having taken off from many a dark strip in the icy world of far away Siberia.
Bold now as his landing lights, switched to full power, swept the long expanse of concrete, he took off with a roar, albeit without a clearance. He must have been an understanding soul, this Aeroflot captain, for once airborne, he switched to the departure frequency, announced his take-off and without uttering a single word of complaint, flew off into the night.
The first rays of the rising sun woke our controller and all of a sudden memories came crowding him. He did clear an aircraft to taxi to runway 31, but where the hell was that aircraft now? “Just about this time landing at destination”- was the reply center gave to his carefully phrased quarry…
Sometimes the fact that controllers too, liked their sleep was a matter of common understanding between flight crews and those in the tower. Our friendly local airline used the quiet night hours to conduct their training flights. Once other traffic trailed off, they were the only ones in the air, doing endless rounds in the traffic circuit. This was a real bore to watch on the ground and any clearances issued to them were purely a formality. There just was no other traffic to separate them from. Believe it or not, there had been airports like this and not in some out of the way country, either.
Well, one night a controller happened on the phrase “You are alone Oscar Golf”- and the training captain took the hint. “Tower, roger on that, we will call you after we have finished”- and that was that. The controller understood also. Oscar Golf flew circuit after circuit, completely alone now, with not even the radio to keep them company.
Their next call (“You can switch off the runway lights, bye, bye!”) came some three hours later, and looking up drowsily, the controller saw
that the aircraft was already parked on the apron, with its propellers spinning down slowly. The “procedure” caught on quickly and the night training flights were looked upon more kindly after that.
Looking back from the perspective of many years, all this appears terribly irresponsible, but whichever gods were assigned to protect controllers had been with us and we survived this period without mishaps.