10-26-2015, 09:59 PM
The poor airports have long been forgotten. Ok, sure, they cop a bad wrap due to landing charges and car park charges, and if you are Brisbane, Sydney or Melboune then I agree that as a customer you are going to cop it in the hip pocket. But what about mid-level size airports and small airports? How does one fund the endless cycle of infrastructure maintence, upgrades and expected surpluses that Councils and investors seek? How does one of these airports manage all of that as well as bank some coin for future on site development when they can only charge minimal to nothing for car parking, they have basically no tenants, and all they have is landing and parking fees to extract some crumbs from?
The above is the plight of a vast amount of the medium to small size airports. They are generally forgotten, handed over to incompetents to manage, always being stalked by hungry developers and always copping a spray for the most minor infractions. A great majority of airports, the ones that make up the largest numbers are these smaller airports who rely on all levels of operators to keep alive - GA, Maintenance Orgs, freight, helo and fixed wing training, lots of individual business units that are often the ones keeping the airport alive, just. Then along comes CAsA. Firstly they send a group of Inspectors in to tear the airport a new anus. Then they target all those pesky airport businesses who are trying to turn a dollar, contribute to the Australian economy, who want to employee people, and they burden them down with red tape, unworkable rules and sharpened jackboots.
The outcome, hmmm, take a look at the once mighty and splendid Bankstown as an example, now a GA wasteland that can be compared to an extinct Western movie town where the dry winds blow tumbleweed and dust down the Main Street (or Runway). The smell of aviation fuel is replaced by the smell of carcinogens and an early evening Fukishima glow. The sounds of engines, props, rotors, and torque wrenches being dropped on the hangar floor replaced by the sound of developers cash registers, champagne glasses klinking together, or the sounds of airside silence where only a crow can be heard and the sounds of Mother Earth trying not to vomit up all those buried chemicals that are bubbling and gurgling and awaiting the next lot of flood waters to strike. What about the beautiful early morning hue being broken by aircraft taking off, silhouettes of a bygone era climbing effortlessly into the sky, nowhere to be hardly seen. Instead we see the glow of luminescent car park lights, hotel signs and concrete facades.
But don't worry about it Mr Truss, Mr MrDak, Mr Skid'Mark or anyone else who could've assisted in stemming aviations flow of blood. All you arseclowns know about aviation is how to get out of your limo and quickly scamper into the QF Chairmans Lounge at a mainline port near you or sit comfortably up the pointy end of a large jet. It's a damned disgrace.
No tick tock tonight. A tear or three instead.
Gobbles
The above is the plight of a vast amount of the medium to small size airports. They are generally forgotten, handed over to incompetents to manage, always being stalked by hungry developers and always copping a spray for the most minor infractions. A great majority of airports, the ones that make up the largest numbers are these smaller airports who rely on all levels of operators to keep alive - GA, Maintenance Orgs, freight, helo and fixed wing training, lots of individual business units that are often the ones keeping the airport alive, just. Then along comes CAsA. Firstly they send a group of Inspectors in to tear the airport a new anus. Then they target all those pesky airport businesses who are trying to turn a dollar, contribute to the Australian economy, who want to employee people, and they burden them down with red tape, unworkable rules and sharpened jackboots.
The outcome, hmmm, take a look at the once mighty and splendid Bankstown as an example, now a GA wasteland that can be compared to an extinct Western movie town where the dry winds blow tumbleweed and dust down the Main Street (or Runway). The smell of aviation fuel is replaced by the smell of carcinogens and an early evening Fukishima glow. The sounds of engines, props, rotors, and torque wrenches being dropped on the hangar floor replaced by the sound of developers cash registers, champagne glasses klinking together, or the sounds of airside silence where only a crow can be heard and the sounds of Mother Earth trying not to vomit up all those buried chemicals that are bubbling and gurgling and awaiting the next lot of flood waters to strike. What about the beautiful early morning hue being broken by aircraft taking off, silhouettes of a bygone era climbing effortlessly into the sky, nowhere to be hardly seen. Instead we see the glow of luminescent car park lights, hotel signs and concrete facades.
But don't worry about it Mr Truss, Mr MrDak, Mr Skid'Mark or anyone else who could've assisted in stemming aviations flow of blood. All you arseclowns know about aviation is how to get out of your limo and quickly scamper into the QF Chairmans Lounge at a mainline port near you or sit comfortably up the pointy end of a large jet. It's a damned disgrace.
No tick tock tonight. A tear or three instead.
Gobbles