Flying a 1946 Champ With a Sentimental Family Connection

The aviation gene is dominant in my family. My dad was an aerospace engineer and mom took flying lessons as a teenager, although she did not achieve certification. She died when I was just out of my teens, before I earned my wings, and often I wonder if she would have enjoyed flying with me.

​​As a child, I saw a faded black-and-white photograph of my mother in her 1940s teenage chic jeans with cuffs and saddle shoes standing next to a two-toned, high-wing aircraft—an Aeronca Champ. Because the photo is black and white, I don’t know for sure what color the aircraft was, but my research indicates the yellow-and-orange paint scheme was popular in 1946, so I’m going to hazard a guess that is what the airplane my mother flew looked like. She also flew a blue-and-yellow Stearman. Both those airplanes have been on the aviation bucket list since I earned my certificate.

This Article First Appeared in FLYING Magazine

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Recently, I fulfilled the Champ desire thanks to Jim McCartney, a retired gentleman and the proud owner of a 1946 yellow-and-orange Champ. I met McCartney a few years back at the fuel pump at Pierce County Airport-Thun Field (KPLU) in South Hill, Washington. He knew me as an aviation journalist and flight instructor. I told him about the family connection to the Champ and how I wanted to fly one. He said he would be glad to fly with me. That proved to be a bit of a challenge getting our schedules to align.

McCartney, 80 years young, has owned the airplane for over 15 years. He has always loved aviation, noting there are pictures of him as a toddler with a toy aircraft, and he grew up flying line-controlled models.

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“I did it as a young child until I was 16, then I discovered girls and that was the end of that, and then 60 years later I have gotten back into it with a vengeance,” McCartney said. He also noted that he was planning to head to the western regional control line contest in Oregon later that week with his Gee Bee racer model that is so large it pretty much takes up the bed of a pickup truck and is protected in a padded compartment.

McCartney started taking flying lessons in the 1960s, and then life got in the way and the lessons became more spread out. After purchasing a Rockwell Commander 112, he decided he better get his private certificate along with his instrument rating, doing so in 1989. In the 1990s, he was offered an opportunity to fly freight out of King County International Airport-Boeing Field (KBFI) in Seattle in 400-series Cessnas.

“I went through all their training and took the check ride earning a multiengine commercial certificate,” he said. “Then a friend of mine who I’d known for years and worked for Segale Construction as a head estimator called me up and asked if I wanted a job as an estimator and project manager. I said no.” Then the friend asked him how much money he was going to make flying freight. “At the time it was about $25,000, and he said, ‘I’ll double it.’ That was the closest I ever got to flying for a living.”

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The Aeronca was a restoration project when he obtained it—something to work on when he wasn’t at his full-time job, building a house, or raising his sons and daughter. “It took me 15 years to put it together,” he said. “It wouldn’t have happened without the support of my wife, Jayne.” He did a good job on it, judging from the number of awards the Aeronca has brought home from local fly-ins.

The restoration included an upgrade to an 85 hp Continental C85 engine. That changed the designation of the aircraft from a 7AC Aeronca Champ to a 7BCM. That was a process with the FAA he noted, but because the aircraft has a gross weight of just 900 pounds, it qualifies as a light sport aircraft (LSA), and that is how McCartney has been flying it for the past five years.

The Flight

Last summer, I met McCartney at his hangar at 0700. The sky was blue and there were a few wisps of clouds over Mount Rainier supporting the forecast of a cold front that would be moving in later that afternoon bringing rain and low clouds.

I am happy to report I didn’t need a back cushion to reach the rudders, but I took care not to get anywhere near the brakes or let the toes of my sneakers compromise control cables.

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I settled into my seat. The throttle was to my left next to my shoulder. The trim lever was on the ceiling, and if I stretched, I could reach it. But I wanted to feel this airplane, and as my first CFI used to tell me, “let it talk to me.” I had heard from so many other pilots that the Champ can be flown with two fingers but can also be overcontrolled if the pilot gets ham-fisted. Learning would take place.

I have a tailwheel endorsement, but I am not tailwheel current, proficient, or accustomed to heel brakes. The sneakers I was wearing did not interface well with the brakes from the back seat, so we agreed he would do the takeoff and landing with the promise that McCartney would talk through them like I was a kid he was showing the joy of flight to. His children, now grown, used to fly with him. He is not an instructor, but the kids learned a lot from watching their dad. One son is a pilot and aircraft owner, and his adult daughter is taking lessons now in the Champ, so obviously, he’s a good role model.

McCartney uses an external-mounted, handheld radio for communication. Although the airport is in Class E and radio comms are not required, it is a good idea because this is a facility with extensive flight training. That’s the other reason we launched early—we wanted to beat the crowd.McCartney made the radio call, and the throttle smoothly came forward as we launched to the south.

“Stick forward,” he said.

I counted “one alligator, two alligator,” and we were up. I don’t think we used more than 1,000 feet of pavement before we were airborne. It wasn’t so much a takeoff but more like levitating. You feel everything in this aircraft.

McCartney took us up to 1,400 or so, made sure I wasn’t feeling queasy (always a good idea when someone is sitting behind you), then turned over the controls. There are no instruments in the back seat, and I couldn’t see over his shoulders, so this flight would require good communication skills.

It took me a few minutes to find a good hand posture that prevented overcontrolling. I found resting my wrist on my right leg with two fingers around the stick seemed to work.

We headed south of the airport, taking care to stay away from the IFR fixes and altitudes for the RNAV 35 approach into KPLU. Unless someone shows them to you on a sectional, you wouldn’t know they are there. I take care to educate my learners about their position and what altitudes the IFR traffic could be at so there are no unwelcome surprises. I carefully steered us away from them, and McCartney gave me an altitude readout.

Now it was time to have some fun. I asked him to demonstrate a turn so I could feel what it is supposed to be like and watch the sight picture from the back seat. I gave him headings to fly, and then he handed the aircraft back to me.

“Let me know if I need more rudder,” I cautioned, then entered a 180-degree turn to the left, and then one to the right.

“A little more right rudder…that’s good,” McCartney said. “This is truly seat-of-the-pants flying!” He was absolutely correct. There was that feeling of freedom as we moved through the sky. It was a big change from most of my flying, which is heavily procedural and “by the numbers.” You don’t fly this airplane by the numbers—you fly it by feel.

We headed west toward Western Airpark (06WN), a private airport in Yelm, Washington. I climbed up to 2,100 and scanned the area, seeing lots of prairie, trees, and rural homes. We didn’t want to go too far west because the military operations areas (MOAs) were active that morning.

I thought I caught a glimpse of the airpark when another pilot came on the radio announcing their position in relation to KPLU. They were close to us, but we didn’t have a visual. I saw another aircraft higher and turned us away from it. We did a few more turns and some straight and level with me focusing on feeling the airplane. More people were jumping on the radio. The rest of the world was waking up.

I asked McCartney if he had ever flown over Stadium High School in Tacoma. I often take intro flights over it because the school, which was originally designed to be an elaborate hotel, looks like a castle. I call it “Tacoma’s answer to Hogwarts.” It was also the location for the 1997 teen rom-com 10 Things I Hate About You. For the unfamiliar, it is a modern treatment of William Shakespeare’s The Taming of the Shrew, and there is a scene set on the football field where the hero, with the help of the marching band, serenades the young lady he is wooing. The football field sits in a large bowl and is impressive in itself.

The route took us west of KPLU. The airspace and the radio were getting more crowded, so we decided we needed some CRM. I rarely instruct from the back seat of an aircraft, and now seemed like the time to change that, so I put on my CFI cap and gave the controls back to McCartney. My job was to watch for traffic while he flew. I gave position reports on the radio because, as he phrased it, “the sky was now filled with aluminum,” and he turned on all the aircraft position lights.

Once we were past KPLU, I took the controls again and felt much more relaxed as flying by feel was more natural. With help from McCartney, I selected and maintained an altitude. We didn’t have ForeFlight up, so I pointed out the landmarks that help a pilot avoid the lower shelf of the Class B airspace south of Seattle-Tacoma International Airport (KSEA) and the Class D airspace that belongs to Joint Base Lewis-McChord (KTCM) as we made our way to Stadium High School.

The school sits just above the waterfront slightly east of Tacoma Narrows’ (KTIW) Class D airspace, so we wouldn’t have to get the airport’s permission to be there. But as a precaution I asked that we monitor its frequency, just to be safe. I did two circles over the school. It wasn’t fast. It wasn’t fancy. But it felt pure, like driving a cloud around the sky.

We’d been in the air for an hour when we decided it was time to head back to KPLU. Switching to the KPLU unicom we heard how busy it was—the pattern was definitely full. With a little discussion McCartney took the controls and I took the radio. The winds had shifted. We were number three for landing on Runway 35. 

I was impressed to see how careful McCartney was in entering the pattern.  The airplane moved like it was on rails. It felt like freedom and hope and empowerment—as close to being a bird as a person could get. 

I could understand why Mom had such vivid memories of flying the Champ. I don’t think that is an experience that anyone could forget. I know I certainly won’t.

This feature first appeared in the April Issue 957 of the FLYING print edition.