A Day in the Life of a Flight Instructor
Since the dawn of humanity, we wingless creatures have dreamed of flying. We yearn to be free, to soar high above the firmament and to gain a unique perspective on our beautiful, complicated, and big world below. And in 1903 Orville and Wilbur Wright got a handle on what it might take to achieve that goal.
If you’re 25-year-old Banks Ward, a lifelong native of Pawleys Island, you’ve been following your dreams of powered flight since you were a teenager and are already teaching others how to be unshackled from their earthly bonds.
We recently spent the better part of the day with instructor Ward and his student, 57-year old Thomas Dreimiller, a recently relocated and retired Utica, N.Y. police officer with flying dreams of his own dating back to earlier military service. We meet at the Blue Horizon Aviation office at the Grand Strand Airport (CRE) in North Myrtle Beach. We want to see what keeps a seemingly dangerous (but not actually) hobby and career far safer than the simple five-mile drive up U.S. 17 to meet them.
After introductions, Ward makes a call from his desk requesting fuel (kind of important, I think) and the three of us walk from the office toward the tarmac where the pre-flight safety inspections of the Cirrus SR20 single-engine aircraft are about to begin. Before each and every flight, from the smallest prop job to the world’s largest commercial jets, a pre-flight inspection helps prevent issues that could affect the flight and safety of passengers and crew. Yes, you’ve heard it before, flying is statistically far safer than driving a car – 200 times safer, according to the U.S. Department of Transportation. Still, precautions and strict adherence to safety protocols are everything…
As a Coastal Carolina University Marine Science major, Ward first caught the flying bug during a school Discovery Day in 2019. It was unintentionally at the Georgetown County Airport that Ward was first introduced to the idea of flying as a career.
“I originally went to CCU for Marine Science,” he explains as we walk, my stomach beginning to knot ever-so-slightly at the thought I’d be flying in a tiny single engine plane soon. “When I told my family I wanted to go into aviation, my dad said, ‘Thank God,’ because he did not want me to go into marine science – no money.”
Even while flight school was within sight, Ward finished his education at CCU earning a communications degree, always thinking about the career potential, especially as a cargo pilot.
So, is there money in commercial cargo aviation?
A first-year cargo airline pilot (after logging 4,000-6,000 flight hours on average just to get the job) can earn up to $100k annually, while an experienced widebody senior captain, like those who fly for UPS or FedEx, can earn 500K and up. Marine Science majors average $40k-50k to start, with limited roles for advancement. With either career choice, one hopes they don’t end up on a desert island with a volleyball for a best friend.
It’s a warm day at the CRE, which is the aviation abbreviation given for the neighborhood in which the airport sits, Crescent Beach (North Myrtle Beach). This county-owned public use airport averages 100 take-offs and landings each day, year-round. The airport dates to 1941 and World War II when it was called the Wampee Flight Strip. Well after the War (1956) it was the only commercial airport in the region until 1976 when the Myrtle Beach Airport, now The Myrtle Beach International Airport (MYR), transitioned from military-only to mixed use. The CRE’s runway is about 6,000 feet long compared to the MYR airport’s 9,500 feet. Less crowded and busy than MYR, the CRE is popular with light aircraft enthusiasts and corporate jet types.
Ward, friendly and likable, still looks like a high school student, which might give some people reason to ruminate over his credentials to fly, let alone teach others to fly, but this trepidation dissipates with every new instruction and his obvious understanding of what’s at stake. His clear command, comfort and respect for the aircraft and procedures instills confidence. He seems to enjoy his job as a Cirrus-certified, instrument-rated pilot and instructor. No small feat for such a young man.
“You start by obtaining a PPL, a private pilot license,” he explains. This can typically take 3 to 6 months of nearly full-time school. “Then you get instrument rated (another 3 – 6 months, faster in accelerated programs), then you get your commercial license, which allows you to legally accept compensation for certain aviation jobs. After I graduated from flight school, the Myrtle Beach Academy of Aviation, which no longer exists under that name, I was immediately hired as an instructor. I moved to Blue Horizon in 2025.”
As of press time there were four flight schools along the Grand Strand. Blue Horizon Aviation, which opened in 2024, sees itself as a niche school with extremely flexible instruction schedules, training both hobbyists and those seeking full-time piloting careers. Even on rainy and windy days unfit for flying, the school offers training on its Noble Flight Simulator, which exactly mirrors the cockpit of the Cirrus SR20, the plane in which we will be flying shortly (cue tummy gurgle). The school has six planes in its fleet – three Cirrus SR20s, and three Cessna 172s.
“These are fantastic aircraft,” Ward says proudly. “They’re like the Mercedes or BMWs of general aviation.”
New, the air-conditioned, four-passenger, air-bag equipped SR20 costs between $650,000 to close to $1-mill, depending on model and features. Part of the extra cost sits in a rocket-propelled emergency parachute for the entire plane, standard equipment on every model Cirrus builds. In the event of something truly unrecoverable and catastrophic mid-air, a hard pull on the bright red T-handle recessed in the cockpit ceiling launches a ballistic parachute proven to save the passengers and pilot, but not the plane. There have been around 150 successful deployments of the system since its inception in 1999. The parachute has saved hundreds of lives and there are only a few fatalities which were classified as occurring outside the certified operating parameters of the system, mostly because the pilot waited too long to deploy.
The SR20 has an excellent overall safety record; however, a parachute landing is rough and delivers the same jolt as dropping the plane on a hard surface from about 13-feet. Not pleasant, but certainly survivable.
Is it fast?
The Cirrus SR20 houses a 215 HP Lycoming engine capable of taking the aircraft up to 700 miles at around 175 MPH. That statistically dangerous two-and-a-half-hour automobile drive from Myrtle Beach to Charleston would take about 28 minutes in the SR20.
As we talk, Ward follows his student, the first of two that day, double checking all the preflight inspection items.
“We make sure all the avionics [electrical] systems are working, visually inspect the control surfaces, landing gear, fuel and oil levels.” Though I try to look cool, he senses my worry. I’m not always a frightened flyer, but it’s not my favorite thing to do, and small planes add to my discomfort.
“Anything catastrophic enough to cause an engine failure or an off-airport landing is 90-percent of the time caught in the preflight,” says Ward, reassuringly. Hmm…90-percent, I think.
A bee decides to hitch a ride, buzzing through the aircraft’s open door to attempt a landing. Ward makes sure to shoo it out of the cockpit before any of us enter the plane.
“We do not want that in here with us,” he says.
“Is five quarts of oil enough?” asks student Dreimiller, looking at the dipstick he’s just retrieved from under the hood. He has to yell to be heard as a large C-17 military transport jet practices an approach roaring overhead, then circling wide over the Atlantic to do it again.
“No,” states Ward emphatically. “We’ve got to have six.” Another quart is added.
The fuel truck rolls in and more procedures are followed to the letter, slowly chipping away at my unease.
Fueled up, oiled up, preflight completed, I get in first. It’s hot and stuffy, but the back seat is roomy for a big guy in a small plane, and the leather bucket seats are extremely comfortable. I strap on my seatbelt and take the headset/microphone handed to me. Student Dreimiller sits front left, Ward front right. Both front seats have a full set of controls, not unlike the car your nervous driver’s ed instructor shared with you in 1962.
“Ok, time to power up,” says Ward. With the engine running the air conditioning kicks in and the hot and stuffy cockpit becomes perfectly comfortable in seconds.
Avionics, a fancy word for the hi-tech electronic systems, digital displays, navigation, safety, etc., looks like a mock-up of the Space Shuttle. The pilot and his instructor continue to go over readings, writing numbers in logbooks, discussing their significance along with a hundred other details all before we move an inch. Then we start to roll.
There’s a little special maneuvering because of airport traffic, but between the student pilot and the instructor, we get lined up on the taxiway awaiting our turn.
While we wait, Ward, who has nearly 600 hours of logged airtime, tells his student what to expect.
“Today we’re going to hit your maneuvers again,” he says. “Slow flight, power-off stalls, power-on stalls, maybe more if we have time. You did great in the sim [simulator] last lesson? Remember? We’ll do that again.”
The tower signals an all-clear and we power up.
We begin our take off and Ward instructs his student on what seems like minutia but is all a vital part of not settling for what works but rather what’s right. Soon we’re in the air and any remaining discomfort I had is gone, replaced by adrenaline. I never get tired of the birds-eye view, which is why I put up with the slight nausea at the prospect of flying.
In seconds we’re over The House of Blues at Barefoot Landing and I can count the rivets on its metal roof; it feels like we’re right on top of it. Soon we’re cruising closer to the shore to begin a slow turn to the north out over the Atlantic.
The more you fly over the Grand Strand, the better you get at spotting landmarks. I can easily identify the Cherry Grove Pier, Waites Island, Bird Island, and Sunset Beach. Ten minutes later we’re approaching Southport, N.C., with Bald Head Island clearly visible. Amazing.
Dreimiller is instructed to do a wide, gentle turn to get us headed back toward CRE and we practice a few more maneuvers. The forced stall, a sudden loss of lift, is not my favorite, but it’s not quite the stunt-plane antics you might be picturing. Dreimiller powers the engines down, but not completely off, and tips the nose up until alarm bells start ringing. I spot the emergency parachute T-handle over my head, just in case. Dreimiller handles it well. This is his tenth time up in the plane with Ward.
The three of us are able to communicate easily with the noise-cancelling headphones and mics and Ward instructs Dreimiller to get out of the stall, which he does with no trouble.
“That kinda stresses me out,” laughs Dreimiller, who really doesn’t seem stressed at all. A career in the military and law enforcement builds the kind of cool you want in a pilot.
“You should always have a certain level of stress because it keeps you alert and on your toes,” says Ward, always instructing.
As an instructor Ward is calm, but he’s also no-nonsense and not afraid; rightly so, to quickly and loudly give instructions to a man nearly three times his age and twice his size. Ward is quick to praise his student, as well.
“That’s perfect,” he says of one maneuver. “Good job.” Confidence restored.
The bright blue sky is clear and we only experience a tiny bit of turbulence as we touch the bottoms of the clouds that seem to line up over the Intracoastal Waterway. The SR20 can fly as high as 17,500 feet, but we only make it to around 3,000.
“Do you see the airport yet?” asks Ward. We all strain to see it. We don’t, but he does.
A minute later we all spot it, and Ward instructs his student to start lining up.
After gradually powering down and purposefully losing altitude, the runway of CRE is right where it should be, and so are we.
We make a textbook landing, though Ward has a few suggestions and tips for Dreimiller to remember the next time.
We all make it out onto the wing and down the step, and as exhilarating as flying is, I am just as happy to be back on the ground.
Dreimiller’s lesson is not complete.
“That does not look right,” laughs Ward, pointing at a mooring rope Dreimiller used to tether the plane to its parking spot on the tarmac. “It’s way too loose.”
“Hey, I wasn’t a Boy Scout,” says Driemiller. “Too busy chasing girls.”
Back in the Blue Horizon office they schedule their next lesson, log the hours in the air, and show me the simulator. The Noble Cirrus Professional Cockpit is no arcade game, it’s a $30,000 training simulator complete with CRE as its home airport. Load in the right software and coordinates and you can fly anywhere in the world. The sim is useful in training, but there’s no replacing actual time in the air.
Becoming a pilot is not cheap. The average PPL, certifying someone to fly recreationally, could cost $16K to 20K, and another $25K to get additional certifications to fly commercially. Still cheaper than most undergrad degrees, and with an early start (meaning don’t wait until you’re of retirement age), flight school could be a foundation for a great career. Blue Horizon offers “discovery flights,” where you sit at the controls (with your instructor/pilot doing the flying) on day one for as little as $99.
Ward’s next student has arrived, so I say my goodbyes and head to my car. I nearly get T-boned by a blue Silverado flying down U.S. 17 as I attempted to ease out onto the busy highway. It makes me wish I could fly.
For more information visit: www.bluehorizonaviation.co.
