Accident Probes

Keeping an older, or “aging,” aircraft airworthy is a balancing act of sorts. On one hand, its nice to simply replace rather than repair parts and components when they go bad. On the other had, and since some parts and components are increasingly rare, the cost of changing them out can be stratospheric. The balancing comes-at least for me-from deciding what to replace and what to repair. If I replaced every part or component presenting an issue, instead of repairing it, Id have no money left over to use for other parts and components. Or to fly the darn thing in the first place. Its no huge secret that many parts installed on older aircraft are generic automobile components from the era in which they were first designed. Items such as window cranks, ashtrays and the like certainly qualify, but so do many electrical components like relays and even generators. Parts like light bulbs and cabin speakers frequently can (and perhaps should) be replaced with a modern equivalent. Discussing modern lubricants is an entirely different subject, as is the “owner-produced” part. Meanwhile, operators of older aircraft often will find themselves needing, say, a new generator only to discover it is no longer available from traditional sources. Scrounging then becomes the order of the day, perhaps for a rebuilt example. Eventually, the scrounger will discover the generator was first used on, for example, a 46 Buick and some guy in Arkansas has a warehouse full of them hed be happy to sell. The only problem is they dont have the right part number or are missing a special diode. The situation then becomes one of convincing the FAA-certificated technician doing the work to sign off on the obviously identical-but-unapproved part.

One of the first things student pilots learn-right about the time theyre learning to land-is how to go around. If theyre like me, they got a lot of practice adding full power and reconfiguring the airplane in those first few frantic hours. Early in my flying career, I learned the airplanes configuration mattered. I was flying a Cessna 150, with wing flaps that were fully deployed at 40 degrees. Some other Cessnas Ive flown could only muster 30 degrees, a design change the company presumably made because it didnt affect landing distance all that much while making go-arounds easier. That well-worn 150 also didnt have pre-select detents in its flap switch as later Cessnas do. When asking for all 100 of those ponies to carry me and my instructor over the threshold and up for another trip around the pattern, I was holding full throttle, re-trimming and “milking” up the flaps while maintaining heading and airspeed, listening to the instructors critique of my aborted approach. It could be a busy time, especially if the instructor felt like introducing a system failure. Those were the days. A go-around in each airplane Ive flown since is always some variation on that same basic theme. But the workload varies. For example, there often is landing gear or a prop control to add into the mix, along with manual “Johnson” bar wing flaps that can be immediately retracted or the slower-than-Christmas electric variety. Dont forget carb heat or cowl flaps.

Our current flight training regime does a pretty good job at getting people with little or no aviation knowledge or experience through a checkride. However, it does a really lousy job of preparing people for the “real world” of operating personal aircraft. The popular way to express this characteristic is to label a private certificate as “a license to learn.” The same can be said for the commercial and flight instructor certificates, also. As but one example, it took me a long time after earning my private before becoming comfortable with the quality of my flight planning before I could launch on a cross-country flight with confidence. That confidence had less to do with whether Id reach my destination than it did whether I had the tools and knowledge to deal with problems cropping up along the way. Relatively fresh pilots with whom Ive met recently remind me of those days, so its easy for me to conclude things havent changed much. One example: So little of our flight training is spent climbing to cruising altitude and establishing an efficient cruise configuration. It took me forever to figure out that 2200 rpm in a Skyhawk at 1500 feet MSL was a lot different in power output and speed than the same 2200 rpm at 9500 feet. The former is a great way to putt around and train; the latter is a waste of time if youre trying to go somewhere and paying hourly rental fees. Another example is brought to the fore this month: How to predict and handle in-flight turbulence. Except for an elementary understanding of a VG diagram, theres very little in current curricula to help new pilots understand and predict where there will be major turbulence. Even relatively experienced pilots-at least by dint of certificates-havent picked up this knowledge nor have they learned what to do if they encounter it. Exhibit A of our evidence is offered herewith.

These pages often discuss the tricks and traps of night flying, stressing along the way the only real difference between doing it after the sun goes down instead of in the daytime is you often cant see too well. As a result, we have to depend less on the seat of our pants and more on the “system” to get us home. The good news is theres more “system” than ever before. Infrared vision entered the high-end business jet cockpit a few years ago; its already trickling down to turboprops and the occasional well-equipped piston. Meanwhile, innovations like the synthetic vision technology are available on Cirrus Design airplanes equipped with the Perspective avionics suite. Even without all these tools, using data from the IFR system-minimum en route altitudes, approach and departure procedures, for example-will help keep us out of the weeds, also. The bad news is we still make dumb mistakes at night. Some of those mistakes result from known limitations of the human eye and should be easy both to identify and overcome. Other mistakes are more subtle and, in a way, a related to the eyes shortcomings but primarily result from there being fewer visual cues at night, often when we need them most. Like when landing. Too often, nighttime mistakes take on an “if only” characteristic: If only the pilot had waited to begin that descent, or if only s/he realized the runway lights disappeared because there was a hill between them and the airplane. Throw in the fact most of us are not functioning with peak efficiency at night, that theres an urgency to get home and get in bed, or that many night flights take place after the pilot or crew have put in a full day of work-whether the work is flying or sitting at a desk doesnt matter-and really bad things can happen.

Altitude is your friend.” So says a common clich instructors and old-timers pilots drill into their less-experienced contemporaries. The idea-especially when considering failure of a single-engine airplanes powerplant-is greater altitude affords more time to find and glide to a suitable landing area. But having plenty of altitude isnt always a good thing. Its not a good thing when were on fire, for sure, nor is it a good thing on final to a short runway. In those instances, it can be said we have too much altitude. Another occasion when we can have too much of a good thing is on an instrument approach in for-real conditions. Approach procedures are predicated on being in such-and-such position at so-and-so altitude, then flying a measured distance, perhaps descending to another altitude, where a runway magically appears through the mist. At least thats what we tell passengers unfamiliar with the concept. The basic idea of an instrument approach sometimes is misinterpreted, however. We arent trying to get as low as we can; instead, were trying to fly along a prescribed path and altitude, arriving at a point in space from which a relatively normal landing can be made. Too high, and we may not see the runway environment at the right time. Too low, and we may hit something before we have a chance to land on the runway. The latter is far worse than the former.

If your primary training experience was like mine, my instructor and I spent a lot of time coaxing a tired trainer up to altitude, only to come right back down. Much of the time, it was-hot-south-Georgia-in-the-summertime hot-and the little 150 in which I sweated out my private did okay, all things considered. It was pretty far removed from being a homesick angel, however. Spins werent in the curriculum then, but we did a bunch of stalls and slow flight. After each abrupt descent, we again explored the 150s best climb rate configuration and engine cooling capability. Of course, a 150 doesnt lose that much altitude in a stall, even if aggravated by a sweaty student pilot, himself perhaps aggravated. But, we still took the time to get at least 3000 feet between us and anything hard. Thankfully, we never came close to needing all that room. Since then, as I checked out in larger, faster and heavier airplanes-and obtained spin training-Ive taken to wanting even more air beneath me before slow-flight or stalls. The issue, of course, is what happens if the airplane enters an inadvertent spin or I screw up the stall recovery. Better to be safe (have too much altitude) than sorry (have not enough). As we will see this month, as airplane weight, performance and complexity increase, so should your minimum altitude for stalls and slow-speed work. This is especially true when neither the pilot receiving instruction nor the instructor are all that familiar with the airplane.

Shortly after receiving my instrument rating, I had occasion to help ferry a Piper Archer a whole dozen miles. It was the dead of winter, dark, and snowing. The snow was dry and the temperature too low for it to stick to the Archer, itself cold-soaked. Even though I was as instrument-current as it gets, my comfort level was too low to tackle this. It promised to be a high-workload flight in conditions I had never experienced. I declined, and someone more comfortable with those conditions handled the flight uneventfully. That was the first time a daunting instrument departure overcame my concern with an approach at the other end. But not the last. These days, in fact, Im usually a lot less concerned about an approach to minimums than I am a takeoff involving challenging weather. An instrument departure into real weather can be the greatest challenge a pilot will face: The airplane is heavier than it will be at any other point in the flight, were at a low altitude and airspeed, and-while weve performed a thorough pre-flight-theres always the nagging doubt weve forgotten something. Sometimes, we can find ourselves taking off into weather poor enough that it prevents returning to the departure runway if we need to. Add to this mix a lack of subjective knowledge of how the weather will affect us, and the challenge of an instrument departure becomes much greater than an approach to minimums after a length of time “wearing” the airplane and the flight conditions.

I regularly fly my airplane some 250 pounds overgross. But, I do it legally, since its equipped with an STCd tip tank installation. The STC (supplemental type certificate) allows operation at a maximum gross takeoff weight of 3550 pounds, an increase of around 7.5 percent from the airplanes original 3300-pound gross weight when it left the factory. But theres no paperwork accompanying the admittedly older STC providing performance charts at the higher gross weight. Theres no question performance suffers at the higher weight, but Im legally allowed to use the older, lighter weight in computing performance. To compensate, I make sure I use runways of adequate length when operating at the higher weight and higher-than-published airspeeds, accepting a lower climb rate. The tradeoff is worth it. Whether by placing too much aboard, or putting it in the wrong place, loading an airplane outside its weight and balance envelope is relatively easy to do with most GA aircraft. Its one thing to know youre slightly over the gross weight and have the runway to handle it. Its quite another to overload the airplane and then fail to consider the impact on performance.

One of a pilots most dreaded scenarios-beyond, perhaps, the mid-air collision-is an engine failure shortly after takeoff. Even multi-engine pilots arent immune, since the pilot of the typical light twin at gross weight and little altitude often has little from which to choose-except exactly where the NTSB investigation will begin. In a single, at least, when the engine fails shortly after takeoff-for whatever reason-we know whats going to happen. We also know to maintain control of the airplane, choose the most suitable off-field landing site and do everything we can to avoid obstacles. Of these maxims, maintaining control is always the most important and, depending on the terrain, sometimes the easiest to ensure. Over the years, much research and actual accidents have proven the likelihood of surviving such an event is much greater if the airplane touches down at minimum speed, in a slightly nose-high attitude and with its wings level. In other words, under control. Or, as legend R.A. “Bob” Hoover has been quoted, “If youre faced with a forced landing, fly the thing as far into the crash as possible.”

For student pilots who arent mechanically inclined-and even for many who are-some of the basic concepts in aviation are difficult to grasp. Recent advances in technology and aircraft design have resulted in new aircraft which more closely resemble the high-end luxury car the pilot may have driven to the airport. But thats pretty much where any similarities-accidental or purposeful-between automobiles and aircraft end. As a primary student somewhat familiar with engines and other mechanical contrivances, one of the aviation-centric concepts I found challenging involved carburetor ice. Since most of my training took place during what I recall as a long, hot, humid summer in southern Georgia, the idea of any ice forming anywhere outside of a beer cooler was totally foreign. Being the dutiful student pilot, however, I readily accepted the instructors explanation of why and how to apply carburetor heat. Anything to get my hands on a mighty Cessna 150s controls and aim it skyward.