An Alternative to Crowded Airports
How do you cope as an ad-hoc charter operator when faced with long delays at a crowded airport with limited take-off and landing slots that must be booked days in advance? You need someone who can think outside the traffic pattern to answer this question. I was asked to come to the Philippines to assess the operational and economic potential for starting a new seaplane business. The company was renting a hangar at the international airport and wanted to start flights out of the airport to destinations unknown. But I wanted to avoid international airports—too many rules and security clearances lead to long, annoying flight delays. I needed to find a better way. I needed a seaplane base.
After arriving in Manila on a quiet Sunday morning, I grabbed a taxi and headed to the Port of Manila. I am always looking for places to operate seaplanes: rivers, lakes, inlets, and bays are all potential landing sites. On that beautiful, faithful day, deep within Manila Bay, the South Harbour was picture perfect—glassy water, reflecting a blue sky, gleaming with hope and promise.

Dragon boat racers were making the most of the harbour, churning the calm waters while their team captain barked orders, encouraging the paddlers to synchronize their swift and decisive strokes. Great cargo ships with names like Meridian Dos, Interasia Resilience, and General Evangelista anchored peacefully behind the bay’s breakwater.
My first impression should have been that this was the perfect place to locate the company’s new seaplane base, but I was told otherwise. The company owner’s trusted aviation advisor and family friend had informed him it was impossible. RED FLAG.
From my first excursion, the Manila harbour seemed promising. The port was large and had been used by Spanish, American, and Japanese merchant and navy vessels before, during, and after WWII. Relevant to me, however, was the fact that Manila had served as a pivotal hub for Pan American Airways’ Clipper flying boats from 1935 until World War Two. Its strategic location and natural harbour made it an ideal stopover on transpacific routes, notably for the China Clipper’s inaugural commercial flight from San Francisco to Manila in November 1935. This event marked the first air link between the Philippines and the United States, significantly enhancing global connectivity.
Manila Bay’s calm waters and expansive anchorage provided a haven for these seaplanes, facilitating efficient passenger and cargo operations. The bay’s historical significance as a maritime crossroads, reminiscent of the ancient Maritime Silk Road, underscores its longstanding role in international trade and cultural exchange. This rich maritime heritage complemented the innovative spirit of the Clipper services, bridging continents and fostering economic ties. Running a seaplane operation out of an airport was boring. Operating from the exact location of the exotic PAN AM Clippers was intoxicating.

In the 1930s, there was no land-based airport. The seaplane base would have been approved as the only legal landing area for international flights. As in similar Pan Am Clipper landing areas, such as La Guardia in Long Island, Treasure Island San Francisco, Pearl Harbour Honolulu, Suva Bay Fiji, Auckland New Zealand, and Rose Bay Australia, the approvals would still be valid today. I couldn’t move forward with reopening the seaplane base until I could find out more about what it would take. I needed time.
It wasn’t until months after the first Caravan seaplane arrived that we began to experience the difficulty of operating out of a crowded airport. The Airport Authority issued limited “slots” for departures and arrivals to control the flow. The commercial scheduled carriers got first slot priority, and only after that did the long-term charter operators and private jets get priority. Charter ad-hoc flights were at the bottom of the priority list.
If we couldn’t get a scheduled departure slot, we could only depart the airport between sunrise and 7:00 am. If we missed our window or the passengers were late, that was it for the rest of the day. The airport opens up for VFR arrivals between 9 am and 11 am, but if we did return during that window, we could not leave again without an approved slot. After that, we could only return to the airport again between 4 pm and sunset. With these restrictions, there is no way to run an ad-hoc charter or semi-scheduled flight service out of the airport.
That led me back to the harbour. If we could find a place to set up a seaplane base, we could depart the airport before 7:00 am and then operate off the water without restrictions until we could return to the airport’s runway again after 4:00 pm. All we needed was protected waters and a place for a seaplane jetty.
In the meantime, I discovered that in 1941, the United States Navy established a seaplane base at Sangley Point, located on the Cavite Peninsula adjacent to Manila Bay. This base provided logistical support and maintenance facilities for seaplane operations, reinforcing Manila’s status as a critical node in transpacific air travel. The proximity of Sangley Point to the Port of Manila allowed for coordinated operations, ensuring the seamless movement of aircraft and goods. This was an excellent location for many reasons. Still, in the end, the owner’s advisor (did I mention he was a ‘family friend’) had talked to the Naval Air Wing uppity up and decided we would interfere with their ongoing operation – FROM the RUNWAY?

So, I continued to pursue the South Harbour. Two clues from my first visit showed that working out of the harbour might not be as easy as the calm waters implied. The first was the formidable seawall. A seawall is not necessarily built to protect cities from large seas. In Vancouver, for example, the seawall in Coal Harbour was constructed to provide a usable living space along the harbourfront. During the two years I worked in Vancouver, I did not experience any storms that whipped up large enough waves inside the harbour to create a need for a protective seawall.
However, Manila’s formidable protective barrier implied large storm swells. Since it is such a large harbour, I sensed that the regular, up to 20 per year, typhoons that passed close enough to affect Manila could create monster swells inside the harbour, precluding seaplane operations. You don’t build million-dollar breakwaters unless you need them.
The second observation, which led to the same conclusion as the first, was the series of protective breakwaters: two in front of the North Harbour and two in the South Harbour. The smaller inside breakwaters looked battered, and for good reason. Manila Bay’s geographical location exposes it to the typhoon belt of the Western Pacific. During typhoon season, the bay can experience severe weather conditions, including strong winds and large waves, posing significant risks to maritime and aviation activities. Historical records indicate that typhoons have disrupted port operations, leading to the suspension of vessel movements and necessitating the relocation of ships to safer waters.
Manila Bay’s dual nature—both a strategic asset and a potential hazard—highlights the complexities of finding a safe and productive seaplane base. While the harbour offered a sanctuary for the pioneering Pan Am Clippers, enabling groundbreaking transpacific flights, the bay’s susceptibility to typhoons required meticulous planning and adaptability to ensure the safety and continuity of operations.

The dragon boat racers, however, were enjoying the seasonal good weather, and we might be able to do the same as a seaplane operator. After all, many seaplane companies only operate seasonally. I would have to investigate further. I did notice, however, that the dragon boat paddlers perilously ran their races off the edge of the breakwater, which told me that they did not have a home base.
The second obstacle was that the harbour is located directly under the airport’s approach to Runway 13, used for all domestic VFR arrivals. That includes a fleet of DC3s, Beech Barons, Piper Aztecs, and Beech 18s departing the airport before 7:00 am and not returning until the last VFR closing. I imagined there would be objections to landing in the harbour with the airport being so close. Last but not least, a 5-mile exclusion no-fly zone around the Presidential Palace protrudes out over the US Embassy and into the harbour, making landings in some winds very restrictive. These deterrents might have been the reason the aviation advisor had been so skeptical.
Up to this point, any meetings with the CAAP have been covered by the owner’s Filipino aviation advisor. The CAAP was not reluctant to meet with me. The advisor was reluctant that I should meet with them. I pushed the issue and finally got a meeting with the CAAP officials myself. They were happy to finally meet with me, and I got a lecture about not being more friendly. They were also surprised to hear about my plans to establish a seaplane base in Manila Bay. Someone forgot to make a formal request.
After several meetings with little progress, they maintained a reluctance to let us operate from the harbour. They couldn’t permit us because no one had done it before. My only hope seemed to be to find a precedent, and luckily, we had one. Subic Seaplanes had been operating out of the Manila Harbour, with a 1950s Cessna 180 floatplane, for nearly 20 years and even had a small half-sunken jetty moored inside one of the smaller South Harbour breakwaters.

We caught up to “Subic Mike” of Subic Seaplanes, and he explained that the harbour was not easy to operate from. He got verbal approval from CAAP by submitting a map showing the 1930s Flying Boat’s takeoff and landing area. The approved areas didn’t look very realistic, especially since the landing area is now within the Presidential no-fly exclusion circle, but an approval was an approval. The overhead approach to runway 13 was not a problem either because any low-level traffic was other VFR aircraft that only came in after 4 pm. Thus, the tower didn’t worry about Mike’s coming and going, mainly since he stayed below 500 ft.
The final analysis was, “If Mike can do it, so can we.” His jetty was in the harbour section managed by the Cultural Center of the Philippines. For the next few months, we used Mike’s jetty to carry out a few flights from the harbour, but eventually, we had to commit to getting our own space along the banks of the seawall.
After flying over the harbour and walking the breakwaters, I figured that the area within the CCP (Cultural Center Philippines) was the safest. Even though the protected waters behind the breakwater weren’t large enough to land in or take off from during significant wave conditions, at least the dock and seaplane would be safe. Passenger transfers would be safer if the dock and seaplane weren’t bobbing around.
The Manila Yacht Club & Marina, a private members-only club, managed the larger breakwater and inner harbour. Unfortunately, because of its “private” status and partly because the Navy kept a hand in managing the harbour, it did not allow commercial operators like ours. Ironically, the club is the site of the historical marker honouring the Pan Am China Clipper in 1935.

However, the smaller CCP harbour was open for business, and we were able to secure a location.
I triumphantly returned to the CAAP office and presented them with three precedents: the original PAN AM Clipper permissions, the Cavite Naval Seaplane base example, and Subic Mike’s water-stained photocopied map. They denied ever giving Mike any such permission but gladly took the 1935 Pan Am precedent and proceeded to draft the base requirements. We had a home.
After many weeks of negotiation, we leased a newly completed section of the seawall inside the breakwater. Now, I just needed a passenger transfer station—better known as a jetty or dock—designed for seaplanes. A jetty designed for boats does not work for seaplanes. I have copied some definitions from our operations manual below to better understand what a passenger transfer station entails.
Passenger Transfer Stations
Many types of wharves, jetties, platforms, docks, floats, rafts, and ramps are used to transfer passengers and freight. The deciding factor for any particular design is the ability to safely transfer passengers while maintaining control of the seaplane.
Fixed Dock, Wharf, or Jetty
At fixed stations, the infrastructure remains stationary, while the water level may change according to tides or seasonal fluctuations.
Floating Platform
A fixed wharf or jetty can have a floating platform attached that will rise or fall with the water level changes.

Floating Raft
A raft can be anchored in open water and “float” along with changing tides or water levels. In the Maldives, two rafts hinged together are also called platforms.
For clarity, any fixed station will be called a Fixed Jetty, and a floating station will be called a Floating Platform. The term “dock” will be used when referring to either The verb “docking” is the act of tying up to a passenger transfer station.

The biggest mistake marinas or new seaplane operators make is to build jetties or buy docks designed for boats. Marine jetties are constructed to accommodate displacement hull shapes, such as sailboats, which are wider at the gunwale than at the waterline with a very shallow dead-rise. Thus, boats can use fenders draped over the gunwale to protect it from high docksides. On the other hand, the seaplane float is narrow at the top and widens downward and under the waterline. Thus, when a seaplane docks at a marine dock, the low-to-the-water floats will slip under the marine jetty instead of beside it, providing no protection.
Boats also sit high in the water; therefore, a dock surface must be high enough to accommodate passenger boarding over the gunwale. The seaplane dock height needs to be much lower than a boat’s. The top of the dock should be no higher than the highest part of the aircraft float deck. A passenger should only step down a few inches from the dock’s surface to the seaplane float.
The lower deck of the dock also allows pilots and passengers to walk under the seaplane wing without hitting their heads on the flap hangers or wing struts. Higher docks are uncomfortable or downright dangerous when you must keep ducking to prevent smacking your forehead on the aileron.

The seaplane dock has to have built-in fenders or bumpers, while boats mostly carry their own. Usually, car tires are installed at least 12 inches above and 12 inches below the water line. That way, the broader part of the float hull, just below the water line, will park against the cushioning rubber tire. Tires also work well because they are not very wide, which ensures the passengers don’t have to make a big step from the float to the dock.
Some companies resist using tires because they might look industrial or utilitarian or rub black marks off the floatplane’s paint. The tires can always be painted or sprayed with tire black to prevent scuffing, but no one notices the tires once installed. They just become a part of the landscape.
With this in mind, I had to decide how to build the dock and what material to use. Of course, that wasn’t easy because it’s tough to get the right building materials in the Philippines, including wood 2x4s or 2x6s. Also, very few companies had the experience to build a dock like we needed. Most floating docks in the Philippines were large concrete monsters; the rest were made of bamboo—a readily accessible material but very awkward to work with and not very durable. Bamboo seemed an ecologically friendly and sustainable material for making a floating jetty, but I also had to consider durability. Bamboo rafts or platforms must be floated with plastic barrels to support the weight of nine passengers, two crew members, and lots of luggage and equipment. A storm would quickly destroy a bamboo platform, unleashing plastic barrels on the world. We needed a durable jetty and platform that could survive the storms of Manila Bay.

After going around in circles for several months trying to get a contractor to reinvent the wheel, I discovered that EzDock had a supplier in Manila. I had used EzDock in Nigeria, and it worked great even when riddled with 50-caliber bullet holes. The sections are modular, so I could design the shape in almost any way I wanted. I started with just enough room to park two Caravans to keep costs down.
To minimize permanent structure, I embedded steel beams into the existing seawall and used those to attach a walkway and the anchoring ropes for the platform. Multiple floating rafts would be connected and anchored with crisscrossing ropes to the concrete slabs, much like we did in the Maldives. The anchoring ropes provided flexibility and prevented the platform from breaking apart in rough seas or weather conditions. I gave EZDock our design, and a few months later, when the sections arrived, they installed the dock in two working days. I mounted the prerequisite windsock and, presto whizbang, we suddenly had a seaplane base.
The seaplane base should not be just a place to park seaplanes. The harbour will have yachts, speedboats, dinghies, canoes, and sailboats zipping along the waterways. There will be ship crew, tourists, travellers, hawkers, gawkers, and pedestrians. Along the harbour seawall, there should be a walkway, an inviting place for passengers and the general public to hang out. Unlike an airport, the seaplane base can be open to the public to come and watch the seaplanes come and go.
The roadway along the breakwater should be lined with restaurants and coffee shops. There should be a restroom. The seawall should be filled with pushbike riders, mothers with babies in strollers, lovers holding hands, and locals hanging around on Sunday mornings.
We added a security gate to prevent unauthorized well-wishers from entering onto the jetty. We employed two sniffer dogs and handlers to check luggage and freight for explosives or illegal drugs. Then, we moved a ready-made container office and waiting lounge onto the site, installed a baggage weighing scale and hung out the welcome banner. As if by magic, an opportunistic entrepreneur opened a coffee shop and snack bar next door. All in all, we created a thriving community from nothing.
A lively, friendly community center where you can conveniently catch a flight to your favourite island resort or hometown community. Daily flights to Busuanga, Coron, Palawan, El Nido, and Boracay attended to the adventurous tourists. Flights to otherwise hard-to-reach island communities whisked travellers to the places they call home.
With the proper support and development, the waterfront can go from this…

To this…

Equally important is that the Dragon Boat Paddlers now have a home to race from. Seaplanes, yachts, sailboats, and dragon boats mix easily, making the waterfront fun and lively.
Operating as an ad-hoc charter operator in congested airports with limited take-off and landing slots can be challenging. To overcome these obstacles, establishing a dedicated seaplane base offers a viable alternative. The base can be constructed to be easily dismantled or, as demonstrated by permanent seaplane infrastructure implementations in Vancouver, the Maldives, and the Red Sea Project, to support future seaplane opportunities. Seaplanes can service thousands of developing communities in the most remote locations stifled by limited access to fixed-runway airports. To make this happen, we must encourage investors and regulators to establish essential infrastructure so that essential services have a place to operate.
Establishing A Permanent Seaplane Base in the Philippines

By learning from the successes of Vancouver, the Maldives, and the Red Sea Project, Manila’s city developers should be encouraged to establish a permanent seaplane terminal that alleviates airport congestion and enriches the urban landscape, providing economic and social benefits to the community.
Designing an environmentally friendly and commercially appealing waterfront seaplane base involves a blend of innovative architecture, sustainable practices, and careful planning. By integrating these considerations, architects and engineers can create an environmentally friendly and commercially successful waterfront seaplane base. 🌿✈️
