Features

Since so much emphasis is placed on approaches during the typical instrument students training, its unsurprising practicing the takeoff into IMC receives little attention. Thats more than a little unfortunate, since the instrument takeoff-especially the zero-zero takeoff-can be much riskier. For our purposes here, well define the instrument takeoff as one in which the aircraft will be in IMC before reaching the lowest altitude specified for crossing the final approach fix of a published procedure for that airport. Well define a zero-zero takeoff as one where the aircraft enters IMC before reaching DH or MDA on a related approach. Often, of course, the zero-zero takeoff is just that: The crew can see neither the end of the runway nor a definite ceiling, and must transition to instruments when the wheels leave the runway. The challenges posed by either procedure arent immediately obvious to those who havent experienced them, which is another reason for greater attention during initial instrument training. Takeoffs are always a busy part of any flight, arguably more so than landings. The aircraft is accelerating, for one, and gathering energy that must be dissipated before stopping if theres a problem. Too, panel gauges, especially mechanical gyros, behave in ways further complicating instrument flight when they are accelerated from a standing stop to climb speed in a few seconds. Various procedures necessary during a takeoff and departure-raising the gear and flaps, for example, or setting power-can wreak havoc with a pilots concentration and the aircrafts trimmed attitude. And it is during the initial climb in IMC when any errors in setting the aircrafts configuration are discovered, at exactly the wrong time for something to be done about it.

Few pilots pay much attention to their tires. They kick them a couple of times before lighting the fire, or put air in them when they look really low, but thats about it. Thats a little cavalier to us, considering those three (or more, if youre lucky) small, round, rubber donuts not only support the airplanes weight, but also supply the friction necessary to follow the yellow brick road and stop when you get to its end. As part of a project for sister publication Aviation Consumer, we recently had the opportunity to speak with industry executives about tires and tire failures, as well as a myriad of other related topics, while researching why aircraft tires fail. We found that, short of suffering a puncture, paying close attention to the airframe manufacturers recommended inflation pressure is your best bet to prevent tire failures. We also found that, to understand why proper inflation is key, we need to understand how these tires are made. The basic light-plane tire isnt that much different from the ones your grandparents used on their Model T. The current standards for aircraft tires are embodied in the FAAs Technical Standard Order (TSO) C62e, last revised in 2006 (that TSO only addresses tires; inner tube standards are set by the Society of Automotive Engineers). Instead of the radial-ply tires common on modern automobiles, your light airplanes tires likely are a bias-ply design, where the internal fabric cords are sandwiched between two layers of rubber and laid diagonally-at 30- and 60-degree angles to the tires centerline-and extend from bead to bead. Additional plies are laid opposite to each other. This contrasts with a radial-ply tire, a technology widely used by larger, faster aircraft. Its based on plies laid from bead to bead but at right angles to the tread.

We like our airplanes panel. Sure-theres a lot of stuff on the market today that simply wasnt available the last time we spent any real money at an avionics shop. But the existing equipment gets us where we want to go with very little drama. En route, George does most of the flying, while we follow along on the big-screen color moving map, then hand-fly whatever approach is appropriate, whether a visual, an ILS or something in between. We have stereo music supplied by an iPod or other device, headsets to match and a portable Garmin GPS navigator with Nexrad weather capability. We also carry a poor mans electronic flight bag-a Windows-based tablet computer-with approach procedures and other materials for pre-flight planning or airborne use. Itd be tough to get lost. It wasnt always that way: When we first bought the airplane, color moving maps were rare and one hadnt been installed in it yet, even though we had a second-generation GPS navigator, and there was no backup artificial horizon, like now. The flip-flop radios are new, also, as is the dual ILS capability. A couple of years after all that stuff was installed, a close friend asked, “How long did it take you to learn using this equipment?” That question took us back to the first flight with the moving map, which mostly included a series of jerky turns in various directions as we told the system different and competing combinations of things we wanted it to do while the autopilot tried to follow along. It was a “heads-down” flight: We paid much more attention to the toys than to the airplane and who/what was nearby. “Were still learning,” was the reply.

Up until about 10 years ago, I was a typical private pilot. Id built up about 1000 hours over 30 years of flying and even managed to add an instrument rating after about four false starts and uncounted times passing the written. I flew as much as 150 hours a year and as little as 10 years between flights. But I kept the passion, the interest, and continued vowing that someday Id actually fly as much as I wanted. Does this story sound familiar? It probably describes a great number of us. Stuff happens. Finances, work, family and other recreational pursuits-life-all get in the way. Yet, somehow, we find a way to keep flying, if perhaps not as much as we might like and certainly not as much as we should. This can create some interesting currency challenges. Consider an all-too-common scenario. A typical instrument-rated private pilot mentioned above finds theres a thin layer between cruise altitude and the destination. Our bold pilot tries to recall all his recent instrument operations and concludes that legal currency is, well, past. Continuing a bit further looking for a hole in the layer, he finally concludes there isnt one. The layer began about 50 miles back and fuel projections raise concern about making the additional 100-mile round trip to get under the layer. Now what? Well, in defense of our friend, the forecast didnt call for the overcast, so this isnt a clear lack of planning. Its not uncommon to fly above a layer and find it has disappeared as you near your destination. Of course, the opposite is true as well. Obviously, there was an opportunity to prevent this problem by simply ducking under the layer when it appeared. But, that raises the whole specter of scud-running for 50 miles-a notorious killer of pilots and destroyer of airplanes. None of this helps the present situation, though, of being on top of a solid layer, not being instrument-current and not having enough fuel to comfortably get under it.

Every year, takeoffs and landings account for over half the pilot-related accidents, according to the AOPA Air Safety Foundation. While poor technique accounts for some of them, many accidents could have been prevented if the pilot had consulted available documentation to determine the airplanes performance. But before any of that can happen, we need to ensure we know how to evaluate current conditions. To assist students in determining performance data, I have them use a takeoff and landing data card on which is all the information a pilot should need to evaluate takeoff and landing performance. The card is also useful for instructors who are in the position of flying multiple aircraft models or versions. As an example, in a recent period I flew four different versions of Cessna 172s (one with the airspeed in MPH, another in knots, a third with the 180-HP STC and still different V-speeds; the fourth was a Thielert diesel conversion-you get the idea). Keeping the numbers straight for these and other different airplanes can be a challenge without a reference card. Lets look at whats important to evaluate, and how to go about assembling your own data card. The first item is to evaluate weight and balance, factors directly affecting any aircrafts performance. That an overloaded airplanes performance will decrease as its fuel consumption increases should not be news to any pilot. Too, one loaded outside its center of gravity (CG) range will handle differently, and will likely be dangerously unstable. In either case, the plane will not perform in a predictable manner and the pilot is in uncharted, dangerous waters. Step one is to get the aircrafts empty weight and moment. This sounds simple and straightforward, but I have seen incorrect aircraft weight sheets in logbooks. When I went back and checked the maintenance logs, I found a difference of over 200 pounds. Airplanes of the same make and model do not weigh the same. Dont forget basic empty weight consists of the aircraft, unusable fuel and oil.

I doubt I ever flew higher than 4500 feet while earning my private pilot certificate. I remember 9000 feet as “high-altitude flying” when working on my instrument rating. Perhaps it was a function of the training environment, or a result of piloting low-powered airplanes. I think more likely it is expediency and the “little-plane” mindset that causes most training to be done at lower altitudes. Which begs the question: Are there any advantages to flying higher up, and if so, how should pilots plan for higher-altitude flight? Many pilots have found theres a “sweet spot” for cross-country flying, above the general crowd but below the realm of turbine airplanes, where traffic is scarce but the advantages are many. This is flight in the mid-teens (of altitude), which Ill define as anything from about 12,000 feet to 17,500 feet MSL. Here youll avoid much of weathers worst, enjoy almost-certain direct-to routing and overfly the majority of “ATC required” airspace. What are the advantages of flying between 12,000 and 18,000 feet? Probably the biggest one is youll usually find clear air. I find the mid-teens to be especially advantageous when flying in areas of forecast thunderstorms-usually youll be above the general haziness and murk abounding on the muggy days that promote thunderstorm development, allowing you to see and maneuver around the big build-ups from dozens of miles away. Mid-teen flying often puts you in less turbulent air than the skies down below, and the airs much cooler, improving pilot and passenger comfort. Its much less stressful to cruise in VMC, so mid-teen flying can reduce fatigue and workload. Be careful, however, to avoid overflying weather thats outside the certified capability of your airplane, or that youre not equipped or experienced enough to handle if an engine or instrument malfunction forces you to descend from your planned cruising altitude (see the sidebar, “Unplanned Descent,” on page 14).

From Day One of our flight training, maneuvers practice fills much of our hours of dual instruction: turns around a point and such, unusual attitudes and recovery from them, and that most-basic skill from putting together all the control elements, flying pattern work. In aircraft so equipped, most of us learn to use the turn gyro when practicing maneuvering flight, striving to master the standard-rate, two-minute turn depicted by our little friend. But as we learn later in actual flying, that training also instilled flexibility and the skill to adapt maneuvers to the conditions. Among the best of all flexibilities is the ability to maneuver beyond our standards-both beyond the standard-rate turn and past the point where turns become steep. At times it seems that too few of us practice to maintain competence at the higher demands of flight beyond 30 degrees of bank. Thankfully, with a bit of caution and common sense, steep turns are skills we can practice on our own or, even better, with the security and added safety of an instructor or safety pilot. The payoff can be a lifesaver. Steep-turn skill holds significant real-world application in everyday flying, whether for something as potentially dangerous as trying to escape from a dead-end canyon or the more routine need to complete a non-precision instrument approach by circling while remaining within sight of the runway. With a little regular practice, a pilot should be ready to safely, sanely fly steep turns up to and including the most demanding of such unusual maneuvers: the 60-degree bank, 360-degree turn, all while holding altitude within 50 feet, plus or minus, of our entry altitude. Acknowledging that such circumstances when we need that skill should be relatively rare only heightens the need to regularly hone your real-world steep-turns skills. And should we never actually need to, a great sense of self-satisfaction comes from bumping through ones own wake.

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.

Congratulations! Youve just passed your instrument practical test. A significant achievement, requiring much more discipline and learning than even the private pilot exam. Or maybe youve held your instrument rating for a while, but youve never developed a plan to improve your skills. You may have even let your skills erode in some areas, to the extent you couldnt pass every task if you had to retake the practical test today. Unfortunately, most pilots get handed the proverbial “license to learn” by a pilot examiner, then dont really know what to do next except “go out and fly.” To avoid aimlessness or atrophy of your instrument skills and the life-threatening danger aimlessness breeds, first ask yourself what type of flying-personal transportation, time-sensitive business flying, etc.-you plan to do. Commit to a goal, whether its simply maintaining your skills at basic IFR levels, advancing beyond your current capabilities, or aiming for airline transport pilot standards. Then map out a program for the next 100 flight hours to develop and hone the necessary skills. Emphasis should be on safety, aimed toward what you want to do with airplanes. Be serious, but keep it interesting, challenging and fun.

If youve heard this once, youve heard it a hundred times: “Im really behind the power curve today.” Youve heard it, but do you really know precisely what it means? Can you sketch the relevant graphs, fill in the data points, then relate it to the real, practical world of flying an airplane? Theres good reason to be able to do this, for a fundamental understanding of the basic lift/drag curves that remorselessly govern aircraft performance relate to directly to refined stick and rudder skills. It may be enough to have a good seat-of-the-pants feel for what the airplane is doing, but its far better to have both that and a lucid grasp of the physics. Where this applies most directly is in that great undersung skill we all had to learn to muddle through a private pilot checkride but havent used since: precise control in slow flight. Slow flight is undersung because its so rarely used where its of most practical advantage: high performance short field landings and adjusting the interval in a crowded pattern. Next time you fly, try this experiment: Set up your best shot at a short field landing and see if you can match the POH numbers for touchdown and rollout. Or set yourself the goal of always making the first turnoff on every runway and see if you make it. Chances are, you wont. Top performance in short-field work requires absolutely precise control of speed just above the stall. Most of us dont do this very well because it takes a lot of work and no small amount of nerve. With no compelling need to stuff the airplane into short runways, why bother? Who cares if you float 600 feet and make the third turnoff because you flew the approach 10 knots fast? Probably no one. On the other hand, that sort of laziness leads to skill atrophy and before you know it, youve smoked off the end of a runway that wasnt really very short.