The auto-biographical story of Lark Parson’s career
IN THE BEGINNING, Roy Morgan created Air Methods…and saw that it was good. Then Roy said, “Let there be professional single pilot IFR pilots and single pilot IFR aircraft!” And he made it so…and he saw that it was good. He then took “Three-Five Mike” and left the land of “The Mile High,” crossing the mountains to the land of “The Grand Junction.” There he enlightened the Saint Mary of the possibilities of single pilot IFR in the transport of the sick and dying to places of higher care. The Saint Mary saw that it was good and took him in.
And the rest, as they say, is history!
At this same time, as Roy was out begatin’ new programs in Greeley, Aurora, and Texarkana, The Wild Woman and I were doing some begatin’ of our own in Fort Collins, Colorado. We had three kids, a nice little house, and life was good. After leaving the Army as an aviator and maintenance test pilot, I found that I had too few hours to command a high paying pilot job in the civilian world. There were too many Viet Nam era pilots still around competing for the same jobs I wanted. So I was flying for a real estate broker showing farm and ranch land all over northern Colorado and southern Wyoming. Started with an Enstrom (that no self-respecting pilot would be seen in), talked the broker into a Hughes 500 (Fun! Fun! Fun!), and ended up in a JetRanger that I dolled up with a wood grain panel and a stereo, and had all the headsets wired up stereo, too. When I interviewed for that job and didn’t turn and run when he told me it was an Enstrom, I got the job…by default, I think. And just like that, for no particular reason, I was a Real Estate Pilot!
The majority of folks I flew had never been in a helicopter, and a large percentage of those had never flown in anything. I learned a lot about flying passengers and how to make them comfortable while getting away with all kinds of maneuvers…safely, of course. After all, if they aren’t comfortable and focused on the property being shown, then this is just a free helicopter ride…and we weren’t in that business.
Roy Morgan was known throughout the Front Range as “Mr. Helicopter.” One day, we got word that Roy had quit at Public Service Company of Colorado where everyone thought he was in line to be the Director of the Aviation Department. The rumor was that he went to Grand Junction to start an EMS helicopter program there. We thought that would be the last we heard of him.
A few years later, the real estate market in northern Colorado went bust. The broker had to sell the helicopter, and I was out of a job. After a year out of work, I interviewed with Kent Boyack, the Air Methods chief pilot. A couple weeks later, he called to offer me a job in Bend, Oregon…or it might have been Salt Lake (they both came on line about then). I turned him down because I had just accepted a job with Public Service Company of Colorado patrolling power lines…Roy’s old position! A simple enough job; the goal being to keep the power lines right outside the door so the lineman could see them at all times and inspect them. When I showed them I could do that without scaring anyone, they gave me the job. And just like that, for no particular reason, I was a powerline patrol pilot!
The flying was exciting, especially when we were in the mountains. Full power going up the mountain and autorotation coming down the other side, then full power on again to catch it at the bottom, all at 50 to a 100 feet off the ground with the wire just outside the door. They had a JetRanger, which I flew, and a 206 L-3 that the lead pilot used. One day, the lead was supposed to take some engineers up to Jasper Lake in the Indian Peaks Wilderness Area to inspect the dam. Because of the load and the altitude, they needed the L-3, but the lead was sick. He did my transition over the phone, assuring me that it flew just like the JetRanger, but there were a couple things different about starting it is all. And just like that, for no particular reason, I was a 206L-3 Pilot!
One of my first landings in an L-3 was at 10,800 feet. The only cargo we brought along that day was my fishing pole. While they were out inspecting the dam, I was catching a limit of trout. The next time I flew the L-3, the lead had gone on vacation, and I had to take some pipeline guys up to patrol a gas line over the Eisenhower Tunnel…12,000 feet. Again, I got my instructions over the phone. He warned me that when climbing at full power up the mountainside not to let the airspeed get below 40 kts or the thing would start to spin. There isn’t enough tailrotor to keep it under control. Sure enough, at 12,000 feet with full power on climbing straight up the mountain, as the airspeed bled off to 40, the pedal was at the stop and the nose was starting to turn. I had to bank away from the mountain, dump the nose and get the airspeed back before joining the line again and continuing on. Did that twice. It’s called LTE (loss of tailrotor effectiveness, and I’m a believer!), which we didn’t have a name for because it wasn’t widely known or understood in those days.
I soon found out why Roy bailed out of this job: the company is full of back-stabbing factions trying to jockey for positions of favor. They succeeded in forcing the aviation director to retire, and as he went out the door, he told me to watch my back because they were coming after me next. And, sure enough, after just two months on the job, they came after me because I was holding the job that they wanted for a crony. When I saw what kind of support I was going to get from the new director, I was kind of glad to get out of there. And warned him, as I went out the door, that he was next and good luck! A month later, they took him down.
So that’s my background. The mid-eighties was a bad time for a helicopter pilot to be out of work. The offshore industry was laying off, and that flooded the corporate market so the pickin’s were slim. After another year without steady work, I was reaching for the phone to call the bank and offer them a partial payment on the mortgage since we just didn’t have it. Then, the phone rang just as I touched it. When I picked it up, Steve Scully was on the line asking if I was looking for work. I had checked Steve out in JetRangers when he was an instructor down at JeffCo in Broomfield. He was now the chief pilot for Air Methods. I told him that I was indeed looking for work. He said he had an opening. I said I would take it. He was surprised that I didn’t want to know about it first. I said that I didn’t care where it was, I would take it. It was in Texarkana. I said that would be fine. He said I would have to pass an instrument checkride first. Even though I hadn’t flown instruments in ten years, I told him I would pass his ride. He said to be at Air Methods in the morning for an interview. After hand-propping my little rag-wing Pacer (because the battery was dead, and I couldn’t afford a new one) I flew down to Centennial and met with Steve and Marty Martin. They promised me all the hunting and fishing I wanted to do and all the book reading and TV watching I cared to do, all that would be required of me was to come to work on time in a clean uniform and pass the checkrides whenever they came due. I said, “Okay.” That was June 23, 1986.
The reason I got a job with Air Methods in the first place is due to MICRO-MANAGEMENT. The Texarkana program couldn’t seem to keep pilots for more than a couple of months before they quit. Someone finally figured out that the area manager was a mega-micro-manager. He posted a daily schedule and expected his pilots to adhere to it without question. True story: he walked in one day and found the pilot with his feet on the desk reading a book. Went over to the bulletin board and looked at the schedule, then his watch, and said, “It’s 12 minutes after 10 o’clock. You’re supposed to be polishing the mirror in the bathroom!”
The pilot responded, “I polished that mirror yesterday at 12 minutes after 10 and haven’t looked in it since, so there was no way it needs polishing again!”
“I don’t like your attitude, Boy!” It went downhill fast from there. And that’s what created the opening for me to get in with Air Methods. They fired the manager, our very first compliance evaluator, and sent Andy McJohnston and me there to stabilize and get this base going on solid ground.
I got a week of ground school and some flight training in a 206 L-3 (this is about the third time I ever got to fly one). Andy McJohnston was going through training with me, so when I was flying, he was in the back, and then we would switch places. We had stolen the aircraft from the Aurora program and had to get it back the next day, so we started early in the morning at six a.m. This was my first exposure to a helicopter with an auto-pilot. I thought it was pretty cool. By noon, we were finished with the training, but had broken the aircraft and had turned it over to the mechanics. They didn’t get done with it until late that evening. Andy took his checkride, with me in the back, and I finally got to take mine. We finished at four in the morning, 22 hours after we started the process. I got a total of almost six flight hours, including the checkride. (Duty Days were somewhat different back then.) We were all half asleep and dragging ass, but I passed. And just like that, for no particular reason, I was an EMS Helicopter Pilot!
A week later, I was in Texarkana, Arkansas at St. Michael Hospital getting a local orientation in another L-3…the fourth time I’d ever flown one. Jim Ratcliff, the area manager, got in the back and had me fly him around the local area for about twenty minutes. He pointed out the major highways and approaches to the airport and that was it. I was a little taken aback that he would get in the back and let a stranger fly him around. He said that if Steve Scully or Marty Martin said I was okay, that was okay with him. I asked how I was supposed to find these out-of-the-way places since I was not from around there. He told me that when I got a call, pull out the map and have the paramedic point to where he wanted me to take him, then take him there. “You’re a pilot and you know how to navigate, shouldn’t be a problem!” In thirty years, I have never NOT found the scene.
My first flight was to pick up an 80-year-old who was mowing the church lawn in 105 degree weather. He had a major MI, duh! I made my paramedic (285 pounds) ride the ambulance back. He was used to it, and it wasn’t the last time I made him walk. After we got a 222, I never made anyone walk ever again. This happened a year after starting there. The Air Life program upgraded to a Bell 222UT and transitioned all the pilots into it. And just like that, for no particular reason, I was a 222 Pilot!
This was the Ark-La-Tex (which included Oklahoma). In those days, very few of the volunteer fire departments in the surrounding counties had anything more than a basic EMT, if that, and even fewer with an EMT-P. They truly depended on the helicopter for way more than rapid transport. We did a lot of scene calls, carried MAST Pants and a Thumper, and used them regularly. We did a lot of inter-facility flights to hospitals in Little Rock, Dallas, Houston and Oklahoma City…many times actually filing IFR to do this. I enjoyed the challenge of going on-scene, then popping up and getting an IFR clearance to go home.
But I missed the mountains and kept bugging Rob Zwink, the chief pilot, to get me an assignment out West. Rob sent me to Farmington to talk with a goofy paramedic named Mike Berve. In February of 1992, I drove my little red 4Runner out and interviewed with Mike. I was impressed that he had more and better questions for me than I had for him. I could see immediately that this area needed a helicopter service and would be a great assignment. I called up the director of operations, Marius Burke, and told him I wanted to transfer to Farmington as soon as they made the deal. I told Marius that if they would let me, I would like to be the area manager. Darned if he didn’t say “Okay!” And just like that, for no particular reason, I was an area manager!
We got the program going in June of 1992 with a brand new Bell 206L-3 and went into service that July. Our first flight was with Brent and Brenda to Presbyterian. The fourth flight, on July 7, was with Jim Berve and Cindy Hicks up the Pine River into the Wemenuche Wilderness Area. I remember how relieved I was as we flew up the valley. When I left Colorado six years prior, I thought I would never get to fly in the mountains again, so this was special. The call was for a wrangler who was “kicked in the horse by a chest.” Lots of other confusing details, but we sorted it out and had a great outcome…one that was going to be featured on a TV program called Rescue 911! Unfortunately, we crashed that ship over on the Vallecito two months later (remember the LTE thing?) and nobody felt like dealing with a TV show anymore.
When the hospital board president, Bill Tyson, and board member, Ray Horvath, came to me after the accident, I thought that they would send me back to Texarkana and shutdown Air Care. Instead, they APOLOGIZED TO ME! I was flabbergasted. They explained that had they given us a proper helicopter that can operate at these altitudes, this wouldn’t have happened. They then asked what aircraft I recommended to replace the one we lost. That’s why I love this hospital…they have always come through for us. AMCI had just acquired a couple of 222s and were looking for a place to put them. We got a heck of a deal on a 600 hour deuce. 18 years later, after 13,000 hours, we were forced by the manufacturer to retire it and get the 429. No real regrets, but I sure do miss that helicopter. Once again, this hospital came through for us. And just like that, for no particular reason, I was a 429 Pilot!
Over the fifteen years I was manager of this base, the “area manager” title changed to “base manager” then “lead pilot.” Air Methods partnered with San Juan Regional to build the hangar and quarters that we now enjoy. I am proud to have been a part of that process. It happened when we found out during the planning of the new ER that we weren’t going to get our new hangar or quarters. I called Marty Martin and asked him to re-evaluate the contract and give the hospital a quote on the savings they would realize if the helicopter was hangared. He came through handsomely, and I got to present that proposal to the hospital COO, who was impressed enough with Air Methods’ commitment to San Juan Regional that they signed a ten year extension on the contract. With the money saved over that period, they were able to build us the hangar and quarters.
A year or so later, San Juan Regional Air Care was CAAMS certified. Mike and his staff did a great job getting all the real work done. The Air Methods side of the house already had standards in place that qualified the aviation part of the Air Care program, so I didn’t have a whole lot to do to get ready. We were the 19th program to be certified in the whole nation. This was quite a feather in our caps that I exploited more than once at meetings in Denver. The managers from the big city hospitals and their big budget flight programs couldn’t believe that little old Farmington in the middle of nowhere could show them up so badly.
The fixed-wing contract came Air Methods’ way, and I am proud that the professionalism that we brought to the table solved a number of problems that had been on-going there. But, as I told Mike at the time, we’ll solve all those problems for you, but leave you with a whole new set of challenges that you never thought of! And we have been true to our word!
Eventually, with the changes going on at Air Methods, I was happy to hand the position off to Bruce and go into “semi-retirement” as a line pilot. Apparently, Bruce has had the same epiphany and has handed off to Mark. And just like that, for no particular reason, Mark is a lead pilot!