Did you know the disposal of old planes is
a thriving multibillion dollar business? Or that it’s recently spawned a dangerous
shadow market in counterfeit aircraft parts? Hop on board and buckle up for takeoff as we
ask exactly what happens to old airplanes? You might wonder why airplanes need
to die in the first place. After all, they’re made of metal, right – can’t they
just be maintained, theoretically forever? Not quite. Most modern airliners have an
in-built lifespan of around 25-30 years. What usually brings them down in the end is
far more insidious than regular wear and tear. An aircraft’s lifespan is usually measured
in so-called ‘pressurisation cycles’. What does that mean? Every time an aircraft
takes off it has to pressurise its cabin so passengers and crew can breathe comfortably at
high altitudes. This pressurisation naturally puts substantial stress on the frame of the aircraft,
which inevitably over time leads to metal fatigue. Over many thousands of flying hours,
this fatigue can become deadly. In 1988, a flight attendant named Clarabelle
Lansing tragically lost her life when an aging Aloha Airlines Boeing 737
suffered explosive mid-air decompression. Boeing 747’s are rated for
35,000 pressurisation cycles, which typically works out around 150,000 flight
hours. Interestingly, nippy short haul planes age faster than bigger long-haul jets for
this very reason. Short haulers necessarily pressurise and and de-pressurise multiple
times a day, which accelerates their decline. Carriers, especially the big
famous passenger airlines, don’t want to wait until metal
fatigue becomes problematic. So around halfway through the plane’s rated
lifespan, a thorough assessment is made as to whether it’s worth more in parts than
as a working airliner. Often a newer, more fuel-efficient model has become available that
makes more sense for the airline to trade in for, It’s certainly not unheard of for jets
approaching the autumn of their lives to move onto exciting new things. They
might be sold on to countries with less stringent regulations and run into
the ground, metaphorically at least. Big Boeing 747s often end up being refitted as
freight carriers, Smaller planes can wind up working in highly specialist niches, like the
dutch workhorse Fokker 100s which are so robust they do a roaring trade supplying remote
mining outposts in the Australian outback. Some lucky planes end up as cherished museum
pieces, like the few remaining Concordes. Or refitted into lavish sky palaces for the likes
of Hip-Hop star Drake, or shady oligarch Roman Abramovich, who jets around in a private
pimped-out Boeing 767 named ‘Bandit’. This is rare though. Most planes – almost all
planes, eventually – are broken down for parts. The volumes and prices associated with the
airline parts trade can be staggering, with the global market for secondhand plane components
projected to be worth some $6 billion in 2022. This market is so lively
it’s spawned its own class of dedicated investment outfits
and even specialist hedge funds. Even more astonishingly, the airline
spare parts industry is locked in constant battle with counterfeiters, who supply a hungry
worldwide market with cheap knock-off components. It’s believed that as many as 2% of all
spare airliner parts on the market today are counterfeit, with obvious and
terrifying safety implications. A Paris start-up, called SafeFlights, has been trying to use blockchain certification
to stamp out this decidedly dodgy practice. So, why is the spares market so lucrative? A modern aircraft is made up of
some 350,000 parts. Most of the value – upwards of 75% – derives from
the engines alone. Airlines typically prefer to replace a failing component, like an
engine fan blade, than attempt a risky repair. So defunct planes essentially become moneyspinning
organ banks for their airworthy brethren. There’s serious cash to be made here.
For instance, just the winglets on a retired Boeing 737 can fetch as much as
$US650,000 on the second-hand market. And with roughly 11,000 airline retirements
scheduled to take place over the coming decade, you can start to see why dead
planes are such big business. So where are these massive beasts stashed
while they’re broken down for parts? Storage airports – also known as graveyards, still
more evocatively as ‘boneyards’ – are essentially vast open-air parking lots. For planes. The
biggest are in the southwestern United States, where an arid local climate and bountiful cheap
land helps stave off rusting and decay on these extremely valuable assets. The largest in the
world, Davis-Monthan Air Force Base inArizona, babysits some 4,000 military aircraft,
among them F-16 fighter jets, combat helicopters and colossal
Lockheed C-5 Galaxy transport aircraft. As for civilian planes, Mojave Air &
Space Port is the proverbial daddy, with 1,000 or so dormant aircraft
shimmering silently in the desert haze. On arrival at these facilities, planes are
cleaned to remove any salt that could lead to corrosion. The fuel tanks are typically drained
and flushed with lubricant, and the tyres dressed up in a thick film of specialist Mylar to
stave off deterioration in the merciless heat. When the last valuable component has been
stripped out and sold to the highest bidder, whatever remains is sold on for scrap. The fuselage of a Boeing 747 is said
to be worth about $43,000 scrap value, and boneyards are incentivised to move
quickly at this stage. This is because the moment an airline is decommissioned it’s
considered industrial waste and subject to local environmental statutes. This partly explains
why European boneyards – like at Kemble in the UK, or Tarbes in France – are so much smaller
than their US counterparts. For one thing, Europe’s climate is more unforgiving.
As is it’s regulatory framework. Still, there are some more imaginative uses for old planes that entrepreneurial
types come up with from time to time. For instance, a New York architecture studio
called LOT-EK has proposed buying up 200 cheap Boing 727 and 737 fuselages and turning them into
a library in Mexico. That’s not actually built, yet, but plenty of airframes
enjoy a fulfilling second life. Take this up-cycled 747 plonked a parking
lot beside Sweden’s Arlanda Airport. It’s a smart hotel, with 25 rooms, and a
plush honeymoon suite up in the cockpit. There’s also a budget hostel, stashed
backpacker-style in the economy cabin. This kindergarten in Rustavi, Georgia was
repurposed from a retired Yakovlev 42 aircraft. In Zurich, a Soviet-era Ilyushin Il-14 has
been transformed into an upscale restaurant, while this decommissioned Douglas
DC-3 in Taupo, New Zealand, serves as an outlet of fast food
giant McDonalds. We’re lovin’ it. Internal plane components such as drinks trolleys
have been upcycled by aspirational German design firm SkyPak into snazzy closets. California-based
Motoart studio remakes bigger aircraft components like engine housings or segments of
fuselage into upscale office furniture, with a blue-chip client list including
Microsoft and, aptly enough, Boeing. Perhaps the strangest second
life for any recycled plane is this former Malaysia Airlines 747, which was
deliberately sunk off the coast of Bahrain and transformed into an artificial reef
and one-off scuba diving destination. Such imaginative re-use is to be encouraged,
so long as it’s done sensitively. The boneyards of the world are
rapidly filling up with unwanted 747s, a trend set to accelerate with ravages of
the COVID-19 pandemic on the travel industry. Eco-conscious aviation industry body AFRA,
the Aircraft Fleet Recycling Association, reckons 70% of aircraft parts are recyclable
today. It plans to get this figure up to 95% with promised improvements in technology
and responsible disposal practices. Well, anything’s better than just winging it. What do you think? Can you come up with a
better uses for the thousands of aircraft currently sitting idle in the boneyards
of the world? Let us know in the comments, and don’t forget to subscribe for
more plane-speaking tech content.
