Whether it’s taking place at 400 feet AGL or FL 400, an inflight emergency requires immediate attention, analysis and action. In the first case, the ground is only seconds away; in the latter case, it will take several minutes to descend to safety. Regardless of the time you have available in an emergency scenario, a successful conclusion requires pre-planned coordination of all your resources.

Such planning for emergencies originates with training. If you’ve experienced fire warnings in the simulator, your practiced responses are much more likely to be correct than a haphazard flailing of controls and switches. As much as we dread undergoing “dial a disaster” scenarios in a simulator, they do reinforce correct responses.

Advance planning for emergencies involving loss of capability in vital systems begins with knowing how the various parts of your aircraft are structured. That helps us understand what a failure in a critical system would look like and how a workaround might be conducted. While it’s not possible to anticipate every conceivable emergency event, you can take advantage of systems knowledge to seek out the most likely potential failure modes. Playing such “what if” games can guide your actions in the correct path if there’s ever a loss of functionality.

The choices we make when an unexpected event crops up can make the difference between surviving and perishing. And making a choice to pursue an improved outcome is the essence of piloting. Inaction, by comparison, is in itself a choice, one to abdicate PIC responsibility.

What Was That?

I’ve had four engine failures in my 60 years of flying and a bunch of other malfunctions. From experience, I’ve learned that the “startle factor” causes us to freeze up momentarily when we’re first confronted with an emergency. A sudden noise or shudder jars us out of our mid-flight lethargy, and we begin to realize something is amiss. The order of our thinking then goes: 1. What’s happening? 2. I can’t believe this is happening! 3. Okay, it’s happening, what should I do? 4. Let’s revert to training and take action. 5. What can I do to make the best of the situation? The sooner you can you can speed through the first two or three “startle” stages, the sooner you’ll get down to the realities of coping with the situation.

Unexpected events can turn out to be annoyances, minor emergencies or major catastrophes. An engine problem might be resolved with a throttle, mixture or carb heat adjustment and, if the situation resolves and there’s no further recurrence, that makes it an annoyance, so we might continue on our way. If the problem remains, despite all our efforts, but the engine is still operating, we’re now dealing with a minor emergency; better head for the nearest suitable airport. If flames are seen shooting out of the cowling, the problem has escalated to major status; shut off all fuel to the engine and head down, now! Hopefully, through training and planning, you can handle an unplanned occurrence while it’s in the annoyance stage, before it becomes a full-flown major calamity.

Backing Out

Sometimes the urgent situation is found to be of your own making. What were you doing before the abnormal condition showed up? Your first act should be to reverse that action. Example: You touch down and apply braking, finding that the airplane darts for the side of the runway. Solution: Get off the brakes and apply aggressive nosewheel steering. Most likely, you’ve had a brake failure, so pressing harder on the brakes in a panic will only make the problem worse. Ameliorate the outcome as best you can; you can improve steering by adding aerodynamic pressure to the nosegear and by tapping the good brake gently while countering with full opposite rudder. Be ready to execute a groundloop as you reach the end of the runway, unless the overrun area looks welcoming.

Another example, taken from real life, was a sudden loss of the primary EFIS display when switching on cockpit lighting at dusk. In that case, resetting the panel lights to the previous daytime setting restored the EFIS to full visibility; as it turns out, display brightness was automatically dimmed with lights activation.

Not always is there an instantaneous correlation between control movement and failure or recovery. I once moved a fuel tank’s selector to a different setting, and a moment later we experienced an engine power surge. I quickly reset the selector, and the problem alleviated itself after an anxious few seconds. As it turned out, the selector handle was misaligned, and the valve was not opening as indicated. Again, if you experience a failure after an action, undo the last step you took before proceeding further.

There are sudden failures, and there are slow failures. The latter are insidious, in that we tend to rationalize them into insignificance, to our later regret. Icing accretion begins as a minor performance loss, causing us to suspect an engine management problem, but taking action by adjusting power simply allows the ice to build up further. One should always consider more than one explanation and choose the best, most likely solution first while not ignoring the alternative possibilities or letting them become much worse while pursuing other leads.

The important thing is to take action to alleviate the problem and argue about the details later. On Jan. 14, 2020, Delta Airlines Flight #89 lifted off from Los Angeles International Airport, its two giant turbofans struggling to push it into the air on its away to Shanghai, China. Suddenly, one engine began to exhibit compressor stall, and it was quickly evident that the airplane wasn’t going to the destination that day. The crew took the wisest course of action and requested a return for landing as the recalcitrant engine was brought under control. While most of the media attention that day was focused on the captain’s decision to dump fuel rather than risk an overweight landing, the emergency was apparently handled correctly, under the circumstances. The airplane and its occupants survived to fly again.

Basic Beginnings

With the sometimes-complex systems management required in today’s aircraft, it’s easy to lose track of the basic concepts that make controlled flight possible. If faced with an abnormal aircraft performance indication, place the airplane’s attitude in level or just slightly nose-up position and adjust power accordingly. See if other performance parameters match the expected results from the level-flight attitude. A pitot/static should be obvious from the nonsensical indications.

If tracking a course, indicated mileage should be counting down as you approach a waypoint. If it increases instead, you may have selected the wrong source or tuned a different station. Be especially aware of similarly aligned ILS and VOR transmitters; it’s easy to swap the desired one for the co-located facility, in which case the distance shown begins to make no sense. The lack of an ILS glideslope or localizer indication, when you know you should be established inbound, likely means a basic error of GPS versus ILS mode selection has occurred, or the wrong frequency was input. Always cover the basics first.

In the days of spinning iron gyros, which are not quite gone yet, I often saw pilots I was training attempt to intercept a course with faulty HSI or DG indications, sometimes with failed slaving or ignored precession. “Have you checked the whiskey compass?” I had to ask; most had never considered that old master instrument up in the windscreen, which can still serve as a tie-breaker when conflicting opinions are presented. Again, if in doubt, go back to the most basic data source.

Do you have an engine acting up? The basics of power generation still apply; an engine needs fuel, air and ignition to run. If you’ve got the ignition “on” and the engine is turning, there’s most likely a fuel delivery problem, followed by a restriction in airflow. Knowing your systems’ possible faults, and the way to work around them, should enable you to restore the engine’s health.

Never, Ever Give Up

Control is basic to flight. In an emergency, concentrate on aircraft control, even if the autopilot is being used. Troubleshooting is important but not to the exclusion of staying clear of the rocks and holding a direct course toward a safe airport. Maintaining aircraft control is priority one, even in extreme cases of dire emergency. Crashing out of control seldom ends well. As the late, great fighter pilot Robert A. Hoover put it, “Fly the thing as far into the crash as possible.” Steer for something soft and cheap, my old instructor said.

There’s always something you can do to improve the outcome of an emergency, even if it’s only maintaining control over the flight path. A fire in-flight, probably the most serious imaginable emergency situation, can be put out by starving it of fuel, extinguishing it or shutting off its ignition. Meanwhile, be moving toward a suitable landing spot and prepare all occupants for speedy extrication. If dealing with a flight control malfunction, use whichever axes are still responsive and see if trim adjustment is effective. If faced with a crash scenario, use all available inputs to first avoid face-on collision and then slow the rate of deceleration by seeking progressive impacts. If your plance is equipped with a whole airplane parachute system, follow the manufacturer’s instructions and pull the big red handle.

Emergencies come in all sizes — minor, major and massive. Our job as pilots is to consider all possible eventualities and the ways to deal with them. Then, avoid the paralysis of panic and execute the previously developed plan of action. Always expect the unexpected and be prepared to deal with it.

The post Thinking About Flying Emergencies Before They Happen appeared first on Plane & Pilot Magazine.

Let’s face it. Your logbook has dust on it, and your pilot certificate has rust on it. Your flight review is still current, but you haven’t been flying much lately. Be honest—how long has it been since you’ve done some serious flying? A month or two? Last spring? A year ago?

Passing a flight review doesn’t exactly make you a sharp pilot. A couple of hours of training every two years may satisfy the regulations, but between those endorsements, you must satisfy your own standards of excellence. After all, you have to be pretty sloppy to keep a CFI from signing off a flight review. Rather than accept your deteriorated state, take some steps to hone your skills to a fine edge when you go back into the air after a layoff.

We all know that flying an aircraft is like riding a bicycle; we never really forget how, but we can certainly get out of practice. We might wobble a little when we first pedal off down the street, but after a day or two of relearning, we can turn the handlebars loose and lean around corners, just like the old days. Nevertheless, we’re going to feel uncertain until the rusty skills get some elbow grease.

The problem is not that your brain has forgotten how to fly but your hands have. As a tactile endeavor, manipulating the controls to achieve precision flight takes practice. Don’t be too proud to seek out assistance to rebuild your skills.

You probably know your own airplane, or the one you regularly rent, fairly well. But being familiar with it leads to bad habits, ones you might not even be aware of, so having a trusted CFI watch you go through your rusty renewal will speed up your reacquisition of basic skills while helping you get rid of the bad habits you’ve picked up along the way. Yes, you can teach yourself to fly again, but it’s quicker to do it with help. You won’t know that you skipped over two items on the checklist, but the instructor watching you will, and having it pointed out reinforces your desire to do better.

That said, go flying by yourself as soon as your confidence is reestablished. You can get much more productive skill-building done when flying solo than with the divided attention that is unavoidable with a shared cockpit. If you really want a buddy along, make sure to impose a “sterile cockpit” no-talking procedure at critical moments during the flight.

Sharpening Up

No matter how you decide to get started again after a lengthy layoff, any flying is better than nothing. Dedication to improvement is the key to regaining skills, encouraging growth as a pilot. He who stops trying to get better!soon stops being good. Basic airwork is simply locking onto the correct relationship of attitude and power to achieve a goal. During climbout, for instance, try to seek a nose attitude that will keep the indicated airspeed on an exact number, not a range of acceptable climb speeds. Power is already stable at the climb setting, so it’s simply a matter of trimming to allow a light touch in pitch control. The goal is to stay on target, not by moving the stick fore and aft to direct the ASI needle but by adjusting pitch attitude, so the airspeed rests where it’s desired. Flying the airspeed reading is inherently frustrating because there’s always a second of lag between hand movement and speed change, so you’re always chasing the needle or tape. Instead, fly by attitude, and simply verify the result by glancing at the indicated airspeed once in a while.

Real Straight And Level

Level off by leading the climb rate so that the airplane comes to rest in level flight exactly on the target altitude. Make no power adjustment until airspeed approaches the normal cruise number, at which point you can reduce to cruise power and make the final trim tweak. Do not accept an approximation of a hard altitude; my criteria is to try to keep the altitude within 50 feet, because transponders report altitude to the nearest hundred-foot figure, and I want to imagine my ATC read-out remaining stable. Straying over 50 feet up or down clicks the displayed number to the next higher or lower figure. Once settled in to level cruise, I may tighten up to 25 feet or less of tolerance, just for practice.

Does such slavish concentration on perfect performance inhibit watching for other airplanes? No, because our primary references are outside, if in visual conditions; we only check the altitude briefly, every five seconds or 10 seconds. If the air isn’t stable, of course, we have to allow ourselves brief excursions in up- and down-drafts. Deal with them in the following sequence: use light stick force or trim to effectther a slight change in angle of attack for small corrections, and, then, for larger corrections, adjust power, if necessary, to assist in moving back to the desired altitude. Do not allow airspeed to deviate more than 2 or 3 knots without changing power. Lastly, adjust trim again to restabilize, only after the correction is finished.

Basic Maneuvers

When practicing simple turns, the objective is to keep a target airspeed or altitude while holding a constant bank. Don’t let bank angle wobble; slipping into a steeper-than-desired bank encourages altitude loss, while shallowing out produces a climb. After getting the feel of the aircraft and its level-flight sight picture, make a few circles in a 30-degree bank, then raise the bar by doing some 45-degree banked turns. In these steeper turns, you may need to add a little power to overcome the increased wing loading, unless you can afford to lose airspeed while you’re in the wind-up period. I like to keep the steep turn going for two full circles; I might get lucky for one turn in smooth air, but the second 360 will have to be flown in the first turn’s turbulence, presenting an added challenge. There’s a certain satisfaction in feeling the little bump that comes by hitting one’s wake at rollout on the entry heading, even if we know the wake does settle a bit.

Practicing airspeed changes in level flight provides another challenge. From cruise speed, slow the aircraft to a target slow-flight speed, perhaps 10 knots above a stall indication. Reduce power sufficiently to avoid climbing as you slow down, but stay far enough above idle to keep the rate of deceleration manageable. As you approach the target speed, anticipate the power required to hold level flight and spool up the engine a few knots early. The goal is to be at the same altitude as you were at the beginning, on the same heading, parked precisely in slower flight. You’re juggling three balls in the air at once: airspeed, controlled by pitch changes; altitude, responding to power adjustment; and heading, using rudder to offset torque changes during speed and power changes. Nail the three into immobility. Then, keep using the same control inputs as you recover into level cruise. To add complexity, make configuration changes during the slow-down and speed-up, extending or retracting flaps and gear. That will require making more attitude and power changes to maintain stable flight.

While you’re already slowed down, why not explore a stall or two? If you’re uneasy about putting your airplane into a stall, it’s probably because you’ve avoided practicing a stall-and-recovery sequence for far too long. A certificated airplane, loaded in its normal center of gravity range, is easily recoverable from a simple stall with an altitude loss of 200 feet or less. Given a safe AGL altitude of 2,000 feet or so, decelerate at a 1-knot-per-second rate until the onset of stall buffet or loss-of-control is felt. Beware of yawed flight at this point; the stick or yoke should remain neutral in roll, and rudder pressure should be applied as needed to hold the slip ball in center. Never attempt to stall an airplane while holding a wing up with an uncentered stick. As soon as the stall manifests itself, briskly move the stick forward and stop any turn with opposite rudder. Increasing power minimizes altitude loss, but it’s not the primary means of stall recovery.

Commercial Grade Challenges

Once you’ve regained some skill and are feeling comfortable with the aircraft, doing some lazy eights and chandelles gives a heightened challenge—as long as you continue to seek perfection, not just exhilarate in banking-and-yanking. There are many ways to steer an airplane through these commercial-grade maneuvers, but not all of them are valuable for self-improvement. The intent is to fly them smoothly and with precision, not just to do zooms and wingovers.

The chandelle is simply a 180-degree climbing turn, done while reducing airspeed from entry speed to just above stall, as a means of maximizing altitude gain. Start by rolling into a target maximum bank angle, then pull the nose up, maintaining constant bank while applying full climb power. The G-load applied at pull-up should result in achieving maximum pitch attitude at the 90-degree point; after reaching this point, bank is gradually reduced during another 90 degrees of turn as airspeed dissipates to just above stalling speed. We then recover into level flight without sacrificing any of the hard-won altitude. This will require constant stick-and-rudder adjustment in fine increments as the airplane slows and changes bank angle, with careful timing of the rates of deceleration and heading change. Done well, it’s a satisfying maneuver.

The lazy eight is a constant flow of pitch and roll inputs that place the airplane at specific points over an imaginary recumbent “figure eight” centered on the horizon. For an added challenge, it may be done over a ground line of reference, reaching out to the horizon, that’s aligned into the prevailing wind aloft, providing an axis for the maneuver. Graphically simple, the lazy eight is frustratingly difficult when deliberately flown in a slow, “lazy” manner. Avoid the temptation to slop through a couple of knife-edge wing-overs and call it a lazy eight. While fun, that doesn’t build much skill with an airplane.

Entry to the lazy eight is a simultaneous pull-up and roll-in, timed to reach maximum pitch attitude at a point 45 degrees from the entry heading, airspeed continually decreasing through the 45 degrees of heading change. Bank continues to increase while you lower the nose to reach the horizon at the 90-degree point, then bank is decreased as the nose continues below the horizon to a 135-degree change from entry direction, as the lost airspeed is regained. Roll-out is continued for the next 45 degrees of turn, while the nose is raised to the horizon, reaching wings-level after 180 degrees of heading change, with airspeed and altitude exactly as they were when you entered, crossing the ground-reference axis. Without hesitation, roll-in and pitch-up are begun in the opposite directions, clicking precisely through the 45-, 90-, 135- and 180-degree key positions as before. A well-flown lazy eight is a beautiful sequence of ever-changing control forces. It should be an unhurried maneuver, flown without ever pausing in a stable flight attitude.

Returning To Base

To cap off a great practice session, aim for perfection even in the let-down to the traffic pattern entry. Descent planning involves a simple exchange of energy, sacrificing stored altitude at a rate targeted to reach level flight just prior to entering the traffic pattern. GPS makes this simple, as you can easily determine how many minutes you’ll need to let down from your altitude above the pattern while using a constant rate of descent; I use 500 fpm for unpressurized light airplanes, or 300 fpm if passengers need careful handling.

When the time-to-destination readout approaches the minutes-required figure, walk the power back and nudge the nose into descent attitude; allow extra time for the descent rate to stabilize and, if you want to build up speed to get home quicker, start down a bit earlier in anticipation of increased ground speed. Unless you have an automatic turbocharger wastegate, you’ll need to manage the manifold pressure increase during descent, and you should be ready to slow down if the ride gets rough at lower altitude. If done correctly, you’ll level off and coast into the pattern while slowing to an initial arrival speed, compatible with other planes, without making further power changes.

If you haven’t flown for a significant amount of time, begin by taking an instructor with you, or at least invite an experienced current-in-type pilot to ride along. But then, put in some solo time. Be hard on yourself, seeking elusive perfection but taking satisfaction in any improvement you earn. Like with bicycling, the ability is still there, under layers of rust. All you need is to take up the challenge and get ready to fly again.

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When a prospective pilot walks into our flight school at Sporty’s, one of the most common questions we hear is, “Should I learn to fly with steam gauges or a glass cockpit?” Like most questions in life, there’s no one-size-fits-all answer, but the prevailing wisdom suggests it’s better to start on steam and transition to glass than vice versa.

Is that really true, or is that merely flight instructor inertia? After all, most CFIs learned that way, so it might just “feel right” to them.

Two facts would argue against the conventional wisdom. First, almost every new airplane delivered today, from two-seat taildraggers to 300-seat airliners, has a glass cockpit. The battle in the marketplace seems to have been decided in favor of glass, and it wasn’t even close.

Secondly, glass cockpits are more reliable. There’s an interesting debate about whether they are safer or easier, but they are certainly less prone to failure. A Garmin G1000 has no mechanical gyro to fail, no hose to pop off the back of an instrument, and no directional gyro to precess. This is a big reason why airlines have adopted integrated cockpits so quickly.

For those two reasons, a brand-new pilot who’s pursuing an airline career at a large flight academy should consider starting with a glass cockpit. Since the goal is to get into a regional jet as fast as possible and fly a Boeing or Airbus for the next 30 years, it’s highly unlikely that the pilot will ever see round dials. Save time, learn good glass cockpit habits from the start, and never look back.

For everyone else—which is the majority of pilots we talk to—I firmly believe that steam gauges are the right answer for initial flight training. This isn’t misplaced nostalgia; if you’re going to fly Cessnas and Pipers for any length of time, it’s absolutely the more practical decision.

Round Dials Aren’t Dead

Most importantly, the oft-cited law of primacy suggests that what we learn first will stick, and that’s critical with instrument interpretation and aircraft control. If your first exposure to the airspeed indicator is a self-contained instrument with a needle that moves in a clock-like manner, you’re much more likely to understand exactly what that dial means. One instrument, one job. From there, you can move around to the rest of the six-pack and learn how the attitude indicator works, how the altimeter works, etc. By breaking the panel apart, it’s easier to learn how the different systems are related, and how they aren’t.

This building-block approach usually leads to a more complete understanding of not simply aircraft instruments but also how control inputs cause changes in instrument readings. Instead of getting caught up in software features, you can focus on the broad principles. Pitch for airspeed, you say? It sounds counterintuitive to most new pilots, but by covering up the other instruments and watching only the airspeed indicator, it’s fairly simple to see how the airspeed increases as you pitch down. I can still hear my primary instructor saying, “The yoke is connected to the airspeed indicator; pull back and you’ll pull the airspeed indicator up.”

There’s also value in learning how to create your own mental model of the airplane’s position and energy state: A glass cockpit tells you the answer, but steam gauges force you to think first. You’re really learning the skill of situational awareness before you even know what that means. One example is trend lines, those little pink marks found on the airspeed and altitude tapes of most glass cockpits. They’re incredibly helpful for detecting what the airspeed will be in six seconds, but with a traditional panel, the pilot has to calculate them. With a quick glance at the airspeed indicator, you can get a good idea of how quickly the airspeed is decaying by simply noting the speed at which the needle moves. This is a great skill to learn on your own before the panel starts offering a shortcut.

Of course, learning on round dials doesn’t mean you can’t ever switch to a glass cockpit. Far from it—because a steam gauge cockpit offers less information, the transition to those colorful screens is almost always easier than the other way around. Sure, there are some new buttons to learn and a few nuances of tapes to figure out, but the essentials are unchanged from an older cockpit. You’re simply adding some information, which is usually helpful or at the very least can be ignored. There’s also usually less to do, whether it’s watching a vacuum gauge or resetting the directional gyro. Glass cockpits can be easier if you approach them the right way.

But the debate about which transition is easier misses a crucial point: Round-dial airplanes are still far more common than glass-cockpit airplanes. Roughly 5,500 new piston airplanes have been delivered over the last five years; in 1978 alone, over 17,000 were delivered. Even if you assume every one of those new airplanes since 2014 came with a glass cockpit, it will take decades for the general aviation fleet to reach majority-glass status. One way to think about this dynamic is to compare airplanes with cars. It’s fun to learn to drive stick, perhaps for bragging rights or for that muscle car you dream of, but it’s pretty unlikely your next rental car will have a manual transmission. With airplanes, on the other hand, your next rental airplane or flying club airplane is highly likely to have at least some round dials in it.

Don’t Make It Harder Than It Needs To Be

Having made my case for learning “the old school way,” I’ll now suggest that most pilots should actually worry a lot less about this question than they currently do. After all, does it matter whether you learn to fly in a high-wing or a low-wing airplane? I don’t think so. There might be a few differences, especially in terms of ground effect or fuel systems, but the essential lessons are the same whether you trained in a 172 or a Warrior, and most pilots quickly transition to whatever airplane comes next. The same is true for avionics.

One reason this debate isn’t as important as it once was is that avionics have evolved. When the G1000 was first released in 2004, the choice was often between a fully integrated glass cockpit with terrain alerts and an autopilot, and a six-pack panel with Cessna 300 radios. Nowadays, it’s very common to see a hybrid cockpit, with a few round dials but a digital screen in place of the attitude indicator and/or DG. Is a 1975 Cessna with two Garmin G5s a glass cockpit? What if you add a color touchscreen GPS with terrain alerts, ADS-B In and digital charts? It’s not so black-and-white.

For this reason, I think it’s better to talk in terms of “integrated cockpits” rather than “glass cockpits.” The real transition challenges seem to come from those vertical tapes and a single primary flight display with dozens of features built-in, not the AHRS or the color screen found on smaller units and integrated systems alike.

Even among full glass-cockpit airplanes, not all systems are the same. Some of today’s second- and third-generation panels are noticeably easier to use than the original models, with touchscreens and dedicated control keypads instead of dozens of ambiguous soft keys and deep menus. An original G1000 compared to a new G3000 can feel like Windows 95 compared to iOS 13, even though they both fall under the same heading.

All these minor distinctions argue for a step-by-step approach to aircraft transitions, whether it’s the engine, the landing gear or the avionics that change. Start simple, then move up to more sophisticated equipment as your experience, mission and budget dictate. As you move up, make sure to add new capabilities slowly.

For example, the first time you fly a fully integrated glass cockpit, you would be wise do it with the synthetic vision turned off and without the benefit of a flight director. If the PFD allows you to split the screen, resist the urge and start out with a single, full-screen view to keep things simple. Focus on learning the presentation of the instruments and get a feel for what “normal” looks like in various phases of flight. The law of primacy is in effect here again, so make sure your first few flights on the new avionics focus on the essential lessons and the most important features.

As you get comfortable with the new avionics, slowly turn on features. Each time you do this, be deliberate about it and spend some time learning what the screen is saying. Do you know exactly what the trend lines are saying? Do you know the failure modes of that new software feature? Do you know how to get back to the essential attitude indicator screen if you get lost in menus? Until you can answer all of these questions, you shouldn’t move on to more advanced features.

I’m not suggesting you ignore the flight director or autopilot (if equipped). Quite the opposite: A good autopilot and a pilot-in-command who knows how to use it make for a powerful combination. Just make sure you’re still in command when you push the AP button.

The essential skills for flying remain almost entirely unchanged since the time of Charles Lindbergh—maintain positive control of the airplane, know where you are, and be prepared for what might come next. None of those priorities should be different just because you’re flying with an integrated glass cockpit.

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Bringing a speeding airborne airplane to a halt seems a simple enough process. Just plop it onto the runway, push on the brakes, and wait for it to slow down. If only it could be that simple. Alas, as with all things aeronautical, there’s a little more to it than that.

Early in my career, stopping wasn’t much of an issue. Our grass runways provided a certain amount of automatic deceleration, from the brushing effect of turf against tire, and the light trainer airplanes of the day landed at a slow pace to begin with, and their minuscule weight and substantial aerodynamic drag worked together to limit the braking required to reach taxi speed. (Then again, persuading the low-powered airplane to take off was a different story, though a subject for a dfferent article, as well.)

As we graduate into larger, heavier, faster aircraft, there reaches a point at which the takeoff and landing distances quoted in the pilot’s handbook begin to equalize. Soon, we find the total distance required to approach and land over a 50-foot obstacle sometimes nears the length of a typical small-town runway. No longer can we safely assume all will be well. Now, we’re forced to consider technique as part of the way to safely stop an airplane.

Brains Before Brakes

It sounds odd to say that braking begins well before the wheels touch the tarmac, but it’s true. The process needs to begin with stabilizing the landing approach so as to arrive in the zone between runway numbers and fixed-distance markers, not with the stall horn blaring with only a safe margin over stall. By doing this, the touchdown can take place with plenty of runway left ahead of, rather than behind, the airplane.

Two issues often crop up that prevent this from happening in normal operation. One is a tendency to use a single, familiar-approach airspeed for every landing: long runway or short field, heavy weight or light load, gusting or calm winds, partial or full flaps. Instead, we should give thought to what approach speed is actually needed and modify it to suit the day’s conditions.

The other issue isn’t even knowing what the handbook says about achieving optimum landing performance. During our checkout, someone probably told us, “Bring her in at 80 or so,” which we henceforth faithfully attempted to do, perhaps with a few extra knots “just to be safe.” Don’t want to stall out, ya know. You really need to consult the Normal Procedures section of your POH to see what the manufacturer recommends, and look at the landing tables in the Performance section, where you’ll find the approach airspeed that was used to develop the numbers.

You may be shocked to find that the builder of your aircraft used speeds considerably lower than your normal arrival figure. Yes, it’s true that those landing distance numbers were predicated on a new plane with fresh tires and brakes, flown by a test pilot who knew how to get the most out of them. But that doesn’t mean you should be using twice or more of the published landing distance in order to get stopped. Most likely, you’re flying down final too fast, in many cases much too fast.

Enough But Not Too Much

For certification, the FAA and its predecessor agencies have long relied on 1.3 times landing-configuration stall speed as sufficient airspeed to make an easily controllable landing in light airplanes. The problem is, pilots frequently confuse calibrated airspeed with indicated speed. Just because your airplane shows 45 knots when it stalls with flaps down doesn’t mean it’s really flying that slowly. An IAS vs. CAS table, if one exists in your POH, can show the effect of position error on the airspeed indicator’s reading at high angles of attack, which is the reason for the recent surge in interest in AOA indicators. Nevertheless, an airspeed indicator can be used for repeatable performance, as long as conditions, configuration and weight do not change. Take the calibrated stall speed, add 30% and then see what the correction table says the indicated airspeed will be as you fly at 1.3 Vso, or that calibrated stall speed plus 30%.

Of course, an on-target approach speed doesn’t mean you’re going to land at that pace, right at the end of the descent. The purpose of flying at 1.3 times stall is to maintain enough reserve energy in the aircraft to carry the slight increase in weight that comes from G-loading as you flare from descent into level flight and to keep a safe margin over stall during the clean-up if you have to execute a last-second go-around. Gusts and wind shear also have to be accounted for in approach planning. Even so, you need to know what IAS will keep you safe and only carry that number across the approach lights, no more.

Crosswind operation has an effect on stopping distances, in that the benefit of an all-headwind component is lost and braking is slightly compromised if good controls application isn’t maintained. In most cases, the effect is minor, but pilots may be tempted to use extra speed for their approach because they think it’s required for added control during the crosswind landing. Don’t pad the numbers excessively just because a crosswind is present. Most importantly, factor the tailwind or headwind effect into your base leg planning, which can cause you to wind up higher or lower than you might normally be when you roll out onto final. Many a bad landing started with sloppy speed control on base.

Once the correct approach speed is in hand, be sure you’re flying toward a spot in the first part of the runway, not halfway down it. During a stable approach, there will be a motionless spot, hopefully on the first part of the runway, toward which you’re traveling. Look for that paint or tire-mark aiming point to stay steady in your windshield as all other bits of scenery move downward, under the nose, or upward, toward the top of the windscreen. This motionless point is not where you’re going to touch down, unless you’ve been trained to land on an aircraft carrier, because there will be a flareout and float during hold-off that will consume a few hundred feet of runway. Aim for the numbers, but don’t expect to land on them.

All kinetic energy you carry into the flare has to be dissipated in order to stop, so don’t be too casual in getting rid of it. Make sure you’ve brought the throttle(s) to idle as you level off, and get rid of any excess airspeed before you descend into ground effect, the drag-reducing layer of air that extends about one wingspan above the runway. Don’t try to “plant” the wheels to get on the brakes quickly, just allow the plane to land normally, dissipating speed to assure that weight will immediately begin transferring to the wheels.

Down And Rolling

From touchdown on, the runway surface condition plays a big role in your ability to slow the aircraft. If the pavement is really wet, hydroplaning is a definite risk; the tires will “surf” on a layer of water rather than spin up, providing no braking. To minimize hydroplaning, touch down at slow speed with a firm “dropped in” contact force, which breaks through the water to achieve spin-up.

On a dry runway, apply maximum braking as soon as full weight is on the wheels. Many flight manuals recommend raising flaps right after touchdown to remove residual lift. This carries the risk of inadvertent landing gear retraction, which certainly slows the airplane quickly but requires a lot of power to taxi. Rather than suck the flaps up, I prefer to leave them extended for aerodynamic braking and hold the yoke back to elevate the nose strut, keeping the wings, tail and fuselage at an angle that adds drag during the rollout. This technique will vary depending on the plane you fly.

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If you’ve battled a crosswind to arrive one-wing-low, beware of immediate braking; make sure the downwind wheel is firmly in contact with the pavement. Don’t brake hard enough to lock up the tires—tires are expensive, and that squeak you hear on landing is the sound of money leaking out of your bank account. Instead, stand on the pedals firmly and hold the pressure. Pumping the brakes “for cooling” only lessens overall speed reduction and results in a jerky arrival for your passengers. So apply and hold brake pressure, especially early in the rollout, for the most effective stopping. Don’t wait until the red lenses of the runway end lights loom in the windshield to make a panic stop. Brake early and continuously. Don’t be too gentle either. Use the brakes. That’s what they’re for.

Air traffic controllers seem to be ever more prone to issue commands to exit at specific taxiways or seek a response about parking while we’re still in the early stages of a landing rollout. If you aren’t able to comply, respond with “Unable” right away and deal with control of the aircraft first. If you were issued a “Land and Hold Short” landing clearance, you are expected to carry it out because you accepted it as issued. The time to refuse a LAHSO is when it’s first brought up, not after you’re on the rollout.

Can you match the rollout figure shown in your POH? Maybe, if your equipment is in good shape, but you probably don’t want to abuse your wheels, brakes and tires just to prove a point. Most of the benefit of short-landing performance is gained by a stable, slow, on-target approach and touchdown. Once down, braking finishes the job.

The post How To Use Your Plane’s Brakes appeared first on Plane & Pilot Magazine.

Master instructor Tom Turner nailed it during a presentation he gave, saying, “You need to work just as hard to be a pilot as you did to become a pilot.”

So true…and so not what we want to hear.

IFR proficiency—and I’m talking about proficiency, not just FAR currency—requires regular exercise. The enemy of exercise isn’t time, money or even desire. It’s boredom. Pilots left to practice IFR easily slip into a rut of practicing the same approaches to the same airports with the same buddy (before stopping at the same airport diner for the same chicken salad club). This degrades into not practicing enough to have a “same.”  Sound familiar? Don’t feel bad; you’re not alone.

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Honestly, the best regular exercise programs need some component of simulation, but put that aside for the moment. You can make IFR exercise more interesting and effective whether it’s a sim or a real aircraft. Here are several tricks that I’ve seen work wonders.

1. Make it a date.

Set a recurring day, say the second Saturday of each month, where you and a friend or two go bore holes in the IFR system. Three people are better because two get to watch while one flies, and the game is still on if one of the gang has to take a day off. If it’s a non-flyable day, meet anyway. Pull out approaches from other parts of the country to chair-fly or fly on a sim.

2. Have a focus.

Each time you go out, have one thing that’s the core practice for the day. Maybe today it’s partial-panel approaches with an ILS or LPV. That’s all you do. You get to focus on that specific skill and dial it in. Stick with items that make sense in the real world. If you were really partial-panel, you’d almost certainly find an ILS or LPV, so practicing partial panel without vertical guidance isn’t realistic after the check ride. That’s unless your PFD is your only display for vertical guidance, and without it you must fly non-precision. In that case, partial panel and non-precision would be a great thing to practice.

3. Request the option and be ready to land.

Rather than ending every approach with a missed approach, let your safety pilot call it at the last possible moment. That could be 200 feet AGL on a short, short final, or it could be a reasonable visual descent point for non-precision approach. The safety pilot decides if you’ll land or fly the missed approach, and you must be ready for either.

This means you must be capable of landing, which demands an aircraft that’s on speed and configured. You may have to fly a more difficult approach or fly to circling minimums and circle to align with the real landing runway. Circling is a great skill even if you’d only use it with high ceilings and in daylight. Circle at pattern altitude if you want, but practice maneuvering to land somewhere other than straight in.

4. Remove one thing.

This could be a focus topic or something your safety pilot tosses in at random. Just lose one tool at your disposal and see what it does to your process. It could be the iPad, your second radio, electric trim, the MFD, flaps, etc. But just one thing. A variant on that could be losing one part of the approach system at the last minute: no glideslope, no GPS position, only having the approach with a tailwind available. The key is you don’t know what or when until it happens.

Here’s a tip: Many GPS systems have the option in their Aux pages to turn off SBAS, which disables WAAS. If you can do that secretly without the other pilot noticing (maybe while he or she is preflighting), you can watch the surprise and distraction that comes when that LPV approach downgrades and no glidepath appears. Just remember to turn it back on later.

5. Practice automation reversions.

The standard response to an autopilot doing something “unexpected” is to turn it off entirely. This is a terrible habit. You’ve just dramatically increased pilot workload at the exact moment when half your brain cycles have been hijacked, wondering why the airplane turned left when you expected it to turn right. And you probably have a final approach segment to fly. The best way to handle an autopilot that’s not turning the right way or descending as planned is to step down the automation one level. Go from nav mode and vertical nav to heading mode and simple vertical speed.

To do that competently and in the heat of battle, you must practice it. So don’t just hand-fly approaches or use the autopilot. Also practice flying an approach with just the heading bug and a basic vertical mode, like vertical speed or airspeed hold. Also try hand-flying following your flight director, if equipped. Using the “one-thing” rule from above, the first time you try this, fly the exact same approach two or three times in a row using different methods of autopilot or guidance reversion. Your focus is technique more than the approach.

6. Edit flight plans on the fly.

You should reload approaches, add or remove course reversals, and know exactly which leg to activate to get the results you want. Often this comes up in practice naturally. One useful way to make it happen is to fly approaches where the missed approach holding point of one approach is at the same fix with the hold-in-lieu-of-procedure turn for the other. You have to load an approach while flying a hold that has exactly the same hold for the next approach.

7. Divert and start a timer.

Situational awareness should include a backup airport you can divert to if needed. Have your safety pilot call for the diversion and start a timer. How quickly can you get on the ground with an approach? Even in densely populated areas, less than 30 minutes is surprisingly doable.

8. Place a bet.

Want to really make practice count? Rate the approaches and have the loser buy lunch. Or the avgas. Believe me, you’ll try harder. The safety pilot must watch for traffic, but with an iPad or even a cell phone camera, that safety pilot can grab screenshots for proof. Ideally, the screenshot would show speed and altitude as well as position. Foreflight recording or the app CloudAhoy make perfect tools for this.

9. Debrief.

I’m as guilty of this with my own practice as anyone else, but as an instructor I know the debrief is as important as the flight itself. Take notes on the other pilot’s flight and have that pilot take notes for you. Use those screenshots as you discuss what happened while you enjoy that lunch one of you had to buy. Or over beer.

Having the right safety pilot is key. You want someone who’s not only legal for it but also knows your airplane and avionics well enough to give feedback on how you did. If you’re swapping approaches, knowing the equipment is required.

The pilot flying does all the routine communicating with ATC, but it’s helpful to have the safety pilot plan ahead for your next approach request and be responsible for those requests. A good safety pilot can think ahead and ask for things like alternate missed approach instructions that get you going in the right direction for the next approach, or ask ATC for an impromptu hold or delay vectors to give you a moment to regroup if things start to fall apart. 

You also want someone you get along with…and who won’t gloat too much when you have to pick up the tab. 

The post Nine Tips And Tricks For Staying IFR Proficient appeared first on Plane & Pilot Magazine.

It was a rare sunny February day in Seattle. Between the long months of gray and rain starting sometime in October and ending somewhere in May, there was one day on the weather app showing a sun symbol, and that was my instrument check ride day. As the date got closer, I figured I was just lucky to have a perfect VMC day and not to have to reschedule the check ride like many others in the Pacific Northwest this time of year. So, what could go wrong?

I had started my instrument rating training a few months earlier, immediately after earning my private pilot license, in fact. I had always considered the instrument rating an important tool for any pilot, and I wanted to earn the rating as soon as possible. It opens new possibilities for flying when the weather is less than perfect, increases pilot confidence flying in controlled airspace, and can help in weather-related emergencies. 

The flight school I attended was based out of Renton Municipal (KRNT), which is a Class Delta airfield tucked under the Seattle-Tacoma Bravo airspace. Understanding the complex airspace in that region and proper radio communication with ATC is extremely important.

Come Prepared, Assume Nothing

I have a tendency to over-study for such tests. I always believe that the one thing you can control in any event, meeting, test or presentation is how well you prepare. In my professional career, which unfortunately doesn’t involve flying, I’ve had my share of executive reviews, presentations to thousands of people and critical customer meetings.

Over time, I developed the habit of allocating enough time to prepare properly. A day before an important presentation in a conference, I lock myself in my hotel room and rehearse the presentation word by word, over and over. This event was no different. Prior to the check ride, I took some time off from work, properly reviewed regulations and weather theory, and squeezed in a couple of practice flights. The night before I printed all the relevant weather maps, prepared the weight and balance sheet, and again went over the planned nav-log that the designated pilot examiner (DPE) asked me to prepare for the check ride.

The atmosphere was relaxed as we started going through the formalities of the check ride, and I felt pretty good about the day. Both the DPE and I know each other from the private pilot practical exam I had taken a year prior. I knew she was fair but would hold me to the letter of the Airman Certification Standards (ACS).

The ground portion of the check ride was a breeze. We went through regulations and emergencies, evaluated the cross-country flight plan and weather, and, after about an hour, completed the ground portion, all with no squawks. We covered pretty much all sections of the ground portion of the ACS, and we were ready to start the practical portion.

Here’s where things started going sideways. During my training and just prior to the practical test, my instructor and I flew a few profiles that are often used for instrument check rides in the Seattle area. Here’s how the profile goes: “Shoot” the ILS 17 in Tacoma (KTIW), go missed and then fly to the published hold, brief the next approach, shoot the LOC 17 to Tacoma, go missed and then shoot the GPS 35 circle-to-land 17. Because the winter weather in Seattle normally calls for southern flow, the profile mostly works very well. You can shoot your precision and non-precision approaches toward the south and complete the check ride in under 1.4 Hobbs. That all works well, until the only clear day in Seattle in February calls for a northern flow.

Practice Makes Perfect, Until!

The DPE asked me to file a flight plan I had never flown before: Take off to the north from Renton, hold as published at the SCENN waypoint; from there, request the LOC 17 approach to Tacoma circle-to-land runway 35 and then go missed. After that, request the GPS 35 LPV approach in Tacoma (which is considered a precision approach) and then the GPS 35 LNAV approach to the MDA and go missed.

Realizing this was a new profile and wanting to make sure I didn’t run into unknowns while flying at 140kts, I instinctively started running the flow through my head. How should I enter the hold from the direction we would be approaching SCENN from? What autopilot settings should I use for the hold? How should I brief the approaches, and what would I need to request from Seattle Approach? I didn’t plan the next two things—I planned the next 10 things.

For the southern-flow profile, I practiced the IFR clearance, autopilot programing. The briefing from and communication with Seattle Approach are pretty standard for the short 13-minute hop from Renton to Tacoma. Once you know the button sequence by heart, what the controller will say next, and the next two things you have to do, flying the profile is no big deal. You just have to focus on the readbacks, not violating the ACS standards and paying attention to what the DPE asks of you. Now, with the new flight plan, with no presets, I had to rely on my training to figure out a new routing on the fly.

During my training, Mark, the CFII I was flying with, and I would do what I called “approach hopping” between the many airports in the Puget Sound. We would fly the ILS at Paine Field to a Localizer in Arlington. Or we would shoot the ILS in Port Angeles to a circle-to-land in JeffCo, or an ILS to Tacoma and from there an ILS to Olympia, and so on. Since all the airports are really close to each other, I became proficient at programming the navigator and briefing the approaches. It’s a skill that you don’t often need in real-life IFR flying, when you usually have to program and brief a single approach at a time. But it’s a skill that could prove helpful later on.

The Flying Part

After the oral was done, I filed the flight plan, took a 10-minute break, and then headed to the plane, a very nice 2017 Cirrus SR20 G6. I walked around the plane doing the preflight and verbalizing what I was doing as the DPE walked next to me, before we climbed in. I went through the start sequence, and the 215-hp Lycoming was well behaved and started on the first try. I called ground and got the clearance; “Cleared to the Tacoma airport, BELVU4 SID, then as filed. Expect 4000, 5 min. after departure, Freq!” Over time, I’ve developed the habit of writing everything down, which really helped me build my confidence communicating with ATC, probably the biggest challenge in transitioning from VFR to IFR flying.

As we were holding short waiting for our release, I noticed that the pattern was full. This is normally what happens in Seattle on the rare occurrence of a sunny day in February—everyone plays hooky and goes flying. I figured we would see the same at Tacoma, and I started getting nervous that even though I mentioned in the flight plan remarks that this was an “FAA check ride,” the heavy traffic might preclude from being as accommodating as it normally is, like letting me shoot approaches in the opposite direction to the flow of traffic.

After takeoff, the controller vectored us around the SeaTac Bravo airspace and toward Tacoma. I pulled the throttle back to 50% power to slow us down a bit. Things can move pretty fast in a Cirrus, and I wanted to buy myself as much time as possible and not end up behind the airplane. I kept running through my head “the next two things” I have to do (thank you, Rod Machado) and made sure I knew what would be the required airplane and autopilot configuration and exactly what buttons I would need to press.

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The hold entry at SCENN was smooth; I went through the 5 T’s (turn, time, twist, throttle, talk) and made the proper calls. Once established in the hold, I made the request for the LOC 17 circle-to-land runway 35 approach at Tacoma and started briefing the approach during the hold. After a few moments, the controller (who obviously missed or chose to ignore or really couldn’t accommodate the “FAA check ride” remarks on the flight plan) came back with, “Unable, say intentions,” and asked what we wanted to do next. Without hesitation, the DPE changed our check ride plan—“Let’s do the Loc 20 circle-to-land 02 approach at Bremerton, then we can go back to Tacoma for the rest.” I made the request with Seattle Approach and started going through my flow—GPS flight plan updated, pulled the required approach plates on my iPad and went through the briefing. I knew I needed a bit more time to complete the transition from Tacoma to Bremerton and let ATC know I would be doing a couple more turns in the hold. Did I mention I can slow down time? I felt in the zone and took the time to do everything right. I knew exactly what I needed to do, and although I had never flown this profile, it didn’t matter.

What Else Could Possibly Go Wrong?

As we were heading toward Bremerton, I heard the controller trying to contact a Cherokee on an IFR plan that apparently forgot to cancel the flight plan after landing at Bremerton, which is a non-controlled airport. After few unsuccessful calls, the controller called me and asked to see if we could relay the request to close the flight plan. I acknowledged and told him I’d go off-channel to make the call. After a few unsuccessful attempts, I tuned back to Seattle Approach and notified the controller we were unable to contact the Cherokee as well. The controller informed us that unless the pilot called to close the flight plan soon, he wouldn’t be able to clear us for the approach in Bremerton. “This can’t be happening,” I told myself. “I guess it’s not meant to be.” Indeed, after few minutes, the controller came back letting us know he couldn’t clear us to Bremerton and asked what we wanted to do next.

At this point, the DPE and I were smiling at each other. “What else are they going to throw at us today?” I laughed, and she also admitted this was one special check ride. I asked the controller to vector us again for Tacoma, hoping we could complete our approaches there first and then go back to do the circle-to-land at Bremerton. Again, I started going through the flow—GPS flight plan updated, correct approach plates up and briefed.

 In retrospect, I could tell that Mark didn’t prepare me for the check ride but, far better, prepared me to be a good instrument pilot in any environment or scenario.

Then, after exactly two minutes, the controller came back: “Hey, Cirrus 123ZM, Bremerton is open now. Do you want to continue to Tacoma or back to Bremerton?” Before I even turned my head to the DPE she asked me to go back to Bremerton. I let ATC know, and as they were vectoring us back, I went through my flow again—GPS FPL, Approach briefing. Did I mention that having a full QWERTY keyboard on the Cirrus is a blessing? This time we were able to finally complete the approach. I stayed above MDA, made a nice touch-and-go on the circle-to-land and went missed. From there, the rest of the check ride was event-free. I was finally able to complete the two approaches in Tacoma and returned to Renton VFR.

After landing and taxiing back, I started getting nervous. The DPE was sitting quietly next to me, not saying a thing.

I wondered to myself, “Did I bust an MDA? Fail to follow ATC instructions?” I wasn’t sure what to expect. “So?” I asked. “Did I pass?”

“Oh, yeah, that was a good flight!” she replied with a smile. We pushed the plane back to parking and walked to the FBO to debrief.

As we entered the room, the chief instructor gave me a puzzled look. I gave a big thumbs-up and followed the DPE to complete the check ride debrief. Apparently, the chief pilot had followed the flight track online and couldn’t figure out what was going on. Later, I gave them the rundown, and we had a good laugh.

Stop Training For Your Check Ride!

That check ride gave me more confidence in my IFR flying abilities than many of the actual training flights I had done in preparation for it. In retrospect, I could tell that Mark didn’t prepare me for the check ride but, far better, prepared me to be a good instrument pilot in any environment or scenario.

Mark honestly cared about every element of the training, from the plane to the flight plan. When we were in the air, in a very laid-back demeanor, he would keep me focused on the next two things, let me make my mistakes and point out those small things I would miss. Mark is a true craftsman and taught me the craft of flying IFR. And I almost missed it.

I was so focused on the check ride, working the hoped-for profile over and over in my head to make sure I’d get everything perfect, that somewhere along the way I missed the point that the idea wasn’t to train for the check ride but to be a confident, proficient instrument pilot.

Thanks, Mark.

The post This Pilot Almost Missed The Real Training appeared first on Plane & Pilot Magazine.

What is maneuvering speed, and why should you care?

Perhaps more importantly, what should you know to maximize your flying safety?

The widely accepted definition of maneuvering speed (Va) is the speed at which an airplane will stall before exceeding its maximum load limit.

But wait!  There’s more!to the story.

Maneuvering speed has been masquerading as the magic speed to protect you from structural damage in turbulence. It’s important, but it’s not the panacea of protection we were trained to believe. Before explaining, however, let’s review maneuvering speed, and how and why it changes with weight.

Airplanes are designed to withstand varying stress loads based on their intended purpose. The FAA certifies aircraft in one of three categories: normal, utility and aerobatic. The maximum load limits for each category are:

  Normal – +3.8Gs and -1.52Gs;

  Utility – +4.4Gs and -1.76Gs;

  Aerobatic – +6Gs and -3Gs.

An aircraft flying straight and level at a constant speed is in a steady state where the aircraft’s lift is equal to its weight. Since G-force is calculated by dividing lift by weight, the load, or G-force, in this condition is equal to one (2,500 lbs. lift/2,500 lbs. weight = 1G). Exactly the same G-force as sitting in the hangar.

If, however, the airplane’s lift doubles, either from a turbulent gust or the pilot pulling back on the elevator, the load on the aircraft doubles (5,000 lbs. lift/2500 lbs. weight = 2Gs).

If lift continues to rise, the load or G-force continues to increase proportionally; i.e., 7,500 pounds of lift would put a 3G load on the aircraft (7,500 lbs. lift/2,500 lbs. weight = 3Gs), and 10,000 pounds of lift would produce 4Gs of load (10,000 lbs. lift/2,500 lbs. weight = 4Gs of load).

Lift increases when the angle of attack (AOA) increases.

AOA is the angle between the chord line and the direction of flight. For general aviation aircraft, there’s a direct, almost one-to-one relationship between lift and AOA until the critical angle of attack is reached.

The critical angle of attack, typically between 15 and 20 degrees in general aviation aircraft, is the AOA that produces the maximum lift. Any increase beyond the critical angle of attack results in a stall.

For the purposes of calculating maneuvering speed in the examples below, we will use a critical angle of attack of 18 degrees. Our examples will assume a linear or one- to-one relationship between lift and angle of attack as the graph below depicts, whereas a doubling of the AOA would produce a doubling of lift.

Assume an airplane at gross weight is flying straight and level at 140 knots. At that weight and speed, this aircraft requires an AOA of 3 degrees to produce sufficient lift to maintain level flight.

If turbulence or manual input increases the AOA from 3 degrees to 6 degrees, the lift doubles and the load factor doubles to 2Gs. The load continues to increase as the AOA increases, until its critical angle of attack of 18 degrees is reached.

Under these conditions, this aircraft’s maximum load would be 6Gs because the AOA was 3 degrees in level flight and could only increase six times before reaching its critical angle of attack of 18 degrees (18 degrees is six times its level cruise AOA of 3 degrees).

As stated previously, the maximum load (G-force) is reached at the critical angle of attack of 18 degrees because any further increase in the AOA would result in a stall, thus eliminating the load altogether.

If the airplane in this example was certified in the normal category with a maximum load of +3.8Gs, it could experience structural damage at this speed in strong turbulence.

In this case, you should slow down because flying slower will require a higher AOA to maintain level flight. A higher AOA in level flight would put you closer to your critical angle of attack. For example, if a slower speed requires an AOA of 5 degrees to maintain level flight, the load would max out at 3.6Gs (18 divided by 5 = 3.6Gs).

Another determining factor is the aircraft weight. The Pilot’s Operating Handbook (POH) specifies the aircraft’s maneuvering speed at gross weight. If you’re flying below gross weight, the maneuvering speed is reduced because a lower AOA is required to produce the lift necessary to maintain level flight.

For example, an airplane at 2,500 pounds may require a 4.5-degree AOA at 110 knots to generate 2,500 pounds of lift for level flight, whereas the same aircraft at the same speed weighing only 2,200 pounds may be able to maintain level flight with only a 3-degree AOA.

Again, with a reduced AOA of 3 degrees, a 6G load could be generated by a strong gust of turbulence before stalling at the 18-degree critical angle of attack.

In turbulence, you want a high AOA in level flight to reduce the multiplier before reaching your critical angle of attack.  You can’t change your critical angle of attack, but you can increase your cruise AOA by slowing down.

Now for the rest of the story.

Traditionally, we were taught that flying at or below maneuvering speed would protect us from structural damage during turbulence or from a rapid control deflection from one extreme to another.

We now know there are exceptions.

One practical exception is when two or more forces are at play simultaneously.

To better understand, it may be helpful to know how flight tests are conducted on new aircraft testing maneuvering speeds.

In smooth air, the test pilot rapidly moves a flight control to its positive design limit and then returns it to its neutral position. After pausing, he repeats the process to the control’s negative limit before returning to the neutral position.  This test is repeated for each axis separately; pitch, roll, yaw.

So maneuvering speed may protect the wings from structural failure if the loads are vertical like choppy air; however, gusts often introduce stresses in more than one axis simultaneously. Pitching, banking and yawing occurring at the same time stress the aircraft in multiple directions.

Another exception is the rapid and repeated deflection of the control of one axis.

This proved fatal in the 2001 crash of American Airlines Flight 587, in which 260 people lost their lives. Departing JFK, the Airbus A300-605R encountered wake turbulence, and in response the pilot applied rudder input nearly full deflection to the right, then fully to the left, then right again, then full left once more, and then full right again, all in less than seven seconds. The rapid, full deflection input created so much force that it sheared off the vertical fin, causing the Airbus to go out of control and crash. The important thing to understand, for the sake of this discussion, anyway, is that all of that happened below the aircraft’s maneuvering speed.

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It’s important to understand that maneuvering speed is an approximate number that doesn’t protect your airplane from structural failure in all situations.

In 2010, The Federal Aviation Administration amended the airworthiness standards applicable to transport category (not aerobatic) airplanes to clarify that flying at or below the design maneuvering speed doesn’t allow a pilot to make multiple large control inputs in one airplane axis or single full control inputs in more than one airplane axis at a time without endangering the airplane’s structure. The FAA issued this final rule to prevent pilots from misunderstanding the meaning of an airplane’s maneuvering speed, which could cause or contribute to a future accident.

Docket No. FAA-2009-0810
Amendment No. 25-130, effective Oct. 15, 2010

If you can’t count on flying at or below maneuvering speed to protect your aircraft’s structural integrity, what should you do when you encounter turbulence?

Clearly, the best option is to avoid turbulence whenever possible. Familiarizing yourself with the sources of turbulence will help you avoid them. Refer to Turbulence to learn, among other things, to:

1. Fly behind and not in front of storms.
2. Fly above mountain waves if possible. If not, fly perpendicular to mountain waves or parallel on the windward side.
3. Remain above and/or upwind of another aircraft’s flight path to avoid their wake turbulence.

When turbulence can’t be avoided, slow down to maneuvering speed and fly smoothly.

The post Understanding Maneuvering Speed appeared first on Plane & Pilot Magazine.

My plan to fly my Mooney from Sacramento, California (SAC), to Kerrville, Texas (ERV), was ready for action. The plane was due for its annual inspection in six weeks’ time, so I decided to have the annual performed before my trip to Texas to avoid any maintenance issues while en route.

Still, after the inspection was done, the Mooney Service Center informed me that the annual was complete and my plane was ready for my Texas destination, I still spent over an hour doing a preflight inspection. I needed to be sure that everything was working. I test-flew the airplane during daylight hours and everything seemed to be in order. A late-afternoon departure was planned, so I tested all strobes, position lights and the landing lights. I didn’t test my instrument panel lights. I planned to install a glass panel primary display during the coming winter months, but at the time of the flight, I had a standard six pack.

With my good friend Chuck, who’s retired from the United States Air Force, I departed from SAC for ERV on an IFR flight plan. Our plan was to spend the night in Tucson (TUS), with an ETA of about 7 p.m. (1900 Zulu). As we passed Gila Bend, the sun began to set. Ten minutes prior to landing, I attempted to turn on the panel lights. Nothing happened! During the annual, work had been done behind the panel. Conditions were marginal VFR. The Mooney M20K has a string of “lightning” lights on the trailing edge of the glare shield. These lights are very bright and are intended to be used after you have been blinded by a flash of lightning. TUS was cloaked in darkness. I turned up the bright lightning lights to enable visualization of my instrument panel. It worked, but in the process, I destroyed my night vision. Neither Chuck nor I could visually identify the field.

I shared my predicament with the tower. There were no other aircraft in the pattern. I was given vectors as I circled. I had now minimized my lightning lights. In time, with the airport lights at max intensity, the field came into view. I made a successful landing on runway 21.

However, my vision was still compromised. As there was no other traffic, I shut down on the runway and notified the tower of my situation. By the time a brightly lit truck had arrived, my night vision had returned, and I was able to make out our predicament. The blades of my propeller were less than 3 feet from a runway light. I followed the truck to parking.

Normal Perception Of Black And White

“Adaptation” is the ability of the eyes to adjust to varying levels of light. The retina (the film in our eyes) contains rods and cones. The rod cells are responsible for night vision because the cone cells can only function at a greater intensity of light. The cone cells, which are concentrated toward the center of the retina, are responsible for color vision.

In order for us to transform from day to night vision, we must undergo what’s known as “dark adaptation.” It’s a process we’re all familiar with. Think of a time when during daylight hours you entered a movie theater. Your night vision was compromised as you tried to find a seat.

Here’s how it works. The pigment in the rod cells is called “visual purple” or “rhodopsin.” When the cells are exposed to bright light, visual purple immediately photo-bleaches, resulting in night blindness—the inability to see things in low light. Visual purple in humans will then take from 20 to 30 minutes to regenerate, after which the rods are then more sensitive. Dark adaptation is quicker and deeper in young people than in older ones.

Accelerating Dark Adaptation

All isn’t lost. If you lose night adaptation, you can coax it back with the use of red light. The use of red light to accelerate night vision adaptation has been known since the early 20th century. Red-adaptation goggles, used by radiologists, date back to 1916. Sailors on the bridge of naval vessels and in submarines prior to surfacing use them as well. The uptake for aviation is that we should use a red light source at night to protect night vision.

Many of us use either an iPad or iPhone in the cockpit, which is problematic at night. The intensity of the light emitted from these devices has the potential for destroying our night vision. I tried to bring an approach plate up on my iPad at night, and it was as if someone was blinding me with a bright light.

Many available aviation apps have a dimming feature, but even these are too bright on most devices. The iPad has a very useful, built-in feature that permits you to invert the colors. Several aviation apps have this same feature, or some version of it, some of which just provide a shortcut to Apple’s “invert colors” feature.

Less known is that the iPhone has a hidden red screen. This red screen enables the “Color Tint” option. To enable “Color Tint,” go to Settings. Then General, Accessibility, Display and then Accommodations. Here you’ll find the new location of the Auto-Brightness toggle as of iOS 11 and higher. For the Red Tint, select “Color Filters” option. You next enable “Color Filters” with the switch at the top of the screen. Next select “Color Tint” as your filter. Scroll down and use the Intensity and Hue sliders to make the screen as red as you like. For maximum redness, they should both be all the way to the right.

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You can speed switching from the regular color to red by enabling a shortcut. Go to Settings, then General, then Accessibility. At the bottom, select Accessibility Shortcut. Select “Color Filters.” Now all you need to do is triple-click the home button to switch between the normal screen and red tint. The red tint will preserve your night vision. If at night you find yourself in a situation where you must use a white light, close one eye to unilaterally (one side) protect your night vision.

After the M20K I flew to Kerrville, my next airplane was a Mooney M20M Bravo. I installed a complete Aspen glass panel. I then had the luxury of a primary flight display, multi-function display and angle-of-attack indicator. As the light diminished with the onset of the sun setting, the display automatically diminished in intensity. This auto-dimming feature is true of almost all of the portable and in-panel displays. If you aren’t satisfied with the amount of dimming, go to back-light settings and program the brightness of the display you desire. You also have the option of installing a knob to control the brightness of the panel.

Flash Blindness

Laser light, or other very bright lights (spotlights, search lights), can cause flash blindness when directed toward an aircraft. The bright light causes photo bleaching of the visual purple in the retina. The pilot can be distracted or experience temporary flash blindness. This could cause loss of control of the aircraft, especially during a critical phase of flight such as landing or takeoff. Pointing a laser toward an aircraft is hazardous and has resulted in arrests, trials and jail sentences.

We are all human, and mistakes do happen. Your annual inspection is designed to identify and fix any squawks that might exist. As PIC, it was my responsibility to make sure that my panel lights were operating. Knowing that I might be airborne after dark, I should have tested my panel lighting within the confines of my hangar. I now carry two flashlights with red lenses when I fly at night. And, by the way, I always have a doctor on board.

Flying VFR At Night

The post Avoiding Night Blindness While Flying appeared first on Plane & Pilot Magazine.

Yeah, that’s not a typo. The document has been revised at least twice to my knowledge and it’s almost 200 pages long. Needless to say, we’re not going to sum that up here.

However, “via” appears in far more mundane ATC clearances. So many, in fact, that it’s a staple for both VFR and IFR pilots, whether they realize it or not.

Start with something even a student pilot will receive: A taxi clearance at a tower-controlled airport. The generic structure is “[Aircraft ID], [destination], taxi via [route].” For example: “Cessna Two Three Niner Whiskey Papa, Runway Two Six, taxi via Alpha, Charlie.” The beauty of the structure here is that it starts with your destination, and then supplies your path to get there. The path is the “via.”

The reason it’s important to do it in this order becomes clear when a restriction gets added in: “Cessna Two Three Niner Whisky Papa, Runway Two Six, taxi via Alpha, Charlie, Hold short of Runway Three Six.” Because the route comes after the destination, the most important part of the instruction can come at the end where you’re less likely to miss it. The same is true if it’s just a crossing instruction such as, “Cessna Two Three Niner Whisky Papa, Runway Two Six, taxi via Alpha, Charlie, Cross Runway Three Six.”

While it doesn’t actually contain the word “via,” takeoff clearances have a similar structure for the same reason. You’ll never hear, “Cleared for takeoff Runway Two Six.” You’ll hear, “Runway Two Six, cleared for takeoff.” The actual release from the controller is the last thing said so you get all the information before hearing the words that might make you advance the throttle, create a bunch of transmission-blocking noise in that cockpit, and then miss some important final part of the instructions.

It’s funny, and a bit telling, that we pilots tend to read this back with the clearance first, “Cleared for takeoff Runway Two Six.” This just underscores how much we’re listening for the magic “cleared.”

You’ve probably replayed some landing clearances in your head by now and realized they put the clearance at the end as well, “… Runway Three Four, cleared to land.” Again, if there’s a hold short it comes at the end, “… Runway Three Four, cleared to land. Hold short of Runway Two Six. Traffic a Citation jet departing Runway Two Six.”

The order of items in the clearance makes even more sense when you get some takeoff instructions such as, “”Cessna Two Three Niner Whisky Papa, traffic a Lear Jet on six-mile final. On departure fly runway heading. Runway Two Six, cleared for takeoff.” For an IFR departure (or even in some VFR situations), there could be a heading issued in here. “On departure, fly heading Two Six Zero, Runway Two Two cleared for takeoff.”

These departures are implied “vias.” For VFR, the tower controller knows which way we want to go, but his master plan requires we do something else first. We’ll get to our destination, but it will be via an initial heading before being cleared on course. For IFR, we have a clearance with a complete route, but first we need to fly in a specific direction for traffic, airspace, or even radar identification. Once that issue is dealt with, we’ll probably get to resume our navigation … via our cleared routing.

IFR route clearances are a stressor for instrument pilots in training. This is partly because it feels like a game of chance: You request a certain route when you file your IFR flight plan, but you don’t know if you’ll actually get that routing until you receive the almighty clearance. (To be clear, these are clearances you get on the ramp before taxiing out to depart, not clearances you get right before takeoff.)

Instructors help organize their students by giving them the acronym “CRAFT,” which stands for: Clearance limit, Route, Altitude, Frequency for departure, and Transponder code. More often than not, there will be a via in the CRAFT. The simplest clearance you could get would be something like, “Cleared to the Sanford airport as filed …” meaning you got what you asked for, but it’s common to hear, “Cleared to the Sanford airport via as filed …” Maybe that’s because there are so many times controllers must include a via.

If the clearance includes a departure heading, it would be, “Cleared to the Sanford airport via fly heading 220 zero, radar vectors, then as filed …,” or maybe, Cleared to the Sanford airport via fly heading 220 zero, radar vectors, direct …” These are functionally the same as what you got with that VFR takeoff clearance that included a heading. ATC knows you want to go thataway, but you need to fly thisaway first, and then the controllers will point you where you really want to go.

Via is more useful when there’s a whole set of instructions for departure that are written down on a chart. These get names like the “Portland Five” or the “Wenas Seven.” Some are simple, such as a heading, altitude, departure frequency, instructions in case of lost communication. Others include a series of turns and climbs with several branches called transitions.

Either way, via is used to tell a pilot to use that entire plan without repeating it all over the air. This sometimes confuses students diligently filling out their CRAFT worksheets. For example, “… Cleared to the Bellingham airport via Wenas Seven departure, Ellensburg transition, then as filed. Climb and maintain 8000. Squawk 2637.” The clearance limit is the destination airport of Bellingham, the route is the published Wenas Seven, including the branch that goes to the Ellensburg VOR—which should also be a fix on the filed route so that the pilot can connect the dots without further direction from ATC. The altitude is 8000, and the transponder code is 2637. But what’s the departure frequency?

It’s on the published chart you’re departing via: Chinook Departure on 123.8.

However, there’s far more to this via. In the lower left of the chart in “Takeoff Minimums.” you’ll see that you need a pretty serious climb gradient to 6000 feet MSL. That’s 405 feet per NM for Runway 9, which would be 810 feet per minute with a groundspeed of 120 knots. Departing Runway 4 is outright forbidden due to obstacles.

There’s also a minimum altitude to cross the fix TITON if you’re flying the TITON transition. You must climb in the published hold until passing 7000 feet before going any further. (Insider info: There’s a cool little airport called Tieton State right about there—and it’s just a bit southwest of Mount Rainier, hence the requirement to get some altitude before venturing too far.)

Instrument pilots learn about obstacle departure procedures (ODPs), which are normally text-only descriptions of just a route to safely depart an airport. We’ve talked in these pages about how VFR pilots can use (and should) use ODPs at night. It’s possible to get “Cleared to the [airport name] via the Obstacle Departure Procedure then …” in an IFR clearance, but it’s pretty rare.

You’ll commonly hear via in the air when a clearance gets amended (which happens in the northeast slightly more frequently than switching fuel tanks). “Cirrus Eight Fox Tango, cleared to the Lancaster Airport via direct LAAYK, Wilkes-Barre, rest of route unchanged.” Or if you ask for a pop-up clearance not too far from your destination: “Cleared to the Burlington Airport via radar vectors, direct.” 

You can even hear via at end of holding instructions as part of your expect further clearance: “… expect further clearance via direct Wilkes-Barre VOR, Tango Two Niner Five, Lancaster, Direct.” But then again, how often do we even get a holding clearance these days?

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All this leads up to the 800-pound clearance gorilla of “Climb via SID” and “Descend via arrival.” As said above, that’s a book, but here are some high points in case you’re curious.

In a clearance, it comes down to whether the procedure has altitude restrictions before any ATC-assigned vectors. If it does, you might get the SID in your route and be told to “climb via SID,” meaning you follow lateral guidance and crossing restrictions. Those crossing restrictions—altitudes you must meet along the way (possibly with speed restrictions)—are what really makes this via different than just a SID in your cleared route. Altitude restrictions could be altitudes you must be at or above, at or below, or meet exactly.

The phraseology confusion that spawned many those 193 pages revolves around exactly which words change or remove those restrictions. Believe it or not “maintain” and “except maintain” mean significantly different things. Some of the documentation says that Wenas Seven clearance above should include a “Climb via SID,” just because there are climb gradients even though there are no crossing restrictions.

Still want to fly that Cirrus Jet in the LA Basin? OK, me too.

In the air, “Climb via SID” essentially means the same thing. You comply with the lateral route and all the vertical altitudes as published. Again, the confusion comes in all the ways to modify it. Muddying the waters further is that SID and STAR phraseology in practice isn’t even consistent across all ATC facilities. When in doubt: Ask for clarification.

In fact, the takeaway from this whole winding exploration of “via” is that you’re responsible for thinking through all the steps implicit in any clearance that includes that three-letter word. When you accept the clearance, you’re agreeing to all the terms of that clearance, even the implicit or referenced ones.

Make sure you know what you just signed on for—or ask for clarification.

The post Understanding Via Clearances Of All Kinds appeared first on Plane & Pilot Magazine.

One of the great truths of flying is the admonition, “He who stops getting better stops being good.” We must constantly strive for the perfection we may never achieve, just to keep our skills sharp. Becoming satisfied with being almost good enough means that we’re no longer trying to stay on centerline, on altitude or on track. Why bother? Because if we don’t practice at every opportunity, then the skills we need at a critical juncture won’t be there.

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I recall reading a story from 50 years ago about a transatlantic cargo flight that had already passed its point of no return when the weather in all of Europe within reach of the plane’s range unexpectedly went down to zero-zero in fog. The flight deck crew knew the situation was dire, but the aircraft commander took charge, slipping into the left seat.

He marshaled all his resources for the inevitable ILS approach to a below-minimums destination. The co-pilot was assigned the tasks of watching for any sign of lights or runways and calling out altitudes. The flight engineer was to take care of the engine controls, and all hands on board were briefed on their duties at crash stations. Gear down with half flaps, the old man flew the ILS as if on rails, tweaking wheel and pedals minutely to hold the crossed needles immobile, past the middle marker and across the invisible approach lights. As the radar altitude reading passed through 25 feet, he slowed the rate of descent imperceptibly, the callouts coming in 10-foot increments as he continued along the localizer beam. There was a sound of tires brushing pavement—he called for power off, tapped the brakes to maintain an unseen centerline, and brought the indicated airspeed to zero, setting the parking brake. Nothing but fog could be seen from the 30-foot cockpit height. The control tower was alerted to their arrival.

Eventually, a slight bump was felt from below, and the loadmaster exited the aircraft to see what it might have been. It turned out to be a follow-me truck that had driven under the nose of the stationary airliner and bounced off the nosewheel tires. The driver had been creeping along the centerline of the runway, attempting to locate the immobile airplane, and couldn’t see the huge shape in the fog. The dual nose tires were sitting precisely astraddle the runway centerline.

Do you suppose that captain learned how to make a precision approach to a blind landing on that fateful morning? No. He trained for it constantly, seeking perfection in the simulator and actual flight, just in case such skill would be needed someday. He may have been out of options, but he wasn’t out of luck. He made his own luck.

Use It Or Lose it

Manual flying isn’t a lost art unless we let it be. To keep sharp, we need to stay in practice, and that means flying more than occasionally in order to maintain predictable performance. My habit is to hand-fly the aircraft unless workload dictates otherwise. I need the practice, and staying in actual touch with the airplane allows a bonding that wouldn’t occur otherwise. That’s not to say I won’t use the autopilot in appropriate situations—it’s a tool but only a tool, not a replacement for the human element. Certainly, the automation should be employed when one has to divert attention to look up information or enter data. If the METAR is sitting at minimums, it makes sense to use every bit of capability, including flying a coupled approach.

Even when flying on autopilot, we can improve our precision flying ability by paying close attention to the autopilot’s actions. Take note of how it anticipates a course interception by small, early increments of control, avoiding an overshoot; so should we when it’s our turn to fly. A smooth altitude capture isn’t a matter of driving the aircraft up or down to a number and grabbing hold of it. Instead, the autopilot is aware of the closure rate, modifies pitch attitude accordingly, and stops gently in level flight, on target. There’s a lesson there for each of us if we want to be a precision pilot.

How can you tell if your skills need honing? There are lots of ways, but a sure sign is chasing the instrument indications instead of anticipating them. When observing pilots doing recurrent training, I often see jerky movements rather than fluid control use. I advise the struggling pilot to use half as much input, starting earlier, and to apply a scan pattern of the sources of information on the panel, rather than fixating too long on one indication.

Instead of turning control over to the autopilot, you can instead fly manually in flight director mode, though you need to remember to keep your scan sharp, cross-checking the rest of the displayed indications and not hyperforcusing on the flight director. As with all automation, the pilot has to remain in charge of setting up the guidance, so the flight director’s attitude cues will be leading him or her right where the aircraft should go. As with fully automated flight, small, incremental, anticipatory control input is the key to precise results. The pilot’s muscles are simply replacing the servos of the autopilot.

No Such Thing As Non-Precision

I’ve never cared for the term “non-precision approach.” Any approach to a landing, whether it’s done in the clear or with electronic guidance, should be conducted with precision. Without enhanced electronic vertical and lateral guidance, we’ll simply execute the descent in a stabilized manner, setting up the aircraft to reach certain targets at key positions, ones that ensure a stress-free landing. Even if you do get clear of clouds and spot the airport from 10 miles out, don’t let that get in the way of your quest for precision. If you successfully fly the altitude and airspeed targets, you’ll be assured a properly aligned, stabilized final approach. And while you’re at it, remember that zero-zero landing story. Practice when the weather’s fine, so the habit is formed for when it’s not so fine.

Not all flying is by reference to charts. For example, getting the aircraft to the runway without a programmed arrival path seems to be a lost piece of creative flying. Any good pilot must be capable of keeping the airplane under smooth, precise control simply by watching the landscape and applying knowledge of the environment around the airport. It’s at this time that basic pitch and power criteria have to be drawn upon from prior practice; in approach configuration, a certain amount of thrust and a certain attitude will produce the level flight or constant descent that is needed. One cannot seek out these parameters on the fly, so to speak. They need to be developed and stored in advance of need, not when you’re twisting and turning on a visual arrival.

At the foundation of precision flying are these basic pitch-and-power settings, applied to configurations like initial climb, cruise climb, low-speed and high-speed level flight, descent and approach. Knowing what power setting is needed to hold level flight or achieve a crossing altitude gives a familiar starting point, from which one can modify technique slightly for turbulence or wind shear conditions. But if you don’t know the basic settings, you can’t be creative with precision flight path control.

You might be surprised how this attention to precision pays off in many phases of flight, often when you need maximum performance and there’s reduced margin for error, such as when flying a heavily loaded aircraft with little remaining power available, as when you’re near the airplane’s practical service ceiling. Trying to stay on a target altitude or squeeze the airplane up to get over a mountain ridge by simply adding more pitch attitude is a recipe for disaster; increased power, applied in a timely manner, is the only answer. When faced with a sagging altitude reading, my first reaction is to apply a small bit of back pressure on the yoke, perhaps with a touch of pitch trim, as soon as I notice 25 feet of altitude loss. That reduces IAS a knot or two, perhaps enough to ease back up to the target. If there’s no immediate rise in the altitude readout, I’ll nudge the power up without delay, not letting the discrepancy increase. The secret is never to allow 100 feet of altitude loss to occur without taking action; correct it when it’s small—when it’s more easily fixed.

Stay On The Line

Precision control of an airplane even takes place on the ground. The government inspector giving me a flight check wanted to set the tone for what was to come. As we taxied out from the parking ramp, he said, “See that taxiway centerline? Why are you staying 5 feet to one side of it? They put it there for a reason!” I dutifully toe-tapped the old Commander twin back into alignment. In reality, he was doing me a favor: He could see I was new to the game and that I was a bit cocky, and I needed a little prodding if I was going to meet his standards.

Is precision flying exhausting, requiring too much work for regular use? Perhaps, but if you need a break, use the autopilot. Like it or not, the ability to hold a precise flight path and airspeed while hand flying is an acquired skill that, with sufficient practice, can become a natural reaction. Like any kind of challenging new skill, learning it will be tiring at first, but remember that without that practice, you won’t have those precision flying skills when you need them most.

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