Most of us would probably admit that we have done this. I had this inner dialogue recently and found myself in some rough weather, and thought it was worth sharing some of the lessons that I learned through that experience.

I was living at the time in western Kansas, where (put generously) there is not exactly a “thriving” flight training market. As a student trying to work through my ratings toward a CFI certificate, this was a major inconvenience. As a result, I drove 2½ hours almost every weekend to Wichita to take flight lessons. I had been doing this for some time, and the driving was getting old. So, like any self-respecting pilot who would rather be flying, I elected on the weekend in question to rent a Cessna 172 locally and fly to my flight training, with a stop on the Kansas-Missouri border before I turned back around and landed in Wichita, so that I could count it as my long commercial cross-country.

That scenario in itself was not daunting. I’m comfortable flying through controlled airspace (Wichita is Class C with several Class D airports in the vicinity), and I have flown that particular route a handful of times. As was my habit at the time, I glanced at ForeFlight and looked at the METARs and TAFs, saw that there was a convective outlook just east of Wichita but decided that it would probably be fine because radar didn’t show much popping up, and it looked to me (with all my meteorological expertise) that any weather that did develop would stay east. To top this all off, I reasoned with myself that, if it got gnarly, I had a fresh new instrument rating, and I was flying an airplane with an excellent IFR panel (although no autopilot) and ADS-B In weather data.

Hopefully, you are seeing some of the red flags that I did not identify at the time. For starters, I didn’t get a briefing or look into the weather products with any depth. Additionally, I allowed my desire to fly and get to where I wanted to go influence my decision-making, as I rationalized that I had a capable airplane and an instrument rating. I was flying on a spring afternoon with warm weather, a good amount of humidity, and convective activity predicted. Not a good combination.

I drove out to my local airport, preflighted the airplane, saw that there wasn’t any significant weather between me and my destinations, called for a clearance for practice, and departed into VFR conditions. The first portion of the flight was relatively normal, and all I saw was some cloud buildup in the distance. This did not immediately concern me, as any weather was predicted to remain to the east of my path. As I flew over Wichita, the cloud bases started looking closer to my altitude. In addition, clouds were developing and growing in height all around. Wichita Approach started becoming very busy with flights asking for deviations around the building weather. I found myself in the same predicament and used the FIS-B weather in the panel to look at METARs in the area, knowing this was not the time to have my first real experience with actual IMC conditions.

• READ MORE: Who Is Responsible When a Student Pilot Makes a Mistake?

When I could get a word in edgewise, I requested to amend my flight plan and divert to my final destination. After some questioning from ATC, the deviation was approved, and I was given vectors to that airport. As I approached, I encountered heavy rain and had to dodge several cloud banks. Approach offered a visual or an instrument approach, and I elected to take the visual because the airport I was landing at has just two instrument approaches. The only one I was even close to was a VOR-A approach that would require a high descent rate, not to mention a final approach course that was very close to some of the aforementioned clouds. Thankfully, the visual approach and landing ended up being uneventful, and I got the airplane parked and tied down moments before more heavy rain began.

So what about the lessons learned? I have a few takeaways that have changed the way I plan my flights and make go/no-go decisions:

1. Don’t fall for “get-there-itis.” I could have easily driven to my training that afternoon. This was half get-there-itis and half “I haven’t flown in too long.” I put myself in a situation that could have ended up being much worse than it was because I didn’t consider all the factors that could have influenced me to make a safer decision.

2. Always get the briefing. This could be one from any of the following sources: ForeFlight or another EFB, Flight Service’s website, 1800wxbrief.com, or actually picking up the phone and speaking to a briefer.

3. Get better at interpreting weather products. Weather has always been a weak point for me, but I have never taken the time to really study up on those deficits in my knowledge.

All things considered, this situation never escalated to a serious risk, but it was still a thought-provoking experience and one that I will think of every time I plan a flight.

My future students will get the importance of understanding weather hammered into their minds from day one of flight training. As they say, a good pilot is always learning. 

Editor’s note: This story originally appeared in the JAN/FEB 2024 issue of Plane & Pilot magazine. 

The post Lessons Learned: Do I Really Need a Briefing? appeared first on Plane & Pilot Magazine.

I flew again as a passenger before I fully understood my condition, and staring at the clouds out the Boeing 757 window, I came to a realization that I am only capable of in my most introspective moments: Aviation is not rational. Flight cannot be depicted through an analytical description of the scientific principles discovered by Isaac Newton and Daniel Bernoulli and pioneered by Orville and Wilbur Wright. It cannot even be put down to psychological explanations of a desire to be “above,” or the process of technological advancement.

Without evidence, I believe that flight has fascinated humans since we first left the trees. We have always stared at the birds, longing to join them in the lofty space that, until the last century, belonged to them exclusively. Aviation is a romantic field, populated by romantic minds with a classical bent. Beings that can sit and break down every aspect of the technological wonder that is their mount and spout off the four forces or the hazards of a thunderstorm with ease. But when caught staring at a cloud or asked what makes the tires “squeak” on the runway in an excellent landing, their romanticism comes to the fore.

A good pilot will tell you the procedure. They will know the boldface by heart, the correct method for intercepting a holding pattern. They will complete the emergency checklists diligently and speedily, without missing a step. They will debrief their learners on shoddy techniques and share their ideas for fixing mistakes. A good pilot puts the airplane where it needs to be.

The great pilot knows the reason behind the checklists, techniques, and procedures.

The great pilot flies with an understanding of the aircraft in relation to themself, how they fit into the system that is the aircraft and crew. The learning pilot thinks about the techniques they have been taught, studies the procedures, and memorizes the checklist. They have their own techniques and use the checklist to confirm what they already know—that the system is working together well. Or confirming they missed something, tracking down the elusive feeling of incompleteness, where only the checklist can show your own idiocy.

The great pilot is making decisions throughout every maneuver, between lines of approach, power settings, or precise angles. They always start with known settings and adjust, the same as a student, but the process happens quickly enough to allow for experimentation and constant minor changes that attempt to optimize everything the plane is doing. The great pilot merges with the airplane, and together the single organism finds a way to the destination.

The great instructor will show their learners the joy of flying. They will talk the whole time, telling the until recently landlocked soul the correct pitch and power setting or the right angle of bank to complete the turn in time. They will do it all correctly, and it will look effortless. It will seem as though the airplane is doing what they ask without being told. As a learner, my only thought was, “Why isn’t it that easy when I have the controls?” As an instructor, I realized it was.

I have always maintained that I could teach a monkey to fly. Being a pilot is easy. Pull back, little trees; push forward, big trees. Set the right pitch, power, and bank angle.

Being an aviator, however, you have to experience for yourself. There’s something about flying that can’t be taught. It can only be learned, alone among the clouds. A fascination with the wind, a hunt for more groundspeed. A friendly negotiation with the controller for a straighter line toward the destination or a shorter pattern to the initial approach fix. But one thing above all: self-reliance.

Pilots are typically pictured as the height of arrogance. Zipper-suited sun gods, looking down on everyone, constantly sneering at danger and anyone who tells them no. In my firm opinion, this is not a fair stereotype. Confidence in your skills and belief in yourself are requirements to truly be a great pilot.

To be reliable to yourself, you have to believe, not just that you can do it, but that you are one of the best. When I face that mountain strip or stormy day, I have supreme confidence in my ability to overcome, because if I don’t, the airplane will kill me. One moment of doubt, one look back over my shoulder, and the mountain rears up in the windscreen, the dark rain cloud in the distance swallows me whole.

Yet pilots are also the humblest people out there. Every aviator has read a safety investigation and said, “There but for the grace of the flying gods…” We are the first to admit our mistakes in the debrief, the first to tell a student about the time we messed that up too. Our confidence comes in the moment, approaching every situation with cool, calm, collected self-confidence. I have screwed up before, and I will again, but not this time. This time, I’ll be perfect. Just like I (almost) always am. The attitude isn’t an accessory. It’s a necessity.

Aviation teaches us about the system we are all a part of. My mind, connected to the machine through handles, wires, and pushrods, fits in as a part of the larger whole. Together, I and the craft soaring through the air create a painting, a masterpiece of impressionist beauty. The winds may be against me, Mother Nature may roar to take me into her fold, but my airplane and I will always slip the surly bonds, accomplish our mission, and return braver and wiser. I am not a part of the machine. I am the machine. My brain reaches out tendrils to every part of my craft, guiding me through the updrafts and downdrafts, all to fit into my piece of the picture created by the aviation enterprise, to accomplish my specified goal, even if that is simply to enjoy.

I am an integral part of a network. People, airplanes, radio waves, and weather patterns all flow together like the colors in Vincent Van Gogh’s Starry Night. I make up a critical piece of the painting. The mission brief, the study of the destination and terrain, the preflight, the takeoff, the descent, the debrief, lunch at the airport, the flight home. It is all necessary for the picture to make sense and for the colors to come together. My $100 hamburger is the key.

Or is it an addiction? Is my raving just an outgrowth of my withdrawal, my fear of never getting my fix again? Maybe the romance of aviation is just a cover for a bunch of guys and gals to go out and have their fun, prancing above the average bird.

The effortless glide of a perfect liftoff opens up the heart. The view of a cloud from above, the perfectly executed holding entry, the hurtling (but completely controlled) descent 5 knots below max speed—all of it speaks to a beauty only experience can comprehend. The air-minded person sees flying as necessary for life. They enjoy every moment they’re in the air. They spend irrational amounts of time and money to be there. And they wouldn’t have it any other way.

Editor’s note: This story originally appeared in the JAN/FEB 2024 issue of Plane & Pilot magazine. 

The post Zen and the Art of Airplane Operation appeared first on Plane & Pilot Magazine.

Our lingua aerial is full of strange new terms unrelated to those of other activities that may have been encountered heretofore. “What’s a ‘pitot tube’ or ‘VOR?’” beginners will ask. A “chord line” might logically have something to do with holding strung fish, and a “class,” as pertaining to aircraft and pilots, carries an entirely different meaning than social status or botanical divisions.

Most new immigrants to our world of flight pick up the language rather quickly, acquiring it conversationally from speaking with other pilots and listening to training videos. Even so, they can be misled by over-reliance on casual acquisition. One older pilot at our airport called RNAV (random, or area navigation) “Ray-Nav” instead of “Are-Nav”, infecting a few pilots along the way. And a local CFI always persisted in announcing that he was “backpacking” for departure; we all knew he was back-taxiing on the runway.

So, learners have to rely on correct sources, to get it right. Adopting other pilots’ speech leads to errors like the commonly heard announcement “turning final for runway zero-one,” even though there’s never a zero cipher painted on the runway in this country. ATC would simply clear you land on “runway one.”

I remember, years ago, watching a ground-school presentation of an instructor teaching sectional-chart pilotage navigation. He pointed to a black landmark spot labeled “Cem” and referred to it as “the small town of Cem” without further explanation of its non-living residents. The FAA now prints it out as “Cemetery.”

Airport surroundings are fraught with new terms. The place airplanes are parked can be called “ramp”, “apron” or “tie-downs.” The shed where they are stored is a “hangar”, not a “hanger”, and the propelling fluid is “fuel” not “gas.” And why do we “shoot” a landing, but not a takeoff? We don’t drive the airplane on the ground, we “taxi” it to something called the “run-up area.”

There’s a danger in picking up words without also acquiring their meaning. During the pre-takeoff ritual, learners dutifully check their “mags,” but when asked what they are looking for, they can’t relate the slang for “magneto” to ignition and its potential for misfire. Similarly, they talk of “carb heat” without knowing how a carburetor actually works. Fluency should not be presumptive of understanding.

Commonly used terms sometimes don’t mean what they really say. When we say “it’s VFR” we’re really referring to the weather, which currently meets visual meteorological standards, not the flight rules that apply. “Solo” is obviously the opposite of “dual” (instruction) when student pilots log flight time, but it’s also redundantly counted as “PIC” (pilot-in-command), more properly used as a tie-breaker designation when two or more pilots are on board. A now-archaic term was “supervised solo”, denoting that an instructor was in the loop as well.

An FAA inspector once pointed out to me that I had not really earned a private pilot “license.” The FAA does not give licenses, but “certificates” carrying certain privileges. “This certificate,” he intoned, “only gives you a license to learn.” Thus, the affectation “PPL” acquired from international usage is rather a pointless nomenclature in the U.S.

New aeronautical colloquialisms crop up every now and then, some of which are not really productive. “On the go” is now a popular way to announce that you’re in the midst of a touch-and-go, an intention that you probably already communicated. “Last call” seems to be a good-bye salute, given when you’re departing the area, as if anybody in the bar cares. “Anyone in the area, please advise” remains trendy, official admonitions to the contrary, tempting listeners to respond, “What advice do ya need?”

Most of our misunderstandings during the learning process have limited consequences, and we soon acquire understanding with a bit of practice. Stumbling along the way only results in snickers and sniping from upper-class learners. For my part, I’m still learning new expressions as aviation requires continual upgrading of my communication skills.

The post Learning the Lingo appeared first on Plane & Pilot Magazine.

For the pilot comfortable with basic mechanical tasks and aware of the rules and regulations, this can save time and money. Beyond that, performing basic tasks helps us learn what makes these little birds tick.

In years past, professional pilots spent a significant part of training learning about their airplanes’ inner workings. U.S. Air Force aircraft systems training focused on how each system operated, its location, required pressures, temperatures, and voltages. The training included a field trip to the airplane, usually led by a bright, young maintenance technician who got into the nitty-gritty of how everything worked—and might fail. Each pilot had an opportunity to get their hands greasy, ask questions, and visualize how the jet worked.

The best part of this experience was watching and learning from the amazing airmen and sergeants who maintained these aircraft. Watching how they approached their jobs with skill, patience, and the ever-available technical order as a guide set the example for how quality aircraft maintenance should be performed.

Today, the airframe and powerplant (A&P) field faces a severe staffing shortfall. As a result, your local aviation inspector or mechanic may gladly share with you the proper way to maintain your airplane. And if you are handy and want to get your hands dirty, you could save a few dollars and free up the A&P for more complex jobs. Consulting an expert before you turn a wrench is well worth the time.

So, where do we start?

Step 1: Check Rules and Regulations

The first step is learning what is legal and what is not. Appendix A to Part 43 provides the basic list of 31 tasks (29 tasks if a hot-air balloon is not in your hangar) that an owner-operator may perform. Advisory Circular 43-12A provides additional guidance on applicable do’s and don’ts.

The tasks listed in Part 43 range from simple items such as replacing bulbs, updating databases, and troubleshooting landing light wiring, to more complex items like changing the tires, oil and filter, or servicing hydraulic struts. Some exotic items include replacing side windows, prefabricated fuel lines, and hoses, not including hydraulic lines. Some of these would seem to require a level of expertise beyond what the basic home mechanic might want to attempt. Decide which of these tasks you want to tackle and which are better left to professionals. To answer this question, let’s ask our local A&P for help.

Step 2: Consult Your A&P

Before you open the cowling, it’s a good idea to talk with your A&P and assess the task you want to perform and your basic mechanical skills. For example, if the job is changing an airplane tire for the first time, ask if you can watch them do it on a similar airplane. Unlike cars, airplane tires come complete with inner tubes.

These require careful installation and application of a dry lubricant to prevent pinching. Most GA tires have marks indicating where the tire should be located regarding the valve stem. And, let’s face it, jacking up an airplane is not like jacking up a car. Watching your mechanic and asking questions is a great way to spend an afternoon, and it might help you get the job done right the first time. You may also decide this chore is better left to the A&P—that’s OK too.

• READ MORE: What Does it Take To Become an A&P?

Important safety tip: YouTube provides a trendy way to learn about all sorts of maintenance procedures around the house, car, and even changing airplane tires. However, these videos should be taken with a grain of salt. The YouTube presenter may be an expert—but they may not. If you have questions, ask an A&P.

Step 3: Assess Your Tools

Airplanes require specialized tools. An oil change on an automobile requires a drain pan, an oil filter wrench with a belt on the end, and a socket wrench. Add a funnel and a few quarts of oil, and you are home free. Changing the oil on your trusty Cessna 172 will require a hose for the quick drain (if one is installed), containers for the old oil, an oil filter wrench with a six-sided wrench for the nut, preferably with a torque setting, and a set of safety wire pliers. By the way, getting the safety wire just right is both an art and a science, requiring practice.

Don’t forget a filter-cutting tool to inspect for metal. And then there is the matter of where all that oil goes. In most cars, it just drains into the pan. In most tightly cowled GA aircraft, the filter is mounted at a 90-degree angle to the ground against the firewall. If you fail to catch the oil, it will find its way into every nook and cranny of the engine compartment, and you will be smelling it for a while. Other tasks require special tools as well.

• READ MORE: 5 Attributes of a Top-Notch Maintenance Provider

All landing gear struts are not created equal. Most Cessna nose struts can be inflated with a simple air or nitrogen line (nitrogen is preferred). However, more than a few Piper owners have discovered that once they deflate their main struts to add hydraulic fluid, they need a specialized pump attached to the air or nitrogen line. Each time you move the slide on the pump, the strut inflates a bit. Deflate the strut without a strut pump and it stays deflated. The moral of this story is to find out what specific tools and talents are required before you begin, rather than having to ask the mechanic to rescue you after the fact.

Step 4: Check Your Parts

Airplane parts must be FAA/PMA (FAA parts manufacturer approval) approved, except for homebuilt aircraft. While the $25 PAR 36 LED light on Amazon may seem an exact match for your landing light, its place is on your pickup. The $350 FAA/PMA version is required for your certified airplane.

The manufacturer of the FAA PMA part has subjected it to tests for installation on an aircraft. Parts for a homebuilt plane may look identical and cost hundreds of dollars less, but they are not legal for your type-certificated Cessna, Piper, or Cirrus.

Step 5: Aluminum vs. Steel

Airplanes are constructed of light but strong materials. The aluminum in the cowlings, wings, and fuselage is designed to sustain significant structural loads. However, when a stainless steel screw is overtightened in an aluminum surface, the opportunity to strip the screw threads looms large. Spark plugs are the number one offender on this list. Overtightening or cross-threading a steel spark plug in an aluminum cylinder head is an expensive mistake. Additionally, steel and aluminum behave differently under heating, so an anti-seize compound is applied to keep the two metals from binding and making removal a problem.

Spark plugs, oil filters, and other items come complete with specific torque values to help us find the sweet spot between too loose and the dreaded stripped-thread scenario. Tighten these with care.

Step 6: Logbook and Test Flight

Once the preventive maintenance is complete, a suitable airframe and/or engine logbook entry is required. Your A&P can help you. Your signature and certificate number complete the entry. Before signing, it might be a good idea to consider getting another pilot or mechanic to review your work to ensure you did not miss a step or leave a tool in the airplane.

A short test hop, while not required, makes good sense for many maintenance tasks. However, if you have just spent a long, hot day changing the oil, cleaning spark plugs, or changing a tire, this might not be the best time for a test flight. Go home, get a shower and some chow, and come back in the morning when the air is cool and you are rested. Look for leaks, lost tools, or loose wires, then close the cowling and enjoy the test flight.

The freedom to own and fly our airplanes, and perform preventive maintenance, is really special. Learning what makes our airplanes tick can make us better pilots, save a few bucks, and extend our airplanes’ lives. Spend time with your A&P. Watching these professionals at work, following a few rules of the road, and not being afraid to ask for help will go a long way. And knowing that you performed the work, and took the time to do it properly might make you a more confident, knowledgeable, and competent pilot.

Fly safe!

Editor’s note: This story originally appeared in the Nov/Dec 2023 issue of Plane & Pilot magazine. 

The post Pro Tips for Private Pilots: Care for Your Airplane appeared first on Plane & Pilot Magazine.

In 1939, Franklin Roosevelt was the first sitting president to recognize GA, according to AOPA president Mark Baker. This year also marks the 85th anniversary of AOPA, an organization created to support GA.

The National Celebration of GA Flyover will be broadcast live on AOPA’s YouTube channel.

with commentary from longtime “AOPA Live This Week” host Tom Haines and journalist Miles O’Brien. The pair will be on a rooftop providing commentary as aircraft fly overhead.

Haines noted that he’s spent a good bit of time researching the participant airplanes and was impressed to learn of their rich history.

Logistics

Mike Ginter, AOPA vice president of airports and state advocacy, will serve as the air boss for the event. Ginter said that all the aircraft will be strategically launched from Frederick Municipal Airport (KFDK) in Maryland—the home of AOPA—beginning at 11:30 a.m. EST on May 11.

The aircraft will be expected to fly at 90 knots at an altitude of 1,000 feet, ensuring they are visible from the ground and online.

“The goal is to get aviation outside of the airport fence lines,” Ginter said.

For those who won’t be in D.C., pilots are encouraged to organize watch parties at their airports.

Sixty aircraft, representing 20 different chapters of GA, are scheduled to participate. The aircraft and pilots, most of whom are the aircraft owners, were selected months ago.

Baker will be leading the parade, flying his Beechcraft Staggerwing 17, an aircraft synonymous with the golden age of aviation. The round-engine Staggerwing biplane was one of the first to feature an enclosed cockpit. In the 1930s, it was the choice for executive transport and air racers.

“It’s going to be a special time for AOPA and for general aviation,” Baker said. “What a sight it will be to see the history of general aviation flying over the National Mall, as GA has given this nation so much over the past many decades. AOPA is uniquely positioned to plan this complex event and execute it safely and professionally.”

Among the aircraft planned to appear are a WACO UPF-7, Douglas DC-3, a Grumman Albatross, one of the only two Beechcraft Starships still flying, a Robinson R44, and a Piper M700 Fury certified this year.

The flyover will also feature an appearance by the Titan Aerobatic Team.

Parade Route

Washington has some of the most restricted airspace in the country. More than 11 agencies, including the FAA, air traffic control, TSA, and U.S. Secret Service are coordinating for the event, which will include flight in Prohibited Area P-56. The restricted airspace was created after 9/11.

The route takes the aircraft past the Lincoln Memorial, down Independence Avenue, and past the Washington Monument.

GA, By the Numbers

Parade aircraft were selected to showcase technological advancements in aviation and demonstrate the ways GA has improved its safety records over the years.

According to AOPA, the GA industry enjoys the safest record ever due to better aircraft, navigation systems, flight training, and better, more engaging ways to stay proficient. General aviation aircraft fly more than 26 million flight hours each year, including about 30 million takeoffs and landings.

AOPA officials said they hope the event will help spread the word that general aviation often comes from small towns with small aircraft manufacturing facilities, such as Yakima, Washington; Vacaville, California; and Vero Beach, Florida.

More information on the event, route, and planned aircraft can be found on AOPA’s GA Flyover campaign website.

Editor’s note: This story originally appeared on flyingmag.com.

The post 85 Years of GA to be Celebrated with ‘Parade of Airplanes’ over Washington appeared first on Plane & Pilot Magazine.

In my days as a purveyor of air taxi services, our sales brochure stated the company’s philosophy as “Safety, Comfort, Speed,” ranking a smooth, uneventful flight right behind the primary objective of a safe arrival. We tried our best to avoid turbulent air—dozing passengers meant we were meeting our goal. The rare occasions of inescapable bouncing risked an onset of mal de l’air and redecoration of the cabin interior.

Staying in the smooth starts with timing the trip to evade rough air. Related to such scheduling is a knowledge of turbulence’s origins, so you can better understand the best time to fly. Air in motion can be generated thermally, orographically, and by frontal activity.

• READ MORE: Get A Handle On Turbulence

Thermal turbulence will make its daily arrival as the sun angle increases, heating up the Earth’s surface in an uneven manner to generate rising air currents in some places, while subsiding in others. We can expect rough air by midday and can perhaps avoid it by climbing higher initially, but it will reach inconvenient levels as the day wears on.

Orographic turbulence is influenced by terrain, particularly if the wind flows across a perpendicular ridgeline. The greater the wind speed, the more energetic the turbulence will be. Thermals can also form on the sun-facing slopes. Smart mountain pilots know to conclude their flying by late morning before the winds pick up and undulations form in the stream of moving air. The analogy of mountain turbulence is akin to water flowing down a rocky stream, creating white-water rapids.

Convective weather in an air mass, particularly in frontal zones, doesn’t need to be in the form of full-blown thunderstorms to generate turbulence. Building cumulus is an indicator of energy waiting to roughen up one’s flight, most likely below the cloud base but also inside clouds if you’re in “popeye” IFR conditions, flying in and out of Cu. If there are tall, cotton-ball-shaped clouds, you can expect up and down currents of air to complicate your life.

Unfortunately, passengers frequently want to head for home in the heat of the afternoon, having concluded the morning’s business (or visiting) and eaten lunch on the company dime (or grandma’s table). Unless you can defer departure until the cooling of evening begins, expect upsetting conditions. Pilots, occupied with flight duties, can withstand the continuous pounding, but back-seaters with nothing to do but endure will find it a trial.

Soften the Blows

I’ve found that manual flying, keeping hands and feet clamped to the controls, can deflect some of the minor jolts, sort of like a human yaw damper. Rather than leave the rudder pedals to flail unrestrained, hold them in neutral to prevent “dutch roll” from yaw/roll coupling. Similarly, keep the ailerons and elevator from moving or with a light response to tame minor jolts, which will usually smooth out the ride.

Changing altitudes, usually for a higher one, is a normal response to alleviate a rough ride. If the problem is obvious, evidenced by a cumulus cloud array with flat bottoms and cauliflower tops, you can bet on a smooth ride above the level of the bases. That, of course, presumes you can stay clear of the energetic puffballs, which are rising and writhing on top of the updraft feeding their appetite. Building cumulus has the ability to outclimb a light aircraft, invariably topping out at an altitude exactly wrong for the direction of flight, as determined by FAR 91.159’s hemispheric rule.

Heading down, on the other hand, to stay 500 feet or more below the cloud bases simplifies navigation and improves flight visibility but at the price of unrelenting turbulence. Pulling some power off to slow down may improve the ride or at least alter the intensity of the jolts. It’s a necessity if you’ve allowed the needle to creep up into the yellow arc on the airspeed indicator, which denotes “smooth air only” in accordance with certification standards.

If It’s Really Rough

Slowing to the pilot operating handbook’s maneuvering speed (V_A) is a popular recommendation for handling turbulence, as it assures the airplane’s structure will not fail if a severe gust is encountered because a stall occurs before reaching the certification G-force limit. As the name implies, maneuvering speed is designed to protect the aircraft from the pilot’s overzealous use of the flight controls, not rough air, although it certainly provides a margin of safety in severe conditions. At light weights, however, handling may be compromised by the narrow margin of speed between V_A and V_S.

• READ MORE: The Season Of Turbulence

In extreme turbulence, extending retractable landing gear adds stability and limits speed buildup if control is lost. Just don’t forget that power has to be added to maintain altitude with all the extra drag the gear generates. If in such very rough air, inform ATC that you’re going to need a “block” of altitudes, such as 1,000 feet above and below your assigned level, because you’re unable to maintain level flight without overstressing the airplane. Don’t try to hold an altitude if you are struggling to keep the aircraft right side up. Just aim to fly a level attitude and ride out the turbulence.

Assure the passengers that, bumps and jolts to the contrary, the aircraft can handle much more turbulence than its occupants. Hearing the pilot use phrases like “no problem,” “this is normal,” and “should be getting better soon” helps calm their fears that the wings are about to fall off. Staying silent and staring intently only confirms thoughts that the flight must be in trouble.

When it comes to storm turbulence, avoidance is the key. Stay away from mature thunderstorms by at least 20 miles, bearing in mind that movement of the storm must be taken into account. Heading for open skies behind the storm, as in upwind of its path, is the best policy, minimizing the amount of deviation needed. When considering going through a line of storms, stay aware of continuing development. You don’t want to be caught in a trap of expanding storms on all sides.

The best policy during thunderstorm season is flexibility. Wait out the storms on the ground before departing, and don’t be afraid to deviate to an alternate along your route. Few passengers will complain about the inconvenience of an interrupted trip after having looked out the window at an angry, dark sky and feeling a few blasts of its fury. Even nonflyers can understand that airplanes don’t belong in that environment.

Respect the Wind in the Hills

Mountain turbulence is tied to the winds at ridge level. Calm air down in the valley doesn’t necessarily equate to a smooth ride through the pass. Anything more than 15 knots aloft is definitely a no-go. Take advantage of light winds early in the morning to cross the hills and reach nonmountainous terrain before the midday increase in low-level wind. If paralleling a mountain chain, stay on the side of the valley that is farthest downstream from the wind flow over the ridge. Downdrafts in excess of climb ability may exist on the upwind side, next to the higher terrain, where the wind spills over the high ground and a path of rising air can be found on the opposite side of the valley.

Crossing a ridge while fighting turbulent air requires an extra cushion of altitude, which may avoid the worst of the roughness and give room to escape if you encounter sinking air. Setting up a 45-degree angle for the ridge crossing, instead of meeting it head-on, gives you a 90-degree turn to an escape path instead of a 180-degree turn that might take too long to complete.

Never be ashamed to call it quits or even invent a need to make a pit stop, if the air is just too rough for your passengers—or you. Flying in smooth air, I’ve found, increases cruise speed by at least 5 knots, compared to wallowing along in turbulence. Taking a break freshens up one’s endurance level.

Riding it out is sometimes the only option, but knowing where turbulence comes from and how to minimize its effects can go a long way to enjoying the trip.

Editor’s Note: This story originally appeared in the October 2023 issue of Plane & Pilot magazine. 

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The concept of performing “circuits and bumps,” aka touch-and-goes, was developed to save time during landing practice by eliminating the taxiing portion of a full landing-and-takeoff regimen. In the case of the Boeing, the brakes would be hot at the end of a full-stop landing, perhaps leaving the aircraft unable to handle a rejected takeoff if necessary.

Many flight schools at busy airports are forced to teach with touch-and-goes because exiting the runway means joining the queue and waiting for a break in traffic to take off again. The only full-stop landing comes at the end of the training session unless a trip is made to a nearby quiet airport.

It’s probably better to teach primary students full-stop landings, leaving touch-and-goes for advanced and recurrent training with pilots who have already learned the basics of flying. By experiencing the entire sequence of decelerating to taxi speed, then starting out from a dead stop to experience a complete takeoff, a beginning student becomes more familiar with transitioning between taxiing and flying, requiring fewer landings to acquire proficiency. As long as the taxi-back and departure takes only a minute or two, the time on the ground gives the instructor a moment to critique and teach while the student is less occupied with controlling the airplane.

• READ MORE: In Defense of Young Instructors

Thus, touch-and-goes are necessary but less desirable for initial learning if it’s possible to avoid them. In the cases of commercial pilot training, instrument approach practice, multiengine transition, or checkouts in a new type of plane, there’s no reason not to do touch-and-goes if done properly.

The decision to make the landing a touch-and-go should come in advance, unless required to avoid a hazard. Planning for the touch-and-go means allowing plenty of remaining runway for the run to liftoff and obstacle clearance. Don’t do touch-and-goes on a runway offering less than twice the distance needed for normal operations. Be prepared to make a full-stop landing in case the flaps fail to retract or an engine doesn’t respond.

The mental setup is to expect to have the wheels planted on the pavement within the first 500 feet, then retract flaps (not the landing gear!) to the normal takeoff setting. The nosewheel can be kept airborne or allowed to touch down in a normal manner, depending on the airplane’s proclivities. Apply takeoff power as soon as the flaps are confirmed in motion, establish liftoff attitude at the airspeed used for normal takeoffs, and retrim to a takeoff setting without taking your eyes off the runway. Climb out following the usual departure profile. If at a nontowered airport, make an advisory call like “going around on Runway 6, staying in the pattern” after establishing a stable climb. Saying “on the go” is a little Top-Gunnish.

There’s nothing wrong with a touch-and-go if done correctly and in the right place. Eventually, of course, we’ll always do a full stop.

The post Are Touch-and-Goes Good Practice? appeared first on Plane & Pilot Magazine.

Is it really all that bad? Are most flight instructors wet behind the ears, riding with student pilots to build hours on a fast track to an airline seat?

Are we truly in a cycle of the blind leading the blind, staffed by beginner CFIs now training students after they were themselves taught by young instructors with limited experience? 

I don’t necessarily agree with all the woe-is-us, doom-and-gloom assessments. I started teaching primary flying when I’d been a pilot for only a bit over four years. In that time, I’d accumulated a few hundred hours of flying time, made some venturesome trips, flown a dozen different planes and picked up some wisdom from older aviators. I knew quite a bit more than the ab initio beginners I introduced to flying, and I was willing to share it with them. I think I did a decent job.

It’s unfair to apply a coat of tar to all young CFIs with the broad brush of exalted experience. The fact is, their youth, in the sense of only recently becoming rated, can bequeath certain advantages. Such an instructor can still remember what it was like to enter a cockpit filled with unfamiliar gadgetry titled by strange names, and how fear and physical discomfort sometimes interfered with the wonderment of flight. Such empathy lends itself to reassuring “I know what you’re thinking” conversations.

The just-trained CFI is more likely to be up to date on the latest procedures and requirements, having just taken several check rides in recent memory. Compared with an old set-in-his-ways senior instructor,  that youngster is more likely to know how it’s supposed to be done. Without the hampering of irrelevant experience, such a fresh-face instructor can focus on the way things have to be done today.

Certainly, it’s highly worthwhile to have an experienced instructor evaluate the tyro CFI’s product now and then. That doesn’t mean all the training done by less-experienced CFIs is of lesser quality; a second opinion simply reinforces those hours. After all, to teach, I was once told, the teacher just has to be one chapter ahead of the student.

The important ingredient that’s often missing in today’s mixture is a desire by the CFI to do the best job they can, while they have that opportunity to instill knowledge. If their main motivation is to watch the hour-meter click over, advancing their hire-ability, there will indeed be nothing but box-checking accomplished. Throughout my several careers, I’ve always tried to be the best I could be at whatever I was hired to do, even if that was nothing more than showing up on time. As a CFI, I wanted to advance each student’s knowledge to match my own, sharing what I already knew.

So, if the young CFI has a sincere desire to help someone achieve their dream of flight, and is willing to learn from older instructors and pilots, he or she will produce as good a pilot graduate as an older CFI. It’s not fair to write them off as incompetent just because haven’t logged the first thousand hours.

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This is Pegaso, a European ultralight that expresses a beautiful style we expect from Italy.

Promecc is better known for its low-wing Sparviero, but Pegaso drew many admiring looks at Aero 2023.

Let’s take a deeper look at an aircraft that can help imagine what we’ll see as Mosaic emerges from FAA rule making in the second quarter of 2025.

Promecc Pegaso

Promecc Aerospace specializes in the design and manufacture of European-style ultralight aircraft predominantly using carbon fiber construction. As is more common in Europe, the company behind Pegaso and Sparviero has a larger operation involved in professional aviation.

The company’s first design, Sparviero, which translates to Sparrowhawk in English, was introduced in the early 2000s. This low-wing design evolved into the faster Freccia Anemo (in English: Fast Arrow) that was introduced in 2011, with a new wing design and aerodynamic refinements that produced a cruise speed of 260 kilometers per hour (140 knots) on 100 horsepower.

European aviation journalist Marino Boric, writing for the ByDanJohnson website stated, “Italian ultralight manufacturer Promecc, with deep roots in manufacturing of commercial aviation subassemblies, brought to Aero Friedrichshafen their Pegaso all-composite, sleek, high-wing aircraft, which derives from the low-wing Freccia.

“Pegaso offers now a new, more ergonomic interior and Marino reported it was “ready for series production.” Its access doors are now front-hinged, “making cabin entry much easier.”

The well-established, fast, retractable-gear, low-wing aircraft Freccia, which successfully passed the static load tests for the 600-kilogram (1,320-pound) certification in Germany, was also showcased together with Promecc’s best-priced fixed-gear low-wing.

In addition to the Rotax 912 and Rotax 914 turbo, the newer Freccia RG has the more powerful Rotax 915iS under the cowling. As Marino heard from company owner Mauro Dono at Aero 2022, the event was “terrific good” with several sold aircraft. It was not reported if Promecc plans to add the 915iS or (more increasingly, designers say) Rotax’s newest 160 horsepower 916iS. To my eyes, the Pegaso could easily accommodate the larger engine in its long, spacious nose cowling.

Promecc informed Marino that it contemplated bringing its aircraft to EAA AirVenture Oshkosh. If they do, I can imagine a warm response to this handsome airplane. Of course, pilots always want to know the price and Marino believed Promecc’s were enticing.

Marino reported that the company intends to offer to the U.S. public the full range of aircraft as factory built but also as “price-competitive” kits.

Kit prices in Europe: Sparviero €40.000 ($43,500 at posting), Pegaso €65.000 ($70,800), and Freccia €69.000 ($75,000). The full configuration of these kits was not known as this article went online. However, that much detail is moot until someone offers to represent the aircraft here because builder support from Italy would be challenging.

What may be most interesting is the potential for those relatively modest kit prices to translate into more affordable factory built prices once American representation is secured.

Here’s how Promecc describes the technical qualities of Pegaso:

• The fuselage is made of carbon fiber and resin certified for aviation industry
• The wing spars and every structural support are completely made of carbon fiber
• Painted with two-component polyurethane varnish, very resistant to UV rays
• The undercarriage is strong and flexible and made of composite materials
• The cockpit is spacious, ergonomic with a sporty finish
• Side-by-side ergonomic seats
• The cockpit is yet comfortable setting and offers excellent visibility
• Plexiglass canopy is available in transparent or with blue tint

How would Pegaso perform if Promecc engineers could fit the potent Rotax 916iS? The 160 horsepower engine has many designers planning installation.

With only 100 horsepower, Pegaso can achieve a cruise speed of 255 kilometers per hour (138 knots). Never exceed speed is 300 kilometers per hour (162 knots). Pegaso’s cantilevered wing construction may not allow MOSAIC weight capability (up to approximately 3,000 pounds is expected) but its sleek lines assure it can slip through the air smoothly.

Qualify Pegaso to ASTM standards with Rotax’s potent 916iS and the Italian producer could have a MOSAIC candidate on its hands. Of course, this still leaves the not-trivial challenge of establishing a distribution beachhead in the world’s largest aviation market. That’s an effort yet to be determined.

As Promecc is a producer of professional aviation components, it may be able to manage efficient manufacturing processes and use its size for economies of scale in the purchase of raw materials. Its work with other large producers may give it connections to create U.S. representation.

This combination of attributes could give the Italian company market entry into the world of MOSAIC—and what a beautiful shape it brings to the fleet.

TECHNICAL SPECIFICATIONS:
all data supplied by the manufacturer

Maximum Takeoff Weight — 1,320 pounds
Maneuvering Speed — 98 knots
Stall Speed — 38 knots
Cruise Speed — 119 knots
Takeoff Roll — 490 feet
Landing Distance — 720 feet
Fuel Capacity — 2 wing tanks holding 14.5 gallons each

The post Pegaso: Another Light Sport Airplane You Probably Haven’t Seen appeared first on Plane & Pilot Magazine.

Dating back to the 1929 Women’s Air Derby, famously known as the Powder Puff Derby, this year’s ARC pays homage to the pioneering spirit of aviation legends like Amelia Earhart. The race is the oldest of its kind, a testament to the enduring legacy of women’s air racing in the United States.

• READ MORE: Amelia Earhart’s Enduring Legacy

Air Race Classic president Donna Harris expressed enthusiasm for the upcoming event.

“The ARC Board of Directors and volunteers have been hard at work preparing for our 47th race,” Harris said. “We look forward to celebrating the 95th anniversary of the Women’s Air Derby as we welcome back veteran racers and meet new competitors at our start in Carbondale, Illinois.”

The competition kicks off at Southern Illinois Airport (KMDH), with teams departing at 8 a.m. on June 18, each taking off approximately 60 seconds apart. The race spans intermediate airports in La Porte, Indiana (KPPO); Cadillac, Michigan (KCAD); Newark, Ohio (KVTA); Monee, Illinois (C56); Owatonna, Minnesota (KOWA); Moberly, Missouri (KMBY); Bartlesville, Oklahoma (KBVO); and Dodge City, Kansas (KDDC), allowing for high-speed flybys and strategic pit stops.

One of the unique aspects of the ARC is that teams consist of at least two female pilots flying normally aspirated, piston-powered airplanes in visual meteorological conditions during daylight hours. Pilots must hold at least a private pilot certificate and a minimum of 100 hours as pilot-in-command, with one team member having at least 500 hours as pilot-in-command or a current instrument rating. Additional female teammates may join with a student pilot certificate.

What sets the ARC apart is the handicap system, ensuring a level playing field where teams race against their own best times rather than each other. Strategies revolve around navigating weather conditions and wind patterns to beat their own handicap by the greatest margin.

Official standings will only be determined after the last team crosses the finish line at the terminus in Loveland, Colorado, with the last arrival potentially claiming victory. As airplanes take to the skies, the 47th Air Race Classic promises to showcase the indomitable spirit and skill of women pilots, celebrating a rich history while forging new milestones in aviation.

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