The House of Rapp

Damaris B. Sarria is a NASA employee who works on the space shuttle program. After an orbiter is launched, her standard M.O. is to fly from Florida to the Johnson Space Center in Houston to help analyze photographic data and determine what, if any, damage occurred to the spacecraft while it made the journey into space.

I believe they did at least some of this even before the Columbia accident, as the launch pad, orbiter, and surrounding area contain a multitude of cameras which record the launch from every conceivable angle.

Anyway, she writes first hand about the options available to NASA on her web site:

We have the black emittance wash, which will keep heat from building up in the cavity. Another option is a gun that ejects a heat-resistant, caulk-like material into the cavity. The third repair option is the overlay, which is a 15″ x 24″ sheet of silicon carbide that gets augered into the tiles to cover up the damage.

Damaris says they might also bring the shuttle home without making any repair.

One might wonder why they wouldn’t a) make a repair anyway, even if it’s probably not needed, and b) utilize all three repair options just as a precaution. Use the wash, inject the caulk, and then cover it with an overlay (aka “speed tape”). I believe the answer is that the TPS tiles on the orbiter are fragile and any work done on the shuttle could have the effect of making the damage worse.

Of course, this assumes I know what I’m talking about. Which I don’t. If I was up there, I’d call the Auto Club and tell them I wanted a tow to the nearest shop. Or call the the dealership and ask their service department for a repair quote (“that’ll be about $50 million, sir”).

The options available to NASA sound a lot like the ones available to a homebuilder. A sort of composite repair in space, albeit with materials which can absorb 2300 degrees of heat and still be cool enough to hold in your hand.

Speaking of homebuilding, this begs the question of who would sign it off? I mean, who holds the repairman certificate on a space shuttle, anyway?

A friend of a friend (don’t all good hangar flying stories start out that way?) reminiced about flying rotorcraft in Vietnam.  While there’s certainly adventure and excitement in becoming an impromptu test pilot, don’t forget that there were more than a few such attempts at stretching the envelope which didn’t turn out so favorably.  In other words, don’t try this at home.

If you’d like to crowd your pages with “over max-gross” stories, just talk to any combat pilot.  The old C model Hueys were the designated gunships of the Vietnam era before the Cobras came into country in late ’67 as I recall.  Underpowered, carrying a full compliment of ordinance, then taking on as much fuel as you could estimate would get you on station, execute whatever mission you needed to before being able to take a break and find a fuel bladder somewhere was the common routine.

Tactical Emergencies (TAC-E’s…duh) trumped anything the Safety Officer or aircraft specs put out regarding limits.  You just got there any way you could to help whomever needed it.  A TAC-E that involved a fellow American took precedence over anything else, often times even direct orders from a senior officer that you’d determined either didn’t understand the situation or had their head up their ass.  Helping a fellow American was the most powerful driving force in existence.

I’d just taken on a few hundred extra pounds of fuel and had a full load of rockets and mini-gun ammo.  I was heading out to pick up and escort a “people sniffer” mission, flying cover for a “slick” that had a long tube hanging out of it that read the contents of the air and could “smell” if a concentration of humans had been in an area…signifying enemy troop movement.  Generally, a low-risk mission with no urgency involved.  I’d taken on the extra fuel knowing that if I had a problem taking off, I could just sit there and burn it off to the point that I could at least make a low-power take off and get through translational lift, then get on station and hopefully get through the mission without having to refuel.

We were sitting on the PSP [Pierced Steel Planking] at the fueling station when a TAC-E came in over the Guard channel.  We were the closest to the emergency and I called in that we could cover.  The problem was whether we could get off the ground.

As luck would have it, I couldn’t budge.  I had the collective snuggled into my armpit and all I could get was RPM bleed-off.  I got on the intercom and told the crew chief and door gunner to get out.  I got light enough to start a little skid.  Worked it out to the active (about 50 yards maybe) and pointed it down the runway.  Full pitch, pimped the engine RPM’s up as high as they’d go, kicked left/right tail rotor and forward cyclic to break the skids free again from the PSP and was barely able to get the ship moving down the runway, playing hell with the sheet metal skid shoes… and the crew running along on either side of the ship.

The crew was running along flat out.  I intercommed “now” to my Peter Pilot and he waved the crew to jump on.  I lowered the pitch a little just as they jumped on, then yanked in as much as I could… sprung up off the ground a little… settled back down… dropped the pitch… yanked it in again when we “bounced”… skid, hop, skid, hop… skiddddddddddddddddddd…. nursed in some pitch… stayed off the PSP at about 6 inches… then that delicious shudder and voila!!  The crew was cracking up and clapping.

Made the mission, kept the bad guys away from the good guys until they could get extracted, then back home.

I kinda miss those days.

You know, sometimes the news is just too crazy to be made up.  As I was flying across Southern California today, I couldn’t help but think of the new workplace rules the FAA has imposed on air traffic controllers:

What rankles controllers most, on a personal level, at least, is the formal dress code being introduced. Some controllers dress as if they work in windowless rooms where visitors aren’t customarily allowed but FAA brass have apparently had enough of flip flops, tank tops and cutoffs. As of Sunday, the glow of the screens will reflect off, as we understand it, collared shirts, dress slacks and shoes and socks.

Now I’m not sure what a starched shirt sounds like, but ATC didn’t seem any different today.  With each frequency change, however, I couldn’t help but wonder what the controllers were wearing.  Despite the usual ‘evening push’ congestion on the airwaves, I had to bite my tongue to keep from asking them.

It’s probably for the best – I’ve said the wrong thing before and ended up waiting 30 minutes for the ILS.  Some guys just don’t see the humor in their job.

Perhaps this whole thing has been engineered by Men’s Wearhouse.  They donate a few bucks to the Administrator, and suddenly they’re outfitting the air traffic controller corps with the latest in business-casual finery.  But why should they have all the fun?  Maybe we pilots could get in on the game, giving tips a la Bravo’s Queer Eye for the Straight Guy.

“Diamond One Charlie Kilo, turn left heading zero six zero, vectors for the localizer.”

“Zero six zero, vectors for the localizer, and DiamondStar One Charlie Kilo feels that a herringbone jacket would really compliment that shirt”.

Steve Fossett strikes again:

The 62-year-old Chicago investment mogul said he and Norwegian co-pilot Einar Enevoldson, 74, rode powerful rising air currents above the remote Patagonia region on Tuesday, reaching a record 50,699 feet.

If Fossett isn’t careful, he’s going to end up like Alexander the Great, standing on the edge of the aviation world and weeping because there are no more lands (records) to conquer.

I’ve reached as high as 13,000 feet in a glider — ironically, before I even received my glider add-on rating.  In fact, as I recall, it was on my first solo flight in a glider.  Eventually I came down because I thought my instructor would be worried.  It’s hard to imagine being four times that high.  At those altitudes, your blood will boil unless you’re wearing a pressure suit.

I love the fact that these two guys are 62 and 74 years old.  They’re considered unfit to pilot an airliner by the FAA, owing simply to their age.  Yet they’re up there, literally in the stratosphere, at twice the altitude of the airliners flying by below.

Let’s consider how this compares to the daily routine of your average 74 year old geezer.  While Joe Average is sitting on his butt watching Matlock reruns, these two characters are contemplating the curvature of the earth and the blackness of space while they ”collect meteorological data for a NASA and U.S. Navy study of the polar vortex”.

In a glider.

If I was wearing a hat, it’d be off to them.

I recall hearing a rumor of some Fossett-backed project that sought to reach 100,000 feet in a glider.  Perhaps he won’t end up like Alexander the Great just yet…

Sam got me thinking about good places for a pilot to grab a bite around Southern California.

I was going to add a comment to his entry, but it soon exceeded the length of his original post, proving once again that Socal cannot be beat for flying destinations (or weather, but you knew that right?).  Upon reflection, it also became quite frightening to realize how many calories I’ve consumed at these joints.

Let’s get started.  I’d put Catalina Airport on the top of the list. There’s nothing like enjoying a Buffalo burger on the airport’s patio!

Lots of history at that field — William Wrigley (of Wrigley’s Chewing Gum fame) had the airport built in the 1930s so the Chicago Cubs could be flown onto the island for their pre-season baseball games. The airport was nearing completion when World War II came to America, and the War Department closed the airfield to prevent its use by the Japanese during an invasion. The runway remained blockaded with obstacles until 1945.

I also like Catalina because you’ll see plenty of interesting people. Hikers passing through, pilots, and sometimes a recognizable face. I’ve seen Harrison Ford and Lorenzo Lamas out there.  The people who work at the airport have wonderful stories, too.  One guy whose name I cannot remember, used to pilot Grumman flying boats between the island and the mainland.

Next, I recommend Annie’s Kitchen at El Monte. They make a mean breakfast. A favorite meeting place for me and my L.A. based friends on the weekend.

At French Valley (F70), the basin’s newest airport, there’s a very clean, quiet, and most importantly, strongly air conditioned restaurant called the French Valley Cafe. After flying over the Inland Empire, it feels great to step inside there and have a cool one. Er, a Coke, that is. And two hours later, you can head back out onto the ramp and find your oil temp exactly the same as you left it!

Then there’s Corona Airport, one of my longtime stomping grounds.  You have to be careful out there — it can be a zoo in the pattern.  But after braving the non-towered wilds, your reward is the infamous Bob’s Chili & Chow Hall. With a name like that, how can you go wrong? You walk in there and they know your name, your order, and your booth. No a/c, but the ambiance more than makes up for it. I recommend the club sandwich. Ask ‘em to prepare it “the old way”.  Also, don’t miss seeing the poster-sized photograph of the airport during the January, 2005 flood.

Sam mentioned Big Bear Airport, but I should add that there’s a greasy spoon called the Barnstorm Cafe on the terminal’s lower level, below the Chinese joint.  They have limited hours, but those hours seem to compliment Mandarin Garden’s quite nicely.  If you’re out there for breakfast or lunch, Barnstorm will be open.  For late afternoon or evening dining, the only option there is the Mandarin Garden.

Actually, that’s not quite true.  There’s a decent Mexican place at the end of the street, La Mulita.  It’s a 3 minute walk.  Paul and I flew up there to watch football games and get out of the heat once or twice.  Big Bear Airport is also blessed with relatively inexpensive fuel, a great ski resort, and a large freshwater lake.

Riverside has a nice restaurant, D&D Airport Cafe, on the field. Lots of interesting models hanging from the ceiling. Flabob (RIR) has a quaint cafe, too.

I like Camarillo’s Waypoint Cafe — it’s on the far east end of the field. You’re near the arrival end of the runway, and there’s a shaded outdoor seating area with a strip of grass so you can watch the planes come and go from the ramp and the runway. Inside, the walls are plastered with photos, hundreds (if not thousands) of them covering the last sixty years of aviation history.

If airplane watching is a priority, though, it’s impossible to beat Santa Monica.  Sam touched on the virtues of SMO, but I should note that both on-the-field restaurants are a hundred feet from the runway, each with a panoramic, unobstructed view of the runway, taxiways, and indeed, the entire pattern.  The late afternoon brings in the cool ocean breeze, making a perfect mix of humidity and wind.  I could sit out there for hours.

I returned from Mexico a couple of days ago.  It was unfortunate that I wasn’t able to fly down to San Carlos.  When you’ve got a pilot certificate, making a 15 hour drive leaves you wondering why you went through all that training, even though you’re well aware that there are plenty of times it just wouldn’t be safe to fly.

As it turns out, this was one of those times.  The intense heat and humidity the southwest has been experiencing lately created a 300 mile long squall line along Interstate 8.  Spectacular thunderstorms are a common occurance in the region during summer months, but this one was impressive even by those standards.  Surface winds of 50 mph and lightning strikes at the rate of 2-3 per second.

While on vacation, I watched with interest the unveiling of Cessna’s long-awaited “Cirrus killer” at AirVenture.  The Textron subsidiary has been losing market share to Cirrus Design for a number of years and certainly saw the handwriting on the wall.  To be competitive, they’d have to ante up with a modern design containing all the features you’d find on an SR22.  This is what they came up with:

More photos availble here. 

Cessna CEO Jack Pelton was careful to describe this as a “proof of concept” airplane.  It’s hard to know how close this will be to the final product and where they are in terms of certification.  It could be a year down the road.  It could also be five years down the road.

From what I can see, this thing is basically a high wing Cirrus.  The wing is similar, the structure looks similar, it even has the free-castoring nosewheel.  The shape and size of the vertical stabilizer, main landing gear, and fuselage are reminiscent of the Cirrus as well.

I can’t decide if Cessna is trying to catch up, or if waiting to build this airplane was a sign of genius.  On the one hand, it’s a huge corporation that probably moves slowly.  On the other hand, it’s possible that Cessna waited on purpose, allowing Cirrus to spend millions on R&D, tooling, improvements, etc.  Then, once they had a final product which was selling well, just copy it and put the wing on top.  The Soviets did that for years, copying everything from military jets to our space shuttle.

One can assume that Cessna will have to match Cirrus in price.  Cirrus is selling a thousand airplanes per year, that’s what’s taking the lion’s share of the high-performance piston market.  A fully loaded SR22/GTS runs about $450-480k, so to be competitive, that’s where Cessna will have to price this airplane.

It had also better come with airbags, a parachute, a glass panel, air conditioning, deicing, and all the other stuff you find on a Cirrus in that price range.  It will be interesting to see what the useful load is with all that equipment on board.

A fully loaded GTS has a full fuel (80 gallons) payload of 500 lbs.  Not much, I guess, but that’s what people want these days.  They rarely travel with four on board, so why not have the equipment and fuel capacity that will allow the airplane to really travel — in style.

I fly Cirrus SR22s every day at work.  It’ll be tough to beat them at that game.  The folks in Duluth spent a lot of time and money to come up with a modern airplane, and they’ve had thousands of chances upon which to improve the product.  The doors, brakes, fairings, electronics, and other components are far better than on the models they made just a few years ago.  And Cirrus recently announced the addition of a turbocharger to the SR22.  It’s their way of trying to stay competitive with the Columbia 450′s 230 knot cruise speed.  To really keep up with the Jonses, Cessna’s new airplane should at least have a turbocharger option.

One place where Cessna can improve on the SR22 is in control feel and harmony.  In my opinion, this is the SR22s main drawback.  The Cirrus is not designed for “fun” flying, it’s designed to go places.  With that in mind, it uses a series of spring cartridges for trimming the plane.  It leaves the controls with a foreign, artificial feel.  They feel the same on the ground as they do in the air.  There’s no aerodynamic feedback through the stick.  When you’re low and slow, the controls don’t feel mushy.  They’re as firm as when you’re at cruise speed, because what you’re feeling when you move the stick is the resistance of the spring cartridges more than the resistance of the air passing over the control surface.

Another major omission in the SR22 is the lack of a pitch trim wheel.  It’s extremely difficult to manually trim the plane for level flight.  A manual trim wheel would be perfect for this job, but Cirrus chose to omit it from the plane.  Again, it’s because the aircraft was designed for serious travel.  The thought was that the airplane would be on autopilot most of the time.  And it is.  But still, the lack of an analog pitch trim device is a major drawback in my opinion.  If nothing else, it would make the plane safer.  As it stands now, a trim failure means you have to fight the plane until landing.  In a Cirrus, it’s hard work to do this.  You’re not only fighting the out-of-trim condition, but also the normal spring cartridge pressure AND the rudder-aileron interconnect, which is quite strong.

If Cessna fixes this, gives it an A36-like control harmony, and is competitive on price, I can see them making headway against Duluth.

One major advantage Cessna brings to the battle is money.  As a subsidiary of a multi-billion dollar conglomerate, they have financial resources far beyond those of Cirrus or Columbia.  That means they can design, certify, and start producing these planes far more quickly than anyone else.  Witness the Cessna’s Mustang jet.  They got a very late start into the VLJ market, yet they’ve basically caught up to Eclipse.  Why?  More resources.  That means less time spent scrounging for money.

Whoever wins this battle, it’s nice to see that one is at least taking place.  The ultimate winner in this contest will be the general aviation community, because competition means innovation and that’s something the industry has been in sore need of for a long, long time.

The title of this Chinua Achebe novel came to mind this afternoon as I considered the status of the local airspace system.

I’m listening to SoCal Approach while I pack, and things are a little hectic up there due to a ground stop on all flight into Los Angeles: 

NOTAM:  Due to ZLA ATC ZERO. ALL FLIGHTS TO AND THRU ZLA STOPPED., departure traffic destined to ZLA airports will not be allowed to depart until at or after 03:00 UTC.

Apparently a widespread radar outage has occured at L.A. Center’s facility in Palmdale.

LOS ANGELES, JULY 18 (Reuters) – A power outage late on Tuesday at a regional radar center halted most air traffic in the Los Angelesa area, an airport spokeswoman said.

“All departing flights at LAX of at least 13,000 feet — essentially all our flights — have been grounded,” said Nancy Castles, spokeswoman for the Los Angeles International Airport (LAX).

A regional radar facility in Palmdale, about 50 miles (80 km) northwest of downtown Los Angeles, lost power, cutting radar for Los Angeles area airports at around 5:30 p.m. local time (8:30 p.m. EDT, 0030 GMT Wednesday).

There was no estimate of when the radar facility would resume operations.  

I guess it’s a good thing I’m driving down to Mexico this year.

When radar outages occur, airplanes flying under Instrument Flight Rules (read:  airliners) must be spaced much further apart to ensure safe seperation.  When radar is operating, controllers can “see” the plane on the scope and safely vector them closer together.

With the radar out, aircraft are stacking up and it sounds like some are bumping up against fuel reserves.

I’m curious about why the power outage would disrupt ATC services.  Surely L.A. Center has generators, backups, and contingencies for loss of power.

The last time I can recall an outage of this size was during the October, 2003 fires.  Socal Approach went offline when forest fires mandated a full evacuation of the facility.  As I recall, L.A. Center did their best to fill in the gaps.

This isn’t quite that bad.  Center is still “on the air”, they just don’t have any radar.  There are procedures for dealing with radar failures.  They don’t typically happen on this large a scale, but the procedures are there for dealing with it.  In the 2003 evacuation, there weren’t any procedures for dealing with the complete loss of a major metropolitan approach facility.

Of course, today we also have the Seal Beach VOR outage, which affects several L.A. approach procedures.  Not to mention the impending long term runway closure which will shut down a quarter of LAX’s runway capacity until 2008.

Fires aside, it seems things will continue to be hot under the collar around here for quite some time.

Things fall apart, indeed.

“If we raise the roof, then phat beats will come.”  At least, that’s what Jon says.

And perhaps that’s what the FAA had in mind when they shut down the Seal Beach VOR last week to rebuild the roof.

I keep thinking that this must be some serious repair job.  I imagine a fraternity from Cal State Long Beach trashing the place during a knock-down-drag-out keg party.  A VOR transmitter is pretty small.  If the roof on a house can be replaced in a week, I wonder why it’s going to take so long to fix one that’s significantly smaller?  Could it be because the government is doing it?

Nah.

Perhaps it’s a testament to the widespread use of GPS that one of the nation’s most frequently used VOR stations can be out of service for more than a month without causing a meltdown of traffic in the Los Angeles area.

Every northbound IFR flight out of John Wayne Airport gets radar vectors to Seal Beach as the start of their clearance.  Departures and arrivals into many (perhaps most) airports around here use Seal Beach in some way.  If you look at an IFR chart, you’ll see that Seal Beach sits in the heart of Southern California.  Pretty much everything rotates around it.

I’m surprised they aren’t using a temporary or portable VOR.  I believe they used one of those when the Filmore VOR burned down during the fires a couple of years ago.

I count 44 instrument approach, arrival, or departure procedures listed in the NOTAM.  Many of these are listed as N/A (not available) until SLI is back online, the rest are changed in some way from what’s printed on the plates.

I forsee some confusion, especially if we get actual IMC around here, because it seems that the FAA’s left hand doesn’t know what the right one is doing.  For example, I flew the ILS into Torrance a few days ago, and when we executed the missed approach procedure, the controller told us to hold “as published”.  This raised a question in my mind.  I said, “Published where?”, thinking he might be referring to the NOTAM.

Nope.  He wasn’t aware of any change on the ILS 29R missed approach procedure.  He was aware the the VOR was offline, though.  And it gets better: on a tower enroute flight from Santa Monica to John Wayne, another controller cleared us “direct Seal Beach”.

Ah well.  At least they waited until after the June gloom to perform this maintenance.

Imagine you’re flying in the clouds.  You can’t see anything out the window.  You’re flying toward the airport on an instrument approach, only a few hundred feet above the ground while traveling at 120 mph, guidance courtesy of a multi-billion dollar miracle we call “GPS”.

You know that GPS is the latest thing.  It’s never failed you.  Everyone uses it.  It’s the future.  It’s smart.  It’s sophisticated.

And it may be sending you off in the wrong direction.

RAIM is the method an IFR-approved GPS receiver uses to ensure that the data it’s getting from the satellite constellation is valid.  I won’t get into the specifics of how RAIM works, but with the world moving ever more toward satellite navigation, this is pretty important stuff. 

It always stinks to realize you’ve been remiss in teaching students something they ought to know, and unfortunately, Receiver Autonomous Integrity Monitoring — better known as RAIM — falls into that category.

I’ve got a couple of instrument students right now who are working toward their ratings in glass panel airplanes.  One’s in a G1000 equipped DiamondStar and another flies an Avidyne equipped Cirrus SR22.  I’ve taught them a lot about Global Positioning System usage, but for whatever reason I have not been insisting that they perform RAIM checks before IFR departures and approaches.

Oops.

I was reminded of my omission by John at Aviation Mentor.  He’s penned an excellent post about RAIM with plenty of nitty gritty details.

“Time to spare, go by air.”

That’s the old saying. For those of you who aviate on airliners, you may feel this aphorism is directed your way. The delays, breakdowns, and other vagueries of the industry can leave you feeling like it would be faster to just walk to your destination.

In some cases, you’d actually be right. Here’s something I wrote last summer after returning from Mexico via America West:

The coming and going from Mexico was interesting. First of all, one of our divers has been in Mexico City for the past few months and decided to travel to San Carlos the cheap way, via bus. It took Seth more than 36 hours.

I thought he was crazy to be traveling by bus, especially since I made the savvy decision to go by air. Yeah right. It took me 36 hours to get home! Which is especially maddening when you consider that my conveyance was travelling at 500 mph, more than 10 times the speed of Seth’s taco bus.

Here’s what happened. First of all, the America West Dash-8 was about four hours late getting to Guaymas to pick us up. There was some sort of mechanical delay in Phoenix. Then, we dodged thunderstorms all the way to Phoenix only to find the airport closed by the weather. We held for more than an hour before diverting to Tuscon, which was totally unprepared for us. We got AW to comp us some lodging, but not before Arnie let off a little steam at a supervisor. The next morning, our flight from Tuscon to Phoenix was late departing, and I barely made my connecting flight to Orange County. Most of the guys on this trip drove, and they made it home in 1/3 the time it took me via America West.

Sadly, it was a typical airline experience.

Nevertheless, the “time to spare?” saying is actually directed at those of us who fly our own airplanes. Oh, the glossy ads and rosy prognostications about private air travel make it sound like you can just jump in an airplane and fly away.

I wish.

That sort of thing might be possible in the middle of nowhere, but when you’re in the Los Angeles area, it’s a very poor idea. No, the reality of flying oneself around is quite different, especially in a post-9/11 world. Consider:

• check weather, TFRs, NOTAMS, etc.
• ensure the aircraft is legally airworthy, meaning all required inspections and maintenance are up to date
• open the aircraft, stow covers, heat shields, etc. and get the cockpit setup
• perform a preflight inspection
• get ATIS and a clearance
• perform engine runup, system checks, brief passengers

You’d think that those of us who own aircraft would get there faster, but the truth is that we’re sometimes stopped short of the runway by mechanical discrepancies and/or weather. Hell, I recently scrubbed a flight because it took an hour and a half for Atlantic Jet Center to send a fuel truck over to my airplane! By the time the aircraft was refueled, there was no time to make the flight.

On the other hand, there are plenty of times when the system works the way it’s supposed to. I had just that sort of experience last Friday, zooming up to Van Nuys in an SR22 in 19 minutes. My family was impressed by the short flight time. Frankly, so was I.

The trip home was even more fun, departing around 11:30 pm. I did have to wait a few minutes for a Baron to land downwind on 34L before I could take off. He made his initial call to the Van Nuys CTAF while passing over Santa Monica. I thought about taking off before he arrived, but those airplanes are capable of moving at better than 200 knots. I wasn’t sure the light I saw off in the distance was him, so for safety’s sake I just held short of the runway until he landed. The guy was nice enough, offering to expedite for me, but I insisted he take his time. Visions of a gear up landing danced through my head, and I didn’t want that on my conscience.

After departure, I turned the autopilot loose with the GPS flight plan I’d entered, and sat back to monitor the aircraft, look for traffic, and enjoy the view. Those late night flights are just about the only time you can fly from Van Nuys to John Wayne without talking to anyone. The towers at both airports are closed and the Special Flight Rules corridor is usually vacant at that hour.

I wish I could get a night-time photo of what it’s like up there. Unfortunately, my camera never takes decent photos of the cityscape after dark. The pictures either end up blurry or, if I leave the flash on, the glare reflects off the windows and ruins the shot. But imagine: it’s quiet, it’s cool, the air is perfectly smooth, and an endless carpet of twinkling lights projects out all around you. What’s not to like?

I challenged myself to make the perfect descent, arriving on the downwind at 100 knots and 1000′ AGL. The Avidyne makes it so easy. Just figure out how much altitude you have to lose (in thousands of feet) and multiply by two. Start down when you’re that many minutes away.

Example: You’re cruising at 4500′ and the airport pattern altitude is 1000′, so you have 3500′ to lose. Start a 500 fpm descent when the GPS reports your remaining time to destination is seven minutes.

If you are able to maintain a consistent airspeed during the descent and the winds don’t shift too drastically on the way down, it’ll work out every time.

The one issue I wrangled with during the trip was that of the noise curfew at Van Nuys. It says “NOISE ORDINANCE CURFEW: NO TKOFS FOR ACFT EXCEEDING 74 DBA (PER AC36-3) BTN 2200-0700; EXCP MILITARY; MERCY FLIGHTS & LAW ENFORCEMENT ACFT.”

I sat there for quite a while trying to figure out how much noise an SR22 generates on departure, and how the noise signature is computed. Do they mean 74 db right next to the prop? Or at the monitoring equipment on the ground? I tried to find a copy of Advisory Circular 36-3, but a Google search turned up nothing substantive.

In the end, I did a maximum performance takeoff, lifting off before the numbers, and climbed to 1000′ as quickly as possible before reducing the prop speed to 2500 RPM.

Later, I thought of searching for “FAA Advisory Circular” rather than “AC 36-3″ and found a comprehensive listing of Advisory Circulars on the FAA web site. 36-3 shows the SR-22 comes in at 73.6 db, just under the 74 db limit.

The longer I work as an instructor, the more amazing I am that we’re able to do anything productive at John Wayne.  I want to say the airport is kind of busy, but that’s akin to saying the Pope is kind of Catholic.  Understatement of the year.

Yet we somehow manage to take a person who has never been in an aircraft before and turn them into a pilot, someone qualified to mix it up with the big jets, deal with wake turbulence, handle the highly challenging radio communication, and fit into the pattern with a dozen other airplanes of all shapes and sizes.

When you stop to think about it, that’s pretty amazing.  You can’t help but turn out some capable pilots in that atmosphere.

It gets even more impressive when you run some numbers.  The “big bad” airport that everyone speaks of on the east coast seems to be Teterboro.  Its proximity to Manhattan and the lack of reliever airports for that region make it a very popular destination for the jet set when they’re “in a New York state of mind”.

An east coast-based pilot recently indicated that he felt TEB was the greater challenge because the airspace around New York was so crowded.  He went on to say that those of us here in the Los Angeles area “only have LAX to deal with”, whereas “in a small area JFK, EWR and LGA all share airspace.”

I think this is a guy who’s never been to Los Angeles.  It’s not only LAX… not by a long shot.  It’s Burbank, Van Nuys, Long Beach, Hawthorne, Santa Monica, Fullerton, Torrance, El Monte, Compton, Whiteman, and so on.

But when you get to John Wayne, you really start to see some fireworks.  SNA may be Class C airspace, but it qualifies for Class B airspace rulemaking.

Class B airspace requires 5 million passengers enplaned per year and more than 300,000 total operations (an operation is definied as a takeoff or landing). I expect this year we’ll enplane over 5 million and serve a total of 10 million passengers, and that’s just on the airlines.

Of the 355,000 operations that take place at SNA each year (which is 57% more than TEB), 250,000 are general aviation.

I estimate that between 50,000 and 75,000 of those are just from Sunrise, the FBO where I work.

Then there’s the physical plant.  John Wayne Airport is only 500 acres in size.  Teterboro has 827 acres.

The one area where TEB does take the cake is, unfortuantely, fuel prices.  Fuel at TEB now costs as much as $7.05 a gallon.  That’s at Atlantic Aviation.  We have one of these bloodsuckers at SNA, they make Signature Flight Support look really good — not an easy thing to do.  And I’m not just saying that because I waited 90 minutes for a fuel truck this afternoon.

It really is a jungle out there.  I first realized this shortly after I earned my pilot certificate.  When you find Class B airports like LAS, PHX, and SAN far more laid back than your home base, you know it’s someplace special.

Teterboro may be famous for long IFR delays and rigid adherence to narrow departure corridors, but if you look at numbers, it’s hard to compare anything to John Wayne.

The hits just keep on coming for Airbus.

As if lost sales and slipping delivery dates weren’t enough to worry about, the EADS subsidiary lost two top executives today:  the CEO of the company, and the guy who ran the Airbus division.

Humbert said the delays to the A380 had been a “major disappointment for our customers, our shareholders and our employees,” adding that he felt it was the right course of action to offer his resignation to shareholders.

Relations between Forgeard and Humbert, his soft-spoken former No. 2 at Airbus, have appeared prickly and Airbus was reported to be furious when Forgeard diverted blame onto his former teams in Toulouse, southwest France, for the A380 crisis.

But some analysts had said the future of both men had become intertwined simply because of the scale of the A380 problems.

The A380 delays are expected to cost EADS some 2 billion euros in lost operating profits between 2007 and 2010. Its shares fell 26 percent, wiping out 5 billion euros of value in one day when the A380 delays were announced in mid-June, sparking a hunt by French regulators to know exactly who knew what and when.

The sell-off and disclosure of what was going wrong inside the A380 assembly plants also angered Britain’s BAE Systems.

Shades of the Concorde?  Perhaps.

Forty years ago, Concorde was touted as the future of commercial aviation.  Now they may have been right from a technical standpoint, but Concorde was an economic disaster for those who built it.  Predictions of thousands of supersonic birds traversing the planet gave way to just a dozen aircraft, each sold to their respective airline for the princely sum of one dollar.

If Airbus isn’t careful, people far more influential than me will start making that connection.

On the other hand, billions of dollars worth of infrastructure improvements necessary to accomodate the mammoth A380 appear to be moving ahead without regard for the machinations taking place at Airbus.

Here in Southern California, LAX is about to close one of its four runways for as long as two years.

Around midnight July 29, airport workers will paint large yellow Xs on the southernmost runway, a signal to pilots that it is closed. Then, multitudes of dump trucks, graders and excavators will roll onto the airfield, not far from where hundreds of airliners will continue to take off and land each day.

The first major project at Los Angeles International Airport in two decades aims to improve safety and prepare the airport for a new generation of jumbo jets. Work will begin just as the airport enters its most hectic month of the year, putting pilots, airlines, air traffic controllers — and members of nearby communities — on edge.

“I think delays will be more significant than the original forecasts,” Jon Russell, a safety coordinator for the Air Line Pilots Assn., said of the $333-million project to move the runway 55 feet south — closer to the airport’s boundary with El Segundo — and build new taxiways.

The impending mix of heavy construction equipment and commercial air traffic at a crowded airport about to lose one-fourth of its runways has officials looking for ways to head off long delays, which could trigger problems at other airports as well.

LAX can probably operate with three runways and maintain partial on-time performance.  The problem is that it doesn’t leave them with an ounce of additional capacity.  No wiggle room to deal with contingencies.  It’s a point the FAA makes in the last paragraph of the article:

With construction in full swing in a matter of days, air traffic controllers caution that mechanical problems or bad weather could throw off their best-laid plans.

“If there’s an aircraft mishap, like someone’s gear collapses on the runway, and now we’re down to two runways,” the FAA’s Shappi said, “all bets are off.”

It’s hard to imagine that LAX wouldn’t have events like that from time to time.  A blown tire, brake fire, rejected takeoff, overweight landing, runway incursion, bird strike, or a dozen other problems might close another runway.  That’s when things will really get interesting.

My last missive may have come off as a bit dismissive about air traffic controllers.  So in a contrapuntal vein, I offer the story of Phil Aune, the nation’s (and probably the world’s) oldest air traffic controller.

VAN NUYS – The nation’s oldest air traffic controller made his final approach Thursday from the world’s busiest general-aviation airport.

Phil Aune, 70, the “Voice of Van Nuys Airport,” stepped down from the control tower after tracking his last plane, a single-engine Cherokee.

Throughout his 47-year career, the soothing voice of “Papa Alpha” had guided millions of planes in and out of Van Nuys Airport.

“I’ve been crying; it’s very emotional,” said the gray-haired grandfather and FAA veteran just after his last shift ended at 1:40 p.m. “My last airplane.”

Before dawn, Aune (pronounced awe-nee) hoisted Old Glory for the last time outside the six-story box of glass west of runway One Six Right.

At the top of rush hour, three Los Angeles television and radio traffic aircraft and four traffic choppers flew in tribute past his capacious glass window.

Midmorning, two engines from the Los Angeles Fire Department “crash crew” at VNY – the FAA designator for the airport – stopped before the tower to let fly honorary streams of firefighting foam.

After noon, actor and pilot Patrick Swayze called Aune from London to wish him a fine farewell.

“Phil is sort of the Vin Scully of Van Nuys,” Dan Katz, president of Hollywood Aviators, a flight school in Van Nuys, said while dropping off a basket of farewell cookies. “He really is the voice of VNY.

“He’s just amazing. He’s such a fixture here. It’ll be sort of funny not to be able to hear him on the radio.”

Aune signed on at Van Nuys Airport in 1959 when it was surrounded by fields of corn and wheat. He was among the first hired by what was then the newly founded Federal Aviation Administration.

Over the years, Aune would track Hollywood celebrities from Bob Hope – who used VNY for his ’round-the-world USO tours – to pilot-actors Danny Kaye, Tom Cruise and John Travolta.

I had known about Phil before he was featured in the documentary One Six Right, but wasn’t aware of the amazing record of longevity he’d set at Van Nuys Airport.  He’s been working at the VNY tower for as long as they’ve had one.  Or to put it another way, he’s been a controller for as long as the FAA’s been in existence.

It’s a testament to his skill and patience that he served so long at what is renown as the world’s busiest general aviation airport.

Since we’re on the topic of air traffic controllers, I must admit I’m fascinated by the individual personalities they foster at GA airports.  For example, at John Wayne Airport, the controllers are as good as they come.  Helicopters, airliners, student pilots, hot shot aerobatic gurus, experimentals, spam cans, and more mix it up over SNA, but the controllers rarely get flustered.  I know their voices and when coming home it generates a sense of comfort to know they’re there.

They are on top of the situation and it shows.  If a student’s soloing, they get a watchful eye over them, something I appreciate when it’s my guy up there flying by himself for the first time.  The controllers know the airplanes I fly, and they know my voice.  After a while, you can almost anticipate each others thoughts.  It’s an amazing partnership.

On the other hand, I avoid Camarillo on the weekend if I can help it.  Especially in the morning.  The tower operators there often seem to be right on the edge of overload whenever the airspace gets full.  Several controllers have strong accents, and I get the feeling the place might be a training location for controllers.  I don’t begrudge the CMA controllers their classroom — after all, pilots have theirs, right?  But there seems to be a higher level of stress with a lower level of traffic at Camarillo.

Chino is another place where you can find some interesting personalities in the tower cab.  Some are sharp as a tack, others seem to miss a lot of things.  I’ve been extended downwind and forgotten about on multiple occasions at Chino.  Try as I might, I’ve been unable to get a handle on individual controllers there.  They all sound the same to me.

Brackett Field in Pomona is one of my favorite places to observe ATC behavior, especially during the holidays.  The tower folks there seem to be quite talkative, almost festive in mood.  In fact, they even string up a huge strand of green and red lights on the side of the tower, creating a massive Christmas tree.  You can almost smell the Douglas fir branches.  At least a couple of the tower controllers are pilots.  You can always tell the ones who are pilots — when something new or different shows up, they take an interest.  The other guys are only asking questions so they know how to address the airplane.  Is it “Experimental” or “Vultee”?

The really huge airports don’t seem to have much personality.  I’ve been into LAX, SFO, LAS, and PHX, and I can only assume that the plethora of airliners sucks some of the personality out of the airwaves.  No classic biplanes, no mix of aviators.  Just an endless stream of seven-something-sevens coming down the ILS.

Airports are nothing in and of themselves.  Just patches of high-strength concrete.  It’s the people that give airports their personality, and a controlled fields, the guys in the tower cab go a long way toward dictating what sort of feel the airport will have.  They do great work, and those of us on the other side of the radio appreciate it.

There’s something very satisfying about instrument flying.

I’m not sure if it’s the precision, the difficulty, the pilot/controller teamwork, or the sheer magic of being able to whisk through three dimensional space for hours on end without seeing anything outside the aircraft, navigating and maintaining ones situational awareness all the while.

Despite what the some would have you believe, all instrument ratings are not created equal.  I have yet to see a pilot who earned their rating at one of the accelerated Arizona programs who was able to handle the workload in the L.A. area without some remedial training.  It’s not a snub at those programs per se.  You just don’t have the exposure to actual IMC and high density operation out there in the desert.

Case in point:  I made a literal cross-country flight (Duluth, MN to Orange County, CA) with one of my instrument students in a new SR22.  We shot many approaches along the way, and he did a nice job.  But nothing could prepare him for coming over the Cajon Pass and being given the following pop-up IFR clearance:

Cleared to SNA via make a right 360, fly heading 175, when able proceed direct Paradise, depart on the Paradise 270 radial, victor 363, victor 8, Seal Beach, direct, descend and maintain 5000, squawk  4672, and contact Socal now on 135.4.

The controller read so fast that my student was only able to write down the first bit.  I knew this would happen and was prepared to pick up the slack, because when actual IMC conditions prevail, the controller is swamped, and you’re asking for the favor of a pop-up clerance, you have to make a strong first impression or ATC will simply refuse to give you IFR (as is their right).

Naturally, there were two revisions between Paradise and SNA, and what we actually flew bore no resemblance to the original or amended clearances.

The point is, this is a brutal environment in which to learn.  It takes longer, costs more, and is more stressful.  But it results in a much better instrument pilot.

Whether you concur with that statement or not, I’m confident most pilots would agree that the instrument rating is the most challenging certification to obtain.  And maintain.  This is especially true here in the Los Angeles basin due to the traffic density.  There are scads of airplanes, airports, and the frequencies are usually jam-packed.  This can lead to pilots and controllers attempting to take shortcuts with radio phraseology in order to be more efficient.  Unfortunately, this rarely works.

This brings me to the reason for this article.  My latest pet peeve is a shortcut that ATC seems to be taking more and more frequently these days:  they vector pilots around without telling them where they’re going.

I’m quite sure that this happens to other pilots as well, so I’m curious about why it never gets mentioned.  I was taught (and it makes perfect sense) that any time a controller takes you off your clearance and starts vectoring you, they are supposed to tell you where you’re going.

This is important because if you lose communication with ATC in actual instrument condition, you have to know where to go.  The regulations state that if you lose comm in IMC during radar vectoring, you should proceed to the that location.  How are you supposed to do that if you don’t know where you’re being vectored?

I asked a DPE about this, and was told that controllers often omit the vector limit when they know the weather is solid VFR.  On the surface, this seems reasonable.  After all, the regulations state that if you lose communication while in visual conditions, you should remain VFR and land.  If the weather is good, why bother providion a vector clearance that will never be used?

I can think of two reasons.  First, because it’s required.  When providing radar vectors, FAA Order 7110.65R states the following in section 5-6-2:

b. When initiating a vector, advise the pilot of the purpose.

PHRASEOLOGY-
VECTOR TO (fix or airway).

VECTOR TO INTERCEPT (name of NAVAID) (specified) RADIAL.

VECTOR FOR SPACING.

VECTOR TO FINAL APPROACH COURSE,

or if the pilot does not have knowledge of the type of
approach,

VECTOR TO (approach name) FINAL APPROACH COURSE.

It’s interesting to note that while it says “advise the pilot of the purpose“, four of the five examples given are locations, not reasons.  The only exception is “vector for spacing”.  All the others are “vector to some location”.  While we’re on the topic, “vector for traffic” doesn’t show up on that list.  How often have you received that one?

Also, notice that 7110.65 does not make any exception for specific meterological conditions. If the aircraft is flying under Instrument Flight Rules and the controller starts to vector it, as far ask I know, the pilot should be given a vector limit regardless of the weather.

The second, and more important, reason controllers should provide a vector limit is because when they don’t, a red flag should be raised in the pilot’s mind.  He should ask where he’s being vectored.  As it stands now, pilots are learning or re-learning instrument flight all over the L.A. basin and not asking this question.  We’re becoming de-sensitized to the situation.

What’s going to happen when they’re being vectored in actual IMC?  Yeah, they won’t know where they’re going.

The larger picture?  Pilots are not navigating.  “Navigating” is the process of finding your way from one place to another.  If you don’t know where you’re going, you’re not navigating, are you?  You’ve effectively abdicated that responsibiilty to ATC, closing your eyes and allowing them to blindly lead you by the hand.  This is dangerous, not to mention the fact that you won’t know when you get wherever you’re going!  If ATC says “radar vectors to final approach course” and five minutes later you blow through the localizer, you know to speak up.  If all you get is “turn left heading XXX”, you are a lot less likely to say something when that needle swings.

The answer to this problem is simple.  Insist on a vector limit.  I’ve become more stringent about requiring my students to always know where they’re going during radar vectoring.  Rule #1 when flying IFR is to maintain situational awareness.  You can’t do that if you don’t know where you’re going.

Another nail in the coffin of Southern California’s once rich aviation community.  A friend writes about the end of the line — literally — at Long Beach: 

I witnessed the final death blow this morning as the last MD-717 lifted off and departed for delivery to the customer, TransAir. Unless a miracle occurs it will be the last jet airliner ever built in Long Beach.

All of the old Douglas buildings have been bull dozed and the property is being developed by the Boeing realty company into an industrial park, complete with 1500 high density housing units. Yep, right next to [runway] 25R on the Long Beach airport. Is it any wonder the management of Boeing/MD ran the company into the ground?

There were many speeches by VP’s, most of which talked about how great we used to be and what great airplanes we used to build. A very sad thing to see. I feel very empty inside.

It’s a shame. The economics of the airline industry may have dictated an end to the 717 production line, but by putting homes on the airport, Boeing shows an amazing lack of respect for its own history.  Future generations will not only grow up unaware of the 63 years of continuous aircraft production, but in another half century they may not even know that there used to be an airport in Long Beach.

With four million people living in Orange County, there are undoubtedly quite a few folks who make the drive from Santa Ana to Carlsbad on a daily basis.

I’m not sure how long it takes.  Traffic being what it is, anywhere between 90 minutes and two hours seems like a reasonable estimate. Figure three to four hours for the round trip in a car.

I feel sorry for those folks.  I traveled that route yesterday in a Cirrus SR22 in 27 minutes on a training flight with a student:

In fact, the round trip from John Wayne Airport to Carlsbad and back — under IFR, no less – was only about an hour.  And that included time for:

• startup
• taxi
• runup
• a five minute hold for IFR release
• takeoff and climb
• vectoring across V23 for traffic
• vectoring from Oceanside VOR way past the final approach fix
• shooting the ILS 24 approach in IMC
• landing
• taxiing back to the runway
• picking up a new IFR clearance
• another hold for IFR release
• taking off again
• flying back to SNA via V23
• the ILS 19R approach into John Wayne in IMC

The Cirrus is so fast that controllers on both ends underestimated how much airspace we’d consume on the base-to-final turn to intercept the final approach course (you can see that in the flight track graphic above — we initially flew through the localizer).  The coastal stratus kept the VFR aircraft on the ground, so we had the run of the place.

What a flight.  The air was smooth, the clearances were easy to get, and the flying on top was in beautiful sunshine.  My student was adept enough at operating the aircraft and avionics that we were able to turn on the XM satellite radio system and enjoy a few minutes of respite during the enroute segment.

I could get used to this.

Dan writes about fuel economy experiments in his RV-7.

It’s interesting that he managed to get 35.4 statute miles per gallon out of his airplane.  With a slight headwind, no less.

I’ve never seen more than about 20 mpg out of a Cirrus, even with a tailwind.  That’s on par with far draggier airplanes like the strut-braced Skylane.

For such a slick airplane, that’s surprising.  But perhaps it shouldn’t be.  After all, Dan’s RV-7 is extremely light.  The Cirrus aircraft are quite heavy, up to 3400 lbs on departure.  So even with 50% more horsepower, the Cirrus still comes up short on a hp-to-weight ratio.

Dan’s experiments and my observations with the Cirrus just reaffirm my belief that drag reduction only gets you so far.  If the airplane is heavy, it won’t matter how much aerodynamic improvement you make, it’ll never reach a respectable level of fuel efficiency.  So if $6.00/gal. fuel prices are a concern, the moral is clear:  keep it light.

I recently returned from Duluth, MN, where I had the pleasure of picking up a brand new Cirrus SR22 from the factory.  The experience left me feeling that we’re becoming a bit too complacent about the miracle of glass avionics. 

During the obligatory tour of the Cirrus plant, I was surprised to learn that starting with the 2006 models, they no longer manufacture airplanes with any analog engine instruments whatsoever.  Instead, they make critical engine data (RPM, MP, oil pressure and temperature) available on both displays.  I guess I shouldn’t have been surprised.  After all, the Garmin G1000 – general aviation’s first and thus far only true purpose-built all-glass avionics suite — has had fully digital engine gauges since day one.

Nevertheless, I question the wisdom of this approach.  On the return flight, we were in solid IMC west of Pierre, South Dakota.  Suddenly all the engine gauges stopped displaying data.  The displays were still there, but no data appeared.  Here’s what we lost:  RPM, manifold pressure, pressures and temperatures, CHTs, EGTs, power output, fuel flow, and fuel totalizer.

Was this a concern?  Sure, but not nearly as much as it would have been if the analog gauges hadn’t been available.  A call to Cirrus revealed that some moisture had probably gotten into one of the processors.  As soon as it dried out, everything came back online.  To it’s credit, the Avidyne primary flight display did annunicate the loss of the engine data processor at the time of the failure.

John over at Freight Dog Tales writes about discovering a G1000 failure mode the hard way:  by having a student relate it to you on the phone after experiencing it first hand.

The autopilot was flying the plane and the PIC was flipping through some approach plates when both the primary flight display (PFD) and mulit-function display (MFD) went black.

The intercom, radios and autopilot continued to function, but the pilots had no navigational display, no way to change radio frequencies, no engine instruments, no indications of the health of the electrical system, and only the back-up steam gauge instruments with which to control the plane. Luckily they were in VFR conditions and were already talking to approach control, who helped them land at a nearby airport to sort things out.

The cause of the blackout and the solution turned out to be both simple and unexpected. Something of which I was not aware, nor were several other pilots and instructors who were consulted on this, is that Cessna still has an avionics dimmer knob and, here’s the kicker, it will override the G1000 screen brightness settings when it is adjusted to any setting other that off. 

I experienced this while doing a ground training session in a G1000 equipped DiamondStar hooked up to an external Ground Power Unit.  I couldn’t figure out why the screens wouldn’t come up after plugging in the GPU.  Eventually I figured out that the dimmers had been turned on and were set to the dimmest setting.  The DA40 is nice in that the rheostat seems to be very beefy, and when the dimmer is “off”, it clicks into place quite solidly in such a way that it would be hard to accidentally bump it out of position.

Cessna SE rheostats have a bad reputation, but the new ones they’ve put into the glass panel planes are different.  They seem quite solid.  In fact, all the knobs and switches appear to be Citation jet-quality hardware.

But yes, that’s definitely a single point failure.  All the more reason to carry a Garmin 396 or other capable handheld GPS.  With that and the standby flight instruments, you could still keep the plane upright and navigate.  You’d either have to talk on the current frequency, or hold down the flip-flip button long enough to set it to 121.5.

I don’t think this is all that uncommon.  I’ve recently read about Airbus aircraft having problems with displays disappearing in flight.  I predict we’re going to hear a lot more about this scenario as analog gauges fall by the wayside.

After the factory tour, I have even greater confidence in the strength and engineering quality of the Cirrus airframe, but my misgivings about the increasing reliance on computer displays remain.

Side note: the good folks at Cirrus were busy expanding their factory.  Current production is 5 airplanes on Monday, 5 on Tuesday, 5 on Wednesday, and 4 on Thursday. The plant uses Friday to perform maintenance and catch up on any backlogs. 

They’re also busy building a new airplane:  a single engine jet that looks an awful lot like the SR20/22.  The prototype is under construction and the first flight is scheduled to take place in the fall.

Dan sent me a couple of companion pieces to yesterday’s entry.  Both are cockpit-based videos of a tailwheel airplane landing on a gravel bar.

In the first clip, our intrepid pilot uses the “waterski” arrival, touching down with the main wheels on the surface of the river and sliding right up onto the gravel bar.

In the second, he drops in from above some trees and lands on a short, curving spit of land.

I’m not sure what kind of airplane this is.  It’s got a hinged top cowl, so I assume it’s a Super Cub or derivative?

As usual, don’t try this at home.

A fellow CFI sent me a real gem.  I’d have to say this is the ultimate short field landing.  It’s so short that half of it takes place on the water.

This wouldn’t be such a big deal except for the fact that the aircraft in question is not a sea plane.

You can do some pretty amazing things when you push a capable bush plane like the Super Cub in this video clip to the edge of it’s performance envelope.

Of course, you can just as easily end up in a heap at the end of a gravel bar in some remote corner of the 49th state.  So as the Templar Knight told Indiana Jones, “choose wisely”.

It does make for interesting viewing though, doesn’t it?  I think I’ll show this clip to the next student who looks at an 1500 foot runway and claims they couldn’t possibly land there.

High resolution sectional charts for the entire U.S. are available at Kyler Laird’s aviationtoolbox.org.  How cool is that?

These charts are not up-to-date, but they’re great for illustration, teaching, and web-based excerpts.  Also, be aware that the downloads are pretty large.  The south side of the Los Angeles sectional chart was more than 42 megabytes.  The detail is worth it, though.

Kyler has other cool tools on the site.  One of my favorites is the sectional mosaic.  It starts you off with a mosaic of all the sectional charts.  As you click on the image, it drills down into the appropriate sectional, allowing quick access to any point on any sectional in the country.  Beats keeping a stack of expired charts on your desk just for occasional reference.

AVweb reports a setback in Airbus’ attempt to get the mammoth A380 certified: 

Airbus is downplaying test results in which an A380 wing undergoing static testing failed slightly before the required design limit.

The wings are supposed to take 1.5 times the design load limit but this one failed at 1.45 times, about 3.3 percent shy of the certification requirement.

Airbus spokeswoman Barbara Kracht said the wing will need some “refinements” but the aircraft is on schedule for certification and first deliveries late this year. “We will need to find out from the data what is really needed but it’s certainly not a redesign of the wing,” Kracht told Associated Press.

In order for an aircraft to be certified here in the U.S., it must withstand the maximum “g” loading specified for that category, plus a 50% overload factor.  For example, in the Normal category, the aircraft must withstand a positive load of 3.8g and a negative load of -1.52g at maximum gross weight.  It must also be able to withstand an additional 50% of those loads without failing.

These “static” tests, as they’re called, are accomplished on the ground by mechanically loading up the wings.  Sometimes this is done by simply placing sandbags on the wings to simulate a load.  Large manufacturers like Boeing and Airbus use slightly more expensive methods.  I’ve seen video of a 777 wing being tested to failure — the wings bent up to the point where they almost touched.  In other words, it handled far more than the required loading.

The requirements for the Transport category are set out in 14 CFR 25.337(b)-(d):

(b) The positive limit maneuvering load factor n for any speed up to Vn may not be less than 2.1+24,000/ (W +10,000) except that n may not be less than 2.5 and need not be greater than 3.8 — where W is the design maximum takeoff weight.

(c) The negative limit maneuvering load factor –

(1) May not be less than −1.0 at speeds up to VC; and

(2) Must vary linearly with speed from the value at VC to zero at VD.

(d) Maneuvering load factors lower than those specified in this section may be used if the airplane has design features that make it impossible to exceed these values in flight.

So if the plane is going to be certified in the Transport category, it will have to handle somewhere between 2.5 and 3.8 positive G — plus 50% — depending on the maximum takeoff weight. 

I’ve never heard of an aircraft failing to withstand the 1.5x test.  That’s not to say it’s never happened, just that I’m not familar with such an ocurrance.

However you slice it, this has got to be a huge embarrassment for Airbus.  Even if the flaw was simply a construction defect in the prototype, it will bring into question every other aspect of the A380′s design and construction in the minds of potential customers, not to mention the flying public.

It’s a bona fide public relations disaster.  I expect Boeing will get major mileage out of this one, though if they’re smart they will tread carefully.   After all, Boeing will soon be seeking certification of its own new design, the 787 Dreamliner, and Airbus’ PR folks will certainly be looking to return the favor.

Congratulations to the Virgin GlobalFlyer team!  Aside from a couple of blown tires, they got the ship home in one piece.

After surviving a major fuel loss, some turbulence that nearly ripped his plane apart, and blowing out two tires on the landing, American adventurer Steve Fossett Saturday broke the world’s flight distance record after traveling more than 26,000 miles (about 42,000 km) in 76 hours.

It sounds like they had a few tense moments at the end.

Minutes after officially setting the new world record over Shannon, Ireland, Fossett lost electricity aboard the single-engine turbofan aircraft and had to perform an emergency landing in Bournemouth, on the coast of southern England.

“As I was making my descent, the generator light came on and, as pilots, we know that’s really serious,” the 61-year-old millionaire said, noting the aircraft’s back-up- battery lasts only about 25 minutes.

“I had to get the plane on the ground.”

I’m not sure why the failure of a generator would require declaring an emergency, but then I don’t fly turbine equipment.

You know, despite the impressive numbers Fossett generated with his latest record breaking flight, I remain far less impressed with GlobalFlyer than I was — and still am — with its predecessor, Voyager.

Think about it.  The Voyager flight was twenty years ago, when everything from satellite navigation to advanced composite design was either unavailable or in it’s infancy.  The autopilot was a comparative piece of junk.  Ditto for the ANR headsets, radar, and avionics.  Fossett flew with glass panel instruments, internet access, and more.

The lightweight Williams engine that powers the GlobalFlyer wasn’t even on the drawing board back in 1986.  Heck, instead of a turbine powerplant, Voyager did it with reciprocating engines.  And they did it on 95% less money, building the aircraft themselves, refusing foreign sponsorship in order to make it an “all American” venture.

It’s hard to imagine, but in the early 80s, the scene at Mojave Airport was much different.  If you wanted to put a project like Voyager togther, you had to scrape for every dime.  Today, anything with Burt Rutan’s name on it can bring in millions in venture capital.  If Rutan wanted $10 million for a new project, there’s no shortage of people ready to write a check, no questions asked.  Heck, if I had the money I’d be getting in line to drop some his way.

Most impressive of all is that Voyager did it first, at a time when just about everyone said circumnavigating the globe without refueling was impossible.

It sounds as thought I don’t think much of Steve Fossett.  On the contrary, it’s great to see people pushing the envelope.  He seems to be a modern day Howard Hughes, albeit without the eccentricities and recklessness.  I offer my heartfelt congratulations to their entire team.

And I noticed that someone else did the same.  A class act.

Glenn over at RantAir links to an interesting article on noise abatement problems at Denver International Airport.

There’s not much I can add.  The article speaks for itself.

I launched on a night cross country flight this evening with a pilot who’s approaching his checkride date.  He’s got over 100 hours logged, largely because he’s doing his primary training in an SR22.

The big question mark for me before departure was how the wildfires in the Santa Ana canyon would affect this VFR flight.  Since Dan is based out at Chino, I got a poor man’s weather briefing from him.  The smoke was headed westbound and then south.  I didn’t realize it at the time, but the fires were on the south side of the 91 freeway.  For some eason I’d assumed they were on the north side, closer to Prado Dam.  Once I discovered their true location, the smoke patterns made more sense.  The Santa Ana winds blow the smoke westward until the terrain drops down, then it heads south.

Nevertheless, METARs and TAFs all across the L.A. basin were solid VFR.  Just as we rolled down the runway, the tower reported a change to 2500 broken.  I explained that this METAR was made by a weather observer on the ground who, while professionally trained, is a human and sometimes gets it wrong.  This was one of those times, and the skies were actually clear.  Since the official forecast was VFR, we were legal to depart.  And once in the air, we could maintain VFR conditions, so it was all good.

At TOA, at least.  As we headed eastbound, the visibility steadily declined.  The line between the smoke-covered areas and the crystal-clear ones was so well defined that I filed a PIREP with Flight Watch:

CNO UA /OV TOA-VPLSA/TM 0530/FL065/TP SR20/WX IMC FU S LINE TOA-SANTA ANA CANYON

OK, so they got the aircraft type wrong.  The gist of it is right.  This is the first time I’ve ever seen a fire so prominent that it can be used as a VFR checkpoint.

After we returned, it hit me:  flying around here is tough!  We went from Torrance to Redlands on a path that took us right over a 5000′ MSL flight restriction.  At one point, we were above class D, 1000′ below class B, just north of class C, 1000′ above the fire TFR, and just north of another TFR (Disneyland), all the while navigating in marginal visibility.

Snow is a funny thing.  It reinforces the essential truth that airplanes are both incredibly strong and terribly fragile.

Snow looks pretty, but when enough collects on the top of an aircraft’s wing while it’s parked on the ramp, the sheer weight of that snow can be enough to damage it.  I can’t find it at the moment, but AVweb has a great photo of a piston single with a broken wing from snow accumulation.  Other times, the weight of all that frozen stuff will push the tail down to the ground, leaving the nose high in the air as though the airplane is on the verge of flying away.

A good friend who just moved to Susanville, CA sent me this photo of his Skylane sitting on the ramp.  He said, “Four people were expecting to witness a crash and I made a perfect landing with 100 ft overcast on 6″ of fresh snow on the runway!”

It’s the most wonderful time of the year!   Or…. perhaps not if you live in the Anaheim Hills area. 

ANAHEIM – A wildfire pushed by Santa Ana winds quickly spread over 800 acres of the Cleveland National Forest a few miles east of Orange County suburbs on Monday.

No homes were immediately involved but State Route 241 was closed in the area of the blaze, dubbed the Sierra Fire after a peak where it began.

More than 200 federal, state and county firefighters battled the fire, said forest spokeswoman Joan Wynn.

The blaze began about 4:30 a.m., and its cause remained under investigation, Wynn said.

Winds were blowing at 35 mph, and smoke stained skies brown across the Los Angeles metropolitan region.

SR241 is a major connector between Riverside and Orange Counties, a tollroad that (somewhat) alleviates a nighmarishly miserable drive for commuters who’ve been pushed further and further from their jobs by high real estate prices. I don’t even want to think about how badly this will snarl traffic on the highways.

And in the air, come to think of it. This TFR will probably leave some people wishing they had checked NOTAMs a little more carefully before takeoff:

The thing I’m curious about is how aircraft will get into Orange County’s John Wayne Airport.  The ILS approach cuts right through the TFR area, and my reading of the TFR text does not indicate any possibility of waivers for planes flying under ATC control.  I wonder how jets flying the KAYOH4 arrival are being handled.

It appears that Corona Airport juuuuust clears the east side of the TFR.  On the sectional excerpt, you can see the junction of the 91 Freeway and Highway 71, which is inside the TFR.  So I suppose as long as aircraft departing runway 25 didn’t extend upwind much beyond the airport boundary, they’d be ok.

On the other hand, the FAA’s TFR site does print the following disclaimer at the bottom of every page:

Depicted TFR data may not be a complete listing. Pilots should not use the information on this website for flight planning purposes.

Sort of begs the question of who you should turn to for an accurate graphical depiction of the TFR boundaries.  If you can’t rely on the FAA for accurate aviation information…

Yes, these are the things I think about on my day off.

To quote Frank Costanza, “I’m back, baby!”. United Airlines exited bankruptcy protection today.  I suppose that should be cause for celebration, as many (most?) people doubted the legacy carrier would even make it this far.

Don’t get me wrong, I’m hoping for the best.  United is a historic airline — it was founded by Boeing and has ties to the earliest days of aviation.  But my gut feeling is that UAL’s prospects are still murky at best.

For one thing, unions are going to be putting the screws to the barely-in-the-black finances almost immediately.

Several of United’s unions, still stinging from steep pay cuts and other concessions in bankruptcy, issued statements putting management on notice that they expect to see better results for all their sacrifices. “With bankruptcy behind us, there are no more excuses, no room for error and no second chances,” said Mark Bathurst, head of the pilots’ union.

To my ears, “better results” means restoring the pay cuts that have allowed the airline to exit bankruptcy in the first place.  If United were to report “better results”, the unions would push that much harder for more money, making it impossible for the company to get ahead.

I’m a pilot, so I know what these guys are worth.  I wouldn’t begrudge them a six figure salary.  I just don’t see where the money will come from.  Whether the company got into trouble because of management incompetence or some other factor, it is where it is.  Unless an airline is in bankruptcy, they have little recourse against a strike.  Simply surviving seems a best case scenario for the foreseeable future.

A friend works for Northwest and is certain that airline’s pilots will be going on strike — a move that will likely force a shutdown.  With so many other airlines on the ropes, United is going to be facing tough times, not to mention a very poor reputation, even by industry standards.

United used to offer some of the best customer service, but the cuts have eliminated much of what made flying the “friendly skies” special in the first place.  UAL still has some advantages, though.  Their frequent flier program, for example.  I take advantage of that through the United Visa card, and have built up enough points for several free round-trip tickets anywhere in the United States.

The more time I spend in this industry, the less I understand how any airline can make money.  I see GA singles going for $300 an hour, King Air charters at $3,000, and bizjets at more than twice that.  A 737 with 100 passengers at $200 per seat is only bringing in $20,000.  Between fuel , landing fees, maintenance, crew salaries, insurance, and capital costs, I just don’t see how any airline ever made money, even when times were good.

Every pilot must, by law, complete a Flight Review (or equivalent) every 24 calendar months.  The law specifies that this review must comprise at least one hour of flight and one hour of ground instruction, and it must include a review of the operating procedures of Title 14, Part 91 of the Code of Federal Regulations.

“Part 91″, as it’s affectionately known, covers things like airworthiness rules, pilot-in-command responsibilities, weather & equipment minimums, right of way rules, etc.  It also contains some fun stuff, such as rules on formation flying, and the guidelines you have to follow before dropping objects from your aircraft.

I’m not making that up.

The Flight Review is a good thing.  The average pilot only flies 30-50 hours per year, and doesn’t progress beyond the private level.  Inevitably, skills and knowledge begin to rust away.  Even I, a pilot who flies ~500 hour per year and teaches this stuff every day, find myself having to look things up.  There’s just a lot of stuff to remember, and precious little of it is what could be classified as “unimportant”.  This is flying.  We’re hurtling through the air in three dimensions, sometimes in the clouds where we cannot see, and defying the law of gravity in a way only birds were meant to do.

Anyway, there are countless Flight Review guides, aides, and courses available.  Some are extensive commercial products that have a hefty price tag attached to them.  Others are available for free via the internet.  I’d never found one that I really liked until today.  And who made it?

Would you believe… the FAA?  Yep.  Anyone who’s read through the FARs (and even the AIM to some extent) know that brevity is not the Fed’s strong suit, but this course is different.

The FAASafety.gov web site — the online component of the FAA’s Aviation Safety Program — has put together a sort of online college catalog of courses you can take.  I was not in need of a Flight Review, but just for kicks went through the course anyway.  It took me about an hour, and covered all the pertinent information in a very concise, compact way.  PDF files are available if you want to go into more depth on a particular topic, and there are plenty of links to the relevant pages in the Airman Information Manual.

I loved the format, because if you are not in need of much review in a particular area, you can get the basics and move on to the topics where you do need to go into more detail.  It’s customized without being customized.  Even the quiz questions at the end were a cut above the usual FAA stuff.  It’s a mystery to me how the required TSA security training can be so poor while this FAA Flight Review guide can be so good.

Actually, I do have a thought on that.   One of my students — a guy who came to me for a Cirrus checkout — is a video producer who worked with the FAA to produce a runway safety DVD.  This DVD was was sent to every flight instructor in the country.  I spoke at length with him about the quality of the FAA’s publications and he indicated that the Feds know some of their stuff falls short, but they’re slowly (it’s a government agency, after all) coming around to a new way of doing things, bringing in web, video, and marketing specialists to make use of the latest tools and techniques for pilot training.

To be fair, the FAA’s own web site does provide a tremendous level of data.  Pilot searches, aircraft registrations, online regulations, etc.  On the other hand, there are things like IACRA, the FAA’s attempt at making 8710 forms ‘paperless’.  If it were possible to take out a contract on a web site’s life, I’d be sorely tempted to pool my money with other CFIs and hire Tony Soprano to rub that thing out.  Ugh.

I went through the FAASafety.gov site in greater detail and found a lot of good stuff there.  But the Flight Review course really caught my eye.  I thought highly enough of it that I’m going to print out full color copies of the course and put in a binder for reference.

The House of Rapp must show up at the top of some frequent Google search used by prospective Skylane owners, because I field a lot of inquiries about the airplane.  In fact, I received one such query today.

As a C-182 driver and previous owner I was wondering if you could comment authoritatively regarding the following comment from a back issue of Aviation Consumer:

“To this day, the airplane [ 1998 Cessna 182 ] requires aggressive re-trimming during the flare to prevent wheelbarrowing, and many 182s have been pranged over the years because of it.”

The statement “aggressive re-trimming during flare” conjures up all sorts of scenarios in the minds eye that I can’t quite sort out. Does this mean in the last few seconds you have to reach down and bump the trim nose up or suffer an iffy score from the landing judges? How bad are we talking here? Would a stiff arm suffice for controlling pitch in the flare? Would keeping a little power in help minimize the nose-drop tendency or is that a bad idea?

It seems to me, that any pre-occupation with trim might, at such a critical phase of flight, result in an over-trimmed configuration and place you in a perfect situation for a departure-stall if a go-around is needed.

I don’t have much Cessna time (all PA-28 variants) and I don’t fiddle much with the trim on short-final and never in the flare. Which is why the comment surprised me.

I’ve been thinking about buying an airplane and the 182 is on the short list. Any other squawks a buyer should know about?

I understand what Aviation Consumer was getting at, but they either didn’t phrase it very well, or they just don’t have much Skylane time.

The C182 has a heavy nose, owing to 6-cylinder O-470 engine and sizeable constant speed prop hanging out there. The situation is made worse by the typical loading configuration (two people up front, nobody in back), which leads to a forward-ish C.G. location. Pilots who use poor technique can and do land them nose-first. Early 182s fell victim to bent firewalls because of these nosegear first landings. Later 182s have a beef-up kit installed.  You can see a diagonal “I-beam” installed on the firewall to strengthen it. You’ll also find this on a lot of older 182s if they’ve experienced a wrinkled firewall in the past.

In my mind, the problem stems from poor pilot technique. Many people never really learn to land an airplane properly and don’t take care to ensure a solid mains-first landing. This may be okay in a Skyhawk or Cherokee, but when they transition to the Skylane, this manifests itself in nose first landings, as the pilot never really learned to give appropriate respect to the fragile nature of nosewheel assemblies. The nosegear is attached to the engine mount, which is in turn mounted to the firewall. Make a hard landing on that poor nosewheel, and the weakest part will give.  The firewall is often that part.

Prop strikes, while possible, are rare because the nosegear assembly is designed to prevent a prop strike even when the nose strut is flat — a certain amount of clearance is built into the design. Anyway, because of this heaviness, many pilots learn to trim the airplane nose-up on final approach so they don’t have to pull so hard on the yoke in the flare. I subscribe to this method and used it for years with no problems. Could I just strong-arm it? Sure, but then I lose the subtle tactile feel I want when landing the airplane.

The reader is correct in noting that with the airplane trimmed nose-up (and I used FULL nose up trim, to the point where I had to use forward pressure on the yoke to keep the nose down until the flare), you have to be careful when executing a go-around. Adding full power with the trim set that way will lead the airplane to develop a very nose high attitude. However, as long as the pilot is aware of this tendency and is ready and able to use forward pressure on the yoke for a few seconds until he/she can feed in some nose-down trim, I don’t see it as a problem. I practiced go-arounds with full nose up trim – a useful exercise no matter what you’re flying — and never had a problem.

On the other hand, I know pilots who simply strong-arm the airplane, and that’s fine if that works for you. Just make sure you don’t land the airplane nosewheel-first. Each person should try the two techniques and select the one that works for them. And if you do bounce it for some reason, don’t try to salvage the landing, just go around. The first bounce rarely breaks the plane, it’s the subsequent ones — often greater in amplitude — that do the job.

As far as other squawks, check for corrosion from loose sound-deadening pads. The adhesive was known to retain moisture if it came loose from the airframe. I’d also check above the headliner, in the tailcone, and inside the wings for corrosion. None of these airplanes had any corrosion proofing unless they were ordered with the optional sea-plane provisions.

Check the fuel cells for age and condition– they only last about 20 years and are about $1500 each to replace. They last longest if you keep them full, as the fuel prevents the nitrile material from drying out.

In the powerplant department, I like to see an airplane that’s been run, not sitting. Inactivity is the #1 enemy of a piston engine. I’d also look for any looseness in the induction system tubing (often overlooked in inspections), any rubbing of the lower cowling assembly on the crossover tube under the prop, and check the cowl flap hinges for looseness. Especially the right cowl flap, which gets beat up by pulses from the exhaust system.  As previously mentioned, check the logs for any firewall damage.

Check the prop for overhaul date. It should be overhauled every 6-8 years or so. A failure of the propeller can kill you. If a blade or portion thereof fails, the vibration will be severe. Severe enough that it can rip the engine off the mount. Once that happens, the CG shifts so far aft that the aircraft will be uncontrollable no matter what you do. Constant-speed props are frequently ignored as long as they maintain RPM. It’s not uncommon to see props in service that have not been overhauled in 15 or 20 years. Big mistake. Huge.

Do a thorough AD search. And have a 182-savvy mechanic do the compression tests. They have to be done with the engine HOT, using a compression tester with a master orifice for calibration, and using proper technique. TCM engines are different from Lycomings in that respect. That stuff about a 60 psi baseline is wrong. You establish your own baseline using the calibration tool, and it’s often down in the low 40s! You WILL have leaks, the only question is where are they coming from. If it’s past the rings, fine. If it’s coming through the exhaust valve, that’s a problem.

Overall, the 182 is probably the best plane out there. It represents the best combination of useful load, wide CG range, cabin size, aftermarket support, STC availability, and low acquisition (and insurance!) cost of any airplane in existance. It also has impressive short field capability, low speed performance, great climb rate, and outstanding visibility. The O-470 is a phenominal engine. Smooth, powerful, dependable, and easy to maintain.

You can’t go wrong with a Skylane, trust me.

A final note:  if you’re in the Socal area, I highly recommend Dave Palacios of DP-Air for your prebuy. He knows Skylanes, and owns one himself. http://www.dpair.net/ Dave did the work on my Skylane for several years, including replacing the aforementioned fuel cells, a dirty and difficult job.

It’s been about four months since the FAA finalized the long-awaited changes to the Los Angeles class bravo airspace. Though the new airspace configuration has been ready for publication, nothing has changed on the charts as yet.

That’s about to change.

With the December 22nd editions of the VFR Terminal Area and Sectional charts, the new airspace will be in effect. So my fellow pilots, if you’re the type who is a bit more… “lax” about keeping your VFR charts, GPS databases, Pilots Guide, and other navigational flotsam up to date, be sure you have the latest update by the 22nd of the month or you could very well find yourself in bravo airspace without knowing it.

I bring this up because the importance of the December 22nd update has not been widely disseminated, and I’m guessing that this airspace reconfiguration is going to cost a few unprepared pilots some time on the bench after a violation.

If you know an aviator who could benefit from this information, pass it along. Because in today’s world, when someone busts airspace, we all lose.

The results from the 2005 California aerobatic season are in. I finished 3rd in the California points series, and probably also finished 3rd in the southwest regional points series. Not bad.

Looking toward next season, however, I realize that a) it’s time to move up to a higher category, and b) I can’t do it in the Super Decathlon. It just doesn’t have the power to compete in Intermediate, and it doesn’t respond well to snap rolls despite the fact that they are an “approved” maneuver for that airframe.

My options are few. Either rent the Pitts S-2B (at $250+ per hour) or the Extra 300 (at well over $300 per hour), or I buy something. I’ve been considering a Pitts S-1S, a single seat rocket ship that can be had for less than $30,000. An S-1S would be enough airplane to take me through Advanced. Of course, journeying back into aircraft ownership entails other complications. Hangar, insurance, tax, and maintenance. Ah, the maintenance…

Another possibility is co-ownership, though that gets complicated. Many people I’ve spoken to said they’d never go that route again. You know, there’s something to be said for NOT owning an aircraft.

Then again, ownership does have its privileges. This was forwarded to me by fellow pilot who suggested it be filed in the “kids say the darndest things” category.

I have read many posts on the web site from members and on MMAIL who are thinking about owning their own aircraft and looking for ways to offset the cost of ownership. I have heard many reasons for and against ownership. Why buy an aircraft? It’s cheaper to rent and you do not have all the hassle with maintenance, fuel and insurance. Well, here is a little story that I think explains it all as to why I own my own airplane.

It was a beautiful Saturday morning. No winds and the temperature was just right. So instead of mowing the lawn like my wife had planned for me, I decided to go to the airport and take the Sport out for a run. She yells back at me, “WELL IF YOU GO, TAKE YOUR SON WITH YOU.” So I ask my son. “Want to go flying with Dad?” To which he says “Yea. Can I take my light saber?”

You see, my 9 year son thinks he is a Jedi Knight and that our Sport is his personal X-Wing fighter. He is only 4′ 5” and has to sit on a pillow in order to see over the glare shield and he always carries his light saber just in case we land on a strange planet in which there might be trouble or civil unrest. Always prepared this one is. So away we go.

THERE I WAS….

We were straight and level at around 6,000ft and I let him take the controls of the X-Wing to do some turns to the left and right. Joshua Approach called and said there was traffic at our 2′oclock 2 miles opposite direction and my son said to me “Look over there dad, Tie fighter coming right at us”. I told him to steer clear of the Tie Fighter because our lasers were out for repair and we were un-armed. No reason to provoke a fight.

So even though he is having a blast, I am starting to get a little bored and thought, “Let’s go do a practice approach on the ILS”. So I called Joshua Approach, requested the ILS 25 Approach to Palmdale Full Approach and off we went. I maneuvered the X-Wing to the VOR and started the turn outbound to the outer marker. Now my son is just really enjoying this. At the outer marker, the blue light started to flash and you could hear the BEEP in the headset. My Son jumps in and said “That Tie Fighter has locked on to us!” I said “That’s Right” and I started my ‘evasive maneuver’ on the procedure turn.

My Son is listening to the exchange between me and the controller and wants to chime in on the conversion. I said to my son, “Just hang on; I will give you a chance”. I never should have said that because now he is all excited to talk on the radio. As I start to turn inbound on the turn, the Approach control said “Contact tower when established on the localizer”. So I told my young Padawan Learner “OK, when this needle gets here on the dial, push the radio button and tell the tower that 93 Romeo is inbound on the localizer”.

Now imagine this, I am giving basic instrument instruction to a 9 year old, I cannot get adults to say this during training. So before I can give him something simpler to say he keys the mike and says “REBEL BASE, THIS IS RED 5. WE ARE STARTING OUR ATTACK RUN ON THE DEATH STAR”.

Good God.

Now this is post-9/11 and before I can key my mike and say anything, the tower jumps on and says “RED 5, YOUR CLEARED FOR THE APPROACH TO THE DEATH STAR. REPORT HITS AWAY”

Now I am waiting for the tower to add “And tell your dad to call this number.” But I hear nothing else. So we continue the approach. Now my son is in heaven. This is real life stuff to him and he is doing everything I tell him to do as far as tracking the needle. As we approach the outer marker inbound, the light starts to flash and there is that tone again. “Dad, the Death Star has a lock on us!” “Yes Son, you keep on the approach, I will worry about the guns.”

Everything is going great and now we are approaching the middle marker. My son has noticed the GPS has a red line with an airplane on it and it ends at the Death Star. So he asks me “IS THAT A TARGETING COMPUTER DAD?” Well of course it is, and it shows us where we are to the target. So now he hears Obewan tell him to USE THE FORCE, SCOTT and he turns the GPS OFF, tells me he is OK and does not need the targeting computer because he is using the FORCE.

Now the middle marker light flashes and the tone comes on. I apply full power and the airplane… X-Wing… starts a climb. I start the turn to the missed approach path when my son keys the mike and says “HITS AWAY”. The tower answers back with “GOOD JOB RED 5, CONTACT REBEL APPROACH ON 126.1″

We go back to Mojave SPACEPORT, and I decide that the X-Wing needs a bath. So out comes all the cleaning stuff and we spend the rest of the day washing and waxing the turbo jets and laser pods.

So you see. This is why I own my own aircraft. You cannot beat this kind of quality time with your kids. And there is no way you can put a price on that.

Light saber: $20
20 gallons of avgas: $65
Blowing up the Death Star: priceless

An Associated Press story entitled “LAX ranks at top for dangerous runways” caught my eye today, not because of the headline, but because of the smaller sub-title below it which stated, “Two nearby Southern California airports share distinction”.

Surprise, surprise. Which airport tops the list? John Wayne.

Southern California has long been the nation’s runway incursion epicenter. Among the country’s 25 busiest commercial airports, John Wayne Airport in Orange County, Long Beach Airport and LAX ranked one, two and three in runway incursion rates — measured by incidents per 100,000 flights — since 1999. The three airports also topped the list for the total number of incidents, regardless of size.

For you non-pilots out there, a “runway incursion” occurs whenever an aircraft taxis onto a runway without proper clearance.

I’m not sure why LAX would be on that list. There are no intersecting runways and very little general aviation there. But SNA I can understand. In recent years, lighted hold bars have been installed in the taxiway to help alert pilots that they are about the cross an active runway. Even so, this airport is chock full of pitfalls:

• airliners must cross a general aviation runway to reach the only runway long enough for them to use
• airliners often get odd clearances to back taxi on the general aviation runway, or cross to the west side before turning back toward their runway
• SNA is home to an odd mix of traffic; many aerobatic planes, tailwheels, an abnormally high number of training flights, and a helicopter operation which has rotorcraft refueling on the east side and then taxiing to the west side where they land on top of a building
• the airport is too small to accomodate the level of traffic it’s now experiencing — chalk this up to the closure of every other airport in Orange County except Fullerton
• all the taxiways at SNA (except Charlie) are bi-directional, even the small connecting ones like Kilo and Golf
• the runway layout and prevailing winds result in major wake turbulence concerns
• there are four runup areas, all in odd places
• frequency congestion is acute, to say the least

Van Nuys may be the world’s busiest GA airport, but I’ve always felt that it was much less hectic than John Wayne because it has no airline traffic. The controllers at SNA do a masterful job, but there’s only so much you can do with an airport that small and that crowded.

Spokeswomen at Long Beach and John Wayne airports said most runway incursions at their facilities involved small, private planes. LAX, however, mostly serves commercial aircraft, giving it the greatest potential for a catastrophic accident.

Really? All the runway incursions I’ve witnessed at SNA have been caused by airliners and professional pilots. I’d be interested to know if they really are from “small, private airplanes” or whether it’s just easier for airport administrators to tag a large, faceless mass of pilots.

If there’s one thing aviation will never run out of, it’s ‘old sayings’ (it will also never run out of abbreviations, but that’s another story). “The best way to make a small fortune in aviation is to start out with a large one”. Or how about “Takeoffs are optional; landings are mandatory”. These aphorisms are bandied about in emails and pilot lounges around the world. Most of them get old. Quickly.

But there is one that I don’t think you can hear too often. It tells us that “the superior pilot is the one who uses his superior judgement to avoid situations where he might need his superior skill.” In other words, leave the Top Gun attitude on the ground and you’ll have gone a long way toward ensuring you don’t end up like Goose.

I love this saying because it reminds us that by a ratio of nearly 9-to-1, accidents are caused by poor pilot judgement rather than mechanical failure. (source: AOPA Air Safety Foundation’s annual Nall Report)

Think about that for a second. It means that when a pilot is involved in an accident, the odds are that he caused it. Not by lack of stick and rudder ability, mind you, but rather by using poor judgement in the cockpit. Examples include VFR flight into IMC weather, failure to abort a poor approach, descending below minimums, buzzing, low level aerobatics, and the all time favorite: running out of fuel.

These lapses of judgement are what kill people in the skies. With the intense discipline, screening, and first class training our military pilots recieve, you’d think this sort of thing would be limited to the civilian world. But it ain’t necessarily so. The web is replete with stories about military pilots who voluntarily put themselves behind the eight ball, and one of them was on the front page of today’s Los Angeles Times.

SAN LUIS OBISPO — At a quarter past noon on Jan. 21, a U.S. Navy F-18 Super Hornet jet fighter flown by a combat-tested pilot named Richard Webb appeared over the Edna Valley and streaked toward San Luis Obispo County Regional Airport.

On its first pass, the Super Hornet screamed along at more than 650 miles an hour, just 96 feet above the main runway. Soon it circled back, touched down on the tarmac for an instant, then went into a steep climb, afterburner roaring, and disappeared in the skies.

I had to read that last paragraph about half a dozen times before my mind would register what it said. Six hundred fifty miles an hour at 96 feet. Over a Class D airport. Then he pulls up into a vertical climb, adding ‘aerobatics in controlled airspace’ to a long litany of Part 91 violations. Speed restrictions. Careless and reckless operation. You name it. And those are just the civilian regs. I’m sure the list of military violations is even longer.

Oh, and did I mention that the pilot had a total of 14 hours in the Hornet when he pulled this stunt?

Top Gun may have been fiction, but apparently someone forgot to tell this guy. The worst part of this story doesn’t even have to do with the low pass. As I’ve repeatedly said, everyone has lapses of judgement. But Mr. Webb later defended himself by claiming that “No respected fighter pilot worth his salt can look me in the eye and tell me they’ve never done the exact same thing.”

Oh really? I would love to see the list of active pilots who’ve made unauthorized, near supersonic passes over a civilian airport before performing an vertical upline right over the field. They may have done it fifty years ago when the airports were less crowded and the airplanes less capable. But the fact is, Mr. Webb learned nothing from his experience. His defense: everyone does it.

In regard to his unauthorized flyby, Webb wrote, “No respected fighter pilot worth his salt can look me in the eye and tell me they’ve never done the exact same thing.”

Webb concluded that he was “not apologetic for what I did, and if given the chance, I’d do the same thing again…. It’s just incredibly hard to admit fault, and accept such disproportionate punishment, to an action that probably helped recruit many young kids in town that day…. I feel ashamed to have my close friends die to protect your freedom to complain about how we do our job.”

Well get used to it, pal. We’re the ones paying for the plane, the fuel, the maintenance, your salary, and the airports and airspace you abused. This isn’t about how Webb does his job. It’s about removing a pilot who demonstrates extraordinarily poor judgement before he kills someone.

The actual fly-by probably presented little if any danger. Mr. Webb obviously has the requisite stick-and-rudder skills, but his lack of good judgement trumps it every day of the week. His refusal to acknowledge that the high speed pass was a bad idea or that he’d do anything differently if given the chance indicate that the judgement problem goes way beyond this single incident.

Prognosis: anti-authority attitude and poor decision-making skills. He does not belong in the cockpit.

Poor decision making is something every pilot must guard against. Complacency, boredom, and ego get in the way. By way of a civilian corollary, IAC’s Sport Aerobatics magazine recently detailed the story of a promising young pilot who ran afoul of numerous regulations when she performed aerobatic maneuvers over a church as part of a wedding celebration. This violated rules against aerobatics over populated areas, in controlled airspace, and below 1500 feet above ground. The difference is that she publicly acknowledged her lapse in judgement, accepted a hefty sanction from the FAA, and has shown every sign of learning from this incident.

Prognosis: pilot learned from her errors and is likely to show far better judgement in the future.

I believe flying is fairly safe. Unlike many other activities, however, it is extremely intolerant of carelessness.

(Note: this is, to an extent, a continuation of my previous post on GPS dependency)

Recently, a fellow pilot opined that all aviators should have a GPS receiver in the cockpit. He related the story of a low visibility day where several pilots had a hard time spotting the airport, even when they were nearly on top of it, and concluded that if we all carried a GPS, this would not happen.

The responses were not surprising. By a ratio of about six to one, pilots were in agreement. I, of course, took the road less traveled. And that has made all the difference. Well, not really, but it did provide a great idea for an article.

One pilot even went so far as to state the following:

This holds true for VFR as well. There is absolutely no excuse for any person, monkey, orangutan, or baboon to fly in unfamiliar territory without at least a handheld aviation GPS to keep reference. Some folks don’t feel that they need one, and the rest of us will suffer dearly for it the next time they screw up.

Interesting.

So I’m an aerobatic pilot on my way to a competition. I’m flying an S-1S, a common single seat aircraft that doesn’t even have enough space to store a chart (I fold it up and sit on it), let alone a GPS. The airplane has an airspeed indicator, altimeter, and magnetic compass. No gyros, no electronics save a lightweight Becker com radio.

If there’s absolutely no excuse to fly without a handheld GPS, should I retire from flying, or simply have the aircraft shipped from airport to airport via truck?

As far as getting lost is concerned, part of my job is training people to fly the G1000 equipped DA40 DiamondStar and FlightMax Entegra equipped SR20 and SR22. I cannot tell you how many pilots have literally not known where they were going, despite the electronics. The list of sins is long and varied:

• allowing the autopilot to fly without regard to whether it is following heading, nav source, or simply functioning as a wing leveler
• accepting what the glass panel tells them, not even bothering to check it against the mag compass to ensure it’s reporting common-sense ground track and/or headings
• programing the GPS with erroneous waypoints, not even noticing that the distance between two waypoints is over a thousand miles (for example, the Seal Beach VOR shares an identifier with a navaid in South America).
• busting airspace, as hard as that is to believe
• dialing in wrong frequencies, failing to ident
• failure to crosscheck
• leaving charts in the flight bag, on the back seat, or on the ground

Not to mention having their head inside the cockpit way too much, relying on Skywatch or Mode S downlink for traffic avoidance, and flying the pattern without dedicating appropriate attention to what’s happening outside. If anything makes busting a TFR seem like a picnic, it’s the thought of a mid-air collision.

These electronic instruments can create extremely high workload, or like television, tempt us to zone out while flying. The instances of pilots getting lost may have gone down with the advent of GPS, but make no mistake about it, if the day ever comes when GPS signals are degraded, turned off, jammed, or the constellation somehow fails, you will see chaos unlike anything since 9/11.

I fly the most advanced GA aircraft in existance, as well as planes equipped with nothing but a magnetic compass. So I see both sides of the coin, and I will tell you I feel far safer with the guy in the Extra 300 or Super Decathlon who’s got a chart, compass, watch, and knows how to use them.

This is not about whether GPS is more accurate than pilotage (it is). This is about whether the guy in the front seat is going to be a pilot or a passenger. GPS creates definite risks, it leads to loss of skill, and dependencies can form. People stop doing things like checking for TFRs at all! GPS makes flying seem so simple, but it’s not, and what you don’t know can kill you.

Even leaving all that aside, there are issues of cost (purchase, installation, database updates, training), weight (see my aforementioned aerobatic aircraft as an example), and so on. Requiring GPS makes as much sense as requiring two engines. Sure it’s safer, but when safety becomes that important, we should all stay on the ground and cut our pilot certificates into little pieces.

Finally, there’s the issue of enjoyment. I think it’s a lot more enjoyable to simply look out the window. Why is it that pilots spend all this money to get a birdseye view of the world and then proceed to ignore that view in favor of a computer screen? I got into aviation to get away from staring at a computer screen all day. Not everyone with a GPS stares at it all the time, but the cockpits are becoming more and more electronic. And the more electrons you add, the more this seems to happen.

I have owned GPS recievers, use them daily, and think they’re great. But suggesting that anyone who flies must have a GPS is, in my opinion, totally crazy. If you can’t safely and confidently plan and fly a cross country flight using nothing but the minimum instruments required under 14 CFR 91.205, you lack the skill every ~50 hour student pilot posseses when I send them for a checkride.

Perhaps some aviators think that’s okay. I would urge them to reconsider.

Bird strikes make for dramatic photos. And the larger the bird, the greater the drama.

Here’s the aftermath of a right-of-way arguement between an Air National Guard C-130 and an eagle. As usual, the bird came out on the losing end. It looks like the pilot almost did, too.

Speaking of which, our hero’s had a long day. “Looks like I picked the wrong week to quit smoking…”

I’m not one of those ‘all technology sucks’ guys who look down my nose at a well equipped instrument panel. I fly the Cirrus SR20/22 and G1000-equipped DiamondStars all the time and really enjoy teaching glass panel stuff. Indeed, I’ll be the first to admit that GPS is the best thing to come along since sliced bread.

But when I started instructing, I realized that my own basic navigation skills had deteriorated. I knew this not because I ever got lost, but because I was vaguely uncomfortable without a GPS, as though I couldn’t reliably remain clear of airspace in the Los Angeles basin without it. That was embarassing, because any student pilot is required to demonstrate that skill on solo flights before they can even think about obtaining a private pilot certificate. And here I was, an instructor, feeling less than totally comfortable with it.

Since then I’ve flown minimally equipped aerobatic airplanes on long cross countries with nothing but a map and compass and have come to enjoy the challenge. When flying in actual IMC, I’ll take every tool available to me. But when traveling in VMC, I almost prefer to use a compass and a chart because it builds and preserves a lot more skill than using GPS. It also literally forces me to keep my head outside the cockpit, which is good for all sorts of reasons.

Despite the fact that I enjoy using GPS in the clouds, I don’t let my instrument students do it unless they’re flying a glass panel airplane. This may interpreted as an old codger cooing about how much better things were in the ‘good old days’, but at Sunrise we work the instrument students pretty hard. Not for it’s own sake, but to turn out decent instrument pilots who can handle anything that comes along.

I’m teaching one guy now who’s only done a half dozen approaches in the airplane so far (though he’s done a dozen or more in the sim), and I’ve already got him going partial panel in a very busy environment. We’ll launch out of SNA with a clearance to Long Beach (maybe 10 miles away) and request the NDB approach, which he’ll do partial panel. It’s not easy. You takeoff, and less than 2 minutes later you get cleared for the approach. And before that the student has to get the ATIS, set the altimeter and DG, review altitudes, setup and ident the radios, review the missed, set the markers, verify minimums, and so on.

Before I’m done with him, he’ll be able to do a partial panel, single radio non-precision approach. The crowning feat is doing the no-gyro NDB 19R at SNA. It’s on a southerly course, so the compass errors are maximized. And there are a lot of closely spaces step-down fixes. It’s not because I think anyone will ever do that approach in real life — and certainly they’ll never do it partial panel. I teach them to do that because it’s extremely demanding, and I want to push them to their limit (and beyond) on every flight. Like a muscle that’s been exercised, it breaks down and then rebuilds itself even stronger.

I’ve no illusions about what these guys will do after getting their instrument rating. They’ll start flying with GPS. I don’t think that’s a bad thing. There’s no debating that it’s more accurate and capable than any other form of electronic naviation. But they’ll have the knowledge and skill to handle high-workload approaches with instrument failures in busy airspace.

Instrument flying is almost purely a mental exercise and here in Socal you’re always getting vectored around, so I demand that students always know exactly where they are and never rely on a controller for situational awareness. On an ILS, they have to track the cross radials, use the DME, and time the approach. If there’s a navaid they can use, they’d better be using it. If they get vectored, they better know where they’re being vectored to. And if they’re sent across the final approach course, they must know it’s happening and query ATC accordingly.

I recently flew with a guy who trained at Sunrise about 10 years ago. He hadn’t flown instruments for nearly that long, but his training came back and he was flying to high standards almost immediately. He accurately self-diagnosed his errors, weak points, and knew how to fix them.

On the other hand, I’ve flown with guys who had instrument ratings but were terrible pilots. One — get this! — held an instrument rating but had never done a circling approach before. That should not be possible; you have to demonstrate a circle-to-land on the checkride.

We were doing the ILS 29R at Torrance and were told to circle north for runway 11L, and he turned to me and said “what is that?”. I replied, “It’s a circling approach” and he came back with “I don’t know what that is.” I had to ask several times to reaffirm what he’d told me. It didn’t seem within realm of possibility. The negligence of his instrument instructor — and the examiner — was almost beyond comprehension.

He also accepted clearances he didn’t understand, couldn’t hold headings or altitudes to anywhere near PTS standards, and was so far behind the airplane that I terminated the checkout and told him he was not going to be able to get IFR privileges without major remedial training on the basics. Truth be told, he’d probably have to start over from square one. I wish I could say that this guy is a fluke, but it seems to be a common occurance. I’m not talking about rust here. The average pilot flies something like 60 hours per year, and a bit of rust is expected. But this is downright poor training.

In the final analysis, the problem isn’t the GPS, it’s the laziness of students and instructors who don’t see a problem with relinquishing major pilot-in-command responsibilities to ATC, GPS, or just good old fashioned fate.

One of my first inspirations for getting into aviation was a Russian named Victor Belenko. In 1976, he defected to the U.S. from Russia in his MiG-25 Foxbat.

At the time, the Foxbat was the most feared and super secret airplane in the world. It flew faster and higher than anything the U.S. had, and he flew one right into our lap. He stole it on a routine training mission, outran the Russian jets that were pursuing him, and landed in Japan on an airfield that was 30% shorter than any runway a MiG-25 had ever seen.

Anyway, his book was written in 1980, and I always wondered what happened to him. Turns out he’s still around, and a friend of mine is now his agent, booking him on the speaking circuit.

The book has all kinds of funny anecdotes about his acclimatization to American life. In a magazine article in 1996, he expounded a bit more on some humorous stuff he did while getting used to our society. Check this out (makes you glad to live in America!):

“Belenko: First of all American super-market, my first visit was under CIA supervision, and I thought it was set-up; I did not believe super-market was real one. I thought well I was unusual guest; they probably kicked everyone out. It’s such a nice, big place with incredible amount of produce, and no long lines! You’re accustomed to long lines in Russia.

“Later, when I discovered the super-market was real one, I had real fun exploring new products. I would buy, everyday, a new thing and try to figure out its function. In Russia at that time (and even today) it’s hard to find canned food, good one. But everyday I would buy new cans with different food. Once I bought a can which said “dinner.” I cooked it with potatoes, onions, and garlic — it was delicious. Next morning my friends ask me, “Viktor, did you buy a cat?” It was a can of chicken-based cat food. But it was delicious! It was better than canned food for people in Russia today. And I did test it.

“Last year I brought four people from Russia for commercial project, and I set them up. I bought nibble sized human food. I installed a pâté, and it was cat food. I put it on crackers. And they did consume it, and they liked it. So the taste has not changed. By the way, for those who are not familiar with American cat food. It’s very safe; it’s delicious, and sometimes it’s better than human food, because of the Humane Society.

“I bought a box of Freedom with the picture of nice looking lady. I did not know what it was. (I’m talking about maxi-pads.) I brought it to my apartment, I opened it, and I tried to figure it out. I thought well it’s probably some cleaning device for the kitchen to give these American women freedom in the kitchen to clean up and absorb everything, because even today Russian women do not have this convenience.”

Several aviation blogs have touched on the subject of bird strikes recently, and it reminded me of a wildlife encounter I had almost exactly a year ago.

The day started pleasantly enough. I met up with Dan over Chino and we formed up as a flight of two enroute to Crystal Airpark. We spent an hour or so with the builder of an RV-6 which was up for sale, after which Dan and I parted ways. He returned to Chino and I winged northbound toward Lake Isabella to pick up some folks for Angel Flight.

I dodged thunderstorms most of the way, arriving a few minutes late only to discover that a) I’m the last AF pilot to arrive, and b) two pilots cancelled so unless I can take an extra person, they’d be stranded there. Plus there’s a lot of extra luggage. So we try to see how much of it we can fit in the plane. Would you believe 14 duffle bags and sleeping bags? Plus 50 gallons of fuel. Plus three passengers. And yours truly, of course, who tips the scale at 200 lbs.

The baggage compartment was a solid wall of bags all the way up to the window. There were bags under the rear seat. They were holding luggage on their laps. Bags in between the seats. My flight bag (which is quite large) was under my legs.

The baggage wasn’t heavy — primarily lightweight sleeping bags and such. I ran a quick weight & balance and true to form, the Skylane was just a few pounds under max gross. (I later realized that I forgot to include my own weight, so we were actually over. Oops.)

Then as we taxi out I notice it’s 105 degrees. And at the end of the runway, of course, is…. a huge lake.

So I add 10 degrees of flaps, add full power, and decide where my “no go” point will be on the runway. Suffice it to say the plane got off the ground very quickly. Not that I doubt the POH’s takeoff distance charts, of course. But when it’s 45 degrees above standard, some serious interpolation must take place to accurately predict aircraft performance.

She didn’t climb more than 500 fpm, but that’s fine. Good job, Ron. Nothing can stop you now!

Except perhaps a bird strike.

It was over pretty quickly. A large flock passed by the nose, and out of maybe 30 birds, only one got caught. The ultimate ‘zigged when he should have zagged’, eh? These birds were moving so quickly that there was no avoiding the collision. If you’ve ever encoutered a helium balloon on departure, you’ll know what I mean. It appears out of nowhere and is gone before you can even process what you’re seeing, let alone take evasive action.

There was no damage to the airplane. Not even the slightest nick on the prop. But it sure was a mess, and naturally I’d just cleaned the plane the day before. After landing at Brackett Field, I found pieces of the bird(s) on the prop, cowling, windshield, top of the wing, bottom of the wing, wing tip, wheel fairings, belly, and vertical stabilizer. Imagine putting a piece of food in a blender but leaving the lid off. Wheeee!

It didn’t qualify as a prop strike since there was no slowing or stoppage of the propeller. The bird was, thankfully, rather small. Even so, blood is like oil. It doesn’t take much to really look bad.

Oh, and did I mention how fun it is trying to get a pop-up IFR clearance into POC when a dozen other AF pilots are trying to do the same thing? I got vectored around for nearly 30 minutes. Made a lovely approach, great landing, and expected the usual “taxi to parking, monitor this frequency” from the tower.

Instead, he says “Contact ground”. Well my front seat passenger was holding the approach plates for me (rule one: use all resources), and after we landed he started leafing through it, so I didn’t have the ground frequency on hand.

Now I could have pulled the data out of the GPS or loran, or fished through the CA Pilot’s Guide or Airport/Facilities Directory. But it’s been a long day, I’m hot, my airplane is covered in blood, and the AF/D is buried in a flight bag which is stuffed under my seat. So I decide to just ask the tower if they can give me the frequency.

He comes back with, “It’s the published frequency, sir. The frequency that’s published. The published frequency is 125.0. That’s 125.0. It’s published.”

Moron.

The topic of radio etiquette has come up quite frequently of late, and it got me poking through the Airman Information Manual. Officially, when a controller calls out another aircraft to you, he/she is expecting one of two and only two replies. Either “traffic in sight” or “negative contact”.

It may not be standard AIM phraseology, but I use the phrase “looking” quite often.

I use it because, to me at least, it conveys a specific meaning which is easily interpretable by ATC. It means “I don’t see the traffic, but I’m trying to find it” and it also conveys that ATC’s transmission was understood: I know there is traffic out there, and he’s generally at my 2 o’clock (or whatever) position.

I could just say “Roger” in response to the traffic call. But then, “looking” doesn’t take any longer or have any more syllables in it. It’s short, concise, and conveys a specific meaning.

“Negative contact” has an implication of “I can’t find him”. But I don’t want to say that initially, because I haven’t looked yet. If I start to use “negative contact” when I’m looking, then I guess I’d have to say “I can’t find him” or “Can you update me on the traffic?” when I need to let the controller know that I searched high and low to no avail for the conflicting aircraft. But those phrases are far more wordy.

So is “looking” an officialy sanctioned response? No. But of all the things I hear on the radio, that one doesn’t sound too egregious. The fish finder stuff and superfluous ahs, umms, full callsigns when unnecessary, etc should probably go away first.

My general arguement against Nazi-like adherence to AIM-specified radio protocol is that if we did that, you’d never hear things like “thanks” or “good day” or “happy 4th” or any of the little niceties that make flying pleasurable. To be sure, there’s a time and place for them based on frequency congestion. I’m definitely the king of concise radio communcation and force my students to be that way from day one. VNY may be the 800 lb gorilla of the GA airport world, but SNA is not far behind.

And perhaps that’s the greater lesson: be sensitive to the environment you’re flying in. If the frequency is jam-packed with traffic and the weather stinks, keep it short and sweet, speak clearly, and listen up. If it’s the middle of the night and you’re the only guy on the radio, then you can relax a bit.

For what it’s worth, my biggest pet peeve is pilots who disregard the standard phonetic alphabet in favor of ‘cute’ substitutes because they think it sounds cool. I have a small aneurism every time I hear that kind of thing. (Note to any FAA medical personnel reading this: I didn’t say that).

So I’ve returned from that Big Adventure in the J3 Cub I’m constantly blabbering about these days. The trip was fantastic.

My original intent was to provide a fairly in depth look at why those who love these little yellow airplanes call this sort of trip “real flying”. Unfortuantely, I’m too busy doing the “fake” flying (read: work) to tell you about the non-fake variety, so the hangar flying verbosity will have to wait.

Alas, we did manage to take more than 130 photos on the trip. And I have to say, this was the sort of journey that digital cameras were invented for. I’ve whittled the collection down to 53 cropped, sized, color-corrected, and lightly narrated images which you can see here.

Apparently it’s a slow news day at CNN, which is quoting a USA Today article about the “surge in crashes” which is “scarring” the air ambulance industry.

As usual, it’s clear the pieces were written by people with little if any aviation experience. They’re unbalanced and sensationalized.

It’s an undeniable fact that air ambulance service is responsible for saving thousands of lives each year. It’s also a fact that every time one of those helicopters goes out on a mission, they’re landing in an area which was not designed for helicopter operations.

These pilots have to avoid powerlines, buildings, trees, cars, and set that thing down in the tightest of spots, often in poor weather. They’re landing on this untested surface for the first time. Then they have to take off again at maximum gross weight with the rotor wash from their aircraft bouncing off the surrounding surfaces, fight the weather and then land — often at night — on a small concrete pad at the top of a building. For those of you who’ve never been on top of a building, it’s windy up there and you can’t see very well because there are few peripheral references with which to judge your altitude.

News flash: it’s risky.

CNN and USA Today show no recognition of that fact, choosing instead to take the whole industry to task because this activity doesn’t have the same safety record as an airliner.

Its study found that more than 10 percent of the U.S. air ambulance helicopter fleet crashed during that time, a proportion that would have translated to 90 jetliner crashes if applied to commercial airlines.

CNN didn’t read the USA Today article very well. If they had, they’d realized that if 10 percent of the commercial airliner fleet was 90 aircraft, the implication is that there are approximately 900 jet airliners in the United States. This is wrong. There are nearly 10,000 jetliners in active use according to the FAA registry. Note also that this FAA statistic does not include jetliners that are in storage, so the “fleet” that USA Today refers to is undoubtedly much larger.

When a news publication makes a mistake like this, it puts their entire argument at risk. To an aviator, this kind of thing is akin to reading that there are only 23 states. It raises a red flag and says “whoever is telling you this doesn’t know what they’re talking about.”

After reviewing hundreds of pages of documents and interviewing dozens of pilots, aviation experts, federal officials and executives with the companies that operate the flights, USA Today concluded that air ambulance companies and the Federal Aviation Administration have failed to impose safety requirements that might have saved lives.

What they’re not saying is that “imposing safety requirements” would also cost lives. The very lives that air ambulances exist to save, thereby defeating their whole raison d’être. USA Today seems to be in favor of having the go/no-go decision made by someone other than the pilot.

Patrick Veillette, a former emergency medical pilot who has written several studies of air ambulance accidents, says the lack of emphasis on safety regulations, equipment and training is “setting the pilots up.”

Veillette now flies a business jet. He says the contrast between that type of flying and the air ambulance world is stark. In a jet, air traffic controllers guide him away from hazardous conditions. His cockpit is equipped with the latest safety devices, including one that sounds an alarm if he strays too near to the ground. A company dispatcher won’t allow him to take off unless conditions are safe.

For the air ambulance industry, “these multiple safety layers don’t exist,” he says.

Additional training is one thing. You can never have enough training. Even a review of regulations might be worthwhile.

But with due respect to Mr. Veillette (by all accounts a well respected aviator), how are air traffic controllers supposed to provide information on hazardous conditions? ATC has no weather information that isn’t already available to the pilot. Low weather conditions keep ATC too busy to take on this sort of task anyway. They may provide it on a workload-permitting basis, but it’s not something you can count on. Even if you could, radar coverage frequently doesn’t extend to the low-level areas where rotorcraft fly.

A ground proximity warning system would only be an annoyance to a helicopter which typically flies just a few hundred feet off the deck. And the dispatcher idea doesn’t translate. It works well for a Part 135 charter, but air ambulances must operate on smaller margins. The smaller those margins get, the harder it would be for a dispatcher to make an effective go/no-go decision.

As the guy with his neck out there on the line, I can appreciate Mr. Veillette’s concern about the industry. Even so, I oppose any attempt to take authority or responsibility away from the pilot-in-command, which USA Today rightly credits for the majority of accidents. It’s the one area where we are in agreement.

The newspaper’s analysis of almost 30 years worth of accidents shows that 82% of fatal crashes were caused by human error — almost all by pilots.

What USA Today isn’t telling you is that this statistic is as applicable to general aviation as it is to air ambulance service. The Air Safety Foundation reports consistently show that the vast majority of accidents are attributable to pilot error rather than mechanical failure. It’s true for privately operated light aircraft, for airliners, and for charter operations. Why should air ambulances be any different?

This statistic only proves a) that aircraft are reliable, and b) that the best safety device in any aircraft is a well trained pilot.

I’m flying Sunrise’s J3 up to a Cub fly-in at Lompoc this morning.

The official purpose is to try and drum up some business for the aircraft. The unofficial purpose: fun! I’ve been flying the plane quite a bit over the past couple of months and have to say it’s one of the most enjoyable planes I’ve flown. The windows and doors are usually left wide open, so you get an unobstructed view and lots of fresh air. It’s like an open cockpit biplane, but without the wind blast and sun exposure.

There are very few FBOs I can think of that operate out of a busy Class C airfield yet still an airplane available for rent that you can hand prop. But we do. And our bird was fully restored over the past few years, adding a larger engine along with the clipped wing modification. The shorter wing results in sportier handling — I’ll often make steep approaches at 90 mph and still end up with a very short landing roll.

Between that and the fact that we’re well know for our expertise with tailwheel aircraft, it’s hoped that this will inspire people to come down to Sunrise and fly the airplane.

It should be a pretty slow trip, though. The Cub is lucky to get 85 mph, even with the horsepower upgrade. I refer to it as “permanent MCA” (MCA = ‘minimum controllable airspeed’, or ‘slow flight’).

The plan is to stop at various airports along the way to put up flyers and show off the airplane. At Lompoc, there will probably be about 50 aircraft for the fly-in, which lasts through Sunday. There will be a spot landing contest, as well as a flour bomb drop competition.

This trip should be unique, because the J3 doesn’t have a charging system, just a battery. When it’s tied down at SNA, there’s a permanently mounted solar panel on the ground which supplies energy to recharge the battery. But we’re going to be gone for 60 hours and aren’t sure if the battery will hold enough juice to power the avionics for that long.

We sat down and computed the power draw from the avionics. The aircraft is equipped with Becker glider radios, which are both compact in size and miserly on the power consumption. The intercom draws about 0.1 amp. The transponder, which is the high draw item, only pulls 0.25 amps at 28 volts. We’re operating at 14 volts, so it’ll take 0.5 amps. Still, not bad!

Since we need the transponder and radio to get through the 30 nm mode C veil and Class C airspace, the plan is to turn everything off once we’re clear of Los Angeles and get back to basic, no frills pilotage. With any luck, this will preserve enough battery power to get us through the return trip across Los Angeles.

Flying. It’s an adventure!

See ya in a few days…

Lesley and I enjoyed a great 4th of July yesterday. Our schedules rarely mesh these days — she works Monday through Friday and I’m on from Wednesday through Sunday — so it was a welcome treat to have a whole day together.

We started with a picnic at Irvine Regional Park. There were quite a few people around, but I wouldn’t say it was uncomfortably crowded. There were just enough folks around to make for some interesting people watching.

Speaking of which, we ended up being the only non-Hispanic picnickers in the park. I’m not sure why, but it might have something to do with the fact that Irvine Regional Park is not located in Irvine but rather sits in the hills between Tustin and Orange. Whatever the reason, it was odd being in such a homogenous group. I’m used to seeing a far wider racial mix than that.

It reminded me of a concert tour I did through the midwest in the early 90s. Exploring Indianapolis one afternoon, nearly everyone I encountered had blond hair and blue eyes. It was like the Germans had won the war or something. The Confederate war memorials scattered around the city center didn’t help.

Anyway, after lounging away a few hours under a big tree at the park, we did a bit of shopping at Petco and set up a small aquarium at Lesley’s place. We also scoped out barbecues at Home Depot, but couldn’t find anything that was reasonably sized. I’ve been wanting to get her one as a housewarming present but they’re all huge. Is it just me, or have the barbecues become larger and larger over the years? They all seem to have what can only be described as significant counter space on either side of the grill. You’d think they would at least make these parts foldable so that those who are tight on space could conserve room when the grill was not in use.

Lesley’s new place in Aliso Viejo is amazing. Not only does it have more square footage, an extra bedroom, extra bathrom, vaulted ceilings, better air conditioning, and a garage, but it also sits on top of the highest land in the area. So her patio has a view that stretches for miles. Accompanied by a gentle breeze, the patio faces east, so the sun is mellow in the afternoons.

We spent the twilight hours hanging out on the deck, snacking on grape leaves, cucumber salad, hummus, French bread and a very special Zivio dessert wine we picked up at the Milat Vinyard in Napa last year.

We hadn’t planned to watch any fireworks, but around 9 pm noticed that we could see a large display that had begun in Laguna Beach. Then a few minutes later one started up in Aliso Viejo. Then Mission Viejo. Then Laguna Hills. Within minutes we were literally enveloped in large-scale professional fireworks displays. It was outstanding! Even more so because not only was it an unexpected surprise, but we had amazing seats without having to fight any crowds.

All in all, it was one of the most enjoyable relaxing 4th of Julys in memory.

So I’m waiting to board my United Airlines flight to Seattle. A few days ago I was congratulating myself on resisting the temptation to fly up in my own airplane, opting instead to take advantage of frequent flyer miles to obtain a free ticket.

Now that I’m here, however, the plan doesn’t seem quite so bright. Oh sure, the flight is on time and I didn’t forget to pack anything. But the environment here at LAX is strangely disquieting. I’m not sure why, but I think it has something to do with the fact that I’m at an airport, surrounded by airplanes, and this should be a very joyful environment for someone like myself. Yet there is no joy anywhere to be seen.

There’s something about a major international airport that brings out the worst in people. I don’t know if it’s the crowds, the security, or just the overall nervousness in a post 9/11 world. But it’s definitely not a friendly place.

The TSA goons are constantly eyeing you, as though you’ve certainly committed a crime and it’s only a matter of time until they uncover it or sweat you out.

The gate agents are stand-offish at best, undoubtedly a pre-emptive response after years of torture by a slovenly dressed, poorly mannered flying public.

Listless passengers either immerse themselves in reading material or simply shuffle about, eyes downcast to prevent any possibility of actual eye contact with another human being.

Perhaps I, as a GA pilot, am the only one that detects this pall. It’s like a funeral in here. A testament to the bankrupt status of United Airlines, perhaps? It does feel a bit like “last call” at a seedy bar.

I can only conclude that this is not really an ‘airport’ at all. LAX and its ilk don’t do justice to the word. Lord knows that if this is what my daily work environment was like, I’d be looking for a new career. The ‘airport’ I’m familiar with has quirky people who are friendly to a fault, and always ready to look you in the eye, shake your hand, and swap war stories about that old Stearman sitting out on the grass.

Even before 9/11, the only thing to look forward to at a place like this is the possibility of witnessing a warm reunion between friends or family as folks disembark. Now, even that small pleasure is gone. The only thing there is to look forward to now is getting the hell out of here.

Speaking of which, they’re calling my flight. And not a moment too soon — this place is starting to creep me out.

Despite the stories, photos, and video clips of aircraft crashes and high performance airshow acts I frequently post here at the House of Rapp, I’ve always maintained that aviating is a generally safe activity.

Airshow flying and military aviation — two things I often highlight — are rare exceptions. They push the envelope only after highly specialized training, and the pilots are fully aware of the risk involved.

But for Joe Average, flying presents relatively little risk. That’s not just opinion talking. It’s a statement based on detailed long term statistics from the NTSB and the Air Safety Foundation.

And those stats get better every year. Here’s the latest:

WASHINGTON (AP) — The number of civil aviation accidents in the United States fell by 8 percent last year, according to preliminary statistics released Tuesday.

The National Transportation Safety Board reported that civil aviation accidents declined from 1,864 in 2003 to 1,715 last year. There were also 9 percent fewer deaths in 2004 — 635, down from 695 the year before.

“There is a single strong common thread among safety that’s woven among every aspect of aviation, from the design of the aircraft through the systems on board to the training the pilots receive,” said Federal Aviation Administration spokesman Greg Martin. “The payoff is the safest three years in aviation history.”

The NTSB singled out general aviation flying in 2004, noting that it was the safest year in history:

Private planes were also involved in fewer crashes last year. The accident rate fell from 6.77 per 100,000 flight hours to 6.22, the lowest recorded by the NTSB since it began keeping statistics in 1975. There were 1,715 general aviation accidents in 2004, down from 1,864 the year before.

The FAA’s Martin said the agency has learned much about improving general aviation safety from the Capstone Project, which focuses on adopting modern aviation technology in Alaska, where many people travel on small private planes.

I’m not sure why the FAA thinks Capstone is especially noteworthy. As I understand it, relatively few of Alaska’s 9,904 aircraft have the required equipment to take advantage of the Capstone technology. But I won’t look a gift horse in the mouth. Whatever the reason — and there are undoubtedly many from which to choose — aviation is safer than ever.

Some jet jockey owes me a beer.

I was in the pattern with a student last week working on 180 degree power off accuracy approaches in preparation for his commercial checkride. It had started to rain fairly heavily a few minutes earlier, so it didn’t seem unusual to see a Lear 25 departing on runway 19R with a trail of water spray streaming from behind the main landing gear.

But I still felt that something wasn’t right. So I kept watching. And sure enough, the spray of water from behind the jet only intensified after it lifted off. That’s odd. Then the gear came up, yet the long stream of water remained.

A-ha.

I called the tower to tell them that the Learjet was venting fuel from the right tip tank. About four seconds later the Lear made a sharp right turn, the Boeing 757 on final started to climb, and a bevy of emergency vehicles appeared from out of nowhere with their lights flashing. For you conspiracy theorists out there, it was almost as if they knew an emergency was about to occur.

The rate at which fuel was streaming out of that tank was impressive. We were at least a mile away and it looked like Mother Nature’s own fuel dump valve had opened up and God Himself was sucking the kerosene out with a straw. The fuel spray trailed for a quarter of a mile behind the Learjet as though the pilot had turned on the smoke system during an airshow. Kinda cool looking.

It all ended happily, as these events almost always do. The Lear 25 made a safe landing, and the last I saw it was being refueled while the airport operations personnel searched the runway for the errant fuel cap. I wonder if they ever found it.

The pilot probably felt like an idiot, but then we all have our stories. Yours truly once took off with the cowl plugs installed on a Skylane, an act that ensured I would never be the one to cast the first stone.

Watching that Learjet dump fuel reminded me of an eventful flight to Europe in the summer of 2000. I was flying on a Boeing 777, the newest airliner in the skies. We’d had several mechanical delays due to problems with the airplane and took off from LAX a day late. Two hours into the flight we were somewhere over Idaho, as I recall, when another problem cropped up. Passengers in first class were feeling a strong vibration in the airframe. The first officer came back to check it out and determined that a small exterior door was loose. After consulting with United Airlines maintenance personnel in San Francisco, the crew opted to return to Los Angeles.

Of course, with a full load of fuel, we were way too heavy to land. So the pilot started dumping fuel to lighten the load. The fuel dumping continued all the way back to LAX — nearly two hours.

And when we landed, we were still far enough over maximum gross landing weight that the airplane was grounded until mechanics could confirm that the landing gear was not damaged. I managed to capture a few photos of the dumping in progress.

The problem with that access door was well known to United. In fact, the entire 777 fleet had been retrofitted to remove the door permanently. All except one airplane — ours — which was due to have the mod done at the next maintenance interval.

I only know all this because United Airlines allows passengers to listen in on radio communications via the headsets they provide. I think it’s channel 9. The crew probably would have disabled channel 9 if they’d remembered to do so. Luckily for me they forgot, and I got some free entertainment on the way back.

‘Haute Voltige’ is a French phrase that roughly translates as ‘High Performance Aerobatics’.

I’d never heard of this organization before today, but apparently Haute Voltige was founded by a retired French military pilot who wanted to develop “a niche for sports, technique, art and culture in the world of aviation”.

They sponsor unconventional aerobatic competitions, promote flight simulation, and most interestingly, stage a unique combination of theatre and airshow called Haute Voltige Air Musicals. The HV web site describes these air musicals as “a different air show concept where aircraft are considered as tools for artists, an outdoor Air Theatre where a story is acted out by pilots flying their aircraft to originally composed music, a new Performing Art for the 21st Century”.

As someone who spends a great deal of time in the theatre and in the air, I think it’s a great combination.

You won’t want to miss this video clip (.rm format) from the 2002 World Grand Prix in the Czech Republic. If you follow the international aerobatics scene, you’ll see some familiar faces.

Even if you don’t know one end of an airplane from the other, the video is still worth watching — the cinematography is as impressive as the flying. Check it out.

Update 04/06/05 – a reader clued me in to the fact that the event took place at the Twin Ring Motegi race track in Japan, not in the Czech Republic. The Japanese people in the video might have tipped me off…

Update 05/23/05 – Lionel Charlet emailed to let me know that he’s the one who created the Motegi video for Haute Voltige. Be sure to check out the other aviation videos Lionel has on his site.

Mike Goulian was recently featured on NBC’s Today Show. They profile non-traditional careers in a series called “Moonlighting”.

For this episode, Goulian took Today correspondent Ann Curry up for a demo in an Extra 300L and had her flying a primary level sequence after only one flight.

The media so often portrays general aviation in a poor light, sensationalizing even the most routine gear up landing as a near-death event. And that goes double for aerobatic and airshow stories. So it’s nice to watch Ms. Curry really enjoy herself and connect with the passion so many of us feel for this thing called flying. She starts off by noting that airshow pilots often seem “at the edge of their sanity”, but by the end of the segment has learned that Goulian and his ilk are a reminder that “not giving up on your true passion can lead to a life of joy.”

It’s very well produced, almost as if AOPA had put it together rather than a mainstream news program. Watch it here.

They also aired an outstanding segment on Angel Flight last year as part of a series entitled “Who We Admire”. The video is still availble online.

Today seems to be one of the few media outlets to treat general aviation decently. I wonder if someone on their staff is a pilot. Whatever the reason, I hope they keep up the good work.

Vice President Cheney dropped in on us at John Wayne Airport yesterday. Air Force Two, a Boeing C-32A, arrived shortly after 1:00 p.m., and with it came an armada of police, Secret Service, and spooks that closed down the airport for the balance of the afternoon.

It’s a shame, because in days past the arrival of the President or VP would have been an exciting thing. But all anyone could do yesterday was gird themselves for a day of lost work and wonder why Cheney didn’t land at Los Alamitos or March AFB.

We knew he was coming — the FAA issued a Temporary Flight Restriction notice a few days beforehand. But the idiocy surrounding his visit is exactly the kind of thing I would expect from the Federal government. There’s nothing like being prohibited from entering or leaving your own building to make you feel free.

And these TFRs don’t help Cheney’s security, they hurt it. It broadcasts for all to see the precise time and place of his arrival. Then there’s the TFR itself, which has a three nautical mile radius. At 3 miles per minute, anyone wishing the Veep harm would be able to cover that distance in less than a minute, even in a slow single engine aircraft.

But most idiodic is the fact that airmen like myself who have long since been vetted by the government were prohibited from being on the airport while at the same time, line personnel who’ve barely had their drivers licenses verified are allowed to drive fuel trucks filled with thousands of gallons of jet fuel around the ramp.

This sort of thing is so common that I’ve almost come to accept it as inevitable. Why fight it? I’m tired, and it’s easier to just let it go. The thought of writing about it didn’t even cross my mind until I heard a public service announcement from the Ad Council entitled “You Say Nothing” which urged people to be active citizens. It ended by reminding us that “when you don’t use your rights, you forfeit them” and “your freedom only thrives when you use it”.

Hell yeah.

So I’m here once again to say that this trend of treating law abiding Americans like criminals has got to stop. Erosion of our freedoms, whether in the air or on the ground, has got to stop. Giving terrorists what they want — a climate of fear and distrust — has got to stop. Good intentions are not an excuse, and it’s well past time for us to stand up and say ‘enough’.

It seems the more trustworthy a person is, the more they are ground into the dirt by ‘homeland security’. For example, here’s a message from a fellow pilot who flies the Boeing 767 for a major domestic airline. I’ve removed his name and that of his company because… well, because he lives in fear. Just the way a good American shouldn’t.

I thought that I would just vent a little. Today I just landed my Boeing 767 Extended Range Freighter in PDX. It was my last trip so I walked over to our airline’s counter and tried to check in at the computer terminal for a flight home. To make a long story short, I was prevented from checking in and I was told that my name matches a name on the “TSA No-Fly List.” This took over an hour to get me approved to fly on this one flight. I was also told that I can no longer check-in online or use the computer terminal to check in. Each time I check in for a commercial flight, I will be prevented from flying and I will need a supervisor’s approval. I will also be subjected to additional security checks.

I will just say that our government is a bunch of $&#(*@ idiots. I just landed a Boeing aircraft loaded with a 100,000 pounds of fuel, and now the are woried about me being a passenger, However, if I didn’t buy a ticket and I just showed my identification, I would be able to occupy the jumpseat on that same aircraft with no questions asked and no security at all.

I just thought you all should know what our government is doing.

This was a round trip ticket purchased ten days in advance by my employers travel agency. They had my frequent flyer number, I was not “flagged” on the flight out to PDX 5 days before. It was paid by a credit account, they knew that I was an FAR part 121 airline pilot that has MORE security and background check than ANY TSA employee. I am an applicant to the Federal Flight Deck Officer Program (gun carrying airline pilots).

The ONLY thing that tied me to the list is my name. It would seem to make sense for the TSA to use more identifying information than that, however the TSA is not using any kind of common sense. I would like someone from the TSA tell me why pilots are regularly subjected to increased security. I am ALWAYS subjected to extra security when going through the airport screeners. The TSA does not seem to understand that an airline pilot has access to the cockpit. I won’t even address them taking my tweezers away yet the safety equipment in the cockpit includes an crash-axe. They are worried that a pilot may carry a sharp object into the airplane and use it as a weapon, yet they are not concerned about the 100,000 pounds of jet fuel that the pilot is controlling.

As you can see I am being very careful of the language that I am using in this rant. I FEAR the TSA and the power that they yield against an American citizen. I NEVER thought that I would be confused with a person on the “no-fly list.” I hope others can learn from this and write their representatives. Our safety is important but we should not pay for it at the price of losing liberty.

That’s but one person’s story. There are many others. I’d wager that whoever you are, whatever your occupation, you’ve got a story of your own. Don’t you?

“When you don’t use your rights, you forfeit them.”

Yes we do.

Continuing on the airport closure theme, the Low Pressure System That Will Not Die has brought so much rain to Southern California that it’s shut down a couple of major general aviation airports, possibly for quite some time. To wit:

• Corona Airport is once again under water. They just got done cleaning up the mud, repainting the taxiway and runway markings, fixing the gates, inspecting the buildings, restoring water & power, and reopening the airport to traffic. The estimate is that this time, the flood water will reach as far as the Procraft Maintenance shop. For those that aren’t familiar, that would put approximately half the airport under water. Again.
• The Santa Paula Airport runway has literally been consumed by the Santa Clara River, which has swollen in size to the point where it simply washed away the land that the runway sits on. Since a picture is worth a thousand words, here are a few (courtesy of classrides.com):

  

• According to a Socal RV pilot, Redlands Airport will close on February 28th for extensive runway and taxiway work. She reports being “90+% sure it will reopen. (Can’t say 100% with today’s outlook.)”
• As previously mentioned, Agua Dulce is in the process of being permanently closed to 99.99% of aviators living in Southern California.
• Two of the three runways at Chino Airport are currently closed.

The weather really has been strange. Today, for example, I was scheduled to make an tower enroute IFR flight with a student from John Wayne to Fullerton and back, just enough to shoot the VOR-A and ILS 19R approaches, respectively. After checking the DUAT and rvproject.com weather, and talking to a FSS briefer, it appeared that the weather would be ok. A convective SIGMET existed for the Santa Barbara area, but that cell was moving northward. There was a general instability over the Socal area, but with the flight being so short, I figured there wasn’t much risk.

Of course, about that time, I got down to the airport and talked to a guy who had seen hail falling in Laguna Beach. Bad sign #1. Then my student called and said he was seeing lightning near Fullerton. Very bad sign #2. I put in a call to Flight Service only to be told that a tornado watch had been issued for the Southern California area for 1″ hail and wind gusts to 90 mph. Strike 3, we’re out.

As they say, it “never rains, but it pours”!

Over the past few years, I’ve had discussions with various people — many of them pilots — on the subject of airport closures.

I see these closures as the biggest threat to general aviation. Even worse, they’re a sign of an ever more homogenized society in which anyone who has the temerity to want to fly must be either a dangerous lunatic who obviously hasn’t been taxed enough, or — the more understandable of the two possibilities — a terrorist.

A surprising number of my fellow aviators here in Southern California don’t seem to think there’s a problem, despite AOPA’s warning that airports are closing in this country at the rate of one per week. To be sure, some pilots just aren’t married to aviation the way I am, and don’t really care what happens to it. Especially if it happens after their flying days are over. If GA goes away, they’ll take up golf. Or speed walking. No skin off their backs.

But a larger percentage of those who slough off this issue probably just haven’t been around long enough to know just how many airports Orange County has lost. However, thanks to a tip from a fellow pilot, I’ve located a list of the airports that were in Orange County:

• Haster Field, Westminster
• Horse Farm NOLF, Stanton
• Huntington Beach Airport, Huntington Beach
• Meadowlark Airport, Huntington Beach
• Cypress Airfield, Anaheim
• Capistrano Airport, San Juan Capistrano
• El Toro MCAS, El Toro
• Mile Square NOLF, Garden Grove
• Balboa Airport, Newport Beach
• Palisades NOLF, Newport Beach
• Hangar City Airport (later Tustin MCAS)
• Fullerton Airport, Fullerton
• John Wayne Airport, Santa Ana

And here’s the list of airports that are still here:

• Fullerton Airport
• John Wayne Airport

An impressive list for a county with four million people. Aren’t we proud to be residents of Orange County? Yes, those strip malls and cookie-cutter homes provide a lot more character than this:

Wanna make a bet on how many airports will be in Orange County 20 years from now? I’m betting it’s zero. One, at best.

Fullerton is surrounded on all sides by dense commercial buildings and city streets. It’s only a matter of time until an accident happens, just as they happen on streets and freeways every day. The difference is, when an accident happens on the freeway, they never close the freeway. They just clean up the mess and reopen the highway.

Airports, on the other hand, are bulldozed after a single incident. That’s how Capistrano Airport was closed. And Fullerton just had a TriMotor replica crash outside the airport boundary this past summer. Believe me, it’s days are numbered.

John Wayne is threatened as well. There are extremely wealthy people living in Newport Beach who long ago forced the airport into a tightly structured agreement of limited hours and other restrictions that drive up ticket prices while forcing many airliners to leave the gates with empty seats. The agreement expires in 2020, after which there’s no doubt that the anti-airport forces will attempt to have the field bulldozed.

It’s understandable that urban sprawl will result in a few casualties, but this is ridiculous. Southern California is home to some of the most extensive and important aviation history on earth. But let’s set that aside. Our nation’s infrastructre is at stake. Getting rid of the airports is like getting rid of the roads, or the telephone lines, or the internet backbone. Airplanes are of no use without a place to land.

This phenomenon is not limited to Orange County. Los Angeles County’s finest GA airport, Agua Dulce, is in the process of voluntary closure. You can read the agreement yourself. Oh, it may say that the airport can remain open. But virtually no one will be allowed to land there. And those that are can only fly certain types of planes at very specific hours. No flight training. No transient traffic. No touch and gos. No helicopters. And the list goes on.

With 18,000 airports in the United States, this may not seem like a pressing issue. But the vast majority of those fields are private owned/private use landing strips in remote areas. It’s the general aviation airports in metropolitan areas that we need to preserve. And the time to get serious about it is long since past.

The Experimental Aircraft Association reported today on the mounting damage totals at Corona Airport.

Tenants and businesses at the Corona (California) Municipal Airport are now four weeks post-flood and while the floodwaters have receded, the west end of the field is still without electrical power, reports EAA member Patrick Brunner.

“Many of the businesses are still not operational, having lost all tools and equipment to the waters and mud left behind,” he said. Total damages to businesses are in excess of $10 million, and there are no SBA loans or federal funding available.

To be honest, I’m surprised the total isn’t higher. Ten million bucks is a pretty small number when you consider what lives at that airport: 414 airplanes, 150 hangars, two dozen businesses, and who knows how many tools, toolboxes, spare parts, and personal belongings.

I love how EAA notes the SBA and federal funds not being available. Does anyone really think there will be any charity from a government entity for those whose livlihoods have been washed away?

The Corona Pilots’ Association is assisting with the recovery effort by providing a disaster relief fund for the businesses. Those wishing to make a tax-deductible donation can do so c/o Corona Pilots’ Association, PO Box 1212, Corona, CA 92878-1212.

As one might expect, hangars have been vacated by some tenants on the west end of the field, including at least one maintenance shop. There are probably others, but I haven’t been spending enough time out at AJO lately to really know.

Despite all the mess, the master leaseholder for my hangar has offered a free month’s rent to everyone on that end of the field. Pretty generous considering what it’s going to cost him to clean the place up. I think he’s trying to hold on to the tenants that are still there, so the credit is a smart PR move even if it temporarily hurts his bottom line.

As if the first round of rains weren’t enough, another storm is on the way to Southern California. Normally this wouldn’t be bad news, as Socal seems to be in a perpetual state of drought. But the water from the first series of storm systems has not had a chance to receed.

As of this morning, the water level behind Prado Dam was 494 feet. The end of the runway at Corona is 513 feet, so even the slightest bit of rain could re-flood the airport. The City of Corona said that if it happens, they will close the airport the moment the water touches the runway.

More information is available here.

I’ve added some new photos of the Corona Airport flood. These are great aerial shots that really show the extent of the damage.

I don’t know who took these pictures. I’ve just been saving copies of anything and everything to my hard drive in an attempt to preserve a record of what’s happened. I know these images are available in other places on the web, but you never know when they’ll be moved or lost. One thing I’m good at is archiving copies, and I’m sure years from now someone will have a hard time believing how much water covered the field. And how fast it all happened.

A quick update on the status of the airport: basically it’s still closed to all air traffic and most all ground vehicles. The longer it stays closed, the worse the financial damage will be to the businesses that call Corona home. There are some plans afoot to seek disaster aid from the state, but politics being what it is, I’d bet that no government agency will provide any relief. Like virtually every general aviation airport, Corona Municipal will be left to sink or swim (literally) on it’s own. Sad. And cynical, I know. But that’s how it is.

In other airport news, it seems that the world’s coolest little airport, Agua Dulce, is going to be shut down to outside traffic permanently. The forward looking citizens of Agua Dulce have seen fit to generate the half dozen or so complaints needed to close a public airport. This despite something like eight thousand letters of support for the field.

The airport owner, Barry Kershner, has sunk several million dollars into improvements at Agua Dulce. A killer pilots lounge & diner, swimming pool, recreation areas, and more. Not to attract jets or big business, but simply to make the airport a safe, friendly and community-centric place that the residents of Agua Dulce could look at with a sense of pride and ownership. But no good deed goes unpunished when you’re a pilot, and they seem to be forcing Barry to protect his investment by agreeing to ban all aircraft not based at Agua Dulce from landing there. The alternative is that they seek to have his operating permit revoked.

If the airport is closed, I hope Barry turns the property into the most garish and obnoxious strip mall ever created. If the residents of Agua Dulce favor a scorched earth policy, then that’s what they should get.

You take them both and there you have…

1. Retreating water! That’s good:

2. Prado Dam could be on the verge of bursting. That’s bad:

NATIONAL WEATHER SERVICE SAN DIEGO CA
725 AM PST FRI JAN 14 2005

…DAM BREAK FLOOD WATCH FOR PRADO DAM BREAK
IN EFFECT UNTIL 630 PM PST FRIDAY
FOR ORANGE COUNTY COASTAL AREAS-
RIVERSIDE COUNTY VALLEYS-THE INLAND EMPIRE…

THE NATIONAL WEATHER SERVICE IN SAN DIEGO HAS ISSUED A FLASH FLOOD WATCH FOR AREAS ALONG THE SANTA ANA RIVER BELOW THE PRADO DAM IN WESTERN RIVERSIDE COUNTY TO THE RIVER MOUTH IN ORANGE COUNTY.

A LEAK HAS DEVELOPED IN THE PRADO DAM.

THE SIZE OF THE LEAK HAS INCREASED OVERNIGHT BUT AN IMMINENT FAILURE OF THE DAM IS NOT ANTICIPATED AT THIS TIME.

THE ARMY CORPS OF ENGINEERS IS ASSESSING THE STABILITY OF THE DAM AT THIS TIME AND ADDITIONAL INFORMATION WILL BE AVAILABLE LATER THIS MORNING.

IN THE INTERIM THE RESERVOIR IS BEING EMPTIED AS FAST AS POSSIBLE.

As I understand it, if that dam breaks, the force of the rushing water will be so great that it will destroy everything in its path. That path, by the way, could be up to a mile wide.

This saga just keeps getting stranger and stranger.

I arrived home this evening to some disturbing news from the Corona Airport.

Oh, the water level has started to receed — and that’s great. But apparently there’s been some sort of a disagreement between a few pilots (who wanted to evacuate their airplanes) and the guy who runs the Corona Park Department. The head honcho at the Park Department (who is airport manager’s boss) was of the opinion that no one should be allowed to take off under any circumstances since the water had consumed so much of the runway. A seemingly understandable position.

Some pilots felt differently, opining that they ought to be allowed to take whatever steps are necessary to protect their birds, even if that meant taking off when the airport was officially ‘closed’. Again, I can see the merits of that viewpoint. And at one point the airport management was allowing takeoffs if the pilot was willing to sign a waiver of liability, but that was stopped sometime on Tuesday.

It devolved into a standoff, and as a result, the Park Department manager had the Corona Police place four police cruisers on the runway so it could not be used. He apparently also stated that he is going to have the airport closed permanently. I say “apparently” because I was not present at the airport today and cannot verify this. But I heard it from one of the more level-headed and non-alarmist folks I know.

This closure threat could be nothing but hot air. However, in light of what happened to the legendary Meigs Field — as well as my own knowledge of bureaucrats in general — I think the threat must be taken seriously. There are those in Corona who would like to see it razed and converted into soccer fields.

There is to be a meeting tomorrow (Wednesday) at 10:00 a.m. at Aircraft Spruce to discuss the matter. I emailed Phil Boyer at AOPA, hoping he could phone conference in, or have someone on his staff follow up on this situation.

I hate to say anything when a) I wasn’t there, b) am not 100% sure of all the facts. But meetings don’t take place at Aircraft Spruce as a matter of course, so something is going on. The Corona Airport users are sort of scattered at the moment, and the airport has been locked up tight. No one allowed in unless they are a Corona city employee.

Time to start watching for bulldozers? I hope not. But the precedent was set by Chicago’s corrupt mayor in 2003. So: “fool me once, shame on you — fool me twice, shame on me.”

Well, things at Corona have gone from bad to worse.

Despite the dry sunshine, the water level at the airport continues to rise. This is primarily because of the warm temperatures, which are melting snow in the mountains and driving the runoff down toward Prado Dam. Or as it might more accurately be described, Prado Lake.

Today the water claimed Procraft, the largest maintenance shop on the field. It also overran the fuel island, the pilot lounge, another paint shop, and at least 100 hangars, not to mention who knows how many smaller businesses based at the field. My mechanic, Dave Palacios, was evacuating his newly remodeled shop at around 4:00 this afternoon. He’s based on the east side. The “safe” part of the airport.

As if there was such a thing anymore.

Adding insult to injury are the high winds which whipped through the Santa Ana Canyon. Normally high winds are not a problem, but there are currently about ten times as many airplanes on the east end of the field as there are tiedowns. The ramp is made of concrete, so there’s no way to dig into the ground with a portable set of tiedown stakes. So most of the aircraft are sitting out there with nothing but a set of chocks around the tires.

Some intrepid folks cut through the security fence surrounding the airport and started hauling airplanes off the airport completely.

I don’t have any new photos to share, but Dan captured some great video of the carnage (1.5 meg, WMV format) from the air.

It looks like God spilled his 32 (billion) ounce Big Gulp.

“Dammit, I told Him to put a lid on that thing…”

UPDATE: AOPA has picked up this story and even included Dan’s video. My sister-in-law told me that Fox News did as well. I also saw it on an NBC news broadcast.

Yesterday everything was fine. A little rain, but nothing looked abnormal out there.

Today? Well, today the Corona Airport looks a little different.

I spent the whole day helping people pack up everything in their hangars and carry it to “dry” ground. There were hundreds of people out there working as fast as they could, trying to beat the rising water. Others had given up, their hangars already well under water.

Flew a Stearman in IFR conditions to Chino Airport. THAT was interesting. Open cockpit + torrential rain + 100 mph wind in your face = can’t see shit. And of course Chino tower decides that this is the perfect time to say “remain clear of Class D airspace”. Closest I’ve been to uttering the “e” word…

I was too busy to take a picture of the other end of the airport, which has airplanes packed in so densely that you can’t even squeeze by them on foot. Unfortunately most of them are not tied down, so if the wind blows and they jump the chocks, it could get very expensive when airplanes start slamming into each other. I think the transient parking area is designed for about 60 airplanes, and there are maybe 400 there now. Even Rose — the DC-3 — bailed out. Although I think that was more out of courtesty to the rest of us. The space Rose consumes on the ramp could hold ten smaller airplanes. Jim Pappas, who owns Rose, was kind enough to donate an engine cover which was modified for use on the Stearman.

My hangar currently has about four to five feet of water in it. I’ve started calling it “the aquarium”. Thankfully the guys I’m subletting my hangar to were able to get their Arrow out in time.

The picture was taken pretty early this morning. The water level is much higher now. I had a nice rolling toolbox in the hangar with all my tools in it, plus my stereo, bicycle, a table, chairs, and other now-submerged items. They estimate that the water may reach the five foot level at mid-field. I think that’s a bit pessimistic, but if the warm weather continues and the snow in the mountains keeps melting… well, who knows. From what I saw when flying over Prado Dam, the river is full, the reservoir is full, and the water is just about at the top of the dam.

There’s a Cessna 320 Skyknight (a big twin engine plane) floating in the water on the west end. I guess whoever owns it wasn’t able to get it out in time. Para Aviation, a maintenance shop on the west end near my hangar, got wiped out. Robert Butt, the owner, said some customer aircraft logs got washed away (without the logs, an airplane’s resale value could drop by up to 1/3), along with expensive service manuals and other tasty bits. He was out there with an inflatable raft trying to get back to his shop and save whatever he could.

The paint shop, interior shop, and helicopter operation got hit, too.

The good news is that everyone has been pitching in. If a hangar tenant couldn’t be reached by phone, someone would break into their hangar to save their aircraft. It’s the first time I can recall seeing a complete stranger breaking into someone’s hangar and giving them a pat on the back for it. In this post-9/11 world, it seems odd somehow.

A guy with a Robinson R44 helicopter — I don’t know where he’s based — spent the day ferrying pilots back and forth between Chino and Corona. We’d evacuate a plane to Chino, then he’d fly us back to Corona to get another one. Ah, the kindness of strangers…

Hopefully the weather will improve. I’ve got tomorrow off, so I might be back out at the airport. There’s always something one can do to help. Unfortunately, if the water rises much more, there won’t be enough usable runway for anyone to takeoff, and all the airplanes massed on the east end of the field will be facing submersion.

“General aviation: it’s an adventure.”

I just finished my first week as a full-time flight instructor at Sunrise Aviation. Suffice it to say that with record levels of rainfall and a storm system that has parked itself over Southern California for the past week, I haven’t been doing much flying.

That’s ok, though. It’s given me a chance to get some ‘check-outs’ done. I’d like to teach in the really advanced airplanes (DA-40 Diamond Star, Cirrus SR20 and SR22, etc) that Sunrise has available, so I’ve been keeping busy going through the aircraft manuals and Garmin 1000 materials. I also got a backseat checkout for the Citabria/Decathlon so I can instruct in those aircraft.

There’s more to say on this, but it’ll have to wait. In the meantime, feel free to browse through some photos I just uploaded from Christmas and New Year’s Eve.

When I was training for my flight instructor certificate at ATP Las Vegas, there was some talk about the changes they would be dealing with after the first of the year.

Basically, the local Flight Standards District Office had notified ATP that as of January 1st, they were reserving the right to require any initial CFI candidate to take their checkride with an FAA inspector rather than the usual Designated Pilot Examiner (DPEs are highly experienced flight instructors that have been authorized and trained by the FAA to give checkrides. The FAA does this because there are too many pilots wanting new ratings and not enough FAA inspectors).

In theory, this shouldn’t make any difference to the applicant. Whoever administers the checkride has to abide by very specific criteria in testing him or her. These criteria are called the Practical Test Standards. In fact, they’re all available online.

That’s the theory. In reality, however, there seems to be quite a difference in how the practical tests are administered. Conventional wisdom has it that a DPE is easier, while flying with an FAA inspector is far more challenging because of how stringently they interpret those Practical Test Standards.

A few years ago, the FAA (or perhaps it was just the area FSDOs) adopted the same policy of doing all the intital CFI exams themselves. The horror stories I heard almost defy belief. Candidates routinely failed on their first attempt no matter how well prepared. Aircraft crawled over by inspectors until they found anything, no matter how small (a faded label on a seatbelt, for example), that would render the aircraft technically unairworthy and therefore grounded. The poor pilot would be left with no alternative but to appeal to the FSDO for a “ferry permit” to get the (usually rented) airplane back home.

I’ve always wondered if these stories were true. There’s no way to know unless you were personally present at each event. But the FAA often gets what I’ll diplomatically call a “bad rap”. For every incident that’s true, there are probably a half dozen that are either exaggerated or just mythical. But again, I had no proof one way or the other to back that up.

Until now.

For starters, I actually took a checkride with an FAA inspector on December 1st and found the inspector to be fair, thorough, and by the book. No more, no less. I would consider his administration of that checkride to be a textbook example of how it should be done.

Of course, one checkride is not exactly a panacea. So I dug up some statistics on the FAA web site that refute, in concrete terms, the idea that the FAA is tougher on applicants than a DPE.

If you look at the PDF file, you’ll note that during 2003, FAA inspectors passed 83.5% of applicants versus a pass rate of only 80.1% for DPEs. Further, the chart shows that for initial CFI candidates, those fearsome FAA inspectors gave thumbs-up to 75.2% versus only 66.5% for Designated Pilot Examiners.

Now that chart only covers initial (or ‘original’) certificates. The FAA provides a seperate chart for add-on ratings. But the gist is the same. FAA inspectors give out the white slips more often than the pink ones, and on average, applicants for a certificate or rating are more successful when taking their tests with the Feds than with a Designated Examiner. It may not have been true ten years ago, but it’s what’s happening today.

This is not to say there aren’t inspectors out there who are unreasonable. I’m sure there are, just as there must be DPEs who are likewise. And if you’re the unlucky soul getting saddled with a hard-nosed inspector who got up on the wrong side of the bed, it doesn’t matter that everyone else had a pleasant experience with the Feds.

But taken as a whole, the FAA inspectors seem to be a reasonable bunch who abide by their own testing standards. And in the end, that’s all we — the pilots — have any right to ask of them. Don’t you think?

(Note: full list of 2003 airmen statistics from the FAA web site)

I received an email today from an aeronautical engineering instructor which reminded me that I promised a while back to post a very interesting helicopter video clip.

So here it is.

I found the clip on Fergworld, which also has a translation for the German narration you’ll hear on the video:

The rotortips absorb the turbulence with their flexibility. This recording was made, during flight, by a camera mounted to the leading edge of the rotorblade. At every turn you can see the tailrotor. If the flexible rotorblades wouldn’t absorb the the forces, they would be transmitted to drive mechanism and fuselage and the vibration would destroy the helicopter.

With all that bending, it’s no wonder the FAA has mandatory retirement times for the blades! If we conservatively assume that they flex five times per revolution and are turning at 2000 RPM, a 5000 hour lifespan would mean that they flex fifty million times.

Though I don’t have any hard evidence (yet) to back it up, I’d wager that if you were to attach a camera to a fixed-wing aircraft propeller or one of the fan blades in a turbine engine, you’d see some flexing in those parts as well.

Helicopters, however, are a particularly extreme case because the aircraft is moving through the air in the same plane as the rotor disk, so the advancing blade’s airspeed is very high while the retreating blade is moving through the air much more slowly. Helicopters have a ‘swash plate’ which constantly changes the angle at which each blade meet the oncoming air, and that movement is what causes the extreme flexing.

I’m not explaining it very well (a better description can be found here). But that’s okay, because I’m not a rotorcraft rated pilot.

Yet.

I thought this was pretty cool. Read the whole thing. (via Speed of Thought)

Speaking of radio messages, I was on a training flight near Indian Springs the other day and kept hearing what sounded like an instructor talking to a student over the practice area frequency. My first thought was that a CFI was inadvertently holding the PTT (push to talk) switch, so instead of talking over the aircraft’s intercom, he was broadcasting to everyone on that frequency.

Later, I learned that it was indeed an instructor. A military instructor. And the aircraft in question was an unmanned Predator. Pretty cool. I never did see the Predator, but then I guess that’s how it’s supposed to be.

Indian Springs is right on the cusp of a restricted military area. In fact, that’s also where the Thunderbirds practice. In the early 80′s, it’s also where the Tbirds experience their worst accident. The lead aircraft had a malfunction and flew right into the ground. Since the wingmen don’t watch anything but their lead, they followed him into the dirt.

To me, Indian Springs is the place where the youth detention center (read: prison) is located. In high school, Indian Springs was one of the teams we’d play.

Anyway, back to the Thunderbirds. Sometimes they’ll buzz over ATP’s planes on their way between Indian Springs and Nellis AFB. One of my instructors said he saw them pass right over the top of him in diamond formation. Just another day in Las Vegas.

The month of December starts off on a good note:

One checkride down, three to go. I wish I’d have remembered to bring a camera to capture the moment. But alas, a camera was just about the last thing on my mind today.

The commercial glider checkride went very smoothly. For one thing, the FAA examiner — Roger Brownlow — asked me to fly from the front cockpit rather than the rear one. It’s a lot easier to fly when you have unfettered access to the yaw string, variometer, and other instruments. My instructor had been preparing me to take the checkride from the back seat.

I did enjoy flying from the back seat, as it presented some fun challenges. And a few advantages, too. One of my favorite things about flying from the back is the short throw on the control stick. It makes using strong control deflections a lot easier since you’re not bumping into yourself when you apply full aileron one way or the other.

The winds were completely calm today, which made boxing the wake, holding position on tow, 720 degree steep turns, and other such maneuvers quite easy. It was a 180 degree difference from last Sunday, when the winds were blowing so strongly out of the north that after my CFI released the tow rope at 300 AGL, I almost got blown off the airport before the downwind turn could be completed.

The biggest challenge today had nothing to do with the test. It was the temperature. The checkride was scheduled to commence at 9:00, so I was out of the house by 6:30. The OAT at Corona was -2C when I arrived at 7:00 a.m. The grass was frosted over, puddles of water had frozen solid, and technically the airplane should have been preheated before starting, but it was close enough that I said the hell with it and just gave the engine an extra 10 minutes to warm up before departing for Hemet.

On the other hand, the cold temperature precluded any chance of thermalling, which meant there was one less thing to demonstrate on the checkride.

Now that I’m rated to fly gliders, what’s next? Transitioning from the 2-33 to a Grob single place ship might be a worthwhile endevor. Perhaps go after a few Federation Aeronautique Internationale (“FAI”) badges.

FAI Silver Badge
The FAI Silver Badge involves 3 required elements. Silver Altitude is a 1,000-meter (3,281-foot) altitude gain above an in-flight low point; Silver Duration is a 5-hour flight time after tow release and Silver Distance is a 50-km (31.07-mile) cross country flight.

FAI Gold Badge
The FAI Gold Badge involves 2 required elements. Gold Altitude is a 3,000-meter (9,843-foot) altitude gain above an in-flight low point; Gold Distance is a 300-km (186.42-mile) cross country flight.

FAI Diamond Badge
The FAI Diamond Badge involves 3 required elements. Diamond Altitude is a 5,000-meter (16,404-foot) altitude gain above an in-flight low point; Diamond Goal is a 300-km (186.42-mile) cross country flight using a pre-declared Out and Return or Triangle course; Diamond Distance is a 500-km (310.7-mile) cross country flight. As of January 1, 1996, a total of 818 Diamond Badges have been awarded in the US among a total of 5,846 worldwide.

1,000K Diplome
The FAI 1,000-Kilometer Diplome was adopted in 1964 and is awarded for a cross country flight of at least 1,000 km (621.4 miles). As of January 1, 1996, a total of 68 1,000-Kilometer Diplomes have been awarded in the US among a total of 275 worldwide.

2,000K Diplome
The FAI 2,000-Kilometer Diplome is the most recent addition to the FAI Badge program and is awarded for a cross country flight of at least 2,000 km (1,242.8 miles).

Anyway, I’m beat. And I’ve got a lot more studying to do before heading to Las Vegas on Sunday, so you may not hear much from me between now and then. I’ll have my laptop and a dial-up connection in Sin City, so I may be able to post an update every now and then.

Every pilot learns to perform short-field landings. Indeed, we take pride in demonstrating the skill with which we extract maximum performance from our aircraft.

But a ‘narrow field’ landing? Who ever heard of that? And in a Boeing 747? There’s something you don’t see every day.

Yet that was the task facing the flight crew of this South African Airways 747-200 when they delivered it to the SAA Museum at Rand Airport in South Africa.

The runway at Rand is only 50 feet wide, and the 747 has an outer-to-outer main gear tire width of 41.33 ft. That gave the pilot just four feet of room on either side! Combine this with a Vref landing speed of 115 knots, a comparatively short runway distance of 4898 feet, and you have the making of an e-ticket ride.

It’s sadly ironic that more than a few single-engine GA pilots would consider this field mildly challenging even in an airplane with a five foot wheel base.

Glenn Reynolds has a good article on the legislative shenanigans in Congress on commercial development of space flight.

Glenn pointed out correctly in an email to me that the FAA’s Office of Commercial Space Transportation has been behaving itself thus far. But even so, I cannot help but feel that if history is any indication, the FAA will soon be dropping in on this party like a lead sled.

Federal Aviation Administration chief Marion C. Blakey this week visited Xcor Aerospace, a rocket developer just down the Mojave Airport flight line from SpaceShipOne’s home. She talked of partnership with the new industry and said it was important for the United States to be the world leader.

She made clear, however, that broad safety issues are the agency’s topic No. 1.

I deal with FAA regulations every single day. The last thing you want to hear from the FAA is that they are going to put safety above all else, because the way to achieve maximum safety is to not fly at all. There are elements within the FAA that do not accept the fact that safety does not equate the absence of risk. Or perhaps it’s simply a disagreement over what level of risk is acceptable.

Whatever the cause, if you were to talk in private with those of us in general aviation (a group that includes Burt Rutan, Steve Fossett, Richard Branson, all four SS1 test pilots, and just about everyone at every X Prize competitor), the consensus would be that getting the FAA involved is going to slow commercial development of space flight. Just how much depends on how involved the FAA gets. The rate of development will be inversely proportional to the government’s involvement.

I’m not saying the FAA is comprised of bad people. Quite the contrary, I think quite highly of their dedication to public service. But it’s a government agency, one that falls prey to space developers, members of Congress, the media, lobbyists, and even member of the public who put pressure on government agencies for specific regulation.

And those who bring this pressure to bear on the FAA do not care that there is a point of diminishing returns when it comes to safety, a point at which the financial and regulatory burden increase exponentially like a space ship approaching the speed of light.

You know, the FAA’s mission statement used to be to “promote air safety and air commerce”. A decade or so ago the part about promoting air commerce was removed. They used to have a charter which dictated promoting commercial development and air safety, two things that are at odds with each other in many ways and created some semblance of balance. Now the mantra is safety, safety, safety. And I don’t understand why. This nation didn’t get achieve great things by going with a “safety first” attitude.

It would be nice to decide from the outset that space development is important enough that, like the early manned space program, we’d accept higher risk. And that like the development of the internet, the government would stay out of it.

I feel for Rutan. He couldn’t care less about commercial development of space. Or commercial development of anything. People have been trying to push him into it for years, and he has always resisted. He has loved aviation since he started building RC airplanes (from scratch of course) when he was a kid in Dinuba and I think he’s been trying to find that sort of freedom ever since.

The military was too regulated, so he left that in the 60′s and went to civilian aviation. That was over-regulated, so he went into experimental/homebuilt aviation in the late 70′s. Then that became too regulated, so he went into space in the late 90′s. Now the FAA is following him there.

I was out at Hemet-Ryan Airport today continuing toward my commercial glider rating.

Man, I love going out there. For one thing, it gives me an excuse to fly. Not that an excuse is required, but it’s nice to use the aviation system for personal transportation. I’ve made the trip out to Hemet by car before, and it’s no fun. Traffic. Heat. Boring scenery. More traffic. Since I sold 94M this summer, I’ve been in the air a bit less than I’d like. So it’s nice to pull 66W out of the hangar and go someplace.

Hemet does not strike many people as the ‘place to be’ if you’re looking for a fun time. But if you’re in the Los Angeles basin, it represents the nearest glider operation of any consequence. Though they’re one of the largest gliderports in North America, Sailplane Enterprises is small by FBO standards. Come to think of it, everything in the glider world is. And the whole sailplane universe seems to move at a rather sedate pace, just like the aircraft themselves.

When I started flying gliders, it was for the purpose of learning to master an aircraft’s kinetic energy. I postulated that this would be invaluable when the shit hit the fan in a powered airplane and I was left with… well, a glider.

But since then, I’ve come to love the challenge this segment of the aviation world provides. These birds are completely unpowered. No engine. Yet they routinely make cross country flights hundreds of miles long and have reached altitudes of nearly 50,000 feet, well above the ceiling for most jets. Someone (Steve Fossett, I think) is supposedly working on a glider capable of reaching 100,000 feet. That’s three times the cruising altitude of a typical jetliner, and high enough that the pilot will have to wear a space suit lest their blood literally boil in the stratosphere’s vacuum.

The ship I’m flying, a rather dowdy Schweizer SGS 2-33A, achieves a glide ratio of 23:1 even with wing struts, camera mounts, tiedown rings, four wheels, a huge skid plate, protruding rivets, a tow handle, two steps, and other assorted stuff hanging out in the breeze. I guess anything’s possible when you put a 51 foot long wing on a 250 pound fuselage!

Despite the lack of sleek glass on the Schweizer, it can still provide an e-ticket ride when the instructor releases the tow rope at 200 feet AGL. Believe it or not, that’s high enough to make a 180+ degree turn and glide back to the airport. But remember, there are no go-arounds. If you botch the landing… well, let’s just hope you sprang for the rental insurance.

On today’s flight I was towed to 2,200′ AGL and then proceeded to gain more than 8,000 feet on my own. Not every day is like that, of course. But when it’s good, it’s really good. You’re up there with no engine noise, no radios to worry about, no GPS or avionics panel beeping at you. Just the soothing sound of a 45 mph breeze outside the canopy and a million-dollar view of the world below. On a flight last year, I was searching for thermals at 9,000 feet and my cellphone rang. So I answered it. Try that in a powered airplane.

Even if you’re not a pilot, do yourself a favor and take a ride in a sailplane. It’s magical.

The Rutan team (aka Mojave Aerospace Ventures, Scaled Composites, TierOne, or SpaceShipOne ) claimed the $10 million Ansari X Prize victory today with a second flight outside the earth’s atmosphere.

But forget the money. You know you’ve really made it big when Google puts you on their search engine banner.

Not only did SS1 claim the prize, but also set several records in process. For one thing, I don’t believe a ship has ever made spaceflights so close together before. Even the X-15 — whose 41 year old 354,200 foot altitude record SpaceShipOne smashed this morning — never made flights less than five days apart. Certainly the space shuttle has never done it. The only other reusable spacefaring craft in the world is the Russian Buran, and it only made one trip into space.

Brian Binnie joins Mike Melvill as the second civilian to join the astronaut corps. I don’t know who’s been responsible for selecting the pilot for each mission (four are trained and qualified), but Binnie was a great choice.

Binnie had a well-publicized problem when he piloted the first powered test flight of SpaceShipOne. On landing, the left main gear collapsed, sending SpaceShipOne sailing off into the dirt next to the runway. The damage was mainly confined to Binnie’s pride and SS1 was easily patched up.

Even so, today’s flight was certainly vindication for him. Especially since Burt Rutan took a moment to clearly state during the post-flight press conference that the landing gear collapse on that test flight had not been Brian’s fault. That didn’t stop a reporter from asking Binnie “if his Navy flight training was a detriment to his ability to fly SpaceShipOne”, though. Sheesh.

These X Prize flights have had tremendous human interest appeal about them. I suppose any manned space flight does, but the sheer size of an organiztion like NASA reduces any individual person to a miniscule cog in a massive machine. The X Prize contestants, on the other hand, are small companies (Scaled employs about 130) competing against that machine for the advancement of space travel.

And they’re winning. Does anyone doubt that a national space agency would be unable to do even a preliminary design study for a similar craft for $20 million? That’s what it cost Paul Allen to fund the design, construction, and testing of SpaceShipOne, White Knight, and the rocket engine. Not to mention crew training, government permits, and all the other anciliary expenses.

But there’s another aspect to the human interest side of this story. I think Brian Binnie captured it when he talked about his preparation for today’s flight. He sought advice on landing SS1 from Mike Melvill, and since Mike’s personal airplane, a Long-EZ, has similar glide and landing characteristics (as well it should — it was designed by Burt Rutan), they duplicated the circular windows in SpaceShipOne by blocking out sections of the Long-EZ’s canopy and starting flying circuits at Mojave with Brian in the front seat and Mike in the back.

That’s the homebuilder philsosphy — it’s all about creative and elegant solutions, not throwing more money at the problem. The NASA approach would probably involve a formal accident investigation, a year’s delay while they redesigned the landing gear, and a billion dollars to pay for the enhancements.

For as long as I can remember, manned space flight has always been about the past. It feels good to be looking toward the future for a change.

When a few colored lines on a weather chart from a location two thousand miles away freaks you out, it’s a sure bet that something nasty is happening.

Is this graph off the chart (no pun intended) or what? Notice how the atmospheric pressure drops like a rock as the wind speed picks up. Makes me wonder if Daniel Bernoulli didn’t discover his famous Principle regarding the inverse relationship between fluid velocity and pressure while hunkered down in the middle of a category five maelstrom.

If I ever saw an altimeter setting that low, I’d suspect a) equipment failure, b) it’s April 1st, c) poor eyesight on my part, or d) the end of the world.

Alex, I’ll take earthquakes thank you very much.

So I’m preparing for an intensive two week CFI (flight instructor) training program in Las Vegas this December.

Ooooh, Las Vegas! you’re thinking. Time for some gambling, a bit of sun out by the pool, maybe catch a show.

Not quite. It’s more like fourteen straight days of round-the-clock flight training, three checkrides with the FAA, then high-tail it back to Los Angeles for Christmas. The only exception might be if Lesley decides to drive out for a visit.

Not that I’m complaining. On the contrary, I can’t wait to get in the cockpit and knock these ratings out. When I’m done, I’ll have a CFI-A, CFI-I and MEI (I’ve already got the AGI and IGI ratings).

What’s bumming me out is the cost. It doesn’t sound so bad when you see the program listed at $4,995. But this is turning out to be like purchasing a car. You gotta have the rust-proofing, sir. Don’t forget those must-have options. Or the finance charges. Delivery fees. Dealer markup. Tax, license and registration. Pretty soon that $10,000 Kia is taking a $15,000 chunk out of your wallet.

I made the mistake of adding up what the CFI program will cost, and speaking of cars, it’s about the same price as that Kia:

$80.00 - CFI-A written exam fee
$80.00 - CFI-I written exam fee
$80.00 - FOI written exam fee
$80.00 - AGI written exam fee
$80.00 - IGI written exam fee
$50.00 - Books
$4995.00 - CFI/CFII/MEI training program
$1000.00 - Multi-time upcharge
$1050.00 - FAA checkride fees
$100.00 - Transportation
$1400.00 - Lodging
$300.00 - Food
-------------------
$9295.00 Total

Education is expensive, and I’d be the last one to suggest skimping when you’re talking about flight training. But $10k is approximately what one makes — gross — during an entire year as a full-time instructor.

Well, at least the long-term job prospects for pilots are bright. Not.

I’m clearing a few old items off the shelves now that Tweety’s gone. Anyone need a service manual for the 69-76 Skylane series?

I’m asking $35 plus $6.50 for shipping.

I looked up what I paid Cessna for it in 2001, and it shocked me. It was $104.37 — quite a bit for a bundle of paper, eh? Welcome to the world of aircraft ownership. Anyway, if you need this book, you’ll get it at a nice discount from what Cessna would charge you. And it includes a binder.

See the Ebay auction here or contact me via email.

Ah, Sunday. And what a lovely day it was, flying the Stearman round and round the pattern, landing on the grass, two-pointing it on the pavement, and generally spending a September afternoon the way God intended: in a sixty year old, tube-and-fabric, radial engine, open cockpit biplane.

From turning the prop through a dozen times by hand to hearing that throaty radial engine kick over, the whole experience just exudes 1930′s Americana. It doesn’t hurt that Corona Airport is the only place I know of in Southern California where you can land on grass. Corona is also home many museum-worthy airplanes. Stearmans, Wacos, Nanchangs, a Jungmeister, a WWI era Nieuport 17, even a DC-3 named Rose. Homebuilt planes, helicopters, gyroplanes… it goes on and on. One of my first days out at Corona, I was greeted by a Ford Trimotor sitting on the south grass.

Whenever I mention the Stearman, invariably someone will ask about a white scarf. You know, the romance of flying? Alas, I always answer in the negative. There was no scarf — so sue me. It’s an urban myth anyway, you know. Letting any fabric attached to your neck whip around in a 100 mph breeze is asking for trouble (don’t ask how I know that). Besides, while there’s a lot of romance involved in flying a classic biplane, it’s not exactly a carefree existance when you’re sharing the same radio frequency with four nearby airports.

“Stearman 696 left downwi..sc%*#erokee two miles west desce%(!~*=%@… eft turnout, Catalina… #er&%okee’s on final f@#$%essna in sight…” Did you get all that? Is the carb heat on? Where was that Glasair on final? Watch your speed. Where’s that Baron that just called on the 45?

It was great up in the sky, but once the fun was over… well, I think a politician must have been stumping somewhere nearby, because there was more hot air in the Santa Ana Canyon today than can possibly be expressed with mere words. It wouldn’t have been so bad if there’d been a breeze, but apparently the hurricane(s) in Florida are sucking up all the wind. The mercury read 109 degrees inside the hangar, and that was with the 40 foot wide door completely open. For the love of Pete, the dog days are supposed to be in August.

After lunch I was wandering past the fuel pit when I passed a group of salty folks who hang out near there and watch the planes come and go. An old lady pointed to a C180 touching down on runway 25 and said, “See, he pulls back on the stick right there! That’s not a short-field landing.” To which a fellow replied, “Making the first turnoff is a short-field to me.” Her retort: “That’s because you’re a pussy.”

Does one ever get used to hearing grandma speak that way?

Back at the hangar, it was four o’clock so the lot of us made like a tree and melted. It took nearly 20 minutes for the air conditioner to cool down the car on the way home. That’s just Wrong. It’s one thing to get out of a biplane covered in perspiration. It’s Manly. You were busy with Pilot in Command Duties(tm). But nobody wants to drive and sweat at the same time. It’s so déclassé.

Eventually I arrived home to discover that the air conditioner was not working. Probably because I don’t have air conditioning. The good news is that it was only 102 in Irvine. But so what? No dry heat sauna can ruin my day. I took that Stearman and had my way with her! You can’t buy that kind of fun, even in Vegas (don’t ask how I know that).

Ah, Sunday…

Well, she’s gone.

My airplane is sold.
The hangar is empty.
The final logbook entry has been made.

And there’s a bit of a hole in my heart.

It’s not sadness per se. More like an empty spot reserved for an old friend who’s gone away. A thankfulness for all the good times, all the flights over water, desert, and rough terrain where she took care of me.

You know, they say you should never really trust your airplane; always expect an engine failure or other emergency. Be ready for the day your steed betrays you. That’s pilot training, and when you’re flying a bird with a single engine, it’s good policy. But the reality of the situation is that you have to trust your airplane, because if you didn’t you’d never leave the ground. Believe me, I’ve flown planes that I had no faith in, and it’s Not a Good Thing.

Nine-Four Mike took me from one side of the country to the other. Through rain, snow, and ice. In blinding dust storms, thick smoke, and to places where the heat was so intense it actually melted the tires on other aircraft. I loaded it to gross weight (and over, truth be told) and vaulted over huge mountains, slogging upward at Vy in 120 degree heat with nary a complaint from the powerplant. Hell, I once took off with the cowl plugs installed. Dumbest thing I ever did in an aircraft. But she just soldiered on.

She brought countless sick people to medical treatment for Angel Flight and then took them home again. She introduced many people to the wonders of general aviation. Took infants on their first flights and retired pilots on their last. Scattered the remains of fellow aviators. Appeared on a magazine cover. Shepherded me through several ratings. Nine-Four Mike even did the impossible: made my landings look good.

It wasn’t a one-sided relationship. I gave her new exhaust system, heat shields, fuel cells, fuel lines, insulation, improved fuel drains, two prop overhauls, mag overhauls, avionics overhauls, countless oil changes, inspections, nearly 11,000 gallons of fuel, a hangar, and the most important thing you can give an airplane: frequent flight time. Above all that, I was ready to pay for a major engine overhaul should it have been necessary. That’s a $20-30,000 expense. Yes, there was commitment there.

After owning that Skylane for the better part of five years, you’d think I would have seen it from every angle, know every inch of it. But last Saturday as I watched her taxi out for takeoff, I realized I was in for something new. The last first: I had never seen the airplane fly. Oh, I’d been at the controls for 900 hours. But to actually see the airplane in flight? Not until that moment.

It was a bittersweet thing to hear the dragster-like sound of that O-470 from the ground. I watched until the plane was only a speck in the sky, until you couldn’t look away because if you did you’d never find it against the expansive blue canvas. Eventually Bill walked up and broke my concentration with a question. And like that, she was gone.

I’m sure that in the years to come I’ll see 94M around Southern California. Aviation is a small world, after all, and a paint scheme that distinctive tends to stick out. Even so, it’s a foregone conclusion that I’ll be looking for her wherever I am. That’s just how it is. Once you own a plane, it’s “yours” no matter whose name is on the registration certificate. No, it wasn’t heartbreaking to see the plane fly away. If I ever find out she ended up in a ball at the end of some runway, that will be the crusher.

I think it will take a long time before I get used to not owning 94M. So much of my identity was wrapped up in that plane. When you own, it sucks up all your money, all your time, and just about all of your attention. But that’s what’s so great about it: it’s hard. If it was easy, everyone would do it. If it was easy, it wouldn’t be special. If it was easy, there would be no sense of pride and accomplishment at defying the law of gravity that has kept man earthbound for a million years.

And so it goes. For nearly five years I was the steward and caretaker of a very fine aircraft. I hope I did right by her. I think I did.

So long, 94M. I’ll miss you…

My hangar is kind of a melancholy place these days, as it seems I’ve found a buyer for Nine-Four-Mike. A nice guy whose name also happens to be… Mike.

Anyway, I’ve been thinking about what I’ll miss most once she’s sold. “Ground visibility” is definitely near the top of the list. For sightseeing, there’s nothing quite like a 100 or 200 series Cessna. You can fly low, slow, fairly quietly, and open up the window to enjoy the breeze. In fact, if you take the window off the rail, it will hang just below the wing and give you an unfettered one-by-two foot opening from which to view the world. It’s like a Stearman, but without the 100 mph breeze.
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There’s nothing quite like the feeling of accomplishment that comes when, after a tough checkride, an examiner reaches over from the right seat to shake your hand and says, “Congratulations — you passed!”

That’s the feeling I had this past Tuesday when I recieved my multi-engine rating. I’d almost forgotten how nice it was.
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It’s the most wonderful time of the year! No, not Christmas. I’m talking about June. It’s Lesley’s birthday–time to celebrate!

And we did. But it started out on somewhat of a bad note. We’d previously planned to spend the whole day at Disneyland, but I later realized that the Opera Pacific “Opera Under the Stars” concert was that evening at the Pacific Amphitheatre. I couldn’t figure out how I had mixed up the dates. I’m not the best at keeping my schedule straight, but that’s why I have a PDA.
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Well, SpaceShipOne lived up to its name and today became the first private spacecraft to leave Earth’s atmosphere and venture into the void of space.

As if there was any doubt.

Has Burt Rutan ever designed an aircraft that didn’t work? If so, I can’t think of it off the top of my head. From general aviation aircraft to business turboprops to spaceships, he whips up a clean sheet design to accomplish a mission and always comes away smelling like a rose.
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What a day.

Dan and I made a great formation flight to Crystal Airport to look at an RV6 that’s for sale. The owner was extremely nice and we spent a couple of pleasant hours talking airplanes. Eventually we said our goodbyes and Dan launched (literally) out of there in his new RV7.

This is where things get interesting. I departed northbound toward Lake Isabella to pick up some folks for AngelFlight and ended up dodging thunderstorms north of Tehachapi. Upon arriving at the Kernville Airport, I find out that a) I’m the last AF pilot to arrive, and b) they were one aircraft short, so unless I can take an extra person, they’d be stranded there. Plus there’s a lot of extra luggage.
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After watching Apollo 13 the other day, I was doing some research on the web and discovered an ironic factoid: the defective oxygen tank that caused the explosion aboard Apollo 13 in 1970 was manufactured by none other than Beech Aircraft.

For those of you scratching your heads, Beech (now a division of aerospace giant Raytheon) was renown for producing the highest quality general aviation aircraft in the world. Even today, many consider the Beech A-36 Bonanza the best engineered airplane ever built.

Warning: graphic stuff.

This is a 4.7 megabyte mpeg video taken from an Apache AH-64D helicopter in Iraq using the ship’s FLIR (forward looking infrared) camera.

The Apache crew was two kilometers away and spied the Iraqis with weaponry in a field the night. It’s unclear weather the weaponry is a gun, RPG launcher, or what.

Unfortunately for those on the ground, the Apache is equipped with an automatic 30 mm McDonnell Douglas M230 chain gun firing 625 rounds per minute.

Addendum: here’s the full length video (12 MB).

One of the RV6 pilots on the Socal RV list was out at Mojave today and witnessed the lastest Scaled Composites rocket powered test flight. Scaled is likely to be the first to make a run at the $10 million X-Prize. The U.S. government has already issued Scaled a spaceflight permit — the first of its kind ever issued.

Seems silly to require government permission to go into space. And it is. The permission they need is to go shooting through all the high altitude controlled airspace used by military and commercial airplanes. Once the spaceship is above 60,000 feet, it’s above all the controlled airspace in the United States. It’s the area between 18,000 and 60,000 that can put others at risk.
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When you’re pilot-in-command of an aircraft, you like to think you’ve really considered all the what-ifs and have a plan for dealing with them. What if the engine fails. What if the flight controls jam. What if we hit a bird. What if there’s a fire on board. What if the landing gear will not extend.

But in all my hours of flying, I have to say I’ve never considered what I would do in this situation.

An elderly man recently diagnosed with a brain tumor leaped to his death from a vintage airplane he rented to celebrate his 88th birthday, officials said Tuesday. Joseph Harold Frost took off his safety belt at 300 to 400 feet, stood up in the open cockpit of the two-seat biplane and went over the side Monday. The pilot tried but failed to wrestle him back into the plane and nose the aircraft upward to force Frost back into his seat.

I feel terrible for the pilot. When you’re in flight training, it’s drilled into your head that as PIC, you’re responsible for the safety of the flight. That means the aircraft and passengers. Since this flight was a birthday celebration for the old guy, the pilot figured he was giving Mr. Frost a fond memory.

Now obviously it’s not the pilot’s fault that Mr. Frost jumped, but it’s gotta be tough returning to the airport alone when you took off with a passenger in the front seat. It sounds like he made a valiant effort to keep Mr. Frost in the plane. But as with any two place open cockpit biplane, there’s not much you can do if the guy up front decides to sky dive without a parachute.

Well I’ll be damned! The thing actually flies.

My good friend and fellow pilot Dan Checkoway’s RV-7 made a successful first flight yesterday. I’m bummed that I missed the big event. I had (wait for it) a rehearsal that kept me in Orange County. So what else is new?

Hard to believe the plane is now flying. I’ve seen it so many times as nothing but a massive collection of seemingly random parts. I was thinking back to the day I helped build a workbench and run electrical power in his shop, or the times I helped rivet the fuselage or wings. Seems like a long time ago. Heck, it was a long time ago.
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San Diego’s MCAS Mirimar has long been known as “Fightertown USA”. But with all due respect to the Navy and Marine Corps, I’ve always considered Nellis Air Force Base in Las Vegas to be the true Fightertown.

For one thing, Nellis home of the both the Thunderbirds and the USAF Weapons school. In addition, it hosts a seemingly unending series of large scale multi-service and multi-national training exercises under the Red Flag and Green Flag monikers. These exercises cover huge expanses of the Nevada desert and frequently include participation by our allies. To the best of my knowledge, the operation at Nellis is far larger than anything going on at Miramar.
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Hardly a day goes by without a pleading email from Angel Flight West headquarters seeking an available pilot and aircraft to get someone to medical treatment.

The email I received today was heartbreaking, even by AF standards. Cheri — the mission coordinator — was trying to get a Navy medical technician from San Diego to Texas for the funeral of his niece, Amanda. AFW can often get free airline tickets for this kind of thing, but apparently all flights are completely booked because of spring break.

Spring break?! Salt. Wound. Rubbing.
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Anyone want to take a guess what the pilots of this aircraft were doing when the plane crashed?

It may seem cruel to make light of an accident that took two lives, but I can’t help but chuckle when this appears in an official NTSB accident report:

EXAMINATION OF THE INDIVIDUALS’ CLOTHING REVEALED NO EVIDENCE OF RIPPING OR DISTRESS TO THE ZIPPERS AND BELTS

1975 Cessna 182P
N6594M
“Tweety Bird”

$92,000

Additional photos available here.

• 3000 hours total time
• 1150 hours SFRM on the factory reman engine (1993)
• 50 hours since prop overhaul (2003)
• 100 hours since mags were overhauled (2003)

Equipment:

• heated pitot
• static wicks
• alternate static air
• Cessna umbrella fuel caps
• Rosen sun visors
• nav light detectors
• vernier throttle, prop and mixture
• horizontal stabilizer abrasion boots
• dual landing lights, strobes, beacon, nav lights
• Kennon sun shields
• external cabin cover
• two fire extinguishers (halon & chemical)

Exterior:

• tan on white
• glass is ok; some crazing in the windshield

Interior:

• leather interior–excellent condition
• berber carpeting throughout
• fully articulating pilot and co-pilot seats

Misc:

• flown regularly (150-200 hours per year)
• no damage history
• all new fuel cells (2003)
• new fuel lines (2003)
• new vent hoses (2003)
• new Concorde RG battery (2004)
• new tires (2003)
• new engine mount heat shields (2003)
• new exhaust system (2002)
• new airbox beef-up kit installed (2003)
• new stainless flap roller service kit installed (2003)
• new baffling
• all AD’s have been complied with
• regular CorrosionX anti-corrosion treatment
• hangared at Corona Airport (AJO)

Avionics:

• Narco Mk-12D digital nav/com with glideslope
• MX-300 digital nav/com
• King KN-64 DME
• King KMA-20 audio panel & marker beacon
• ARC 300 series ADF
• Apollo 618 loran
• ARC 400 series transponder
• post lights
• four-place intercom
• avionics fan
• Astrotech LC-2 digital chronometer/clock
• coaxial line connected to aircraft’s external com antenna (for handheld radio)
• aircraft is pre-wired for GPS via a secondary circuit breaker panel on the center pedestal with Klixon pullable breakers

History: Aircraft spent most of it’s life in the dry desert of Arizona. It was at John Wayne for a couple of years, but I had it on an anti-corrosion program while it was there. It was treated with Boeshield T-9 and fogged with CorrosionX. It’s been a very reliable aircraft. I’ve never been stranded or had to cancel a trip for any mechanical reason in more than 800 hours of operation. I’ve flown it from L.A. to Seattle and back several times, as well as trips to Reno, San Francisco, Phoenix, Denver, Las Vegas, and many other places.

Engine: Compressions and oil analysis have always been good. The aircraft has not required any top end work on the engine since the factory reman engine was installed in 1993. As most big-bore TCM engine owners will tell you, this is rare. 1993 was a good year for TCM engines. Oil consumption has remained stable, about 10-15 hours per quart. Oil analysis is performed periodically.

Prop: Just overhauled. The prop governor was overhauled about 3 years ago.

Avionics: Solid IFR platform. Everything works–all avionics, instruments, etc. right down to the last post light. I had the MK-12D nav/com radio overhauled about 18 months ago by Western Avionics.

Damage History: Aircraft has no appreciable damage history. In 1988, a pilot ran out of fuel and made an off-airport landing in the Camp Verde area of Arizona. The wheel pants were slightly damaged and the lower cowling was dented. The airplane was flown out of the desert on a ferry permit and the fairing were replaced and the dent repaired in Phoenix. Since the plane was flown out, I never considered it a “damage history”.

Logs are complete. They are also scanned into PDF format and can be provided on CD if requested.

The aircraft is well rigged, flies straight and level hands-off, and many “optional” service kits and bulletins have been complied with. I am an active member of the Cessna Pilots Association and follow the recommendations in their various Tech Notes for maintenance and upkeep of the plane. It is flown gently and not abused. It has never been used for flight training.

Contact:
Ron Rapp, owner
(949) 552-9044 home
(714) 743-0360 cell
email: ron at rapp dot org

After much consideration, I have decided to put my aircraft up for sale.

Not because I have to get rid of it (though aircraft are certainly not cheap to own!), but because I have put more than eight hundred hours on her and I’m ready for a new adventure. I’d like to pursue CFI, -II, and MEI certificates. Learn to fly rotorcraft. Maybe get in on an aerobatic aircraft. Perhaps even fly commercially. And yes, probably build a plane at some point in the future.

94M and I have traveled the length and breadth of the country together. Visiting family. Exploring the West. Flying sick people to medical treatment. And every moment has been a pleasure.

Even so, it’s tough to let an airplane go, especially a good one. And Tweety has been a flawless bird through and through. Low IFR approaches, short fields, gross weight departures from high density altitude fields in the middle of summer… and she flies on without a single complaint.

I’m sure I will shed a tear when 94M goes flying off into the sunset with another pilot at the controls. No one else has flown that plane for more than four years. But I think the time has come for a change.

Anyway, if you know of anyone who’s looking for a solid, well maintained aircraft, point them in this direction:

http://www.rapp.org/skylane/

Lesley sent me a recent Washington Times editorial by Boeing 737 captain Tracy W. Price detailing yet another TSA fiasco, this time on guns in the cockpit. I can find no reason for the TSA’s behavior except to say that they do not even remotely understand who they’re dealing with–on either side of the cockpit door.

As far as I’m concerned, every airline pilot should carry a loaded gun once they start flying Part 121 (Scheduled Air Carrier) service. And if the TSA had thought this through, they would have to come to the same conclusion.

Pilots don’t reach the cockpit of an airliner quickly or easily. First they have to spend six figures and 3-5 years on training as the progress from student certificate to the coveted ATP certificate. Each certificates or rating involves many hours of flight time, ground instruction, and a three-part exam that combines a written test, practical exam with an FAA examiner, and an oral exam.

Then there are the medical certificates. Airline pilots are required to hold a first class medical certificate, and it only lasts six months before it has to be renewed. The medical examiners have the power to remove you from the cockpit, so it’s not exactly a low-stress affair.
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I don’t use the word “hate” lightly. But I hate Signature Flight Support. I really do. And I’m not the only one. Look at these comments.

We’re headed to Las Vegas tomorrow. The plane is in great shape, the weather is good, and I want to fly. But we’re going to drive. I simply cannot bring myself to give this bloodsucking “business” my money.

Signature is doing more to destroy general aviation than just about anything or anyone I can think of. They now charge $55 per night just to park the plane. Plus a $35 “handling charge”, though that can be waived by buying 20 gallons of fuel–at $4.00 per gallon! That’s a grand total of $180 (plus tips) just to leave the plane there for 48 hours.

Did I mention that their service stinks? It’s the worst. And when I get back to L.A. I’ll still need another 30 gallons to top off the plane. At $2.20 a gallon, that’s $66.00.

Grand total: $246.00 for a round trip to Vegas vs. $40 in fuel to drive.

Another thing I hate is starting a vacation by getting pissed off. Grrrr.

Canada has banned fruitcake from their airports because it’s so dense that not even the latest x-ray equipment can see through it.

As if anyone needed proof that this “food” was unfit for human consumption, fruitcake now joins lead as the only substances x-ray machines cannot penetrate.

I have a feeling the Society for the Protecton and Preservation of Fruitcake is gonna be on the war path about this one!

Ah, I love big anniversaries–they always bring out the crackpots and conspiracy theorists. Whether it’s the Kennedy assassination or the Wright Brothers first flight, there’s never a lack of entertaining material to read.

The 100th anniversary of the brothers’ achievement is a week from today and the press has run out of things to talk about. So CNN has picked up and given top placement to a Reuters article entitled “Was the Airplane’s Inventor Brazilian?”. They quote a taxi cab driver and apparent aviation history expert who contributed scintillating gems like:

“It’s one of the biggest frauds in history,” scoffs Wagner Diogo, a taxi driver in Rio de Janeiro, of the Wrights’ inaugural flight. “No one saw it, and they used a catapult to launch” the airplane.

Don’t quit your day job, Mr. Diogo.

The first flight was witnessed by five people. Wilbur Wright, Will Dough, Adam Etheridge, and Johnny Moore were there. And of course John Daniels was present. He’s the one that snapped the world famous photo of that first flight. So unless all five witnesses were lying and they somehow managed to forge a photograph in 1903 that has stood the test of time for a century, you’d have to admit that it did take place and plenty of people saw it.

Brazilians also claim that the Wrights launched their Flyer in 1903 with a catapult or at an incline, thereby disqualifying it from being a true airplane because it did not take off on its own.

The Wrights attempted a flight from a downward sloping hill on December 14, 1903, but the Wilbur stalled the aircraft and it crashed, damaging the canard. The flight on the 17th was from level ground. There was no slope.

And as far as the catapult is concerned, what does that matter? The question at hand is who was the first to achieve sustained, controllable, heavier than air powered flight, not who was the first to fly an airplane that could take off on its own. The Wrights made their first flight from sand dunes! Even today, not many fixed wing aircraft could take off from that sort of terrain.

“If we understand what the criteria were at the end of the 19th century, the Wright brothers simply do not fill any of the prerequisites,” says Lins de Barros.

Prerequisites? The only prerequisite was that it was heaver than air, sustained flight, and was controllable. The 1903 Wright Flyer did all those things.

Articles like this one are unfortunate, because the give credence to pie-in-the-sky nationalists who refuse to believe that an American was first. If you visit France, they’d probably tell you Clement Adler beat the Wrights. If you visit New Zealand, they will claim that Richard W. Pearse flew in March of 1903, nine months before the Wright brothers.

To those people I say: prove it. Show me an airplane, a witness, and a photograph. Show me a prototype. Show me a subsequent aircraft with improvements on the original design. Give me anything but a third-hand account published by a newspaper with an axe to grind.

The Wrights were the only ones to deliver an actual aircraft (which they stored for later proof), multiple witnesses, and a photograph. Not to mention telegrams, design studies, wind tunnel tests, and other paperwork. We also have the Wright gliders (which preceded the first powered flight) and the subsequent powered aircraft which improved upon the initial design.

Even the U.S. court system and Patent Office have passed judgment on this. Glenn Curtis built an airplane in the years after the Wright’s first flight using their technology. The Wrights warned him that if he tried to make money off an airplane using ‘three-axis control’, they’d sue him for violating their patent. He did, and as promised the Wrights sued. It got very bitter and lasted for many years. Wilbur died, and the Wright family blamed the stress from the lawsuit for his demise. Eventually the courts ruled in favor of the Wright brothers. Curtiss appealed and lost.

Curtiss’ next strategy was to try and invalidate the patents by demonstrating that the Wrights were not the first ones to construct an aircraft capable of sustained powered flight. In 1914 he dredged up the 1903 Langley Aerodrome and flew it. Unfortunately, he made about 30 modifications which greatly improved the Aerodrome. Without the mods it wouldn’t have flown.

In the end, the Wrights had a patent on 3 axis powered flight which survived all the legal challenges. So how is it that a company can manufacture aircraft today without paying a royalty to the Wrights? In 1915 World War I broke out and to help the war effort, the U.S. government established a patent pool so everyone could benefit from existing aviation knowledge and built better war machines. By the time it was over, things had shifted enough that the patents were never pursued by either side.

Ironically, Orville Wright sold the Wright Company and the new owners eventually merged it with the Curtiss Company. That’s how it became the Curtiss-Wright Corporation. Which still exists to this day, actually.

So to those doubting Thomases around the world, I’ll leave you with a quote from Pulp Fiction: “If my answers frighten you, then cease asking scary questions.” Others flew gliders and balloons before them, but the Wrights were the first to definitively achieve sustained, controllable, powered flight.

Yesterday I flew my first Angel Flight in quite a while. Angel Flight is a non-profit organization dedicated to providing free transportation to people who are too sick or poor to use the airlines.

Angel Flight does a lot of other stuff too. We transported blood after September 11th. We fly human organs. Sometimes we’ll transport a terminal patient’s family or even a pet to be with them at the end. We fly disabled kids to special camps designed for them. And AF was recently tapped by the government to assist in future disaster relief efforts.

Yesterday I flew a very kind Ukranian woman from Sacramento named Ludmilla. She was in San Diego receiving treatment for cancer and my mission was to fly her home. Angel Flights are rewarding, but the days are quite long. Here was the timeline:

10:00 am: Obtain weather briefing, compute weight & balance numbers
10:30 am: Begin the drive to the airport
11:00 am: Arrive at the airport, begin preflight inspection of the plane
11:40 am: Takeoff from Corona
12:10 pm: Arrive at Montgomery Field in San Diego
12:45 pm: Load passenger & bagggage and taxi for departure
01:00 pm: Takeoff for northern California
03:00 pm: Arrive at Fresno/Yosemite Airport
03:30 pm: Deplane passenger & baggage, refuel, forage for food
05:00 pm: Return from lunch, preflight, check weather, and taxi out for takeoff
06:50 pm: Land at Corona, refuel and taxi to the hangar
07:30 pm: Leave the airport by car
08:00 pm: Arrive home

The winds were 15-20 knots out of the north, which meant a full-on headwind the whole way. It was a slow flight northbound. But I took comfort knowing that the return flight would be speedy. And was it ever! I decided to see just how high I could get the plane to go. At 13,500 feet, I was moving over the ground at 155 knots (178 mph) at 52% power. At 15,500 feet I was still climbing at nearly 400 fpm.

The air up there was thin and cold. And since I’d had only a few hours sleep the night before, I elected to decend to a more breathable altitude. I made the return trip in about an hour and forty minutes while watching the setting sun cast puffy shadows over the stratus layer two miles below me.

Angel Flight gets a lot of great press. Recently the Today Show has been running a series entitled “Who We Admire”. Katie Couric chose to do a segment on Angel Flight, and you can view it here.

AFW has a plethora of video clips archived from news channels around the country. I encourage you watch a few of them. If nothing else, check out this clip hosted by Lorenzo Lamas. It’s something Angel Flight put together a few years ago to explain what it’s all about.

CNN is reporting that Goodyear’s west coast blimp just crashed.

Perhaps “crashed” isn’t the right word. As ususal in these cases, no one died. It’s pretty hard to get killed when your trusty steed is a giant airbag with a cruise speed of 30 mph.

These blimps are quite rare, even by aviation standards. Goodyear is one of the best known airship operators, and they only have three of ‘em. Well, two after tonight. And the one they just lost was barely a year old. Called ‘The Spirit of America’, it was a common site at Goodyear’s landing facility in Carson. The landing field is right next to the freeway, so you would often see the airship coming or going. And when it was moored at the airfield, it acted as a gargantuan windsock, always pointing into the wind.

It’s not exactly a speedy conveyance–heck, in a stiff headwind a pedestrian on the ground could literally outpace it! But for as long as I can remember, I’ve loved it. The Goodyear blimp is an old friend, a longstanding piece of the Southern California landscape. I encountered quite frequently. Flying overhead during an Angels game. Cruising down the beach in the summer. I even have a few friends who made their livings flying airbags for Goodyear.

A few years ago, I spent what felt like an hour holding short of the runway at John Wayne waiting for the blimp to make a simple touch-and-go. At 30 mph, it takes a while. It was interesting to watch, though. The gondola has a single wheel underneather it, so the blimp doesn’t land as much as it just sort of bounces. Then the pilot hit the gas. Full throttle! And they rocket away at the blistering speed of 20 mph.

They’re so bloody expensive to manufacture and operate. But I hope Goodyear has the financial incentive to repair or replace ‘The Spirit of America’. Los Angeles just wouldn’t be the same without it.

One issue that keeps coming up in aviation circles is which company to go with for a new or STC upgrade propeller. In fact, someone just emailed me today asking my opinion on this issue. Her McCauley prop had been condemned and she was trying to decide between another McCauley or a Hartzell Top Prop conversion.

I guess if you’re flying an experimental, you have a lot of options–Catto, Sensenich, MT Prop, Whirlwind, etc. But for those of us flying certificated aircraft behind a constant speed prop, it usually comes down to Hartzell vs. McCauley.

I have the original McCauley 2A34-C203 on my Skylane and it’s perfectly fine. However, I made a detailed inspection of the Hartzell factory in Piqua, Ohio last summer and was extremely impressed by what I saw. The company was owned by a large conglomerate (TRW) for a while, but Jim Brown bought it from TRW and took the company private again. When I was there, the president even took the time to say hello and sit down with us to answer questions.

The Hartzell factory is very modern–everything is done on CNC machines except for some final grinding and shaping. That’s done by highly experienced (and compensated) craftsman. I’m was also impressed that some very demanding folks who need top performing props always seem to choose Hartzell. Sean Tucker, Wayne Handley, NASA, Rutan, etc.

The thing that stuck with me the most about Hartzell is how much they value their employees. The average tenure of a Hartzell employee is more than 20 years, and it shows.

McCauley seems to be just the opposite. It once was an independent company that was highly regarded in the general aviation industry. But it was purchased by a large conglomerate called Textron. This is the same multi-billion dollar corporation that now owns Cessna Aircraft, Bell Helicopter, and Lycoming.

Last summer, the original plan was to visit the McCauley factory, not Hartzell. McCauley was chosen because they made most of the props on the pre-96 Cessna fleet. But shortly before we flew out to Ohio, Textron decided to move the whole McCauley plant to another location to save money. Which is perfectly fine. But Textron decided not to take any of their employees with them! So the McCauley factory is working with all new people, and the quality is an unknown. There were rumors of low morale at the company as well. The McCauley web site was out of date last year, and at the moment is not even operational.

So based on my experiences, if I needed to pick a prop right now, I would go with Hartzell. The fact that they are cheaper would make the decision that much easier for me.

The media is focusing more and more on the upcoming 100th anniversary of powered flight. In case you’ve been living in a hermetically sealed bubble, that date is December 17, 2003. That’ll mark one hundred years since the Wright Brothers achieved powered flight on the windswept expanse of North Carolina’s Outer Banks with an aircraft that I still can’t believe actually got into the air.

Here’s one such article from CNN.

The more I learn about the 1903 Wright Flyer, the more I think luck was a massive element in the Wilbur and Orville’s success. So I’m a little curious to see if the key event in the centennial celebration–a recreation of that first flight–will succeed.

Obviously, the original Wright Flyer is too old and valuable to pull out of the National Air & Space Museum for a flight. So a replica was built by Ken Hyde at The Wright Experience. The goal is to fly this thing on December 17th at the exact moment when the Wright’s made their first flight.

When I say an exact replica, I mean exact. Hyde went so far as to use the exact same fabrication techniques the Wright’s employed. And doing that was not easy. The original Flyer was covered in a material which is not made anymore. And the Wright brothers destroyed all their construction notes and plans because they were in the process of patenting three-axis flight control and didn’t want any of their work to end up in the hands of competitors. So Hyde has been forced to reverse engineer much of the technology and answer questions about the engine and airframe that we really aren’t sure about even today.

Anyway, the Wrights did have some flight experience when they made the first powered flight. They had constructed and flown a series of gliders and kites between 1899 and 1903. These helped them validate their theories and find avenues for improvement in the aircraft design.

Today’s Wright Flyer pilots are training for the Big Day as well. In fact, the replica made its first flight today.

Still, I wonder about luck. There’s no doubting that the Wright brothers were experimenters and scientists of the first order. A lot of skill and research went into their work. But I mean, what if it’s raining at 10:35 a.m. on December 17th? Will the aircraft fly in the rain? Will they even attempt it?

What if the notorious winds of the Outer Banks gust and blow at 50 mph? What if there’s no wind at all? The Wright’s traveled to North Carolina from their home in Dayton, Ohio specifically because of that wind. They needed it to get the Flyer airborne by the time it came off the launch rail.

Sure, the Wrights were successful. Eventually. But many people don’t know that they broke many aircraft and even injured themselves on occasion before making that first flight. So what will happen when modern pilots try to fly this oddball aircraft?

The Wright Flyer was not an easy aircraft to control. For one thing, the cruise speed and stall speeds were very close together. In modern aviation parlance, this is called a “coffin corner”. Not good. Also, the Flyer had a very odd control system. It didn’t employ modern control surfaces like ailerons. Instead the Wright’s invented method of physically warping the wings. This changed their camber and therefore the amount of lift they provided. The pilot actuated this by sliding his hips as he laid down on top of the lower wing. (see how it worked)

The Flyer also had a CG (center of gravity) problem. And then there’s the engine. It had no throttle. It was either on or it was off. And it had no landing gear to speak of, just a set of wooden skids which could easily dig into the grass and nose the aircraft over. Now add in some wind and the fact that neither brother had ever flown this thing before and you can see what they were up against.

The pilots who will fly the replica on December 17th are being trained by Scott Crossfield, one of the most famous and highly respected former test pilots alive. If the weather cooperates, they have a good chance of success. But make no mistake about it, that plane is a tough customer even under the best of circumstances. This event could easily end with someone getting hurt.

In fact, the original Wright Flyer was actually destroyed on December 17, 1903–the same day it made its first flight! The brothers made their four famous flights, and on the fifth attempt that day Wilbur nosed the plane into the ground, breaking off the canard. They tried to carry the machine back to their shed, but the wind was so strong it overturned the plane and smashed it into pieces. The broken plane never flew again.

In some ways, the flight of the replica seems far more hazardous than the flight of the original. The Wright brothers flew on December 17th because the conditions were right for them to make an attempt. The replica is going to fly on December 17th because that’s the anniversary. If the conditions are poor, the 2003 flight may be attempted in conditions the Wright brothers would have rejected 100 years earlier.

So there you have it. Recreating history authentically, right down to the risk to life and limb. I hope Lady Luck smiles on December 17th, just for old time’s sake.

When a 50 year old zooms down the road in a flashy red sports car, we think “midlife crisis”. When a young punk does the same thing, he’s “compensating”.

So what are we to think when a guy buys a 250,000 lb, 600 mph Boeing 707 jetliner?

I’ve known for sometime that John Travolta owns one. In fact, I flew out to Vegas one time and ended up parking next to (more like “under”) a gleaming 707 painted in vintage Qantas colors. Turns out it belonged to the disco king himself.

Built in 1964 for Qantas, it was later sold to Braniff Airlines. Frank Sinatra owned it in 1972, and Kirk Kerkorian purchased it in 1975. Travolta bought the plane in May, 1998. He had leased it back to Qantas for a promotional round-the-world tour, and in exchange Qantas repainted it in the original “V-Jet” colors and also put Travolta through training to receive his 747 type certificate.

So is a 747 on his Christmas list? Doubtful. You can pick up an old one for only a few million dollars–almost certainly within his budget. The real hurdle is the care and feeding. Fuel. Parts. Maintenance. Take insurance, for example. Imagine trying to find a company willing to insure an owner-flown jumbo jet for liability risks, especially in the post-September 11th atmosphere.

But the largest issue would probably be storage. Where does one keep a 747? Or a 707, for that matter? Travolta used to live at a well-known airpark called Spruce Creek Fly-In. Airparks are residential communities built around runways. Instead of a garage, your house has an attached hangar, and your driveway leads directly to the runway. For people whose lives revolve around airplanes, it’s heaven.

Spruce Creek is one of the oldest and most successful airparks, and the 707 was kept there for several years until Travolta was evicted because of noise complaints from his neighbors. It’s the first and only case I know of where airplane owners kicked a fellow pilot out due to airplane noise. But then, you’d have to hear a 707 on takeoff to appreciate it–it’s loud. The concept of “noise pollution” didn’t exist back in the 50′s. I think they were just glad to be able to move from 200 mph piston airliners to 600 mph jets.

Anyway, I’ve often wondered why he made this deal with Qantas. Sure, it’s a great promo for the airline, for aviation, and for his films. But I also suspect that the cost of owning and operating a 707 was steep, even for someone with his income. The 707 demands three pilots in the cockpit and a large team of maintenance personnel on the ground. It has four engines, and overhauling them is around a million dollars. Each. And as nice as his 707 is, there are not many places he can go with it. Either the runways are too short, or the noise ordinances are too strict.

Once he was evicted from Spruce Creek, I lost track of where the plane was based. Until now.

It seems that John has solved his real estate problem. He’s moved to another Florida airpark–a new one called Jumbolair. What an appropriate name! The airport and his $4.9 million estate are large enough to accomodate transport category airliners.

Here’s the Boeing jet parked in the driveway. Or, as I like to call it, “This is not your father’s Oldsmobile”:

Here’s the estate itself. Note that he has two planes there–the 707 and a smaller Gulfstream business jet:

And finally, one of the neatest architectural features of the house, a “control tower” on the roof:

It’s painful to watch an airplane die. They have a spirit, much like people. It’s tough to describe, but if you fly planes or work on them, you’ll know what I mean. There’s a connection there. It’s a combination of the quirks, smells, dings, and history of a particular aircraft.

The most interesting thing about it is that this “heartbeat” is absent from planes retired to museums. Once oil streaks and bug marks are replaced by layers of dust, the spirit disappears. It’s like a stuffed animal. The body is there and the eyes are open, but there’s not a semblance of life to be found in it.

So I’ve been watching the Concorde’s swan song over the last few months with a bit of a lump in my throat. I was never enticed enough by the thought of moving at Mach 2+ to fork out the $8,000 for a ticket, but I really liked the airplane and what it represented.

And what was that, exactly? For many it represented nothing more than a stinky, noisy conveyance for the fabulously wealthy. To me, it was a thing of beauty. A flying work of art. Concorde was highly futuristic yet also a testament to aviation’s heyday. It was commercial aviation’s Apollo program–one of those things they said couldn’t be done. It was something so far beyond the status quo that it was hard to even imagine. Did you know that the Concorde actually expanded in flight? At Mach 2, the intense heat caused the jet to grow six inches in length. It flew so high that you could actually see the curvature of the Earth. If you looked up, you’d see black instead of blue because the planet’s atmosphere was almost completely below you.

But what I loved about it was the class. On Concorde you were still treated like a person, not a number. Food was served on china. Linen tablecloths, real silverware, friendly flight attendents. It was like flying the Clipper ships of the 1930s, only at ten times the speed and altitude. Concorde made flying special again–something to be savored and enjoyed, not just endured.

Yes, it’s four Olympus engines consumed fuel like a drunk sailor on shore leave. Yes, it was loud. Yes, the cabin was small, the routes limted, the ticket price astronomical, and boy am I sad I’ll never have a chance to ride that sucker into the stratosphere.

Since revenue service ended last month, British Airways and Air France have been busy delivering the Concordes to various museums around the world. One was donated to the Museum of Flight in Seattle. A friend of mine is based there and got a few photos of a Concorde landing at Boeing Field for the last time. Apparently it caused quite a scene, both in the air and on the ground.

I suppose I’m happy that one of these magnificent beasts is going to my favorite museum. And it’s fitting that Concorde join the SR-71, Apollo capsule, Air Force One, and other gems in the Museum of Flight collection. But a definite sadness remains about seeing this plane grounded.

As if this weren’t enough, another revolutionary aircraft has hit the skids before its time: the Raytheon Starship. Never heard of it? Don’t feel bad, most people haven’t. The Starship was every bit as futuristic as the Concorde. Developed in the early 1980′s, it was designed to replace the most successful business turboprop in history, the King Air.

Starship was revolutionary because it the airframe was made of composites like carbon fiber. Composites are lighter and stronger than aluminum, but they are more complex to manufacture and they haven’t been around that long. Consequently, the FAA was very conservative and required a lot of extra testing and data for certification. It was also difficult and very labor intensive to manufacture, and many of Raytheon’s subcontractors missed critical deadlines. Raytheon itself experienced many delays as it learned to work with resins, adhesives, sealants, and other composite materials.

Here’s a photo of the Starship in flight.

Eventually the bugs were worked out, but the damage had been done. Only 53 Starships were built. And of those, only a small handful were ever sold. Most have remained in Raytheon’s inventory for more than a decade and have been used to supply replacement parts for the existing fleet.

Starship was also one of the very first airplanes to be designed and built using a computer system. Called CATIA, this same system was used to create the Boeing 777.

Anyway, after fifteen years of service, Raytheon decided to buy back the Starships currently flying and ground the fleet permanently. The reason? Pure economics. See, the FAA requires that aircraft parts come from approved sources. That means if you own a Starship and need a part for it, you must get it from Raytheon. That means Raytheon must continue to manufacture parts. They also have to supply revisions to service manuals, issue service bulletins, and so on.

The Starship fleet is too small and the liability costs too high to continue doing this. I’m sure Raytheon has been bleeding red ink for years on the Starship program. So yet another advanced aircraft bites the dust.

Today the Starship fleet sits at Pinal Airpark in Arizona waiting to be chopped up and scrapped:

Concorde and Starship were incredible airplanes. I can’t help but feel the world is a slightly duller place without them, though there is some comfort in knowing that what we learned from building and flying ‘em will live on.

May they rest in peace.

Ahhh, fresh air and rain–manna from heaven!

It seems that Mother Nature has accomplished what 15,000 firefighters, dozens of aircraft, and millions of dollars could not. The fires are finally under control. It’s been two weeks of pure hell for many Southern Californians, not to mention something like a million acres of land and a couple thousand homes burned.

Disasters of this type always produce some powerful images. Here are a few I found particularly memorable:

   

   

The damage is extensive, but it could have been much worse. I can only imagine the swath of destruction this inferno would’ve left in its wake had it reached into the San Fernando Valley.

The part of Orange County I live in was thankfully spared. Come to think of it, the whole county was nearly untouched by fire, though we did have quite a bit of fallout–ash, debris, and extremely poor air quality and visibility. The Santa Ana wind conditions carried all that stuff out toward the ocean, and that means it all had to pass through Orange County on its way out. Once the wind changed directions, the air cleared immediately even though the fires were still out of control.

The residual effects of this fire season are likely to remain with us for a long time. So much stuff was burned that it’s affected the most obscure areas of our lives. Let me give you one example. Have a look at this:

Any idea what this is?

It’s the Fillmore VOR (“FIM”), a heavily used radio navigation aid. Or should I say, it was the Fillmore VOR. It used to look like this.

Located northwest of the Los Angeles basin, FIM is the primary navaid for air traffic from northern California and the Pacific Northwest heading into southern California. It defines portions of two high-altitude jet airways and seven low-altitude Victor airways. The loss of this VOR affects nine departure procedures at six airports, 10 standard arrival routes (STARs) at six airports, and 30 approach procedures at eight airports. (Map)

The FAA says the area has good radar and radio coverage, so controllers are vectoring air traffic along the route to compensate for the loss of FIM. There are no GPS routes in existence or planned that could be used to replace Fillmore VOR, and because of terrain and coverage issues, no other existing VOR signals could be used to compensate.

Few people in the L.A. basin would know what Fillmore was or think much about it. But the ripple effect from FIM’s destruction will cause air traffic delays as far away as Seattle for months to come.

Technology has effectively made the world a much smaller place. So the “butterfly effect” from this fire is going to reach across the country, if not the globe, in ways most of us may not even be aware of.

Here’s hoping we don’t see anything like it again for a long, long time.

One fine summer afternoon, a tiny Cessna 150 was flying in the pattern at a quiet country airfield. The instructor was getting irritated at the student’s inability to maintain altitude in the thermals. Just then he saw a twin engine Cessna zoom by 5,000 ft. above him and thought “Another 1,000 hrs of this and I qualify for that twin charter job! Aaahh, to be a real pilot actually going somewhere.”

The Cessna 402 was already late and the boss told him this charter was for one of the company’s premier clients. He’d already set MCT and the cylinders didn’t like it in the summer heat. He was at 6,000 ft. and fighting a 20 knot headwind. Today was the sixth day in a row and he was dead tired of fighting these engines. Maybe if he could get another 10,000 ft. out of them, the wind might die off. Jeez, those cylinder temps! He looked out momentarily and saw a Boeing 737 leaving a contrail at 33,000ft in the serene blue sky. “Oh man” he thought, “My interview is next month. I hope I don’t blow it! Outta GA, nice jet job, above the weather… no snotty passengers to wait for… aahhh.”

The Boeing 737 bucked and weaved in the heavy clear air turbulence at FL330 and ATC advised that lower levels were not available due traffic. The captain, who was only recently advised that his destination was below RVR minimums had slowed to LRC to try and hold off a possible inflight diversion, and arrange an ETA that would helpfully ensure the fog had lifted to CATII minima. The company negotiations broke down yesterday and looked as if everyone was going to take a pay cut. The first officers would be particularly hard hit, as their pay was nothing to speak of anyway. Finally deciding on a speed compromise between LRC and turbulence penetration, the captain looked up and saw Concorde at Mach 2+. Tapping his first officer’s shoulder as the 737 took another bashing, he said “Now THAT’S what we should be on… huge pay …super fast… not too many routes… not too many legs… above the CAT…yep! What a life…!”

FL590 was not what he wanted anyway and considered FL570. Already the TAT was creeping up again and either they would have to descend or slow down. That damn rear fuel transfer pump was becoming unreliable and the F/E had said moments ago that the radiation meter was not reading numbers that he’d like to see. Concorde descended to FL570 but the radiation was still quite high even though the NOTAM indicated hunky-dory below FL610. Fuel flow was up and the transfer pump was intermittent. Evening turned into night as they passed over the Atlantic.

Looking up, the F/O could see a tiny white dot moving against the backdrop of a myriad of stars. “Hey captain” he called as he pointed. “Must be the Shuttle. “The captain looked for a moment and agreed. Quietly he thought how a Shuttle mission, while complicated, must be the be all and end all in aviation. Above the crap, no radiation problems, no fuel transfer issues… aaah. Must be a great way to earn a buck.”

Discovery was into its 27th orbit and perigee was 200 ft. out from nominated rendezvous altitude with the commsat. The robot arm was virtually U/S and a walk may become necessary. The 200 ft. predicted error would necessitate a corrective burn and Discovery needed that fuel if a walk was to be required. Houston continually asked what the commander wanted to do but the advice they proffered wasn’t much help. The commander had already been 12 hours on station sorting out the problem and just wanted 10 minutes to himself to take a leak. Just then a mission specialist, who had tilted the telescope down to the surface for a minute or two, called the commander to the scope.

“Have a look at this–isn’t this the kinda flying you said you wanted to do after you finish up with NASA?” The commander peered through the telescope and cried “Ooooohhhhh yeah! Now THAT’S flying! Man, that’s what it’s all about. Jeez, I’d give my left nut just to be doing THAT down there.”

The Discovery commander was looking at a Cessna 150 in the pattern at a quiet country airfield on a bright, sunny afternoon.

Morale: pilots are never happy unless they are drinking beer and looking for a better job.

Those kooky Brits.

If I tried anything like this in the U.S. I’d lose my pilot certificate faster than you could slap that annoying little “zoom zoom” kid from the Mazda commercials.

Maybe they have a get-out-of-jail free card for anyone who flies a Spitfire…

I had a relaxing dinner at a local Mexican restaurant tonight with some friends. The cool, dry breeze blowing off the lake was a welcome relief after Rome’s blast furnace heat and high humidity.

During dinner, discussion naturally centered around the big news of the day–the Kennedy plane crash. Somehow we ended up on the topic of air traffic control. I asked if anyone remembered the PATCO strike in the early 80′s. No one did.

I shouldn’t feel bad, because it’s probably not an age thing. I remember the strike well, but for a different reason: I was there. When I moved to Alaska in 1982 to live with some family, my cousin Dave was in working at the Anchorage enroute air traffic control center (aka “Anchorage Center”). The Center controls a lot of the traffic in the Pacific. The next closest Centers are in Seattle and Tokyo. The actual Anchorage Center building is a large windowless structure sitting on the edge of Elmendorf Air Force Base. Even in the early 80′s the equipment had a antiquated feeling–you could almost smell the electronics slowly cooking themselves.

Anyway, Dave was working there as a controller. He was hired after President Regan fired all the controllers who went on strike as part of the PATCO union. Even with the new personnel hired to replace them, the nation’s air traffic control system was extremely understaffed. I was in 6th and 7th grade during that time, and just for fun I used to go in to work with Dave on occasion, usually on a Friday night. Oftentimes I’d help out in the Flight Data section, functioning as the “runner”. The runner’s job was to make sure the aircraft data strips which came off the printer were delivered to proper controllers for each sector.

There were even a few times when Anchorage Center was so understaffed that I, at the age of 11 years old, would sit at one of the controller’s stations and watch an area known as Sector 12. Sector 12 was fairly close to the North Pole, and was traveled only by the occasional jumbo jet flying the “Great Circle” route from one side of the world to the other. The sector was often empty, so I’d sit there and wait for something to show up on the screen. When it did, I would call one of the guys over and they’d take care of it.

It sounds sort of surreal to write about it in today’s highly litigious world, but back then nobody seemed to mind–the stuff I did was fairly brainless. I can still recall the large green scope, keyboard, and trackball. When I’d get tired, I would nap in the lounge or tune in a funky new station called MTV or watch Friday Night Videos on a small television mounted high up in a corner of the room.

There were some exciting moments, like the time that Korean Airlines flight 007 was shot down by a Russian fighter, but typically the place was quiet and business like. Not exactly part of your stereotypical childhood, was it? Nevertheless, it’s one of those things I look back on fondly.

I haven’t been at the computer much lately, which has been a relief. I swear, I can practically feel the carpal tunnel syndrome backing away like reprimanded dog. Where I have been a lot is out at the airport, working on the Cherokee.

Are you sick of reading about Ron and his plane yet? What can I say. It’s what I like to do. There are some cool planes out at Corona, ranging from World War I era fighters to experimental homebuilt aircraft made from space-age composite materials.

And just today when I drove in the airport gate, I saw something amazing–a fully restored Ford Tri-Motor, an aircraft which was manufactured in the mid 1920′s by the Ford Motor Company. The Tri-Motor was the first aircraft to have a skin made entirely of metal, and I believe in 1992 there were only 3 or 4 of these left in airworthy condition, perhaps less. It’s even possible that today I stood in front of the last flying Tri-Motor in the world. This beautiful, huge antique was sitting out on the grass looking as if it had just come out the factory doors. Luckily, I had my camera handy and got these photos. The plane’s age is borne out by the radial engines and squarish, box-like airframe. There was not a soul around. Just me, a setting sun, a huge expanse of empty grass, and a bit of history.

Anyway, back to my plane. The Cherokee is currently out of service for it’s annual inspection, and since the FAA allows the owner to do some of the maintenance under the supervision of an A&P (Aircraft & Powerplant mechanic), I’ve been doing the more mundane (but time-consuming) tasks. This baby has come a long way. Last year the annual took four months. A bunch of ADs (Airworthiness Directives) were complied with, and the interior was completely redone. Remember, this aircraft was manufactured in 1963.

We were thinking of repainting her, since the paint is pretty oxidized from exposure to the sun. Until last year, she was tied down outside. But when Martin (one of the other owners) sold his Hatz bi-plane, the Cherokee was moved into this hanger. Rather than spend thousands on repainting the whole plane, we opted to polish up the grey base coat and just repaint the black and red stripes ourselves. That might leave some cash for installing new avionics.

I’m the most gung-ho about the whole thing, so naturally I’ve been doing most of the work. First, the inspection plates, cowling, wheel pants, and tail cone were removed. We found a fuel leak from the left tank and fixed it. Then the oil was drained, and I started cleaning the gunk of the bottom of the fuselage and wings. Then I polished the whole airframe, and started the prep work for painting by taping along the red and black stripes. It doesn’t sound like much, but remember the stripes go underneath the aircraft and around the flaps, ailerons, and so on. The hardest part has been taping around the registration numbers. The tape doesn’t curve, but the numbers do.

So far I’ve spent 25-30 hours on the plane, and it’s nowhere near done. The A&P is supposed to be doing the compression test on Friday. That measures how much each cylinder leaks past the rings and valves. We’re also going to jack the plane up and check the wheel bearings on the landing gear, lubricate and test the control cables, and a bunch of other stuff. I get tired just thinking about it.

This annual is taking so long, I’m starting to get a bit frustrated. I want to fly, but I’m coming to terms with the fact that I won’t fly this plane again at least until I get back from Europe in mid-July. Ah well–I guess the old saying is true: “time to spare, go by air”.

I’ve learned a lot from flying. And not just about flying, either. Today was one of those didactic experiences, and I think my first aerobatics passenger will also be my last. From now I’m doing a solo show.

My good friend Steve is turning 40, and I offered to take him up to do a bit of aerobatics. I probably don’t have to say another word to let you know where this one is going, right?

After an aileron roll, two loops, and a barrel roll it became clear we should head back. Steve didn’t quite make it. But lots of people get air sick–no big deal. I made sure the plane had an air sick bag in it; unfortunately in preparing for the flight I didn’t count on the fact that the bag would break after it had been used.

Did I mention that Steve had chili for lunch? So I got to clean all that out of the cockpit. Which is fine, it’s like a rite of passage or something. I made my first passenger sick. But that’s not the end of it.

Tailwheel airplanes sometimes develop a shimmy or vibration in the tailwheel. If it’s out of balance or the tire is wearing unevenly, it can start to vibrate at certain speeds–I’ve seen this several times with other tailwheel aircraft. It’s not the best thing that could happen, but neither is it an emergency. It’s just another item requiring maintenance. Today after landing the tail started to vibrate, and I thought that’s what we had. The flight was over, we were going back to the tie down spot anyway, so I just taxied slowly and kept an eye on it.

So we return to Sunrise. By this time the smell is starting to get kind of bad, even with the window open. Then I get out, prepared to deal with the mess in back, and notice that the tailwheel is completely flat. I had no idea! You’d think a flat tire would cause some drag during taxiing, but the Decathlon rolled just as freely as ever.

But still, I look at the positive side: a flat tire could be dangerous, especially in a tailwheel plane, but my landing was on the money, and nobody got hurt.

I spent the next hour and a half running back and forth between the restroom and the plane, cleaning the mess out of the carpet, seat, stick, parachute, and belts. All the while Steve was (I kid you not) laying in the middle of the taxiway, flat on his back. A ground school class let out and the student pilots, coffee in hand, started to gather at a respectful distance as if someone had died.

It took close to two hours after we landed before I could even think of getting poor Steve to the car–he just couldn’t be moved (even as I write this, several hours later, he’s laying face down on the living room floor; I’m going to start calling him “Bernie”). He did, however, have enough of a sense of humor to ask what I thought of his “Kate Moss after a Thanksgiving dinner” impersonation.

What bothered me most today was when I asked the head honcho at Sunrise if there was anything else I should do to ground the plane besides notating the bad wheel in the “squawk sheet” (a book listing any problems with the aircraft). Between making Steve sick and grounding the Decathlon, I felt bad enough. Without going into the details, his tone made the impression on me that I was at fault for the flat tire, or at least for taxiing with it that way.

Perhaps I was. But I’m one of those crazy people who prefers to look at the fact that nobody got hurt (Steve’s pride not included), whereas he saw the flat as yet another maintenance issue that would suck money out of the budget. Half full vs. half empty. I don’t blame him for that. It’s what he’s responsible for, and any aircraft part, no matter how small, is by definition an expensive one. Virtually everything must be FAA approved. A cheap part is usually an illegal one.

And of course the pilots I’ve been flying alongside at Sunrise gave me some shit about the whole thing. I would have been disappointed if they hadn’t.

So what did I learn from today’s experience? Considering the several times people have become air sick in the Cherokee (in unaccelerated, smooth, level flight), I’ve learned that the average person cannot handle flying in a general aviation aircraft. The small cockpit, the noise, the vibration, the sensations. I’m sure a lot of it simply has to do with the fact that a) they’re nervous, and b) flying is not a typical experience for them. Personally, I love it. The lack of traffic, the great views, the high speeds, the skill required, and it’s just plain fun. From the first time I climbed into a cockpit and the wheels left the ground, I knew this was my gig.

You know, when I started flying aerobatics, I had visions of sharing this rail-less roller coaster experience with all my friends. Of dancing around the sky and having such a great time. The truth is, if I’m going to experience that kind of thing, it’s going to have to be with another pilot. The people who really love it and have built up the physical ability necessary to handle it are either pilots or would be pilots if they had the means.

This is not to say today was so bad that I want to stop sharing aviation with others. It wasn’t a bad day at all. Far from it–it was humorous and unique. But in my zeal to share, I think I’ve put the chili-laden reality of your average ground-based human on the back burner. And that’s not doing anybody any good.

P.S.: If you’re reading this, Steve: Wanna go again?!

Just kidding.

Since I bought my plane earlier this year, I’ve been itching to really go someplace. I don’t mean a quick jaunt to a nearby locale. I mean a serious trip. Chicago, New York, Mexico, Texas, Alaska. Now that’s a flight. Since my niece Joann recently had her second kid and I hadn’t visited my brother Howard in a while, I decided on Seattle. In retrospect, not the best destination for an easy flight.

A VFR pilot’s license is not much good for flying to the great northwest. An instrument rating is really needed. But I figure I’m not in any hurry, so I’ll just hang out until the weather is decent. I knew it would be a while, but if the current forecast holds it’ll be more than 10 days of solid low clouds up there. My aircraft is not turbocharged, so I’m stuck in the lower 15,000 feet of sky, which is also where most of the serious weather happens.

So out of frustration I decided to take a day off and fly to Las Vegas. One of my best friends from the long lost days of high school just happened to have the day off, so he said he could pick me up from the airport and we’d hang out.

The weather was marginal in the L.A. basin, but once I got through the Banning pass it was clear skies and unlimited visibility. There was also a lot of turbulence, but what do you expect flying through the desert and over mountains? When the wind passes over a mountain, it goes up, and keeps going until it hits something, typically a plane like mine.

Arriving in Las Vegas was a blast. This was my first flight into a Class B airport (Class B airports are the largest ones: O’Hare, LAX, Kennedy, La Guardia, etc.). The final approach path into McCarren International was parallel to the Strip, so I got a bird’s eye view of all the new mega resorts, and was just about at eye level with the top of the Stratosphere.

I parked at Signature Aviation, were all the big private jets go. Yeah, flying into North Las Vegas airport would have been a bit cheaper, but I’m at the point where I’m willing to pay a few dollars more for good service. And man, talk about first class service! They send a van out to lead you to your tiedown space, then they chock the aircraft, give you a ride to the building, and take care of your bags. They refuel, check the oil, and even clean the inside of the plane. There are some fees associated with flying into such a large airport, but they waive them if you refuel. They have a kitchen, a great flight planning room complete with computers, phones, and 19″ screens. Also, they have places to rest, shower, and change, and (my favorite) complimentary cars to use while you’re in town. They even have popcorn and beverages for the taking.

You’d think this would cost a fortune, but it only ran me $60 for the day. In fact, all I paid for was fuel and oil–everything else was free. I think it’s such a good deal for guys like me because the large jets that fly in there and spend tens of thousands of dollars of catering, jet fuel, etc. help cover all the complimentary services we small fry enjoy. I was impressed.

Dereck, the aforementioned high school chum, and I drove down the Strip and I was amazed at how much it’s changed. Major new casinos include Bellagio, Mandalay Bay, Paris, and Venetian. They’ve also rebuilt the Sahara from the ground up, and reworked the front of the MGM Grand. Plus, the streets have been revamped. Where there used to be a road, there is none, while new highway interchanges have sprung up like liver spots on an 80 year old woman. They just can’t spend the money fast enough out there. Bugsy Siegel would have been proud.

Dereck and I had a leisurely lunch and talked about old times. Seems that this year, our 10th since graduating from high school, is going to be without a reunion! Sad. But times are changing. My high school isn’t even in the same place where it used to be. They sold the old school and built a new one out in Summerlin. I tried to find out where my old friends were, but he hadn’t talked to any of them in eons.

We had some great times in high school. I’m glad I remember those instead of the bad times. Once, we started an underground newspaper, and we’d break into the school late at night to stuff each issue into everyone’s lockers through the air vents. Dereck and I were questioned by the principal one day. He thought we had to be in on it, but we denied everything and were such good students that no one could really suspect us.

After that, they installed a security system at the school. It took us about 2 minutes to disable it, and we responded by breaking in late at night and building a brick wall in the middle of a hallway. The next day students walked through the school, and when one hallway turned to the left there was supposed to be another 200 foot long hall. Instead, they ran smack into a brick wall painted and textured to look exactly like the rest of the walls. Another time we took a car apart and put it back together in the gym. And, of course, there was the time we burned “89″ into the grass in front of the school. Wacky kids, we were.

After Dereck and I had caught up and had some chow, we drove by his place and he showed me his art work and photography. I was especially impressed by a 10′ square paper mache based sculpture called “Alien Abduction”. It was built around the plaster cast of a woman’s body, and had numerous tentacles and other things coming out of it. He had some of his photographic work on exhibit in Las Vegas recently, so I paged through some of that before realizing it was time to hit the road. On the way back to the airport, we ran into traffic as bad as anything in Los Angeles. I guess it comes with the territory.

The flight back was alright. It was much smoother, but flying westbound during sunset is always dicey, because you can’t see as well through the haze. And if the anything you’re trying to see is another plane, it can be hazardous. It beats the hell out of driving though, especially on the way back. In fact, on the return trip the GPS reciever was reporting a ground speed of 170 knots (196 mph) in level flight at 12,500 feet. Normal cruise for the Cherokee is 120 knots (138 mph). I left Las Vegas at 6:30 p.m. and was on the ground in Los Angeles at 7:58 p.m.

Thank God for GPS. The Global Positioning System is a system of about two dozen satellites that circle the earth. The GPS receiver locks on to them and triangulates your position, usually to within 50 feet or so. It’s not something you should fully rely on for navigation, but now that I’ve got one I can’t imagine flying without it. It has a moving map, and shows all airspace, roads, cities, bodies of water, airports, navigational aids, and has a database of every airport and related facility in North America.

I’m starting to understand why all the serious aerobatics pilots live in Arizona or Florida. You’d think Southern California would be sunny and clear as often as either of those states. It ain’t necessarily so. But at least I’m getting some adventure out of waiting for El Nino, La Nina, Old Man Winter, Old Man River, or whatever they call this to pass.

I’ve been waiting about two months to get my phase check done, and I keep getting weathered out. And of course, all I need is one more flight. This checkout will give me the ability to fly the Decathalon in contests, fly aerobatics with passengers, and to legally fly any tail-wheel aircraft weighing less than 12,500 pounds. One typically doesn’t fly aerobatic planes in the clouds, because the thing that makes them so good at aerobatics is their extreme unstability–they don’t want to fly straight and level. In some of them, you let go of the stick and two seconds later you’re in a 40 degree banked dive toward the ground. Aerobatic aircraft are also sparsely equipped, and are often not legal to fly at night or in bad weather.

So when I was greeted this morning by a smarmy overcast cloud layer at about 3,000 feet, I knew this would not be the day. It’s not that you can’t fly the plane in weather like that–it’s that you can’t do any aerobatics in it (I typically use a block of airspace from about 2,000 to 5,000 feet above ground). But when I called Sunrise Aviation to cancel my flight with Tim, he had a modest proposal for me: the weather was closing in, and he needed to get the Pitts S2-B (an advanced level aerobatic bi-plane) out to Borrego Springs for the competition this weekend. Weather-wise, it was now or never. Problem is, he’d need a ride back after dropping off the plane. Borrego Springs is about three hours by car, but less than an hour by plane. So what if I followed him out in my plane? Was I interested?

I looked outside. I wouldn’t fly in weather like this. It’s called “scud running”–flying underneath a low layer of clouds, often in poor visibility. There was a time when scud-running was common place, but with the advent of instrument flight that has changed. When the weather gets bad, you’re supposed to fly on instruments. Many an accident has happened because pilots continued visual flight into instrument conditions. So obviously I should err on the side of caution and stay on the ground.

“Sure,” I said.

“Great, let me take care of a few things here and I’ll meet you out at Corona in the Pitts. Gimmie 20 minutes to pre-flight, and about 10 minutes to fly out there.”

A slight pause.

“Um. Okay. How is this going to work? I’m not instrument rated yet, you know? And the Cherokee isn’t IFR certified.”

“No problem. We’re not going to fly in the clouds, it’ll be VFR the whole way. And you’ll be flying with a student of mine. He’s instrument rated–he’ll be flying the Pitts at Borrego on Saturday.”

Thirty minutes later I’m sitting on the wing of the Cherokee. She’s preflighted and ready to fly, when the shiny red Pitts Special makes a perfect 3-point landing and taxis down the ramp. Tim’s student joins me in the Cherokee, and we’re off. The flight to Borrego, a tiny airport in the desert 50 miles south of Palm Springs, was actually quite uneventful. The clouds through the Banning Pass were a bit low for my comfort level, and some heavy turbulence was experienced over Palm Springs. But once we came through the pass, the clouds completely disappeared. Fifty miles visibility and pure blue sky all around.

In truth, the trip wasn’t really dangerous for me at all. The Pitts is faster than my Cherokee, so Tim was a good 20 miles in front the whole way, reporting the weather periodically on the radio.

Borrego was a trip! I’ve never seen so many expensive Pitts aircraft all in one place. One guy had a two month old Pitts S2-C with all the bells and whistles, about $250,000. I watched someone practicing in Sunrise’s Extra 300, arguably the finest aerobatic aircraft in the world. Those pilots, they’re a different breed out there. Right before we left, I watched a Learjet take off, fly low over the runway while raising his gear, and then climb to near vertical and pull into a hard 90 degree left bank, engines screaming all the while. Frustrated airshow pilot, perhaps?

The plane I most often fly, Decathlon 5535K, was out at Borrego. It has a beautiful red, white and blue paint scheme which seems to turn heads wherever it goes, even just sitting on the ramp. Anyway, whoever was flying it lost control on landing and scraped a wingtip on the ground. The winds out in the desert can be quite strong. I inspected the damage, which didn’t look too terribly bad, though Tim said it had hit the runway with enough force that the wing spar might have been cracked. So until it can be opened up and inspected, no aerobatics for that plane.

On the return flight, Tim gave me his rules for scud-running, which include establishing your own personal minimums for visual flight in poor weather. We were always in legal VFR conditions, so no FAA regulations were broken. But the thing about visual flying is that you never know when it’s going to descend below those legal minimums. Sure, you get a full weather report from DUAT or a flight service station briefer, and we got updates from Flight Watch en route. But still, those are just forecasts.

By the time we landed I was pretty trashed. Between monitoring the weather, watching for descending IFR and other VFR traffic, navigating, and turbulence it was time for a nap. But no such luck. We landed back at Corona around 5:30 p.m. which left barely enough time to drive home, shower and change clothes, drop Tim off at John Wayne Airport, and be at the Performing Arts Center for our 6:50 p.m. call time.

So would I do the whole scud-running thing again? Probably not. Or at least, I’d have some slightly higher minimums for the weather. It was a great learning experience though, and now Sunrise owes me a favor. Tim said he’ll get me some Pitts time if he can. Giddy up. It’s sad to think that I could have been out at Borrego competing this weekend if only the weather hadn’t slowed down my training.

You gotta love people who can just take the day off whenever they want to.

It’s never quite that simple, of course. Those who have the authority to do so are usually self-employed, and as such put in more hours at their job than anyone who’s working for The Man. Sounds odd, but it’s totally true–after all, are you willing to work harder for yourself or for some faceless corporation whose C.E.O. makes about fifty times more than you do?

Anyway, I needed a break today. Yesterday was one of those rousing up-at-five-and-go-go-go-until-midnight affairs. Today was looking like it might turn into the same thing. Thank you, but no. I’m alive and prefer to stay that way. So in the interest of getting the hell out of Dodge for a while, I thought I’d do a little flying. Catalina Island stuck in my head as a possible destination. My friend Paul (who moonlights as a movie star under the name Nicholas Cage; you may have heard of him) decided he could take the afternoon off too, so we hopped in his car and headed out to Corona Airport.

I was a little embarrassed by my inability to get the plane started on the first try. I thought I overprimed the engine, but it turns out I actually underprimed it. The primer wasn’t sucking any fuel into the first cylinder for the first few strokes. Live and learn. But the flight was great, visibility excellent and no clouds in the sky at all. And my landings were smooth as silk. I don’t know what it is about the Cherokee, but I can’t make a bad landing in that plane even if I try.

Paul had a great time, which made it all the more fun. I love introducing people to the wonder of aviation; somehow it awakens the kid in all of us. He took all sorts of pictures, and I gave him the chance to fly the plane for a bit. This was my first time flying to Catalina Island, so it was a unique experience for me as well. The airport is on a cliff which drops 1,500 feet into the ocean, so you’re treated to some of the most spectacular views imaginable as you come in for landing. It reminded me of the opening credit sequence from the original Fantasy Island television series. Catalina was quiet, peaceful, and a welcome respite from the metropolitan hell known as Southern California (you wouldn’t believe how nasty the smog on the mainland looks from out there!). Frankly, I can’t wait to go back.

The day was golden, even beyond the flying. Until recently, getting to Corona Airport from my place meant a drive on the 5, the 55, and the 91 freeways. For those of you who haven’t had the pleasure, those are the three most congested and frustratingly slow freeways in Southern California. I use the past tense because last month a new toll road opened which goes from Irvine directly to Corona. It’s like having a new, wide, flat, empty Autobahn which delivers you directly to your destination. So while all those suckers were baking in rush hour traffic, we whizzed back from the airport at 90 m.p.h. in Paul’s new Accord coupe and made it to rehearsal right on time, laughing all the way.

It’s the only way to fly.

Have you ever given a Christmas present to yourself? I think you should. Life is too short not to indulge once in a while. For example: I gave myself a present today. I worked for it, mind you. But that made all the more satisfying. Today I took the FAA checkride for my pilot’s license. And I passed! It was a long road getting here, but now I’m on cloud nine and there ain’t nobody who can rain on my parade.

Last night I was cursing myself for scheduling the checkride for Christmas Eve. I had to plan a cross country flight to the San Francisco area, and in a small general aviation aircraft operating under VFR with lots of visual checkpoints, it can get to be an extensive thing. My flight plan was four pages long. Plus I had to be ready for the two hour oral exam and 3+ hours in the plane. If you’ve never seen the Federal Aviation Regulations, it’s a 1,000 page book of rules for pilots, and anything in them is fair game. I had to be able to give a coherent answer to questions on aircraft systems, airspace, regulations, aeromedical factors, aerodynamics, cross country planning, emergency procedures, traffic patterns, weather theory, and demonstrate all those (and more) in the air.

It doesn’t take much to fail. So the night before, you can imagine what a basket case I was. Especially since the examiner, Lyn Carlson, had a reputation for being fair but tough. I’m sure it helped that I trained with one of her CFI’s (flight instructors), but I don’t think that carried much weight once the checkride started. I was waaaay behind on my Christmas shopping, nothing was wrapped yet, and a big web site I’m designing is behind schedule for it’s January 1 launch. I got to bed by about three a.m., and was up again by seven.

Once the Big Day arrived, I was quite thankful that I scheduled it when I did. First of all, the weather was absolutely perfect. Not a cloud in the sky, minimal wind, and because it was Christmas Eve there were few other GA planes in the air. I think everyone was at the mall shopping (see my last entry). Lyn was in a great mood, very casual and friendly. She immediately put me at ease and things remained so for the duration of the test, which turned out to be much easier than I had anticipated. Part of the test is a “lost and diversion” procedure, and she diverted me to Compton. Ironic, because yesterday while on a test run for the checkride, Brandon had diverted me to Compton as well. And so it went. The only thing I had trouble with was the soft field landing at John Wayne. I flared a bit too high and didn’t land quite softly enough. But it was good enough for her, and I wasn’t about to complain.

After we landed, she went inside to get the paperwork started for my Temporary Airman’s Certificate while I took care of the plane. After completing the last checklist item and gathering up all my stuff, I sat down next to the plane for a while to just savor the moment. Making no effort to wipe the grin off my face, I watched several planes land on 1R and 1L before giving N4913G a pat on the cowl and heading indoors, where I received a number of congratulatory handshakes. I swear, on my walk back to the office I was an inch or two taller than before the flight!

I also learned that since I received my rating I get an hour of aerobatics time free of charge. Sunrise has a Pitts S-2B and an Extra 300, and you can bet I’m already planning the stuff I want to do with that hour. What a great day! It’s one of those days you’ll always look back on with total happiness, and an event that will keep me smiling for months, if not years, to come.

Whatever happens, they can’t take that away from me.

So we’re on a break from a ground school class the other day. A bunch of us are standing around outside and (for lack of a more vegetarian term) chewing the fat, when one of the guys mentions something about “the dude from Sunrise who crashed and burned a couple months ago.”

Huh?

Funny how I somehow missed out this juicy tidbit. This would have been just about the time I started flying out of Sunrise. My pilot friend said that certain sections of the local newspaper were conspicuously absent from Sunrise’s copy of the L.A. Times the next day. Not that I blame them. But being the overly inquisitive computer geek that I am, I looked it up in the Times’ online archives and sure enough, 49 year old David Heller apparently got caught in the wake turbulence of a Boeing 757 which had landed just before him on runway 19R. The effect is something like being caught in a horizontal tornado.

If that sounds dangerous, it is. That’s why pilots at Sunrise are required to recieve ground training, flight training, view a video, and pass a test on wake turbulence avoidance (as well as demonstrate it to a seperate CFI in flight) before being allowed to solo.

Wake turbulence is a major problem at airports like John Wayne, where you have small general aviation aircraft landing 75 feet to the left of large Boeing jetliners on parallel runways. Actually, all aircraft generate wake turbulence from the outer edges of their wings, but the larger, sleeker, heavier, and slower an aircraft flies, the worse the turbulence is. And at John Wayne, the prevalent wind often pushes the wake right over the smaller runway. Boeing 757′s have developed a reputation for the massive wake turbulence they leave behind them. There are procedures for effectively dealing with the danger, of course, but all it takes is a little inattention to leave you in a crumpled heap of metal with a broken neck.

Not that this is a problem I’m going to have to be worrying about for the next few weeks. It seems that the Powers That Be want to re-pave runway 19L, so they’re going to close it. For an entire month. For the life of me I can’t figure out why it would take a month of 24 hour-a-day work to pave a 2700 foot long runway, but what do I know. So starting today we’re down to a single runway. Oh well. At least I won’t have to worry about wake turbulence as I sit in a long line of aircraft waiting for departure.

They say that the day a pilot first flies an aircraft alone (“solo”) is something he or she will always remember. Today was my day, and now that it’s over I understand what they mean. Every pilot faces that moment when the CFI has left the aircraft and you’re taxiing back to the runway, excited yet all the while wondering if you’re really going to be able to do this.

I missed the opportunity to solo before Brandon went on vacation, so I’ve been waiting a week and a half. But when he finally let me go on my own, it was well worth it.

The traffic was heavy around John Wayne for most of the flight–but once I was on my own everything suddenly became calm. No 757s arriving on 19R, no warnings from the tower about “Caution, jet blast–737 crossing 19L” or Gulfstream jets on 3 mile finals. Just me, the plane, and a very nice controller in the tower. It was a fortunate thing, because it gave me a moment to look around and savor the moment once the wheels were up and I was climbing away from the runway.

   

Speaking of controllers, in the L.A. Basin most airspace is under the perview of an entity known as “Socal Approach”. Most of the controllers I’ve come across in the L.A. area have been friendly, but there is one guy who works the area southeast of SNA who always seems to have something up his ass. He has jumped all over me on several occasions for things which are unavoidable–talking at the same time as another plane, for example. Sometimes two pilots will simple key the PTT switch at the exact same instant. It happens.

I suppose it shouldn’t be a surprise that there is at least one guy out there with a poor attitude, but every time he does it a lot of the joy goes out of the flight. Brandon said he almost jumped on the com to ask the controller for his name and a phone number so we could call HIM. I wish he had. I think that would have been fun.

Anyway, the photo above (see a larger version) was taken in front of a Katana, but I soloed in a C172. The plane I really wanted Sato to get my picture in front of was the KFC Corporation’s Canadair Challenger 604, which was just off to the right. It has a huge Colonel Sanders image on the tail. I put it into the “hip to be square” category, although personally if I was going to spend $30 million on a high performance jet aircraft, I would probably not put Colonel Sanders on the tail. Brandon said every time he sees it, he get the urge to go over there, walk up the airstair, and ask if he can get a order of Cajun chicken ‘to go’.

Man, what a great feeling! My landings were excellent, and when the Boeings finally did start appearing, I did a great job with the wake turbulence avoidance. When we got back to Sunrise everyone was very congratulatory. I dig the spirit of camaraderie you find in the aviation world. I often see that in the theatre as well. And while your average pilot is a lot better trained than your average actor, it’s a tall order to find decent work in either field.

Since I started flying again, all the old dreams about traversing the earth meeting people and experiencing different cultures while not crashing or losing an engine over the Atlantic are back. I hope to one day purchase a single engine aircraft with sufficient range to traverse the ocean make an around-the-world flight.

While it does have a hazardous side, I doubt it would be any more hazardous to my health than attempting to pilot a sailboat around the world. In fact, it’s probably a whole lot safer, seeing how technology has progressed. With a GPS (Global Positioning System), a well maintained aircraft, careful pilotage, redundant systems, and lots of meticulous planning I should be safer over the Atlantic than I was rehearsing in downtown Los Angeles a few months ago.. Although that’s not saying much.

The biggest challenge with a round-the-world flight has nothing to do with the flying. It’s mainly the logistics. We take for granted the ability to obtain fuel at any airport in the U.S. But once you leave this country, it’s hit or miss. Some countries don’t let you fly privately at all. And if they do, the bureacracy and price that’s attached to it can be staggering.

When it comes to flying around the world, nobody did it with more style than Dick Rutan. He and Jeana Yeager flew an odd looking plane called Voyager around the world without refueling. May not sound like much, but it had never been done before and it’s not been done since then. For their amazing feat they were awarded the Presidential Citizen’s Medal, the highest non-military award given by the United States. In addition, Voyager is now housed at the Smithsonian National Air and Space Museum. The around-the-world flight took nine days, and all that time they were stuck inside an aircraft with a cabin no larger than your average bathtub.

Dick’s brother, Burt Rutan, designed a number of pioneering canard-equipped homebuilt planes, including the Long EZ, one of my favorites. It is a composite aircraft with some great aerodynamics. That translates into the ability to fly long distances at fast speeds on very little fuel. Perfect for flying around the world.

Speaking of flying around the world, Dick Rutan and Mike Melvill (who was also a key player in the success of Voyager) are (or were, I’m not quite sure which) planning just such a flight using Long EZ’s. Their routing was:

• Mojave, California to Jacksonville, Florida
• Jacksonville to Belem, Brazil
• Belem, via the Brazilian coastline, to Rio De Janeiro
• Rio, across the Atlantic to Cape Town, South Africa
• Durban, South Africa to Gillot, Reunion
• Gillot, across the Indian Ocean to Perth, Australia
• Perth to Alice Springs, to Brisbane
• Sidney to Wellington, New Zealand
• New Zealand, across the Pacific Ocean, via Fiji, Tahiti, Easter Island (Isla de Pascua, Chile), then north to Guayaquil, Ecuador
• From Ecuador to the Galapagos Islands
• Galapagos to Mexico City, Mexico
• and finally back to Mojave.