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A day in the life of a helicopter pilot in the offshore wind turbine sector

By James Donald

Published on: April 14, 2021
Estimated reading time 21 minutes, 55 seconds.

Offshore wind farm support is one of the fastest-growing sectors of the helicopter industry. Particularly common in Europe, many of these operations require flights to wind farms in the unpredictable North Sea.

Photos by Florian Hoelzel

Life has a funny way of working itself out. From a very young age, I always wanted to be an aviator; my first inspirational moment was a primary school trip to what was then Bond Offshore Helicopters, now Babcock, in Aberdeen, Scotland. This fueled my desire to fly.

Pilot James Donald gives a thumbs up alongside his hoist technician. James Donald Photo

There would be many hurdles to overcome, not least the advice of my school careers advisor, who told me that I would be “wasting my time” and that it was unlikely that I would become a pilot. Ten years later, I proved him wrong by gaining my commercial helicopter ratings.

After some time as an instructor on the south coast of England, I began flying Sikorsky S-92s out of Aberdeen and Shetland, taking me full circle back to that primary school trip. I spent four enjoyable and interesting years doing the oil-and-gas runs to and from enormous platforms located in one of the world’s harshest flying environments. Then, in 2015, the oil price collapsed, ending my time in the S-92.

At first, it felt like a huge blow to my career. But the disappointing situation in which I found myself was, with hindsight, a great stroke of luck. The experience I had gained opened the door to a different form of flying that I had not previously considered.

Donald transitioned to hoist flights to offshore wind turbines having previously served the offshore oil and gas industry.

I obtained an Airbus EC135 type rating and began sending out resumes and cover letters like a machine gun in the hope that an opportunity might present itself. And so it did. Before I knew it, I had moved to Germany and was attending a hoisting course.

The training was an intense couple of months, after which I was sent to the company’s various bases. There were four in total, but one, in particular, stood out to be the most challenging: the infamous Heligoland. This rock, lying in the middle of the German Bight in the southeastern corner of the North Sea, is steeped in history, having changed ownership several times over the centuries, and was devastated by bombing during two world wars.

Nowadays, for most of the year, this tiny island is battered by wind, rain, hail, sleet, and snow. There are three large windfarms located to the north of the island, and our job was to fly technicians to them when sea conditions didn’t allow boat operations. We had to fly alongside the “basket” located at the top of the wind turbine, and lower the technicians and cargo down on a hoist. After some training, this became quite routine. We were trained to work as a team, and to maneuver the aircraft close to the target. Teamwork is essential in this kind of work, particularly when it involves a “dead turbine,” where we carry out the task while the turbine blades are still slowly moving. It certainly demands a lot of trust in your hoist operator.

A technician is hoisted down to a platform to perform critical maintenance work.

When the days are bright and blue, things are generally quite straightforward, but it becomes significantly more challenging when the conditions are poor. Weather in the North Sea can change seemingly at the flick of a switch, especially in winter, making planning much harder. When working within the wind parks, flying must be visual flight rules (VFR) and there are limits to which we must adhere to ensure safety. This means at least a 600-foot (180-meter) cloud base and 1.25 miles (two kilometers) horizontal visibility, so the wind turbines remain visible.

You get to know the technicians well and build a rapport with them. You feel great responsibility for them and their safety while doing the job. 

Completing the drop

On one particular winter’s day with a howling wind and blowing rain, my hoist operator and I made the 20-minute walk to the hangar at 6 a.m. to prepare the aircraft and do the flight planning. In the warmth of the hangar, my hoist operator, who is also a trained technician, looked over the EC135 to double check that the aircraft was all set to go. I set to work gathering all the information needed for the mission, which was to take one team up to the most northern wind park for one client, return to the island to refuel, and then fly another team to the wind park furthest south.

The EC/H135 is well suited to the work. Helitravel’s EC135s were equipped with Collins Aerospace Goodrich hoists.

I obtained the weather from the relevant sources and it was not looking great. My concern was focused on an active squall line going east-west about 40 nautical miles (75 kilometers) north of the northern wind park. I needed to confirm that it was not going to move south to where we were due to be operating. After some more in-depth evaluation and discussion with the met office, I was assured that it wouldn’t do so. The cloud base was at approximately 1,000 feet (305 meters) and the visibility at 2.1 nautical miles (four kilometers), with a lot of moisture in the air. It was eerie, almost misty. Following the met office confirmation and having discussed the situation with my hoist operator, we both agreed that it was safe to do the drop-off. 

As per standard operating procedure, once we were all in our offshore survival suits and lifejackets, we briefed the hoist team on the weather situation, where we were planning to go, and advised them to keep an eye on the conditions in and around the wind park when they could. Even though wind parks all have remote cameras to monitor the area, “eyeballing” it is far better than relying on cameras.

Landing at an offshore platform alongside a wind farm. While clear days in the North Sea can make operations straightforward, the weather in the region can change quickly.

The helicopter was pulled out of the hanger, refueled, loaded with the guys and cargo, and within 30 minutes we were airborne. We climbed through misty skies to 1,000 feet and I engaged the autopilot. I carried out the after-take-off and cruise checks, and travelling at 120 knots (140 mph) we would be at the destination in 30 minutes. I contacted the control room on the island, requesting clearance into the wind park and confirmation that the designated wind turbine was in the correct position for hoisting. 

“Helitravel 24D, you have a green light for entering the windfarm and a green light for hoisting on A17,” came the response.

Pre-landing checks completed, we landed on the wind park’s platform and my hoist operator helped one of the technicians off the aircraft with the cargo. This made us a bit lighter, and ensured we were within the aircraft’s limits should we lose an engine while hoisting over the turbine. The two other technicians remained on the aircraft to be dropped at the top of the 400-foot (120-meter) platform on the turbine. It was essential that a minimum of two personnel remained on the turbine at any one time. 

With engines returned to “flight” from “idle” and pre-takeoff and hoist checks complete, we lifted for the turbine. 

“Cabin double check,” I said. 

“Cabin checked, secured and ready for hoist,” replied my hoist operator replied. 

Climbing up to 400 feet over the sea, I called: “Speed below 60, you are cleared to open the door.” 

There was an increase in airflow in the aircraft and a considerable increase in noise through my helmet’s headset as the wind interfered with my hoist operator’s mic. Slowly and positively, I maneuvered the aircraft into a safe position for my hoist operator. I gave him the all-clear to hoist, and then it was over to him. 

Holding my position just above, but next to the basket, I checked what power I was using in the hover. I told my hoist operator that we were “safe single” — meaning that should we lose an engine, we had two minutes to maintain our position, sort the situation out, and fly away, rather than fly away immediately. 

He had me in control: “Right three, two, one… stop. Hold position. Position good. Passenger at the door. Passenger out of the aircraft. Passenger below the skid, reeling out. Three to the ground, two to the ground, one to the ground… passenger on ground. Unhooked and clear. Cable reeling in. Cleared to come left.” 

Good communication with your hoist technician is essential for this line of work, as is trust between you.

I maneuvered the aircraft left and away from the structure so that my hoist operator could help the second passenger come to the open door, which led out to a 400-foot drop to the raging sea below. Once seated in the doorway, the call came, “Ready to hoist!”

“You’re cleared to hoist,” I replied, and started repositioning the aircraft closer to the turbine while being guided by my additional eyes in the back. About 12 feet (3.5 meters) from the basket, the whir of the Goodrich hoist began again. 

Once the second technician was safely on the turbine, we returned to the platform, quickly loaded the cargo with the help of the third technician, and within minutes were airborne again. The door was wide open up to the turbine, with the cargo outside and hanging off the hoist, all ready to be lowered to the two technicians waiting below. We quickly transferred the cargo down, and then the third technician joined his teammates to start their day’s work. With a nod from me and a wave from the hoist operator, we flew away. After completing the hoisting checks, along with a radio check with the team on the turbine, we returned to Heligoland to pick up our next team and repeat the task in the southern wind park.

Changeable conditions

Back at the base following the southern trip, we had two teams safely on their respective turbines. It was just a matter of waiting for the call for pick up or a request for any parts or equipment to be delivered.

With the aircraft refueled and ready to go, we kept a close eye on the weather, which we knew wasn’t great. No calls came from the wind parks or the control room, so things seemed to be going as planned. The call came in about 1 p.m. to pick up the team from the southern wind park. 

As we made our way south, the weather seemed to have deteriorated somewhat from the met office and charts briefing. From experience, I had a distinct feeling that something was brewing. We got clearance into the wind park and managed to collect all three technicians and the cargo under darkening skies, with clouds that were closing in fast. 

We radioed ahead to the control room of the team still on the other turbine, advising them that the weather was quickly deteriorating and that we needed to get the team mobilized, ready for us to come and do an early pick-up. 

The clouds continued to darken and it was apparent that things were not going in our favor. On landing, we quickly shut the aircraft down and started our refuel for the second recovery flight as the first team left with their cargo. Suddenly, a serious downpour engulfed us. Visibility dropped to about 1.25 miles or less, and the cloud base was clearly lowering.

A communications tower on the island, which rose to approximately 600 feet, provided a good guide for cloud base — and it was just above it. I spoke with my hoist operator about the evolving situation and whether he was still happy to continue. After some discussion and quickly looking at the met office weather radar, we agreed that it was safe to make our way back up to the wind farm to pick up the second team, though we needed to leave immediately to beat the weather. We certainly did not want to leave them on the turbine overnight, despite the fact they had emergency provisions for such an event.

Flashing the Pratt and Whitney engines up, we set off. We climbed to 600 feet and as we anticipated, that was where the cloud base was. We were at our limits for hoisting if it stayed like this. The cloud slowly began enveloping us and, though instrument flight rules rated, it was certainly not a nice place to be. It quickly became evident that we weren’t going to make it to the wind park for the pickup, and reviewing the situation as a crew we reluctantly elected to return back to base. 

The cloud forced us lower and lower as we made our way back to the island. We found ourselves at about 300 feet (90 meters) in intermittent cloud and poor visibility. I reduced my airspeed to 50 knots (57 mph) on the autopilot, set the RADALT hold and descended the aircraft to 100 feet above the white-topped waves. We broke cloud at about 150 feet (45 meters). The weather had changed unexpectedly rapidly. 

There, through the murk, tracking the VOR needle, were the lights of Heligoland, its lighthouse struggling to cut through the rain and cloud that engulfed it. Steadily heading towards the island and keeping its lights in sight, we knew we would make it back safely. As we landed, we had a sinking feeling that the guys were now stuck on the turbine for the night as darkness would follow very soon.

Speaking to the met office center who had given us the weather forecast, we got an immediate apology. They hadn’t anticipated a weather system that had been developing over the mainland to move north to us. While this situation was out of our control, it was a very real reminder that the weather in this part of the world can change in an instant, and that you should never underestimate the power of mother nature. It also reiterated that unless it is a life or death situation, there is always another option. The guys on the turbine were picked up by boat later that night when the sea had settled down, and were returned safely to the island.

Offshore wind operations now seem to be moving to multi-pilot, especially as the wind parks are located further and further from shore. Having enjoyed an amazing two years in Germany, working with a great bunch of guys, and learning the skills of hoisting to offshore wind turbines, I decided to return back to the U.K. to start work at the world’s largest wind park, Hornsea. I am now firmly part of the “new” offshore industry — wind — and look forward to flying and hoisting with one of the newest aircraft in the market, the AW169.

As wind farms are built farther from shore, there is a growing trend towards multi-pilot operations. Dino Grumman Photo

If there is one thing I have taken from all my work experiences, it’s that life is too short not to take opportunities when they come along. When it comes to careers, if you get the chance, take it. Follow your heart, listen to your gut, and do what is right by you. 

Editor’s note: This story originally appeared in therotorbreak.com.

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