The A30 launch was a hard secret to keep. It wasn’t the first new product announcement the company has made in 13 years, and even before I got the inside scoop from Bose, I’d predicted that we’d see a successor to the A20 at Sun ‘n Fun. (It was an impressive prediction; just don’t ask to see my March Madness debacle of a bracket.)

It seems that the A20 was around forever, and 13 years is a good stretch in an aviation marketplace where new headsets appeared from Bose’s competitors far more frequently. The extended reign of the A20 made sense, though. When it hit the airways in 2010, it  immediately displaced the company’s Aviation Headset X as the headset to have in your flight bag. Rightly so. The A20 was a far better headset than the X in just about every way. It was more comfortable, had better passive and active noise reduction, and added features like Bluetooth wireless connectivity. If you were flying with Bose Aviation Headset X’s, you just had to get the A20s. And while Bose improved the A20 incrementally over that time, the bones of the product were great from the get-go. I have worn the A20 for around 1,000 hours in loud single-engine airplanes. It’s a great product.

I know that one big criticism we’ll hear early and often on the A30 is that it’s just a warmed-over A20, and I get it. It looks very similar, it does the same kinds of things, there are no fancy features, just the usual ones, beautifully implemented as they are on the A20. So, should you replace your A20s with A30s? I don’t think anyone needs to. But believe me, people will want to. And once they slide one on, they’ll really want to.  

Features
What is the killer feature on the A30? Nothing. But at the same time, everything. And Bose knew it would be a challenge to update the A20, and to its everlasting credit, it didn’t try to make a whole new headset but, wisely, a whole better headset.

This they did not by focusing on one feature but on all of them, seriously. When you look at the A30, even when you put your hands on one, you’ll wonder how it’s different from the A20 at all. The answer is, it’s different in just about every conceivable way. And better, too.

That said, some of the improvements are specific to certain needs that not everyone will have. The top feature, though—improved comfort over an already supremely comfortable headset—will be one that just about every pilot will love. This they accomplished while still keeping the A30 very slightly lighter than the A20. At the same time, they somehow managed to make it feel, well, not heavier, but more secure. One of the most important tests of any aviation headset is comfort, and for those of us who have been flying small planes for a while have had the unpleasant pain of wearing early-tech noise cancelling headsets on a long day’s flight. The A20s are the most comfortable headset I’ve ever worn for multiple-leg cross countries, and so far, the A30 feels even better. Beta testers tell Bose that they are having the same early impression.

Noise-wise, the A30 is different, and in ways that might or might not benefit you directly. There are three levels of noise cancelling in the new digital chipset that Bose uses—low, medium and high—though pilots of small, single-engine planes will most likely keep it parked on the high setting, which is even more effective than its impressive predecessor at blocking unwanted audio intrusions through the magic of active noise reduction. Unlike the A20, for which Bose’s senior product manager Matt Ruhe used analog circuitry, the A30 is a digital headset, which allowed Bose to target noise more specifically than the A20 can.

The A30’s mic is totally different than the A20’s, and it, too, is an improvement, with better intelligibility and ease of use. Despite the move to a digital design, the A30 keeps the warmth of the sound of the A20, which also helps with fatigue. Another quality-of-life improvement is the new cord, which is better, lighter, more flexible and less noticeable.

Other features that you might or might not use are tool-less interchangeable cord attachment, so you can mount it on the side closest to the jack, and a tap-to-talk feature that lets you make the noise cancelling transparent for easier conversations inside or outside of the cockpit.

The bottom line is, the $1,295 Bose A30 aviation headset is a step up in comfort, utility and features, and while it lacks the bells and whistles of some of its competitors’ premium headsets, it is everything, at least in our book, that a headset should be and nothing that it shouldn’t. The A30 is available now from your favorite pilot supply outlet.

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Okay, please forgive the geeky review, but I love handheld aviation radios, and Sporty’s latest one, the PJ2, is the cat’s pajamas (get it?). Here’s why.

I forget when it was or, to be honest, exactly what airport it was even. It was in the Central California Valley and the Unicom was closed already with plenty of summer daylight left. A Mooney flew by low as we watched from the ramp and wagged a wing at us. Then he did it again. I ran to the plane and grabbed the handheld radio I always keep in my bag, dialed up 122.8 and hollered, something to the effect of, “Hey, Mooney, you got a gear issue?” They did. On the next flyby, we were all eyes on the gear, which was down and seemed to be equally and fully extended. We pilots agreed. I radioed back to the Mooney pilot, he landed and the gear stayed put. Phew.

I’ve used my handheld a handful of times and always when I least expected to need it.

Sporty’s new PJ2 is powered by six double-A batteries, a big pile of which I keep in my Flight Outfitters flight bag, as well. So when you need it, it’ll probably be good to go. And if not, throw some new batteries at it, and now you’re talking.

Unlike some of Sporty’s other really cool offerings, the PJ2 is just a comm radio. Well, WX too. But no nav. So if you’re looking to shoot an ILS with a handheld, this ain’t the ticket. For that I’d recommend Sporty’s super cool SP400, on which I’ve flown a few ILSes, not in anger, but for testing and for fun. It works great.

When you need something portable and VHS, chances are it’s because you need to talk to someone. My iPad with my favorite navigation app will do the nav thing really well, thanks. Talking with the folks in the tower? Not so much.

The PJ2 is light, it’s easy to use, and this is the killer part of it!it uses standard headphone jacks. Just plug in your Bose or David Clark, and you’re good to go. It’s got a handy push-to-talk, easy-to-dial frequencies and a flip-flop frequency switch you can find in the dark. Sound quality is good, it gets loud enough you’d be able to hear it in a Cessna 150 if hard pressed, and it’s affordable. At $199, it’s a great insurance policy. As they say, you won’t need it until you do. Then you really will.

The PJ2 is available from Sporty’s Pilot Shop at sportys.com. It sells for $199.

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But the thing that captured my imagination was the company’s new app, called Icon SMART, that prompts a pilot to input the major risks associated with the proposed flight and at the end of the process issues a risk-assessment score.

The backstory? While I know that the last thing Icon wants to read here is a rehashing of its troubled history, the story of the company’s remarkable transformation makes no sense in its absence.

Back in 2006 when Icon announced its planned Light Sport amphibian, the Icon A5, it made clear that the design would be correcting the lack of vision that other aircraft designers had exhibited since the days of the Wrights. This they would do by creating an easy-to-fly, spin-resistant two-seat amphibious seaplane that would bring in thousands of customers who were not yet pilots for the sheer joy appeal of the product. Except for the boastful claim about their design abilities, that’s all good stuff, though anyone who’s been around personal flying for long knows that when you bring in customers who aren’t yet pilots, there’s greatly elevated risk, such that even a very friendly, flying stall-averse light plane can only go so far to mitigate.

The A5 made its first flight in 2008. The first customer delivery was early in 2016.

In the interim, there was also the lavish spending on events while the A5 languished, giving some the sense that company cared more about continued sales than the airplane’s development. Which was troubled. Given the aircraft’s substantial wing design, the plane was too heavy, to the point that Icon concluded that it couldn’t make the A5 much lighter and still arrive at the intended product. Ultimately, Icon got an FAA exemption that allowed it to grow beyond the LSA standard category’s (too low, we believe) weight limit of 1,430 pounds by as much as 250 pounds, though the company only used a fraction of that allowance. And its argument in requesting the exemption, that the A5’s stall resistant wing design and ballistic parachute were worthy parts of that weight increase, makes good safety sense. 

There was also the issue of describing the certification standard of the A5. The company frequently mentioned the A5’s FAA certification, even though it was not and is not today FAA certificated. As an LSA, it’s approved by the aviation regulatory agency, which reviews the company’s records to check the boxes. This is a very different animal than actual FAA Part 23 certification, which involves great expense and direct involvement by the FAA before the type (aircraft) and production (factory) certifications are granted. It’s far from a semantic distinction, and it reflected poorly on the company that it was committed to the questionable, and in my view, unnecessary spin, one that I believe takes advantage of customers’ confusion about the differences between the Light Sport and Part 23 approval processes. 

And before long funding became an issue, because building airplanes is way more expensive than selling them. Predictably, the company shuffled and reshuffled. I’ll admit that I have little interest in the subject of finance in general, and crisis finance even less. It’s hard to watch companies walk the fine line between, on one side, going belly up and shutting the doors  and on the other side of the line, promising airplanes it doesn’t have the money to build. But sadly, it is one of the most common stories in our world of light planes. Icon, as some observers, myself included, predicted, could not escape the inescapable, that low revenue in the face of high expenditures cannot, no matter how desperately one dog paddles, keep’s ledger above water.

Hawkins resigned as CEO in 2018, and a new majority owner, Pudong Science and Technology Investment, Inc. (PDSTI) emerged, providing critical funding. That funding has been impacted by constraints on PDSTI from China, so much that minority shareholders Kirk Hawkins and Phil Condit filed suit against PDSTI alleging that it was transferring the company’s technology to China and that it doesn’t intend to make Icon successful. That action is ongoing. 

Underlying all of this was a safety problem, or I should say, a safety culture problem that turned into a safety problem. At an Oshkosh press conference years ago, then-company president and founder Kirk Hawkins in front of a crowd of many hundreds packed into and around the company’s large exhibition space, described a demo flight he’d given, one that included slow-flight demonstrations at pattern altitude, which is not a safe thing to do. But that seemed to be the point. The message I got was that the demonstration was intended to show that the A5 wasn’t just any airplane. It was safer and could do things that other airplanes either couldn’t or shouldn’t do. The company’s flashy video highlight reel, played at the same event, showed A5s flying low and fast and maneuvering aggressively near terrain and the water’s surface, sending a clear message that safety was anything but Job One at Icon.

A few years ago, the A5 suffered a couple of tragic, high-profile mishaps, including the crash that claimed the lives of two of their employees, chief engineer and test pilot Jon Karkow and Cagri Sever, a newly hired head of engineering. The A5 Karkow was piloting crashed into terrain when he mistakenly turned up the wrong canyon on the shore of Central California’s Lake Berryessa and couldn’t get turned around as the canyon quickly narrowed amid high terrain. The details of the crash are discussed on the Wikipedia page devoted to the A5.

A couple of years later, retired Major League Baseball pitcher (and surefire Hall of Fame member) Roy “Doc” Halladay was killed when he flew his Icon A5 at speed while maneuvering at low level into Tampa Bay, a story that, given Halladay’s status, was global news. Halladay’s crash revealed a wealthy of problems…with the pilot, not with the airplane. In addition to his risky low level maneuvering and anti-authoritarian attitude toward flying, the retired pitcher was found to have numerous disallowed prescription drugs in his system the day of the crash. 

Indeed, the NTSB found neither crash to be the fault of the airplane—the A5 has gotten rave reviews around the industry, including here—but the twin tragedies focused the attention of the world on the risk factors involved in flying and in flying light sport aircraft.

I have declined repeated opportunities to fly the plane, not because I was worried about the A5—I’m not— but, rather, because I was concerned about how the demo fight might go—I’ve been on a few scary demo rides  and didn’t want to repeat the experience. (I have a flight tentatively scheduled for the coming months.)

So, when it comes to Icon, I’m not a fan girl, to put it mildly, and my history with former leadership was strained, to again put it mildly, as I was one of the few journalists who held the company’s feet to the fire on issues of financial constraint, safety culture and a lack of transparency, all stands that I’m proud to have taken. So, when Icon says that they’re happy to be “repairing the relationship,” I bristle a bit. It was never a relationship issue. They have repaired themselves, and that’s something to celebrate.  

Today’s Icon Aircraft seems a very different company, and in large part that’s because the culture has changed. Is it always necessary to make changes in leadership in order to effect a change in culture company-wide? I don’t know, but the new leadership at Icon is different, and a big part of that change seems to flow from new personnel, with Jason Huang, who’s led the company since 2020, and VP of sales and director of flight ops Warren Curry, along with chief pilot Genesah Duffy injecting a level of honest positivity that’s refreshing. 

Groundbreaking Safety App

It was Duffy who dreamt up and actually built the risk-assessment app, called SMART, for “Smart Survey for Managing And Assessing Risks To (Safety).” SMART works. The idea for the app, she told Plane & Pilot, came from her experience training and providing flight instruction at a Part 141 flight school, where risk assessment is emphasized throughout training.

Following a serious, non-fatal crash of an A5 during a sales demo flight, the company initiated a review of safety. It subsequently rolled out SMART internally at first, and it was such a hit the company decided to make it available to its customers, too. More than half of them, Duffy said, use the app.

The app really is simple to use, so much so that its ability to access and weigh various risk factors might seem an easy achievement. It’s not, and that ease of use is key. After all, what good is a risk assessment app that goes unused?

SMART walks the pilot through every step as they enter the various risk factors for the flight. These include (but are not limited to) pilot experience and, critically, experience in the A5, the size of the body of water, the winds, the surface condition, the density altitude, plus the aircraft weight (including fuel and stores and occupants) and center of gravity. It also asks the pilot to enter in factors that might negatively impact safety of flight, such as fatigue and mental state. And there’s weather to factor in, too, of course. The whole process takes less than five minutes to complete.

If this sounds like a lot of complexity, we agree. It sounds that way, but it’s not. The app is so elegant and well-designed that even first-time users can breeze through it.

In the end, the app looks at all the risk factors and calculates a score based on the inputted risks and their individual score—some risk factors are value limited in some way, such as wave height, visibility or wind speed and gust factor. And all of them are weighted in conjunction with the pilot’s level of experience.

In most cases, the score will be within acceptable limits, but it still poses relevant warnings for those risk factors that are noteworthy for that flight, such as if the water surface is glassy and the surface is glassy.

If SMART seems like the kind of app that every light plane pilot could benefit from, we agree. For now, owners and pilots of Icon A5s have the power to review the risk factors facing them before takeoff and make their go or no-go call based on a multitude of factors. The app doesn’t prevent pilots from taking big risks, as Halladay did and paid for with his life, but for pilots who are looking to realistically assess their risk factors, it’s pure gold.

And it is, let me repeat, a powerful indication, it seems, of a company headed in the right direction in terms of safety culture but also in listening to its employees’ ideas, in this case a great idea, and putting it into action, making for better informed and, ultimately, safer-flying customers.

Icon’s A5 To Grow Beyond LSA Limitations

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Hailing from the legendary Worcester, Massachusetts, company, makers of space gear, headsets and more, the DC ONE-X ($895 online) follows in a long line of famous headsets with those distinctive green domes. Like all of the company’s others, the DC headset seeks to find a pilot niche that makes sense by providing a great product at a good price. If David Clark were to have a motto, it might be “different missions, different headsets.” Indeed, it’s hard to find a company with a broader range of headset products for pilots who fly different kinds of aircraft on different kinds of missions.

It will come as no surprise to any pilot that there’s a lot of competition among high-end headsets for the fixed-wing crowd, and the DC ONE-X is right there among the head of the class, along with the pricier Bose A20 (around $1,100) and the value-packed Lightspeed Zulu 3 ($850), both of which, by the way, are headsets we love. 

The DC ONE-X instead offers a different value proposition from the Bose or Lightspeed stars, or for that matter, from any headset we know of. 

To start out with everybody’s first question, the DC ONE-X isn’t as quiet as the Bose or Lightspeed models, though it is quiet. It’s also not quite as luxurious feeling as either one. It does, to its credit, have a number of features, including Bluetooth connectivity, stereo sound and auto-off functions that we all want these days, but it isn’t the Cadillac of headsets.

But that’s okay, because clearly it’s not meant to be. It’s meant to be different, and it is. Here’s how.

In terms of convenience, the DC ONE-X is tough to beat. For starters, it’s really light, only 12¼ ounces by our measure, making it lighter than the competition while also having a light nylon carry case that looks too small for the headset to easily fit back inside. It’s not too small. It fits easily. The ONE-X is also really compact, folding up neatly in a package that’s as much as a third smaller than either the Bose or the Lightspeed product. For pilots who carry their headsets with them, a little smaller and lighter makes a big difference when trying to get it into an already too-full pilot bag. Don’t say you haven’t been there. In my experience, it’s great to be able to carry a smaller bag and still get big headset performance. 

In terms of comfort, the ONE-X makes a strong case for itself. The ear cups aren’t as cushy and the noise reduction (both passive and active) isn’t as powerful as the A20 or the Zulu PFX. But the fit of the ONE-X is very nice (at least to my noggin), with its light weight making it infinitely forgettable (a very good thing when it comes to headsets) and its beautifully designed headband providing precious little clamping force topside while keeping the seals of the ear cups tight to the naked head. As with any headset, eye- or sunglasses temple pieces provide a challenge to that seal, seemingly a little more on the ONE-X than on its competitors.

As far as durability is concerned, I wrote when the headset was introduced, “”t’s hard to give high marks to a brand-new product in this category, but I’m sorely tempted to do just that.” Five years down the road, my DC ONE-X looks nearly new, despite a lot of hours in the air. One secret to its durability is the way the cups connect with a clever two-way joint that makes it virtually impossible to bend it into a position it won’t like, not to mention that dropping it from waist level (yes, we did) seems a non-event. (Still, don’t try it at home.)

The DC ONE-X has, after five years of on again off again flying in airplanes old and new, proved itself a classic that pilots will love for its comfort, quality, durability, value and, yes, even features. Not that this makes any buyer’s choice easier, as the competition is a couple of established classics, now with another strong competitor, at least, one with differences you might just love. 

Learn more at the David Clark Company.

The post Five Years Of The David Clark DC ONE-X Headset appeared first on Plane & Pilot Magazine.

If there’s a biggest takeaway, it’s that in this pandemic year, flight schools were busy training students, spending money and presumably making money, too, despite the challenges. Those obstacles to smooth sailing, by the way, are identified, too. They are (from one to five): pandemic restrictions, the high cost of insurance, issues surrounding designated pilot examiners (who administer check rides to flight schools’ customers), finding new students and, lastly, aircraft maintenance (we presume, including the high cost of said maintenance).

The surveyed organizations rated their 2020 experiences on a Yelp-like five-star scale. They gave 2020 a rating of 3 1/2 stars, not great but not all that bad, either. Their hopes for this year are even better with them rating their expectations at a very solid 4 stars. If this sounds a little low, remember that 4 stars would be a pretty good ranking in any year, never mind one in which we are dragging ourselves out of the throes of a global pandemic. So, that’s a really positive note. Independent CFIs, on the other hand, had a worse 2020, rated at around 2.5 stars, and their hopes for 2021 are slightly better, at around 3.5 stars.

Because, like everyone else who’s not Jeff Bezos, we are curious about how much stuff costs, the survey found that the vast majority of flight instructors get between $40 and $80 an hour, with most of those occupying the middle ground, between $50 and $60. Another big takeaway is that as the rates go up, the amount of money the CFI gets to pocket doesn’t. As rates go up, the percentage share of that rate the CFI gets to keep plummets. So be kind to your CFIs.

 There is so much to see in this excellent survey by Redbird and its many partners, including NAFI, SAFE, FSANA, CloudAhoy, ForeFlight and Flight Schedule Pro, but perhaps the most encouraging and surprising is that in 2020 57% of them purchased or leased an additional airplane (12.37% new ones, 44.62% used ones). They expect to drive that spending even higher in 2021, with around two-thirds of them expecting to buy or lease additional aircraft in the coming year.

The post Redbird‘s New Flight School Survey Digs Up Fascinating Data, Including: How Much Does It Cost? appeared first on Plane & Pilot Magazine.

Even though the aviation world is largely one of knots and not miles per hour, when it comes to speed, some of us still think in terms mph. For years, manufacturers were the worst offenders, especially Mooney, which made the 200-mph such a goal that it named one of its planes the “201.” And we admit that 200-mph looks a lot faster than 175 knots, even though they’re just decimal points apart in actual value. Though it’s lost a lot of its luster over the past couple of decades, in general aviation, 200 mph remains a significant marker, a kind of imaginary speed barrier for single-engine aircraft. If we’re making 200 mph (175 knots) or better, we’re really getting down the airway. With the advent of a number of slippery, big-engine singles, most notably the Cirrus SR22, 200 knots might well be the new benchmark of how fast fast is. There’s no doubt but that today’s buyers of high-end, high-performance planes want to see that number.

And for the sake of standardization, Plane & Pilot has adopted the FAA’s knots-first editorial policy, which for the past 35 years has been an industry standard. And when we discuss speeds, whether mph or knots, we’re referring to true airspeed, (technically abbreviated as “ktas”), which is the plane’s speed through the air, which is calculated from the calibrated airspeed and adjusting for the variables of air density and temperature.

The big question remains, though. What does speed mean in real terms? What kind of advantages do those fast movers enjoy, and is it worth what you have to pay for it?

The answers are, there are a lot of advantages, some big, some not so big, and the costs can be great. Can they be too great? Good question. Let’s look at some real-world cases.

But first, it’s important to get a grasp of your typical mission. If your prime travel distance is, for the same of choosing a round number, 500 nautical miles, then one could make a compelling argument that you don’t need the fastest of the fast to make that trip reliably and regularly. But unless you’re making a permanent move, cross-country trips don’t end at the first fuel stop or the eventual “destination.” The destination is, in fact, almost always back home. If you’re making a multi-day trip, which most long cross countries in a small piston-engine plane will be, regardless of how fast the plane is, then you can treat the mission as two separate trips on two separate days. Fair enough. But if you’re planning to be home again that evening, then speed is an even more critical part of the calculus. In fact, without a fast plane, a 500-nm trip out and back again with three hours on the ground at the destination isn’t doable in daylight in most of the Lower-48 United States during the daylight available most of the year. And super long days with a trip home late in the evening almost guarantees less than optimal human performance on those last legs.

But in terms of the simple math, again with that 500-mile trip, which is average for most pilots, how much does speed get you? What’s the difference between cruising at 138 knots, something that most Cessna 182s can do) and 174 knots, something that most mid-60’s to present-day Beech Bonanzas can pull off? It doesn’t take a math wizard to see the Bonanza saves 36 minutes on that trip. Is the time worth what it costs to save it? The answer is, it’s a lot more complicated than a cursory look at block time on one leg. Real-world cross-country flying is all about taking all the parameters into account, and that means looking realistically at weather, optimum altitudes, passenger needs and the amount of daylight you have to work with—winter days are short. When you begin factoring in considerations such as required alternates on an IFR flight plan or thunderstorm diversions, the process can get complicated, and pilots need to have a solid grasp of all of the variables that go into planning any particular trip. So is the extra speed worth it? In the small picture, maybe not. But when you take a wider view of what cross-country flying is all about, the additional speed is priceless.

Airplanes as fast as that legendary 200 mph (which we’ll think of here as 175 knots) always have the increased maintenance of retractable gear (Cirrus and Lancair excluded) and big motors, and almost always have higher acquisition costs. Within the traditional general aviation fleet, however, there are actually only a few airplanes that can honestly claim to cruise 200 mph. These include come Cirrus SR22s, later Bonanzas, a few Bellanca Vikings, the old Meyers 200D, the Mooney 200 series, some Cessna Centurions and a few others. The big question is how much time is extra speed actually saving you, and is it worth the additional expense and potential hassle?

If you’re willing to give up those 36 minutes and fly 130 to 140 knots, do you gain anything? The most obvious advantage is that it costs less to get into the game to begin with. Even though the tried-and-true Skylane is probably the most expensive airplane in its category, it’s still cheaper than most of the fast movers, and early square-tail Skylanes can still be found, that is, if you look hard enough and get a little lucky. But what if you desperately want the bragging rights that go with a 175 knot cruise speed? Or what if you really do need that speed on long trips? Is there such a thing as cheap speed, and how do we evaluate it?

Maybe what we should be talking about here isn’t raw, dollars-be-damned speed, but miles per dollar—how much does each knot cost us (and the cost has to be defined as not only the gas being burned, but also what it costs to get into that seat in the first place). Plus, we need to apply some kind of factor for maintenance, which is going to be a pure guess. (Note: The legacy chart is in mph.)

When you start talking speeds over 140 kts, you’ve automatically stepped into the land of retractable gear (again, excluding Cirrus, Cessna’s TTx and a number of lesser known homebuilts) and, as you move up past around 155 knots, the pickings start to get pretty slim. Let’s look at some candidates and see how they stack up when you compare their stats (see “The True Costs Of Speed” chart). Be advised, however, that there’s some Kentucky windage here in terms of fuel burn, and we’re basing our speeds on published specs that often are questionable. Still, it gives us something that can put airplanes in positions relative to one another.

The physics behind fuel efficiency haven’t changed in the last 10 years, thank goodness. In big bore singles, fuel efficiency tends to be around 11 to 12 mpg, though the smaller engine Mooneys will get you around 20 mpg. That’s because Mooneys give up some cabin comfort to keep the frontal area down, plus they have worked really hard at making themselves aerodynamically efficient at higher altitudes. The net result is that they’re delivering higher speeds with smaller motors (200 hp), which translates to better overall efficiency. Additionally, some of the early, small Mooneys are not as fast as the later ones, but are relatively low-priced and still deliver 145 to 155 kts on 180 horses with 9 to 10 gph fuel burns.

Another way to look at the speed is how much we have to pay for each additional mile per hour of speed when buying the airplane. Even when using Bluebook aircraft values as comparisons, which are usually low, it shows that airplanes like the Bonanza, which are much larger and more luxurious, but nowhere nearly as efficient as the Mooneys, command higher prices. Therefore, on a dollar-per-knot basis, they’re much more expensive, plus they’re way down in the fuel-efficiency curve. So why do people buy Bonanzas over Mooneys? Probably because they like the comfort and don’t object to burning a little more gas. So, once you’re going fast, other factors apparently count, as well. (Please note that the pricing figures were 2016 estimates. Times have changed, and so have prices.

Range: The Great Equalizer, Up To A Point
With all this talk of speed, there’s one other factor that has to be tossed into the decision equation: range. How far will it go without making a fuel stop? When we’re talking 500-mile trips, that’s not usually a factor because just about everything has at least 500 nm of range, but a funny thing happens when we stretch that trip out to 1,200 miles. Suddenly, fuel capacity becomes a really big deal.

Let’s say you’re flying a 300 hp, 1980 Bellanca Viking that actually does deliver its advertised 175 kt cruise speed. Its spec sheet says its range is barely 600 miles (and we’ll bet that isn’t at 175 knots. So, to safely make 1,200 miles and still have some reserve, it would have to stop twice to get gas. The actual time in the air would be 5.9 hours (probably longer, since spec sheet range numbers usually are at economy settings, but speed is quoted at 75%). Two fuel stops, however, are going to add 1.5 hours (45 minutes per stop, which is conservative) for a total of 7.3 hours. For a trip of 1,000 miles, the Bellanca looks good again. But that second fuel stop on a really long mission is a killer.

Still, back to that hypothetical 1,200 trip. Now, let’s say your lowly Cessna 182 is plodding along at 140 kts, but burning significantly less gas. More importantly, it’s a newer model with 88-gallon tanks, which, according to the specifications, gives just under 800-nm of range. So, it easily can make it with only one stop. Seven and a half hours of flying, plus 0.7 of ground time, gives you 8.2 hours of total elapsed time. So, the much faster Bellanca Viking only got there 55 minutes faster. But are all of those things a really big deal on such a long trip?

Often they’re not, but when it comes to multiple legs, even short ones, speed can make a huge difference. A flight of 400-nm miles won’t require a fuel stop for any of these planes, but the time saved flying a much faster airplane will translate into not just one faster trip, but potentially three, or on a long, busy day, maybe four. Getting back home a couple of hours earlier, or maybe just getting back home at all instead of having to hotel it at the last stop, is worth a lot.

Now, let’s toss in aftermarket auxiliary tanks so we can be flying an earlier, and much less expensive, Cessna 182 (or Cherokee 235 or!). This extra 23 gallons gives the early airplanes another 1.7 hours for a total range of about 800 miles. So, now we’re flying an airplane that may have cost us as little as $50,000 (a fixer-upper, like a 1959 C-182), but we came in only 55 minutes behind the blazing Viking after a daylong trip. If you do a lot of long cross-countries, installing auxiliary tanks could be considered the best and most effective speed mod.

How about comparing the Cessna Skylane to a 300 hp A36 Bonanza? The Bonanza costs around three times more than the C-182, but the Bonanza can make the 1,200 miles with one fuel stop so it would get there 1.5 hours quicker. Okay, so after a 1,200-mile trip, the Bonanza folks will be at the gate hours sooner than the Cessna would be. The 182’s cost of operation is pennies compared to the Bonanza’s, especially when you factor in insurance, cost of acquisition and maintenance. You have to decide what that extra time is worth to you. Is it worth an extra $100,000 to $200,000 in acquisition and at least twice the support cost to save a couple of hours on that 1,200-mile trip you take only every other year? On the other hand, if you’re routinely flying trips that long, speed is worth every penny.

Turbos Make A Difference
An aircraft equipped with a turbocharger is always going to offer increased speed and fuel efficiency over its normally aspirated counterpart because it will hold its power to a higher altitude where it gets really fast and burns less gas. The only downside to turbochargers is that they increase the maintenance and acquisition costs, and some require a bit more pilot technique.

In terms of performance, a blown A36, as an example, is supposed to cruise at 190 knots compared to a normally aspirated version at 169 knots, and a TC Saratoga will do 177 knots) versus 158 knots), while the range goes up 56 miles to a whopping 825 nautical miles. (See the “Turbocharged Speed Comparison” chart.)

It might be worth noting that while we don’t normally think of any version of a Skylane as being a speed demon, the TC182RG runs right at 173 kts. Also, the TC210 Turbo Centurion series is a real sleeper at 197 knots, while the pressurized P210R is capable of running an unbelievable 212 knots at altitude. Now, that’s really getting down the road!

So, What’s Fast Enough?
The concept of “fast enough” is strictly subject to personal definition. For some, there is no such thing. For others, flying is its own reward, and they’re more than happy to get there when they get there. For most, however, the decision involves a complex interplay between the complicated considerations of long cross-country flights, along with the pilot/owner’s wants, needs and financial capabilities: In most cases we want speed, but how much do we really need it and can we afford it? In this day and age of skyrocketing prices for used planes, especially fast ones, the circle is getting harder to square, though there are still great options if you’re willing to part with a bit more of your hard-earned dollars. Then again, dollars versus dream plane is an equation airplane owners have been doing since they looked at their first used plane.

Are you looking for cheap ways to fly faster? Check out our article Speed Without Mods.

The post Plane Speed: How Fast Do You Need To Fly? appeared first on Plane & Pilot Magazine.

The Learjet is one of the most iconic airplanes in aviation history. You can quibble if you’d like, but the Lear Model 23 is what many light jet insiders consider the first true bizjet. It and it created such a cultural splash, non-aviation types around the country and around the world for years the first Learjet came about referred to all light jets as “Learjets.” The company over the years and under various ownership, has delivered more than 3,000 Learjets since the first Model 23 rolled out in the mid-1960s under the company founder Bill Lear.

The jet wasn’t Lear’s invention. The Learjet 23, called that because it was a Part 23 small airplane certificated design (the one and only for the company), was based on a Swiss fighter jet design, the FFA-P-16. Only five were made before the program was cancelled. Over the years, Learjet built increasingly complex and capable aircraft, including the Learjet 60, a coast-to-coast luxury bizjet. The current model, the 70/75, will go down as the last the company produced.

But still competition from several business jet makers, including the company’s current owner, Bombardier, made sales success for the Wichita-based light jet maker increasingly difficult to achieve.

Bombardier plans to keep the former Learjet factory open, producing parts and supplying aftermarket support to the thousands of Learjets still flying today.

Looking for more? Check out our private jet charter cost calculator.

The post Last Learjet Ever appeared first on Plane & Pilot Magazine.

But such isn’t the case—not even close.

For the skeptical, let me ask a follow-up question: What’s the best-loved Cessna ever? I doubt that you jumped up and proclaimed, “The Skyhawk is!” Answers to that question usually cite the stately art-deco Cessna 195 or maybe the sleek and speedy Cessna 310 twin, possibly the cantilever-winged beauty Cessna called the Cardinal, or maybe even the rugged-and-ready Cessna 185 taildragger, all of which have rabid followings online and hugely popular fan clubs, too.

This isn’t the case with the 172, and for reasons that are actually pretty easy to pin down, though, again, no one really talks about any of them.

Oh, and a quick note here before aviation history buffs blow a cylinder: For the record, before 1961, there were no Skyhawks, just 172s, as the “Skyhawk” name wasn’t introduced until the turn of the decade, and then only as a branding term to highlight the fancier paint and decor of some 172s. At some point, even Cessna started calling them all “Skyhawks,” and today, almost everyone calls 172s of any vintage a Skyhawk or a 172 interchangeably, regardless of the trim level or model year. We’ll adopt that shorthand, as well.

So, what’s left to say about the Cessna 172 Skyhawk, the most-produced aircraft in history, one that has, as a model, amassed untold millions of hours behind the hands and (sometimes) feet of hundreds of thousands of pilots skilled or not-so-skilled? What more can be said about a plane that’s so ubiquitous that it makes up a big part of the very fabric of light plane aviation?

What remains to be said, as it turns out, is just about everything. That’s because the Skyhawk is so profoundly unremarkable that it seems to defy close  inspection, like the perfectly average-looking person who tends not to get spotted in the crowd. They seem invisible because there’s absolutely nothing noticeable about them. That doesn’t mean there’s anything wrong with them—quite the opposite. Their average appearance is a kind of perfection.

It’s a form of beauty that tends to go unnoticed, though. A former colleague once described flight reports on the 172 as somniferous. (Or it might have been “soporific” or even “soporiferous;” it’s been a few years.) The point was, such reports will make you sleepy. The act of flying a 172 might get you there, which, when it comes to an airplane aimed at no-time to low-time pilots, isn’t a bad thing—not the sleepy part, but, rather, the easy-to-fly part.

The reason it’s hard to write about the 172 is that flying one is memorable mostly in that the act of flying is memorable, so it follows that if you’re flying a Skyhawk, it’s memorable, though probably not because of the airplane. So, unless stories about flying 172s are about the flying as much as or more than about the airplane, it’s hard to see the point.

The truth is, I’m simply not sure what, in the grand scheme, to make of the 172, not the myth or the monolith but the airplane itself, the wings and windows and nosewheels, the flying manners of it, which is to say, the airplane itself divorced from its story.

Flying 172s

It’s not like I haven’t had the chance to get to know the 172. I’ve flown maybe 50 different Skyhawks of different vintages, configurations and engines. I’ve flown fastback straight-tailed late-’50s bare-metal 172s and FADEC-equipped turbodiesel Skyhawks with flat panels splayed across the panel and seat tracks designed by NASA. I’ve flown 172s on floats, and with retractable gear, with more powerful engines with four cylinders and less-powerful ones with six jugs; I suspect that at some point, I’ll get to fly an all-electric Skyhawk.

It’s not that the Skyhawk is a bad flying airplane. Again, quite the opposite is true. One could make a convincing argument, in fact, that with the 172, Cessna built the epitome of the flying machine, that in the 50-some-odd years between the Wright Flyer and the Cessna 172, no one had gotten it quite right before Cessna. And it has only gotten more perfect, a line so skillfully executed that the human eye can’t find a flaw.

After all, what airplane is more automatic to hand-fly than a Skyhawk? Which model is smoother, has more perfectly harmonized flight controls, a more intuitive feel? Which one is more forgiving? What plane makes you look better?

Arguably, in each case, the answer is no otherairplane.

And yet, the Skyhawk’s flying manners are kind of forgettable. When’s the last time you heard a pilot come back from a flight in a 172 and proclaim, “What a great flying airplane that is!” Probably never. But that’s not a bad thing. In fact, it might be the very best thing. I’d argue that the reason that a Skyhawk’s flying manners are so forgettable is that the plane is the very definition of flying. It’s what flying feels like, in much the same way that air is what breathing feels like. You don’t say, “That’s darned good air,” but I think we can all agree that Mother Nature pretty much nailed that particular gaseous mixture.

I don’t think that it’s familiarity that makes us think that the 172’s flying manners are divine. I think it’s because they just are. I have to admit that just about every different model of airplane I’ve ever flown, hundreds of them, I compare to the Skyhawk, usually very consciously so. Is it silly to compare the Gulfstream G650, a Mach .925 intercontinental fly-by-wire business jet, to the Cessna 172? Not at all. In fact, if I were to put together a list of the best-flying airplanes I’ve ever had the pleasure to fly, those two planes would be in second and first place, respectively.

The truth is, the Skyhawk’s flying manners are close to perfection. It’s not too heavy in feel or too light (though it leans in that latter direction). Likewise, it’s a stable airplane, but not too stable, which is both possible and, ultimately, undesirable. While pilots often say that more power is always better, it’s not always the case. I’d argue that 180 hp, the current power rating for the Skyhawk, is perfect for it, though the plane did just fine most days in most places with the original 145 ponies.

Why So Many Skyhawks?

Today, we think of the 172 as a training airplane, but for at least the first 30 years of its existence, that wasn’t the case. It was a personal airplane that could do double duty as a utility plane, pipeline patrol, maybe some flight instruction, though seldom at multi-airplane flight schools. It was what it was, and Cessna didn’t mess with that recipe much for decades, because why would it? Throughout the 1960s, Cessna was selling a thousand Skyhawks a year, and by the mid-1970s, it was turning out almost 2,000 every year.

Not only did customers clearly love the 172 as it was, but the model was bookended by two others popular in their own right—the 182 Skylane and the 150/152.

The 182 is more airplane than the 172 by a good margin. With a 235 hp Continental six-cylinder engine (compared to the 145 hp Continental six in the 172), and with a beefier airframe, the 182 could haul more and fly farther, too. Still can.

Down market from the 172 was the 150, which morphed into the 152 in 1978. The 150 was a training airplane, plain and simple, a two-seater that wasn’t fast and couldn’t fly very far. It did get used as a personal airplane, which is still the case, but the vast majority were bought to be used for flight instruction because they were cheaper to buy and cheaper to operate, and they got the job done nicely.

So, making the 172 more capable would have impacted sales of the 182, which was also a hot seller, and of the 150, which, ditto. The 172 remained the same somewhat capable, somewhat useful four-seat (kind of) personal plane, in essence, the perfect compromise between utility and economy.

Another thing to remember is that while the difference of a few thousand dollars, which was the delta between Cessna models for decades, might not seem like much these days, you need to think more in ratios than dollars. The difference in prices between the models was designed to force buyers to spend only as much as they could possibly afford to step up. Which they did in great numbers.

Back to my point: The 172 is still being produced and sold in good numbers by Textron Aviation’s Cessna Aircraft division. Overall, it’s cranked out around 45,000 172s. It delivered 126 of the 172-S, the only model in production right now, in 2019, many of those going to larger flight schools in fleet deals. Just how many were purchased by individuals for their personal use is unknown, but considering the Skyhawk’s hefty price tag of between around $375,000 and $435,000, it has to be a small number. With a full glass cockpit, stylish and comfortable interior, and safety improvements across the board, today’s Skyhawk is a premium product.

Such was not always the case. In the early days, the 172 was the Volkswagen of the skies, a simple, easy-to-fly, all-metal four-seater that didn’t require deep pockets or exceptional stick-and-rudder skills to fly. Remember, too, that the 172 was originally a nose-gear version of the taildragger 170. Preproduction interest in the 172 was so great that Cessna discontinued the taildragger 170 right around the time it introduced the 172. Nosewheels weren’t new—Beechcraft’s Bonanza had been hot stuff for a decade already, and Piper’s Tri-Pacer sold well. But the 172 was a truly modern entry-level four-seater with a nosewheel. You didn’t have to be the best pilot at the patch to fly these new planes, though it wouldn’t hurt if you were.

It’s interesting to me that not many of the most-produced planes in history are personal planes. There are a few clustered toward the top, none of which would surprise you, but of the top 20, only six are personal airplanes. The others, as you might have guessed, are all planes built to go to war. Even some of the small planes on the list had their numbers greatly aided by the war effort. Of the 20,000 or so Piper J-3 Cubs built, more than 6,000 of them were built for military use.

The military version of the 172, the T-41 Mescalero, on the other hand, was produced in much smaller numbers. Over the course of 32 years, from 1964 to 1996, Cessna built just over 750 T-41s, but even by the year of its introduction, there weren’t big bucks to be made in the sale of small military planes. The model’s success is due almost entirely to its appeal to private pilots, which is huge, though for reasons that aren’t always entirely clear.

The 172″€¦Trainer?

Cessna ended production of its single-engine airplanes, all of them, in the mid-1980s and restarted it about a decade later. When it did, it reintroduced only a handful of its former models; the 172 and 182 made the cut, but the 152 did not. So, the lowest-cost Cessna became the 172. It also became the de facto training leader.

No one thought it was a perfect solution. In fact, in 2006 Cessna announced a lower-cost two-seat LSA trainer, the Cessna 162 Skycatcher, a two-seat light sport plane that it hoped would fill what was then a growing need for an economical trainer. That need was generated in large part by the cancellation of the company’s 152 (nee 150) 20 years earlier. A new two-seat training plane was, and is, a great idea, because flight schools need a plane that’s a lot cheaper to buy, fly and maintain than a conventional four-seat Part 23 trainer.

Of course, for a few decades, the 150/152 was that plane, but as time passed and production costs rose, it became too expensive for Cessna to make a profit at it. At least that was its calculus when it decided not to reintroduce the plane when it restarted production of the 172 (and 182 and 206) in 1997.

But the Skycatcher Light Sport was a rare failure for Cessna, and it was a spectacular one, too, a plane that didn’t fly as well as hoped, was years behind schedule, cost $50,000 more than its original target price of $99,000, went through major design changes, including a mid-program engine swap, and was subject to an expensive airworthiness directive to beef up the structure of the plane’s wing (a repair that Cessna paid for).

So when, in 2013, then-new Cessna CEO Scott Ernest pulled the plug on the Skycatcher, it was no surprise. Also, the 172 became once again Cessna’s de facto training platform.

The company hasn’t announced any interest in a two-seater since. It doesn’t really need such a model; one could argue, however, that it didn’t need it in 2006, either. There was and is little competition among traditional aircraft makers for the sales of training aircraft of any description. Piper, Cessna’s biggest competitor, explored an LSA option too, but, like Cessna, abandoned it, though before it hadn’t yet made much progress or spent much money on it. Like Cessna, Piper defaulted to its PA-28 four-seat Archer, which is a near-twin of the 172 in terms of performance, operating costs and market appeal.

The other bookend, the higher-priced, higher-performance Cessna, is the 182 Skylane, which, as mentioned, Cessna reintroduced in 1997 and is a steady if unspectacular seller at a base price of $565,000 for the turbocharged single. (Cessna isn’t offering a naturally aspirated 182 at present.) The Skylane is a lot more airplane than the Skyhawk in every way, and, with its price around $150,000 steeper than the 172’s, there’s clearly no room for a faster, more powerful Skyhawk; Cessna already has such a plane.

Skyhawk Assassination Plots

For an airplane that sold in huge numbers for the first 30 years of its existence and at lower but steady rates since its mid-’90s comeback, the Skyhawk has suffered no shortage of disrespect over the years, even to the point of Cessna trying to replace it with new, updated models.

Although Cessna never positioned it as such, the first attempt at replacing the 172 arguably came a few short years after the 172’s launch, when Cessna introduced what was, in many ways, a better Skyhawk, the Model 175 Skylark. The 175 had just the right amount of extra, well, extra everything—speed, power, carrying capacity and more. It coulda been a contenduh.

What did it in was the 175 hp geared engine it sported, the Continental GO-300-A. The powerplant turned out too fussy about how one operated it—pilots needed to cruise it at its book setting of 2,900 rpm lest the need for an overhaul come at 300 hours instead of the already-short TBO of 1,200 hours. Cessna even went so far as to name later iterations of the plane the Skyhawk Powermatic in hopes that by copping its largely trouble-free stablemate’s handle, it might alleviate buyers’ concerns. It didn’t. The Skyhawk endured, and the Model 175 Skylark went away.

The next attempt was in 1968, when Cessna tried expressly to replace the Skyhawk with the Cessna Cardinal, a plane that many think is the prettiest Cessna ever, a claim I wouldn’t argue. The problem with replacing the Skyhawk, as I’ve suggested, is that despite it not being sexy or particularly pretty, it’s an awfully good airplane to begin with and an even better first plane than that. Once the company shared its plans, there was what could be described as a popular uprising, the biggest show of respect, arguably, ever given the 172. Dealers wanted to keep the 172; customers, too. And remember, the Skyhawk was selling on average more than a thousand units a year.

By the time Cessna rolled out the Cardinal, just 12 years into the 172’s production run, Cessna had already sold more than 12,000 172s, so it was hard for many to see the logic of discontinuing the 172. It didn’t help that the Cardinal had issues upon its introduction. Cessna had to redesign the horizontal tail after pilot-induced oscillation accidents, and it had to boost the horsepower of the engine after the near-universal complaint that it was underpowered, even though it was slightly more powerful than the Skyhawk. So instead of the Cardinal replacing the 172, it became a second model. And while there’s a common misconception that Cessna ended Cardinal production when, in 1986, it retired its entire single-engine piston line, that wasn’t the case. Cessna pulled the plug on the Cardinal eight years earlier, in 1978, amid sluggish sales.

Sluggish sales weren’t much of an issue with the most successful Skyhawk update, the Hawk XP, which featured a 195-hp Continental engine and constant-speed prop. It was certificated under the 175 Skylark type certificate. It was initially popular, but when GA tanked in the early 80s, its fate was sealed, along with the rest of Cessna’s piston single-engine lineup.

Another, later palace coup was the launch of the Cessna NGP (the initials standing for “next-generation propeller,” a name that struck us as odd because, presumably, the whole plane and not just the propeller came with purchase). Cessna announced the program at Oshkosh 2006 and even flew one to the show. It wasn’t going to be just an airplane but, rather, a family of airplanes for everything from training to personal transportation and more.

Over the next few years, there was little said about the NGP, though Cessna did indicate upon purchasing the Colombia 400 program that it planned to keep going with the NGP. But after another couple of years, the NGP was no longer being mentioned by the company, until it was withdrawn from the conversation altogether, a decision for which Cessna offered vague or no answers at all. Rumors abound about the design, but they are just that, rumors. Cessna has been mum on the subject.

And once again, the Skyhawk endured.

All Skyhawks Are The Same (And Other Lies)

For an airplane that’s been around for 64 years (sing along, “When I get older!”), the 2020 172 Skyhawk is remarkably similar-looking (and flying) to early 172s. But in those 64 years, Cessna has made a lot of improvements to the model, though some folks are quick to point out that those improvements come with two major adverse side-effects, higher prices and a heavier plane. A 2020 Skyhawk’s basic empty weight of 1,680 pounds is 420 pounds greater than the empty weight of the 1956 model, though today’s 172 has a 330-pound edge in maximum takeoff weight. So, an original 172 has a 62-pound advantage in useful load. It’s not nothing.

What that slight decrease in useful load buys, however, is, if not priceless, then close to it. During its production life, just about every Skyhawk component has been improved, upgraded or replaced altogether. A very partial list of what’s better would include the seats and seat tracks, the flaps (though some do pine for the Johnson bar manual flaps—I’m a fan myself), the windows, the paint both inside and out, the interior, the avionics and the landing gear. The new Skyhawk can fly faster and go farther. It’s quieter inside and out, and it’s far more comfortable to fly in, too. Compared to a 2020 model, the 1956 172 is a primitive machine. It still flies great, though.

It does fly differently, admittedly, and even though the feel is less refined than that of today’s Skyhawks, a pilot familiar with the 172 could fly an early model blindfolded and still tell that it was a 172, especially in the landing phase.

What’s on the horizon for the Skyhawk? Well, Cessna has tried and failed to find a satisfying diesel version of the plane; I’ve flown both of Cessna’s diesel-powered proof of concept planes, the TD and the JT-A, along with two other aftermarket attempts to mate Jet A with the 172, and they all flew okay but were begging for more power, which wasn’t available at the time. It’s possible that Cessna will introduce another attempt at a diesel Skyhawk—it’s a natural—but if it’s working on something, it’s keeping quiet about it.

And you might have heard that in 2010, Cessna flew a proof-of-concept all-electric Skyhawk, but it wasn’t a part of any ongoing Cessna development program, and nothing more came of it. Which isn’t terribly surprising, as the four-seat Skyhawk is carrying a lot of weight. And while weight is the enemy of every airplane, it’s the archenemy of electric aircraft, which need as much help in stretching the endurance of their batteries as possible. 

Until the future gets here, whenever that is, we’ve got the regular Skyhawk, a sheet-metal four-seater powered by a gas-piston engine that is remarkable for how perfect a compromise it is in every way, a fact that puts it on a perch that no one seems to pay much attention to but that customers, mostly larger flight schools, keep adding to their shopping carts.

The punchline is, despite so few pilots being gaga over the Skyhawk, it endures and continues to sell in numbers that keep Cessna happy with its continued spot on the production line in Independence, Kansas.

And even though not many private flyers are buying a new Skyhawk, lots of them are learning to fly in the plane, which is the most popular trainer in the world today. In that important way, the Skyhawk is indeed the first airplane for tens of thousands of pilots a year, and thousands of instructors happily ply their trade in the great old bird, perhaps seldom waxing poetic about it but at the same time, strangely enough, never complaining about it, either. Considering how much people like to complain, that’s a pretty powerful testimony, if you ask me.

So, what’s the future of the most-produced if not best-loved Cessna of all time, that perfect-flying, ideal compromise between power and restraint, the Cessna Skyhawk, a 64-years-old-and-counting icon of flight? The conventional wisdom is that it’s reached the end of its product cycle, that great minds will brew up innovative approaches to accomplishing the remarkable things the Skyhawk has achieved, and soon, too. It’s exactly what Cessna thought in 1959, in 1968 and again in 1997 (and which it might be thinking about as I write).

And we all know how those attempts to retire a perfect airplane worked out. And once again, the Skyhawk endures. 

Snap Roll Quiz Time! Cessna Skyhawk

And Then This Happened Aviation Breakthroughs/Oddities/Milestones: Cessna Single-Engine Evolution: 30 Years Of Magic

The post Cessna 172: Secrets Of The Skyhawk appeared first on Plane & Pilot Magazine.

That’s changing. With highly regarded, fast and sophisticated turboprop singles from Piper, with its M600, and Epic, with its E1000, both with smaller price tags, that is no longer the case. Which is not to say that the TBM isn’t still the market leader; it clearly is. And the things that have earned that place its reputation, support and cachet take time for any brand to build, and the TBM has been at it since the first example, the TBM 700, was delivered to a customer in 1990. Since that time, well, it’s handed over 1,000 TBMs to pilots around the world.

And Daher is hardly standing still. Over time, the company, under a few different owners, has continuously improved the model. Today’s TBM 940 is at least 30 knots faster than the original TBM, and it is an extremely sophisticated aircraft in terms of both avionics and safety systems.

And with the purchase of Quest Aircraft last year, Daher has grown, making it, it says, the seventh-largest manufacturer of private turbine airplanes in the world. And the TBM 940 now has Garmin Autoland, which Daher brands “HomeSafe.”

Sophistication Articulated

The TBM 940 is quite a package. Thanks to the capabilities of the G3000 flight deck, Daher has developed an engineering system that can integrate the options developed by the Garmin suite into its aircraft. Now, when pilots fly a TBM 940, they learn how to manage systems that make their lives easier and reduce their workload. With the opportunities offered by the G3000, the 900 series (910/930/940) marks a technological break with the previous TBM 700 series (700 shp) and the 850 series (850 shp equipped with the Garmin 1000). Daher calls the integrated collection of capabilities “TBM e-copilot,” to drive home the point of the system’s effect of reducing pilot workload while simultaneously enhancing comfort and safety.

Among these features are an angle of attack (AOA) indicator and single-engine indicator (to ease the start process by creating a dedicated space on the display). There’s also torque (TRQ), gas generator rpm (NG), interstage turbine temperature (ITT) and propeller (PROP) rpm. Also part of the package is Garmin’s Enhanced Stability and Protection (a form of envelope protection), which includes underspeed protection systems (including a smart stick shaker that warns you if fly outside the flight envelope), the level button to bring the plane back to level flight quickly, and an Emergency Descent Mode that’s connected to the autopilot. There’s automatic anti-ice protection and automatic pressurization.

Perhaps the biggest addition to the 940 with HomeSafe is the autothrottle. The first plane in this class with autothrottle was the Piper M600, and like the 940, its inclusion was in part because it is a necessary part, for obvious reasons, of the autoland utility.  But the addition of the autothrottle brings a whole new level of workload reduction to the pilot during much of the flight, and not only in that rare instance when autoland might be called upon to save the day. The autothrottle can be used from takeoff to approach to landing, down to 200 feet, in fact, which is the most common decision altitude for precision approaches. And as integrated into the G3000, the systems can be managed by using two touchpads located above the central console.

And speaking of improved quality of life, the pilot can now access the cockpit through the side door, something that didn’t exist in most earlier TBMs. As for amenities and customization, six color choices are available for seat coverings and side panels. There are more wood trims and three new floor carpet colors. An extended palette is available with 40 additional colors, headset stowage hooks incorporated on clothes hangers behind the rear seats, additional rear-seat cup holders, a side-mounted cup holder and a tablet device holder located on the side of the central console for the pilot, and an optional quick-change storage unit, the extended large storage cabinet.

Autolanding

Jean-Marie Urlacher had the chance to evaluate the HomeSafe system on board a TBM 940 with Daher’s chief test pilot, Stéphane Jacques. Stéphane has completed 200 automatic landings and developed the test flight protocols for HomeSafe on the TBM. “We created a virtual airport at an altitude of 6,000 feet,” he said, “where we performed hundreds of approaches to calibrate the gain of the autopilot servo actuators in all wind configurations, developed the systems and defined the safest possible flight envelope to make the aircraft fully autonomous.”

“Once we are cruising, it is the perfect time to try the HomeSafe feature. Stéphane presses the button for two seconds. The aircraft then follows the rule ’aviate, navigate, communicate.”

We decided to try it for ourselves. Inside the airplane, a new orange button has been added atop the TBM’s cockpit instrument panel: “HomeSafe, Press and Hold.” If the pilot becomes medically incapacitated, it is not for non-emergency use, the pilot or a passenger can hold this button for two seconds. If it is done mistakenly, they have 15 seconds to deactivate it by pressing the autopilot button. Otherwise, the aircraft becomes completely autonomous. In less than 20 seconds, the TBM 940 analyzes the weather parameters of the nearest airfields and takes into account the length, width and orientation of the runways and the airspace. It also automatically sends distress and position messages over the right frequency, squawks 7700 and gives instructions to passengers on the glass cockpit screens, with classical music playing in the background to relax the atmosphere. The aircraft plans its approach, manages its speed, lowers its landing gear and flaps, lands on the most suitable runway, stops and then shuts off the turbine.

At least that’s what they said. In the airplane, lined up on Tarbes’ Runway 2, we are ready to go. I push the throttle control forward until the autothrottle engages and assumes full control of the torque. Magic. No more risk of over-torquing. At 85 knots rotation, we accelerate to 120 knots.

The climb is impressive, even by the TBM’s already-high standards. The reason: The 940’s air intake is 40% wider than that of the TBM 850. This results in a savings of 80 shp and a 20% decrease in takeoff distance. This air intake is well placed in the propeller blast, which increases intake pressure and power without increasing fuel consumption. Reaching FL310 takes about 19 minutes.

Max cruise speed is reached at FL280, with 330 knots true airspeed in optimal conditions, which provides a range of 1,435 nautical miles. For the best range, which you get at 252 KTAS, we can travel at 1,730 nm with a full fuel tank. Fabulous. The TBM 940 is just a few knots away from jet speed, but with far lower operating costs. In addition, in an overcrowded airspace, jets can’t always get to their optimum cruising altitude, so they need to fly at lower and, hence, far less fuel-efficient altitudes. At those same altitudes, turboprops are at their best.

The Landing You Will Probably Never See

Once we are cruising, it is the perfect time to try the HomeSafe feature. Stéphane presses the button for two seconds. The aircraft then follows the rule “aviate, navigate, communicate.” First, it stabilizes its flight path (LVL function: e-copilot level), and it takes its best-range speed, 180 kt. Using its Jeppesen database, the system calculates which airfield is most suitable, collects weather information, calculates its remaining autonomy, takes NOTAMs and the topography into account, and more. It sends automatic radio messages over the right frequencies to inform the control tower, sets the transponder code to 7700, and plays a series of visual and auditory messages for passengers from the cockpit: “HomeSafe has taken control of the aircraft, stay calm, make sure everyone is wearing a headset, fasten your seat belts, store items in the cabin, do not interfere with the aircraft controls.”

It adds, “If you want to talk to a controller, adjust your headset’s microphone and hold down the icon with your finger; release the icon to hear the controller’s response.” These screens also inform passengers of the time remaining before landing and the choice of the alternate airport, as well as encouraging them to prepare for landing. The aim is, of course, to keep their minds occupied, so they do not panic, but also to reassure them and inform them of the next steps, so that they are not surprised when the plane turns, lowers the landing gear or begins its descent. Instructions are given up until the engine stops, and the directions even explain how to open the aircraft door. The pilot can configure the language before the flight based on the language of the passengers.

From a flight management point of view, the TBM 940 selects the approach and manages its flight path. In our case, the plane selects a racetrack pattern to lose altitude before settling into a long final for the GPS to runway 20 back at Tarbes. The TBM makes a dogleg to line up, and, while crabbing to counteract the crosswind, it then begins its descent on the final approach path. It establishes a speed of 120 knots and lowers the flaps and landing gear, though somewhat unsettlingly, the controls in the cockpit are not moving. There is just a small red illuminated panel under the landing gear controls that says “gear unsafe” to warn of the incorrect control position, were that the case.

The aircraft slows and maintains a speed of 95 knots on short final, 10 kt more than the standard speed to ensure an added margin of safety. The controller gives the final wind reading: 90 degrees at 10 knots. Then comes the flare, which is perhaps the biggest challenge for auto landing systems, so we are looking forward to seeing how it is performed. Making use of its radio altimeter (another Autoland-required system), the system triggers the power reduction at 35 feet above the runway, and the aircraft assumes its landing attitude, which it keeps until touchdown. The TBM lands very smoothly.

Rolling out, the crosswind moves us 5 or 6 feet to the left of the centerline, but the aircraft remains tracking straight ahead on the runway. It then stops by using its auto brakes (which are another necessary autoland feature). The aircraft comes to a standstill, the propeller continues turning slowly, and the turbine shuts off as the prop comes to a stop.

What we experienced was nothing short of extraordinary. A landing that normally no pilot will see.

Debriefing

Like everyone else, we have a hard time not imagining the possibilities of HomeSafe. If you can land an airplane automatically, you can also make it take off automatically. You could even imagine that future pilots will simply have to click the approach they want, and the plane will take over until landing or even taxiing.

But that’s not what HomeSafe is about. Nicolas Chabbert, senior vice-president, Daher Aircraft Division, explained it like this: “HomeSafe is an electronic parachute. It is a system that should only be used in the event of a medical emergency or physical incapacity, and not if the pilot loses control or when they are behind their machine.” In addition, there could be serious consequences if the HomeSafe system is used without justification.

The advantage, compared to a ballistic parachute, is that the airplane can be used again. Statistically, a pilot being unable to complete a flight occurs exceedingly rarely, but HomeSafe is still an impressive sales argument: “This button is for their family,” said Daher’s Philippe de Segovia, director of product marketing (aviation). It is a safety argument that reassures the pilot and, of course, their loved ones as well.

“What we experienced was nothing short of extraordinary. A landing that normally no pilot will see.”

Kodiak Makes Two

In some ways, it seems that the Kodiak was fated to be part of the Daher family. Daher acquired Quest, the Sandpoint, Idaho-based company that built the Kodiak, last year. Quest’s workforce of 250 strong joined Daher’s, which numbered 300.

The acquisition surprised a lot of people while also making perfect sense.

It’s not that they’re a close match. They are not. The TBM is fast, luxurious, streamlined and finely honed. The Kodiak is very different. It is steady, rugged and versatile. And it has great potential for improvement. The two airplanes do, however, share a common core: They are single-engine turboprops made of riveted metal, and both come from a background of excellence, each in their respective fields. Daher’s decision-makers understood this well. While Cessna has sold more than 2,700 Caravans since 1982, Kodiak has built 278 aircraft in 12 years. Of those Kodiaks in the field, 46% are based in the United States, the rest split mostly between Asia and Africa.

In addition to industrial reasons, there was also an aeronautical reason behind the purchase. Kodiak and TBM target hands-on pilots, who often own their planes, and both aircraft have complementary performance and similar handling. Will some pilots buy one of each? Daher sure hopes so. After all, what could be better for a TBM owner who zooms across the United States at 330 knots for an important client meeting to be able to do than meet up with their family on the ranch for weekends with their Kodiak at 175 kt and a huge cargo load? Moreover, the Kodiak will also be of interest to other customers, such as parachute operators, medevac companies, cargo haulers, surveillance organizations and more. The Kodiak can be outfitted with floats, set up for VIPs or even used for military purposes. And it can change layouts pretty quickly, says Daher.

So, what will the Kodiak’s new ownership mean to the development of the plane? Will it be, as some have quipped, “TBM-ized?” Worse things could happen. And it’s probably safe to expect that the Kodiak will at some point get safety, convenience and ease-of-operation systems that are expensive to develop and install. And Daher is in a position to do that. As far as the basic airframe is concerned, the Kodiak gets raves already, though Daher might find things to improve upon there, as well.

Few manufacturers offer two markedly different aircraft such as these: a rough and ready backcountry hauler and a high-speed personal transportation platform. Both airplanes, by the way, are available on Microsoft Flight Simulator 2020, and for a lot less than their real-world price tags of $4.5 million for the TBM 940 and around $2.45 million for the Kodiak. There’s no law that says you can’t have it all. 

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As is the case with mishaps where the cause is not well known or only suspected, the NTSB’s finding of probable cause reads like a description of the accident. That cause, according to investigators, was: “The pilot’s loss of airplane control due to spatial disorientation during final approach, which led to a spiral dive that overstressed the airplane and resulted in an in-flight breakup.” If there were some other reason the pilot lost control other than poor pilot technique, investigators were unable to determine it. In fact, they ruled out every possibility but pilot error.

Unlike in modern commercial airliners, which are required by law to have devices that record the aircraft’s performance and systems parameters as it flies, small planes usually lack sophisticated data collection capabilities. Whereas when investigating the crash of an airliner, with small planes, investigators usually have to piece together other information such as the flight path and ground speed derived from radar/radar-like surveillance systems; the pilot’s fitness to fly as gleaned from toxicology tests; or the condition of the wreckage of the plane, such as the scarring on a propeller, indicating whether the engine was producing power or not.

In this case, the condition of the airplane just instants before the impact was known, as the crash into a small field in a suburban area was captured on a resident’s doorbell cam. That footage showed the Mooney, its wings and part of its tail folded upwards, descending at a very high rate and striking the ground and being destroyed. The crash was unsurvivable. How the pilot managed to lose control of the plane while it was in the clouds is unknown, but it is an all-too common fatal accident scenario.

In this case, there was much that was known, and as soon as the footage emerged, the pilot community reacted. Mooney M20 planes are known for their structural integrity—it is uncommon for a Mooney to experience structural failure in flight. But in this case, that is clearly what happened. The question on many pilots’ minds was, why?

The reasons that aircraft go out of control are many, but one of the deadliest is when the pilot loses awareness of the plane’s attitude and airspeed or for some other reason fails or is unable to correct the loss of control before the planes builds up a lot of speed. Successful recovery from such events, referred to broadly as “upsets,” depends on several factors, including how much altitude there is available to recover, how fast the plane is traveling when the pilot recognizes the loss of control and the technique. In this case, the NTSB said the Mooney was both going far too fast while in a tight, descending turn, known as a spiral dive. 

Once the pilot descended below the clouds—weather reports were that the ceiling was just over 1,000 feet above ground level—and gained visual awareness of the plane’s severe nose-low/high-speed condition, the challenge would have been for the pilot to recover successfully from the upset. In this case, according to the report, it was probably already too late, as the plane was travelling faster than 180 knots (the highest speed called out in the report) and was in a very tight turn.  The NTSB calculated that the plane was subjected to 8 Gs, a point at which it’s possible/likely that occupants would lose consciousness. It is nearly twice the level of G force that the plane is certificated to be able to withstand with some deformation, and it explains why the pilot was unable to recover from the spiral dive, and why the plane’s wings and tail folded. You can read the NTSB report on the crash here.

Fatal crash of Mooney in Minnesota bizaare and baffling

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