I got a call at breakfast yesterday. Normally this means that something has blown up, or gone off the rails, or taken hostages or some other screwup that causes people like me to drop what we’re doing and get into the air.
But not yesterday. Yesterday’s call was to tell me that a friend and fellow pilot had been killed. The cause was a wire stike - by far the leading cause of fatal helicopter accidents.
James Harrison III was a helicopter pilot veteran of the Vietnam war, who came home and was the finest pilot I have ever known, and I’ve known some very good pilots. He had become an instructor - one of the more dangerous of the helicopter professions, one of the least well-paid, yet one of the most vital.
I last saw Jim on September 26th of this year. Every two years we Commercial pilots are required to prove our competence in something called a Biennial Flight Review, or BFR. I went to Jim for it, and we had a great time as usual, with him playing the game of “I chop the throttle and see if I can catch you napping.” He didn’t catch me that day.
When I had to checkout in the helicopter I am currently flying, it was Jim who showed me how to get a really long glide in it following an engine-out, it was Jim who showed me how to aggressively kill excess speed at the end of an emergency landing. He showed me things to do with a helicopter than no-one else ever had. He had more knowledge and airmanship ability than anyone else I have ever seen, and was more than generous with his knowledge.
He was a kind man, an excellent instuctor, and a damn’ fine pilot. He will be missed.