I talk about aero problems a lot. It’s kind of my thing.
But I feel like I’ve always talked about them in a sort of vague, amorphous, if-you-know-you-know way. “Aero problems.”
Let’s fix that. What does an “aero problem” actually look like in the real world?
Your project has a wind tunnel test scheduled for a few months from now. But of the team supporting the test entry, only a single person has ever stepped foot in a wind tunnel facility before and knows how to execute a test. They’re incredibly capable, but they’re just one person. They can’t be everywhere, or think about everything, much less do it all.
You can try hiring for another person with that skillset, but who knows how long that process—posting the req, interviewing, offering, onboarding—will take?
This test entry is a big investment for the company. You need to make the most of it….somehow.
VTOL aircraft are hard, man. It should be easy—you just smush a quadcopter and a fixed-wing airplane together and it’s like magic, right? And the fixed-wing flight part has been easy.
Every takeoff and landing is a nailbiter, though. The airplane is wobbling and swinging around way more than you think is normal. It lands where you intend it to…mostly. But everyone watching always glances at you with the look of “is it supposed to fly like that?” It probably isn’t.
The controls folks are doing their best. You just wish you could test out new adjustments without having to lug everyone and everything into the middle of nowhere and risk flight hardware every. single. time.
Your current platform is in flight testing and doing pretty well. The company hasn’t sold many yet, but of course leadership already wants to offer a larger, more capable version. Just scale up what you have, right?
You don’t know if you can. Between needing different components, modified manufacturing techniques, and just plain better performance, you think the aero design will have to change. But you’re really not sure. It would be nice if someone else would tell you what to do.
Somehow you’ve inherited a project to integrate a new engine onto an existing UAV. You’ve got a great team of mechanical and systems engineers to make this real. But this isn’t your company’s typical project, and there’s no one who knows what that engine change will do to how the airplane flies beyond “more power, more better.”
Worse, your engineers have questions about what they can and can’t change to make the whole platform work. Can we make the wing thicker? Can we shift it higher? You don’t feel that you can give them confident answers.
The whole team feels the uncertainty. The design review with your customer is in three weeks. You need to figure out something.
What makes all of these problems similar?
Uncertainty. Worry. A gap—never of competence, passion, or motivation—but of just plain skillset.
You need someone who knows aerodynamics and UAV development. But you don’t need the engineer who’s been doing CFD at Boeing for 30 years. You don’t have enough work for them to fill a full year, and you couldn’t even afford their salary anyways.
Your team needs someone who can answer their questions, keep them making progress, and give them confidence in their work.
Your company needs someone who can help make the most of their biggest investments and earn their customers’ and stakeholders’ trust.
And you need someone who can tell you how to de-risk your projects, what items aren’t as critical to focus on just yet, and which ones really matter.
That’s exactly how I love to support teams doing work that makes an impact in the world.
Whether it’s a short call to talk through the questions that refuse to go away, or support for a multi-disciplinary team for a long-haul effort, there’s probably a way I can help smooth your turbulence (corny, I know. I couldn’t resist.)
Did any of this hit home? Have you been seeing similar situations slowly creeping closer? Reply to this email and we’ll talk about how best I can get you the help and confidence your program deserves.