Book: Ferry Pilot: Nine Lives Over the North Atlantic
Author: Kerry McCauley
Genre: Memoir
Rating: ★★★★★
REVIEW
Ferry Pilot opened my eyes to an entirely new side of aviation I didn’t really know about. The way McCauley writes about his experiences makes you feel like you’re right there in the cockpit with him on those crazy mission.
One of my fave stories is from The Shah’s Revenge (Ch 14) where McCauley ferries a clapped-out Cessna 310 from Cairo to Canada. The challenges he faces, from navigating bureaucracy and corrupt officials to managing the physical demands of an old aircraft had me gripping the edge of my seat. You can’t help but admire his ability to stay calm under pressure while simultaneously questioning how he made it through alive.
Another memorable moment comes in where he ferries a Cessna 210 across Africa to Dodoma, Tanzania from Canada. With no reliable weather forecasts and only dead reckoning to guide him, McCauley braves the skies above the equator in what feels like equal parts courage and madness. His humourous account of pooping in a grocery bag had me lol and yet, it perfectly illustrates the unpolished reality of ferry flying.
This book isn’t just about daring flights, it’s about decision-making, risk assessment and resourcefulness in extreme situations. McCauley’s quick thinking, whether it’s choosing to brave a storm to save time or managing a critical ferry tank malfunction mid-flight, underscores how ingenuity and resilience often stand between him and disaster. There’s even a touch of reckless courage woven into his tales, as he navigates situations that push both man and machine to their limits. Beyond the technical feats, McCauley captures the emotional and psychological toll of ferry flying — the solitude, the thrill, and the sheer terror.
Ferry Pilot is a gripping, must-read adventure for anyone with a passing interest in aviation. Strongly recommend.
EXCERPTS
Every pilot has two bags, an experience bag and a luck bag. When he first starts out his experience bag is empty and his luck bag is full. Every time the pilot survives doing something stupid or dangerous, he takes a little out of the luck bag and puts it in the experience bag. The trick is to fill the experience bag before the luck bag runs out.
CH #1 Scary
Ferry Pilot by Kerry McCauley
A week later Pete’s wife Barb called and asked me if I was available to fly a Beechcraft Duchess from St. Paul to Portugal. Here it was, the day I’d been dreaming about for three years. Yes or no Kerry, do you have the guts to fly a small plane across the Atlantic? The conflict between safety and adventure took about two milliseconds to resolve. “Sure,” I said, committing myself, “I can do that.”.
CH #3 Orient Air
Ferry Pilot by Kerry McCauley
There are two types of pilots in the world. Recreational pilots and professional ones. A recreational pilot has the option of not going flying for almost any reason. If the plane has even the smallest thing wrong with it or the weather looks a little iffy, he can just say screw it and go see a movie instead. But the professional pilot is expected to go flying unless it looks like he might die in the process, and sometimes even then.
CH #3 Orient Air
Ferry Pilot by Kerry McCauley
My first stop after leaving St. Paul was Moncton, Canada, where I was to get tested for a waiver to ferry single engine aircraft over the ocean. The Canadian government requires pilots flying single engine aircraft over the Atlantic to prove that they know what they’re doing, or at least have some clue as to what they’re getting themselves into. […]
After convincing the inspector that I sort of knew what I was doing he gave me a temporary single engine waiver to cross the Atlantic. The requirements for being issued a permanent waiver were simple, survive two crossings in a single engine aircraft. If you made it that far, you either knew what you were doing, or were very lucky, either way was fine with them.CH #4 Blue Skies
Ferry Pilot by Kerry McCauley
“Boston Center, six eight Quebec has an engine out. Request vectors to the nearest airport.” I said. I tried to sound calm and cool, because that’s how a pilot with the “Right Stuff” handles an emergency situation. Plus, sounding calm helped keep me from panicking.
“Roger six eight Quebec, I can give you a steer to the nearest airport, but the weather is a lot better at Smith Falls, forty-five miles west of you.”
Maybe I’d sounded a little too calm. “Boston, I’ve lost an engine, and I’m flying a single engine Mooney. By my count that leaves me with none. I don’t think I can make forty-five miles.”CH #5 Powerless
Ferry Pilot by Kerry McCauley
The next morning I went to the MET office at the airport to find out what kind of conditions I could expect on my trip across Africa. The leg that day was a long one. I’d be flying almost directly along the equator from the west coast of Africa all the way to the east coast. For a trip of that distance, I was hoping for a very detailed forecast of the weather and winds aloft that I would encounter along the way. Hoping for, not expecting.
The MET office was like a time capsule. Ancient teletype machines and typewriters sat on crowded counters, and faded maps covered the dingy walls. I was greeted by the “meteorologist”. A young man from Gabon, who got up from his squeaky office chair, tore a piece of paper off an old drum style printer and came over to me. The paper was a glossy black infrared satellite picture of the whole continent of Africa. There were two large white blobs on the picture, one over Kenya and the other over Tanzania.
I stared at the photocopy for a few seconds, trying to make sense of it, then looked up at the young man for help. The briefer leaned over the counter and pointed to the first white blob on the map, “You see dis? Vedy, vedy bad.” He pointed to the second white blob, “You see dis? Vedy, vedy bad.” He handed the paper to me, “Have a nice flight.” The briefing was over. At least it was quick.
CH #6 210 to Dodoma
Ferry Pilot by Kerry McCauley
Two days later I was lifting off the runway in Gabon, bound for Tanzania. And once again, I was about to fly across the entire continent of Africa without a clue as to what the weather was going to be along the way. […]
My biggest concern was again the lack of a winds aloft report. The 402 wasn’t nearly as fuel efficient as the Cessna 210 I’d flown on this route previously and with almost 2000 miles of thick jungle to cover before the next airport, a strong headwind could really ruin my day.
With that in mind, I had two plastic fuel containers stowed in the aft cargo area. My plan was to put the plane on autopilot and transfer the fuel from the containers to the ferry tanks if I needed it. The only flaw I saw was I had no idea how I was going to transfer that fuel into the ferry tanks. […]
In the end I was forced to cut up a second water bottle and pour the fuel into the ferry tank one litre at a time.CH #10 402 Down
Ferry Pilot by Kerry McCauley
As I approached Dodoma, I still had some gas left in the tanks. I couldn’t think of any reason to land with the fuel I’d worked so hard for still in my tanks. So I spent about an hour zigzagging back and forth, buzzing whatever looked interesting, putting the big twin in steep banks and generally goofing off.
As I approached Dodoma, I still had some gas left in the tanks. I couldn’t think of any reason to land with the fuel I’d worked so hard for still in my tanks. So I spent about an hour zigzagging back and forth, buzzing whatever looked interesting, putting the big twin in steep banks and generally goofing off.
CH #10 402 Down
Ferry Pilot by Kerry McCauley
A zero zero takeoff was dangerous, foolish and unnecessary. We’re ferry pilots not bomber pilots. And we’re delivering expensive toys to rich boys, not saving the world. So there’s no reason to take such a risk. Except for the fact that I really wanted to do it! But I couldn’t tell Pete that. I couldn’t even hint at it. Because to do so would challenge my fellow pilot’s courage. And that’s not cool. I wouldn’t want to influence Pete into doing something beyond his comfort level.
CH #14 The Shah’s Revenge
Ferry Pilot by Kerry McCauley
“There is one other option,” Mr. Nasser said, “you could wait for the airport manager to leave for the day and then just takeoff.”
Uh oh, I thought, here we go again.
“What about the guys in the control tower?” Pete asked, “I’m sure the manager has told them that the 310 isn’t allowed to leave.”
“The men manning the control tower aren’t very bright. Just tell them you are on a test flight, then takeoff and go.”
I wasn’t crazy about the idea but I had to admit it did have a certain panache. And after all this is the Middle East, you can get away with a lot in the Middle East as long as you don’t get caught. But why was I even considering it? The perfect excuse for not flying the 310 had just been dropped in my lap. No one could blame me for not risking my license by making an illegal takeoff in Egypt, of all places. But somehow the thought of blasting off without permission and escaping the country before the authorities caught us made the flight more appealing, not less. What the hell is wrong with me?CH #14 The Shah’s Revenge
Ferry Pilot by Kerry McCauley
Fear is a fickle tool for a pilot, too much, and he never leaves the ground, not enough, and his career might be a short one.
CH #16 St Elmo’s Fire
Ferry Pilot by Kerry McCauley
I’d been really looking forward to leaving the purgatory of the piston engine world and moving up to the glamour of the jet world. A cockpit packed solid with lights, switches, moving maps and high tech gizmos was what I’d been working for all those years. I thought the powerful roar of jet engines rocketing the ship into a starry night sky would be the magical adventure I’d been dreaming of. But I’d just gotten a glimpse of the man behind the curtain, and I wasn’t impressed. Instead of a glamorous world of fun and adventure, what I saw was a rigid and tightly controlled world where individuality and creativity were frowned upon. It was literally their job to be bored. The more I thought about the life of an airline pilot, the less appealing it was. Being gone from my family for days at a time would be bad enough. But flying back and forth between the same cities, spending all day either sitting in hotel rooms or in a sterile cockpit with a grouchy captain was … Not for me?
On any given ferry trip, I’d be told to take a plane from point A to point B. That’s it. How I got the job done was largely up to me. I picked my own routes, made my own weather calls and filed all the flight plans. I’d often make over a dozen landings in several different countries in a single trip. Along the way I could swoop and dive in the towering cumulus clouds. Fly as high as my lungs, or oxygen supply, would take me, or drop down to treetop level and see the sights. I could push hard and fly long into the night, or end my flying day early to enjoy a sunny beach and a cold beer. In those planes I was the boss. I was king. But a pilot on the line has all of his decisions made for him; a company dispatcher tells him where and when to go, how high and how fast to fly, and what hotel to stay at.
The more I sat and listened to the captain find fault with the poor co- pilot, the less I wanted to ever be on the receiving end of such a soul- crushing system. I realize why the airlines do things the way they do. Being responsible for hundreds of lives on each flight, there isn’t room for swashbuckling pilots going around flying by the seat of their pants. Flight operations have to be done the same safe, standard way, every time, every day, period. And the more decisions you allow the pilot to make, the more trouble they can get into.
CH #16 St Elmo’s Fire
Ferry Pilot by Kerry McCauley
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