By: Rénald Fortier
Ingenium – Canada's Museums of Science and Innovation
The Pélican brief: The fascinating history of one of the founding pillars of the Québec ultralight aircraft industry, Ultravia Aéro Incorporée, Part 2
André-Georges Lafitte’s arrival in Dijon, France, June 1990. A.-G. Lafitte, “Un membre de l’I.F.N. traverse l’Atlantique Nord en U.L.M.” Navigation, October 1991, 559.
Good day to you, my assiduous reading friend. I am pleased to reconnect with you on our path to aerospace enlightenment. Let us see how will end the saga of the Québec ultralight / microlight aircraft manufacturing firm Ultravia Aéro Incorporée of Mascouche, Québec.
And you have a question, do you not, my reading friend? What is an U.L.M? And what is the I.F.N.? Uh, those are two questions, are they not, my reading friend? Anyway, let us deal with these queries, then move on. An U.L.M. was / is an ultra-léger motorisé, in other words a motorised ultralight. The I.F.N., on the other hand, was / is the Institut français de navigation. Can we continue, now, umm? Thank you.
André-Georges Lafitte, on the left, and Jean-René Lepage, president of Ultravia Aéro Incorporée, Mascouche, Québec, May 1991. Gilles Saint-Jean, “Le pilote André Lafitte tente de rallier Paris à partir de Saint-Hubert en ultra-léger.” La Presse, 21 June 1991, A 10.
An unusual client approached Ultravia Aéro in early 1991, or in late 1990. André-Georges Lafitte was an avid ultralight pilot and former fighter pilot in the French air force, the Armée de l’Air, who wanted among other things to prove that ultralight aircraft were reliable flying machines which happened to be more affordable than conventional light / private planes. Lafitte wanted to make his point by crossing the Atlantic Ocean. I kid you not.
Indeed, Lafitte wanted to cross that pond in June 1991, during the 10 or so days during which the 39th edition of the Salon international de l’Aéronautique et de l’Espace was held, at Le Bourget, near Paris, France, that is between 14 and 23 June. Better yet, he wanted to end his flight at that very airport.
Well aware of the possibility that Lafitte’s journey could end very badly (Hello, EP!) but equally well aware of the publicity that journey could generate if it succeeded, Ultravia Aéro provided the record holding pilot with a specially equipped (high tech communication equipment, extra fuel tanks, etc.) Pélican Club which carried a Canadian registration.
Although well planned, the flight was faced with unforeseen weather difficulties during its testing phase: high temperatures, frequent and powerful crosswinds and a two day deluge.
Lafitte therefore left Montreal Saint-Hubert Airport, in… Longueuil, Québec, later than planned, on 20 June in fact, in the morning.
As he flew over the Saint-Lawrence River, he noted that his satellite navigation system and artificial horizon were misbehaving. If yours truly may be permitted to quote the fount of all knowledge, in other words Wikipedia, “An artificial, or gyro, horizon is the main instrument pilots use to fly through bad weather and low-visibility conditions.”
Adding to Lafitte’s worries was the fact that his engine seemed to be burning more fuel than usual. Said engine was also running rough / misfiring.
Lafitte landed at Gander International Airport, near … Gander, Newfoundland, in the evening of 20 June. He was understandably somewhat concerned. Indeed, the French pilot spent much of the following day servicing his aircraft and looking for a new artificial horizon.
Lafitte seemingly left Gander on 22 June. His destination was St. John’s International Airport, near… St. John’s, Newfoundland, the true starting point of his transatlantic flight. Five or so minutes after leaving Gander, however, the trio of Velcro strips which held one of the doors of the Pélican Club failed. Lafitte barely had the time to grab that door before the air rushing along the nose and fuselage tore it off. And yes, he seemingly had to cover most of the 210 or so kilometres (130 or so miles) between Gander and St. John’s with only one hand on the control stick of his aircraft.
A ground crew spent part of 22 June repairing and servicing Lafitte’s aircraft.
The French pilot left Newfoundland on 23 June, early in the morning. Three or so hours into his flight, he decided to forego his idea to fly to Shannon, Ireland, and then to France. The Portuguese archipelago of the Azores seemed a safer option.
Would you believe that, as he put putted his way across the Atlantic Ocean, Lafitte had a brief chat with the pilot (and copilot?) of a Société Air France Aérospatiale / British Aircraft Concorde supersonic airliner? The latter presumably wished him a safe journey. The same can probably be said of the pilot (and copilot?) of an otherwise unidentified airliner operated by Société anonyme suisse pour la navigation aérienne, in other words Swissair.
As he proceeded toward the Azores, Lafitte had once again to deal with a misbehaving satellite navigation system. Worse still, he was not sure that one of the extra fuel tanks of his aircraft was delivering gasoline to his engine. Strong crosswinds did not help either.
Low on fuel, Lafitte asked for and obtained permission to land at the Aeroporto internacional das Lajes, on the island of Terceira. Yes, in the Azores. Lafitte was rather disappointed by the unwelcoming welcome he got, on that evening of 23 June. Would you believe that he was politely told / ordered to fly to the Aeroporto de Santa Maria, located on the island on Santa Maria, as soon as he had fuelled his aircraft?
It apparently took three hours of palavers for him to find a room, so he could get some shut eye. Worse still, he was unable to find a restaurant or bar to silence his growling stomach. Yours truly presumes that everything was closed.
On 24 June, Lafitte got up early and went looking for gasoline. He was soon faced by stern looking members of the United States Air Force (USAF) unit permanently stationed at the Base Aérea das Lajes / Lajes Field, a Força Aérea Portuguesa and USAF base located within spitting distance of the Aeroporto internacional das Lajes. The nice American asked / told Lafitte to accompany them to a local bank in order to get some Portuguese escudos. How else would he have been able to pay for the gasoline he was about to acquire?
Would you believe that the aforementioned members of the USAF set out to fill the tanks of the Pélican Club with a type of aviation gasoline / avgas with a high level of lead? Lafitte had to point out fairly strongly that such a fuel would destroy his engine if he tried to use it. He was surprised to realise that the Americans he was dealing with did not know that there were different types of aviation gasoline. By then, however, some of the improper fuel was already in one of the tanks of the aircraft.
A rather more useful Portuguese station manager drove Lafitte to a service station where he was able to buy enough automobile gasoline to safely reach the Aeroporto de Santa Maria. That gasoline was seemingly put in another tank of the Pélican Club.
Lafitte took off in the early afternoon of 24 June. Two hours later, he landed at, you guessed it, the Aeroporto de Santa Maria, an airport which was all but deserted. Lafitte did note, however, the presence of a Lockheed CC-130 Hercules transport plane from the Air Transport Command of the Canadian Armed Forces – a type of machine present in the staggering collection of the Canada Aviation and Space Museum, in Ottawa, Ontario.
The French pilot then had to obtain a green light from the custom office to flush every single drop of gasoline out of his aircraft and refill all tanks with the correct type of avgas, a gasoline with half the lead content of the fuel the Americans had put in his aircraft. Mind you, Lafitte had to wait until the airport’s firefighting team was in position before he could proceed.
Although tired, Lafitte decided to leave the Azores during the evening of 24 June. The weather during the night might be less windy. The French pilot’s destination was the Aéroport de Biarritz, near… Biarritz, in the south-west of France.
Even though the light of the moon reflecting off the ocean and the light emanating from his instruments were somewhat annoying, the flight was relatively uneventful.
As he had done since leaving Newfoundland, Lafitte had to consume some fluid and food, fiddle with his engine, figure out if he was on track, fly his aircraft, have at least one tinkle and switch from an empty fuel tank to a full one as needed.
As morning came, Lafitte’s joy turned to worry. While the sky and horizon were visible, the ocean was not. There was fog everywhere. As he left the Iberian peninsula behind him, however, the fog cleared up. All was well. The landing at Biarritz was completed without a hitch.
With your permission, yours truly will answer the question present in your little noggin. Yes, Lafitte’s specially equipped Pélican Club was probably the first Canadian ultralight aircraft to cross the Atlantic.
A happy if tired André-Georges Lafitte photographed soon after his landing at Biarritz, France. Gilles Saint-Jean, “Le record de Georges Lafitte en avion ultra-léger ne sera pas homologué.” La Presse, 26 June 1991, A 14.
That late arrival on French soil meant that Lafitte was unable to reach the airport at Le Bourget in time to take part in the 39th edition of the Salon international de l’Aéronautique et de l’Espace. Given that, given also that both he and his aircraft could use some rest, the French pilot decided not to go to Le Bourget at all.
And yes, the welcome Lafitte got at Biarritz was much nicer than the one he had received in the Azores.
Lafitte flew to Dijon, France, on 26 June. From there, he drove or was driven to the nearby municipality of Talant, France, where he lived.
At the time, it looked as if the epic journey of the French pilot would not be homologated by the Fédération aéronautique internationale (FAI), the Paris-based world governing body for all manners of aeronautical records mentioned many times in our you know what, and this since January 2018. You see, official observers were not present in Newfoundland, in the Azores and / or in France to see the Pélican Club take off and / or land.
That epic flight eventually earned a spot in the history books, however, in the form of two world speed records over a recognised course (St. John’s-Santa Maria and St. John’s-Biarritz) for piston powered landplanes weighing between 500 and 1 000 kilogrammes (1 100 or so to 2 200 or so pounds). A pair of world records homologated by the FAI. A pair of world records which had yet to be broken when yours truly wrote (typed?) these words.
Oddly enough, the website of the FAI includes a third world speed record over a recognised course for piston powered landplanes weighing between 500 and 1 000 kilogrammes (1 100 or so to 2 200 or so pounds) held by Lafitte. That current record was earned with a flight from the Aeroporto de Santa Maria to St. John’s International Airport made or completed on… 25 June.
I know, I know, my puzzled reading friend. Lafitte did not make that flight. Besides, how could anyone make a return flight between Newfoundland and Santa Maria within the space of a single day at an average speed of 185.4 kilometres/hour (115.2 miles/hour)? Even if one excluded the time needed to refuel Lafitte’s Pélican Club, that flight would have lasted almost 27.5 hours. Anyway, let us move on.
As you may well imagine, the team at Ultravia Aéro was much relieved when it heard that Lafitte had made it to France. It was also very proud.
If one was to believe mentions in the Québec press of the time, Ultravia Aéro became known as Ultravia Aéro international Incorporée, at least informally, no later than 1994. At the time, its Mascouche facility was producing 30 to 40 aircraft a year. Sadly, yours truly does not know if these aircraft were all ready to fly machines, or kit aircraft.
Eager to better serve its international clientele, the firm introduced new and improved versions of its machines. A lighter version of the Ultravia Pélican Sport, the Sport 450, originated from the interest of potential German customers in 1997, for example.
A version with a larger wing was created to meet the needs of Brazilian customers. That aircraft might, I repeat might, have been assembled in Brazil as a result of an accord signed by Ultravia Aéro international and a Brazilian firm, Flyer Indústria Aeronáutica Limitada (FIA). With 220 or aircraft assembled, the Ultravia 500 BR became one of the most successful high performance ultralight aircraft available in Brazil, but back to our Québec firm.
In 1996-97, Ultravia Aéro international began a long, intricate and costly Canadian certification process in order to produce another derivative of the Pélican Club. Intended for flying schools, mainly those in the United States, the Pélican 2-100 Tutor would be the first aircraft developed by the Québec firm which could be used commercially.
And there were a lot of flying schools in the United States. Flying schools whose aircraft were getting a tad long in the tooth or, as we rarely say in French, décatis. Mind you, the light / private plane market was nothing to sneeze at either. All in all, thousands upon thousands of Cessna 150s and 152s, for example, might have to be replaced in the early 21st century.
How intricate was the certification process, you ask, my concerned reading friend? Well, both the aircraft and the manufacturing process had to be certified. The subcontractors had to be certified. Every single nut and bolt had to be certified. As well, hundreds of technical drawings and tens of tests had to be completed. Unable to find a Québec (or Canadian?) firm able to conduct a few high tech vibration tests, Ultravia Aéro international had to do business with an American entity.
As of the middle of 1997, Ultravia Aéro international might have spent up to $ 200 000, a sum which corresponds to almost $ 350 000 in 2023 currency, to get the Pélican 2-100 Tutor certified – and the process was far from complete.
As soon as said process got completed, Ultravia Aéro international planned to triple the size of its factory and hire anything from 100 to 150 additional workers. By 2000-01, the new and improved facility should be able to produce 200 aircraft a year. If things went well, the number of aircraft produced each year could rise to 500, if not 600.
Incidentally, the Pélican 2-100 Tutor would sell for $ 85 000, or close to $ 150 000 in 2023 currency.
Thanks to the financial support of the Société de diversification économique de l’Outaouais and the Fonds régional de solidarité de l’Outaouais, Ultravia Aéro international moved to Gatineau, Québec, in a temporary building, in July 1998, while maintaining a space in the Montréal region – presumably in Mascouche. The firm eventually moved in a purpose built facility nearby, in the industrial park located near Gatineau’s airport.
The move had proven more complex and time consuming that originally planned. Indeed, negotiations had seemingly begun in 1996.
As you may well imagine, the president of the Commission de développement économique of Gatineau, Yvon Boucher, was thrilled. Ultravia Aéro international could well become the nucleus around which would grow a group of small aeronautical / aerospace firms which would provide jobs for the younger generation.
At the time, a typical Ultravia Aéro international kit sold for $ 50 000, whereas a fully equipped ready to fly machine cost $ 100 000, sums which correspond to approximately $ 85 000 and $ 170 000 in 2023 currency. The individuals who bought such kits and ready to fly machines hailed from every inhabited continent on planet Earth, except Africa.
As the 20th century came to and end, Ultravia Aéro international seemed to be doing well. The number of employees had significantly increased, for example. There were less than 10 such employes in the Mascouche facility. The one in Gatineau saw 25 or so people clock in each day.
Finding these individuals had not prove easy, however. You see, the Outaouais region of Québec did not have an aircraft manufacturing tradition. Indeed, Ultravia Aéro international was the only aircraft manufacturing firm in the region. It required the much appreciated assistance of the Centre de formation professionnelle de l’Outaouais, in Hull, Québec, to find the sheet metal workers it needed. Mind you, the firm also hired (poached?) two young men from the Outaouais region who were studying at the École des métiers de l’aérospatiale of Saint-Hubert.
Jean-René Lepage, president of Ultravia Aéro international Incorporée, with the fuselage of an or the only Ultravia Pélican 2-100 Tutor, Gatineau Airport, Gatineau, Québec. Sylvain Dupras, “Actualités – Le Tutor entrera en production d’ici un an.” Le Régional Hull, 23 May 2001, 3.
Would you believe that the long, intricate and costly Canadian certification process initiated to produce the Pélican 2-100 Tutor was yet to be completed when July 2002 began? And yes, Ultravia Aéro international might, I repeat might, have spent as much as $ 3 200 000 in said process, a sum which corresponds to approximately $ 3 850 000 in 2023 currency. In other words, a huge sum for such a small firm.
Transport Canada was proving thorough indeed, and the cost of the process kept on increasing. On top of that, the infamous attacks which took place on 11 September 2001, in the United States, greatly affected the aircraft manufacturing industry in its entirety. Sales were (greatly?) affected. As a result, the number of people employed by Ultravia Aéro international plummeted, from 25 or so to less than 10.
In the spring of 2002, the firm’s management had to pay a visit to the Société de diversification économique de l’Outaouais and the Fonds régional de solidarité de l’Outaouais in order to obtain additional funding. Yours truly does not know how successful these efforts were.
In the fall of 2005, Mecachrome Canada Incorporée of Mirabel, Québec, a subsidiary of the French firm Mecachrome Société par actions simplifiée, a parts manufacturer working in the aerospace and automotive sectors, prepared to begin manufacturing the Pélican 2-100 Tutor, which would sell for $115 000 each – a sum which corresponds to approximately $ 170 000 in 2023 currency. And yes, the cost of the aircraft had increased by 35 % since 1997-98. Wah…
That production, which was to begin towards the end of winter 2005-06, was delayed and eventually abandoned. You see, the certification of the Pélican 2-100 Tutor, an effort deemed foolish, if not worse, by some, led to the bankruptcy of Ultravia Aéro international in May 2006.
By then, the firm seemingly had distributors in no less than 7 foreign countries on 3 continents: America (Brazil, Mexico and United States), Europe (France, Germany and Netherlands) and Oceania (Australia). Something like 700 to 800 Pélicans, all versions included, had been delivered to customers from around the world. Most of these aircraft were still flying in 2006.
Ultravia Aéro international’s American distributor since 2002, New Kolb Aircraft Company Incorporated, bought the assets and production rights of that now defunct firm in 2006, possibly as early as June, and completed the development of a derivative of the Pélican Sport with the help of the aforementioned FIA. Renamed Kolb Flyer Super Sport, or SS, that aircraft was flight tested in April 2008. It entered production that same year, seemingly in the United States and Brazil.
That project, initiated in 2005 with the full cooperation of Ultravia Aéro international, had aimed to produce, promote and distribute a derivative of the Pélican Sport in the United States. The bankruptcy of the Québec firm obviously changed the situation and delayed somewhat the development of the Super Sport.
Around 2008, New Kolb Aircraft and FIA sold the Canadian production and marketing rights for various versions of the Pélican Sport to Aéronefs sportifs Ballard Limitée of Sherbrooke, Québec, a firm created for that purpose in 2007 by Serge Ballard. The interest of that engineer and pilot in such aircraft actually dated back to 1993, when he had acquired one of those machines to replace the aging Cessna 172 he was using at the time.
Known in 2023 as Ballard Sport Aircraft Limited, the small firm had seemingly stopped manufacturing airworthy Pélican Sport-type aircraft, primarily for the American market, at some point in the late 2010s. Mind you, it had also seemingly stopped to produce kits around that time.
New Kolb Aircraft, in 2023 Kolb Aircraft Company Limited Liability Company, a corporate identity adopted in 2012, ceased to manufacture the SS around 2010, which left FIA as its sole manufacturer.
FIA, for its part, produced a derivative of the SS sold in airworthy condition, the NG, for a certain time. In 2023, that firm was producing an aircraft, the F600, which looked quite a bit like the SS and the NG.
As of 2023, there were 110 or so (airworthy?) Pélicans, all versions included, in the Canadian civil aircraft register. Another 10 or so could be found in the American civil aircraft register. How about the number of Pélicans, all versions included, in the Brazilian civil aircraft register, you ask, my facetious if dedicated reading friend? Well, as of 2023, there were 140 or so (airworthy?) Pélicans, all versions included, in that civil aircraft register. Pretty good, eh?
Five of the machines found in the Canadian register have been with us since 1983. They appear to be the oldest (airworthy?) examples of the first type of ultralight aircraft produced by Ultravia Aéro. Incidentally, the very first Pélican Club was still with us (and airworthy?), on Canadian soil, as of August 2023.
One or more of the machines produced by Ultravia Aéro might be worth preserving for posterity in Canadian aviation museums. Just sayin’.
And yes, yours truly is presently kicking himself in the behind, gently it must be said (typed?), for having failed to suggest to the leadership of what was then the National Aviation Museum that the Pélican Club flown across the Atlantic Ocean by Lafitte would be a great addition to the collection of that stellar / interstellar national museum of Canada.
See ya later.
Rénald Fortier
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