We need to take care of these aviation treasures—their kind will not be seen again. They were developed during America’s post-war boom by designers and marketers who gave pilots what they wanted at a price point within reach of a large percentage of the flying population. In their day, competition encouraged innovation, even while design compromises between performance, cost, and quality provided a variety of choices in the marketplace.

Because of these vast numbers of airplanes placed into service 50 or so years ago, we still have a relatively large pool of legacy equipment available. How long we can keep them flying is anyone’s guess, but the cost of maintaining, equipping, and flying these old birds is much higher than their original builders could ever have envisioned. And yet, they can do the job for a fraction of an equivalent airplane built today—if one even exists.

Attrition is inevitable since some of this elderly fleet disappears from the active register each year. Losses from accidents, neglect, impractical upkeep, and aging structures will eventually take their toll. To preserve what’s left, we must be ready to place increased resources into their preservation and encourage production of parts for overhauling and maintaining continuing airworthiness. And we must be ever more careful in how we operate and store them. This aging fleet is too precious to ignore.

Where Did They All Come From?

The answer is: It depends.

In 1960, a total of 7,588 general aviation aircraft were produced; in 1970, an anomalously similar number, 7,508, were built. An astounding 98,407 airplanes went out the door between those years. After another 10 years, the industry had added another 150,220 aircraft to the fleet. Then, the bubble burst in the ’80s, with only 30,908 airplanes built in that decade. The ’90s saw just 17,665 airplanes produced. The nearly 250,000 general aviation airplanes built in the ’60s and ’70s, therefore, were the origins of our still-existing legacy fleet.

During nearly 65 years of industry observation, I was fortunate to have been around at the birth of many of these legacy airplanes. I remember walking around one of the first Cessna 210s parked at our field in 1960, trying to figure out where the gear went. When a Piper dealer came by to show us a brand-new ’62 Cherokee, we could scarcely believe it was a sibling to our Tri-Pacers. And, compared to the twin Beechcraft Bonanzas on the field, I thought the ’60 Beech Queen Air was the most beautiful mini-airliner I had ever seen when I climbed aboard one of the first, not realizing that in four more years its sister ship would become the turboprop King Air.

A Cessna 336 Skymaster showed up at an airport opening I attended in 1964, attracting all sorts of attention since it was unlike any Cessna we had seen before. By then, Brand C had added the 185, 206, and 320 models, and the cabin-class 411 was coming. Piper’s new 1963 Twin Comanche struck us as cute, compared with the pudgy Apache and Aztec, while the Pawnee was our first look at a purpose-built ag plane. In the mid-’60s, new aircraft models were popping up everywhere. One of my friends bought a brand-new Citabria in 1964, which we thought was a vast improvement over the old Aeronca Champion.

As the years passed, I became associated with airplane dealerships, and then started covering a beat as an industry journalist. I saw Cessna’s abortive attempt to enter the helicopter business with the CH-1 Skyhook in the early ’60s, and later in 1967 we picked up one of the first Cessna Cardinals at the factory. In 1973, I attended Beech’s November sales meeting in Wichita, Kansas, featuring the introduction of the big Super King Air 200. About the same time, Cessna was dropping into our airport with the new Citation jet. Back in 1961, I had seen a mock-up of a civilian version of Cessna’s T-37 jet trainer, perhaps a response to Beech’s short partnership with the Morane-Saulnier Paris jet. The Citation 500’s fanjet engines made all the difference.

All through the ’70s and early ’80s, we news hounds were kept busy attending rollouts and first flights of new models. Airplane companies were in full production and eager to expand their market, trying out every novelty and adding improvements. Mooney stretched and muscled up its M20 series, Maule constantly reworked its Rocket models, Rockwell added more Commander types, and Grumman gave us “cats” of every size, Lynx to Cougar.

It All Started in the Late 1950s

In my earliest flying years at the end of the 1950s, Piper was producing only the Apache, Comanche, Tri-Pacer and Super Cub models. Cessna had the 310, 182, and 172, and was just adding the 175 and 150. Beech built the Model 18 Twin Beech, V-tail and twin Bonanzas, and a new Travel Air light twin. Mooney basically sold one model, as did Bellanca, and Aero Commander competed solely in the twin market. As the industry and I matured during the ’60s, dozens of new designs and variations appeared in the marketplace.

This era’s fertile incubator brought forth steady innovations. Piper adopted touches from the Comanche, such as the swept tailfin and stabilator pitch control, for its Aztec and Cherokee models introduced in the early ’60s. Cessna not only swept the tail on most models in 1960, it copied Detroit automotive marketing by introducing “deluxe” versions loaded with standard options—all-over paint instead of partially bare aluminum, gyros and radios in the panel, landing gear fairings, and showy interiors. Beech, on the other hand, expanded its line downward, first with a Debonair economy version of the Bonanza and later the entry-level Musketeer singles with (gasp!) fixed landing gear. The Baron was introduced in 1961 for buyers needing something smaller than the hulking twin Bonanza but more capable than the Travel Air.

The secret sauce enlivening this banquet of expansion in the ’60s and ’70s was the involvement of ownership and management dedicated to personal aviation. William T. Piper and his sons, Bill Jr., Thomas (“Tony”), and Howard (“Pug”), made the decisions at Piper Aircraft. Mrs. O.A. Beech and her nephew Frank Hedrick held the reins at Beech Aircraft. Dwane Wallace, Clyde Cessna’s nephew, would walk the factory floor at Cessna. Rather than being subject to a corporate board of bean counters and legal advisers, these leaders had grown their companies with a vision of what little airplanes could do and took risks based on the love of the game.

Amazing products resulted, not from committee decisions but because of a guiding hand at the top who was likely a pilot and aircraft enthusiast. At the industry press conferences and sales meetings back then, one could sense the devotion and dreams in the presentations. All of this changed in the last quarter of the 20th century, as the old general aviation firms were sold and wrapped under conglomerate, non-aviation management. This brought cautious decision-making and design compromise by consensus, with legal, sales, engineering, and bookkeeping departments making sure all interests were represented. Lockheed engineer Kelly Johnson once said, “From now on, there will be no more great airplanes, just adequate ones.”

The Sizzling ’70s

The 1960s had seen heady expansion of product lines. By 1970, Piper had largely made the switch from building fabric-covered airplanes at its old plant in Lock Haven, Pennsylvania, to all-metal designs streaming from a bright new complex in Florida. Labor problems and a disastrous flood in 1972 ended the Lock Haven era and the Comanche line, although the Aztec and Navajo twins continued. However, there were plenty of other options in the product line. The Piper Cherokee, also known as the PA-28 platform, had been expanded to at least eight variants, being added to six twins and the Pawnee ag planes. Cessna was building half of the world’s GA airplanes in its Kansas facilities, offering no less than a dozen singles, eight twins, and a new bizjet on the horizon. Beech, meanwhile, now had 12 single-engine models, seven twins, and three turboprops in its fleet. And the 1970s were just starting.

Vertical integration seemed to be important, in that each major manufacturer wanted to offer a two-seat trainer, four-seat family airplane, higher-powered business cruiser, and complex retract. Twins were similarly ranked—as light, medium, and cabin class—with pressurization and turbine engines being the ultimate goal. Piper took the Cherokee Six heavy-single into a Seneca twin in ’72, followed by the Lance retractable in ’76. Tapered wings and stretched fuselages improved the smaller Cherokees, and a true two-seater, the Tomahawk, came along in ’78, followed by the Seminole light twin. At the top, the Navajo cabin twin became stretched, pressurized, and turbine-ized.

Over at Cessna, a plethora of preferences had been promulgated by 1970. Tubular landing gear legs replaced older flat springs, manual flaps were changed to electric, the 210 Centurion’s wing struts had been removed, and by the mid-1960s stylish back windows had been installed in nearly all models. Engine turbochargers became an option, starting in ’62 with the 320 twin, then in ’66 for the 206 and 210. Cessna joined Piper in the ag plane business that year, and in ’69 the 206 was stretched into the 207. By the end of 1970s, there were three models of the 210—normal, turbo, and pressurized—the Skylane RG joined the fixed-gear 182, and even the Skyhawk went retractable with the Cutlass RG. On the twin side, the “push-pull” centerline-thrust Skymaster was available in three performance categories, the 310/340 was similarly outfitted, and the 400-series twins offered models with utility, executive, and pressurized cabins. It took until the late 1970s for Cessna to move into the turboprop business since it was occupied with the Citation jets earlier in that decade.

Beech was busy introducing the stretched King Air 100 in 1970 and the flagship Super King Air 200 for ’74, adding the longer Baron 58 in ’70, a pressurized Baron 58P, in ’76 and the Duchess light twin in ’78, while continuing to build piston-engine Queen Airs and Dukes. Still, Beech found time to put retractable gear on the Musketeer and add an extra cabin door to the light airplanes, and to develop the two-place Skipper trainer at the end of the decade.

By no means was all the action in the ’70s limited to the “Big Three” airplane manufacturers. Mooney was innovating like crazy in that time frame, with the introduction of the cleaned-up 201 and the turbo 231. Other short-line manufacturers like Bellanca/Champion, Maule, and Grumman American enlarged their offerings, and Rockwell jumped into its own single-engine Commander business after first trying to acquire smaller companies in the 1960s. The ’70s were full of enthusiasm for aviation, despite an oil embargo setback in 1973-74 and a disrupting air traffic controller strike in 1981. By the mid-’80s, it was all over.

Did CAR 3 Play a Role?

What may have made all these developments of new airplane types possible was the continuing use of Civil Air Regulation Part 3 certification, a holdover from the Civil Aeronautics Authority, predecessor to the Federal Aviation Administration’s creation in 1958. With the changeover to the FAA’s Federal Air Regulations, FAR Part 23 became the new certification basis for light aircraft, gradually evolving into a fresh start with some new requirements added to the old CAR 3 rules. As this regulatory meshing took some time to accomplish, established airplane companies rushed to certify as many new models as possible under CAR 3, filing applications that could grandfather them into existing rules while product development continued into the ’60s.

Using these old CAR 3 certifications as basis, most of our legacy fleet was built using amendments to the original type certificate, even though the airplanes were marketed as “new” models. Hence, the 1968-introduced Beech Bonanza 36 was certified as an addition to the CAR 3-basis TC #3A15, which was originally issued for the Bonanza H35 of 1957. Cessna’s Bonanza competitors, beginning with the model 210 certified on April 20, 1959, were also certified under CAR 3 except for the pressurized P210 because its original application was dated August 13, 1956. Even the ’64 Cessna 206 was certified as a CAR Part 3 airplane, as the original application was dated November 9, 1962, continuing right up through the end of legacy 206 production in ’86.

For its part, Piper introduced the PA-28 Cherokee in ’61 under CAR 3 certification basis from an application dated February 14, 1958. Even the PA-32 Cherokee Six was born as a CAR 3 airplane in ’65 with an application dated ’64. Similar modifications to original CAR 3 certifications took place at Mooney, Champion, Rockwell Commander, Lake, and Maule. To be fair, subsequent model changes through the ’70s frequently complied with FAR Part 23 amendments applicable to their dates of certification, even though they were built as CAR 3-certified airplanes. On the other hand, the four-seat Grumman AA-5 airplanes were certified under FAR Part 23 with an original application dated July 2, 1970.

As is typical of the mission creep inherent in any administrative law, FAR Part 23 certification grew in complexity from the boilerplate inherited from CAR 3. Much of this was inevitable as new construction methods and materials were developed, and equipment unanticipated in CAR 3 was placed on airplanes. However, grandfathering in earlier type certification, rather than pursuing entirely new FAR 23 approval, meant less time and money was required to produce a new aircraft.

Are FAA Part 23-certified airplanes any better? It depends on which level of amendments they complied with. Certification under Part 23 in the ’60s was quite similar to the CAR 3 certification of a decade earlier, but Part 23 amendments of the ’80s had evolved to a greater degree. When it comes to engineering small unpressurized general aviation aircraft, however, structures are typically overbuilt simply for durability and manufacturing ease. The basic criteria for CAR Part 3 and FAR Part 23 remain much the same. CAR 3’s stipulation that stall speed for single-engine airplanes shall not exceed
70 mph is simply restated in FAR 23 as “61 knots.” However, as mentioned, there have been multitudinous minutia added in FAR 23, often in response to newer materials and devices never contemplated in CAR 3 days. Each of these must be given consideration when developing entirely new designs, taking up engineering time and documentation.

Most significantly, this prodigious adaptation and modification of basic CAR 3 aircraft designs, along with introduction of entirely new FAR 23 ones, continued through the ’60s and ’70s. Each of the major manufacturers wanted to make sure customers were able to remain loyal as they upgraded into higher-performance airplanes. They accomplished this by increasing the number of types offered and seeing that any small opening into an unserved need was met with a new model.
And so it was that fixed-gear models received retractable landing gear. The fuselage stretched to accommodate extra seats. Four-cylinder engines became six-cylinder powerplants. Turbocharged models complemented normally aspirated offerings. Even twin engines were grafted onto single-engine airframes. Pressurization, turbine engines, tip tanks, cargo pods: if you wanted it, engineering and marketing departments made sure you could get it.

Market saturation eventually brought down the number of aircraft types, and production rates plummeted in the ’80s to match the lack of buyers. Contributing to the collapse of the ’80s was a lingering economic malaise from double-digit interest rates and inflation, and the increasing cost of product liability insurance against the growth industry of tort suits, divided by the fewer and fewer units sold.

Why can’t we just make new old ones?

Challenges on several fronts make reviving old type-certificated aircraft difficult. Small production rates mean handcrafting what was once mass-produced, so each unit costs more. Rebuilding the market requires making enough people want what you have to offer. The numbers of active pilots and qualified, motivated buyers are down compared to the bustling days, and consumer expectations are much higher now, requiring airframes to be bloated with quality accessories. Back in the day, comfort and ease of use took a back seat to the thrill of flight. We didn’t expect to have air conditioning in our airplane because it weighed half as much as a passenger and it wasn’t needed aloft. Plush seating, Wi-Fi, sound deadening, single-lever power control, and wall-to-wall glass instrument panels weren’t a priority or even dreamed about 50 years ago. We were just glad to have an engine, wings, and freedom to fly. Legacy airplanes today need considerable upgrading to bring them up to speed with current buyer desires.

Airports were social communities during the last third of the 1900s. Security was almost nonexistent, perceived threats being remote, so coming and going was less restricted and hurried. Pilots spent time at the airport. Airport lounges were often untidy but welcoming places that encouraged hanging out, not polished palaces to pass through. If you parked outside with your new 1970 Mooney, someone would come out to admire it, not shepherd it away to piston-engine row. Today’s aircraft owners are far different. Many are users of airplanes, not flyers for the sake of flying. They are more satisfied to possess their flying machines—less so to be companions with them.

That said, the great fleet of general aviation aircraft built in the two decades of the mid-’60s to mid-’80s still represents a wonderful opportunity for acquisition and preservation. We must not underestimate the continuing rise in maintenance and operation costs. But these remarkable old birds serve their purpose as well as they ever did, if we’ll just take care of them.
Let us rise to the challenge. 

Editor’s note: This story originally appeared in the July 2023 issue of Plane & Pilot. 

The post Sustaining Our Fleet appeared first on Plane & Pilot Magazine.

You’ve got the will to get it clean and sparkly again, but the question remains, exactly how do you do that? And is it a job that a do-it-yourselfer can pull off on the weekend, or is it better left to the pros? 

But What Is “Detailing?”

Detailing can mean many different things to many different people. But one thing everyone generally can agree upon is the outcome of your detailing effort will result in the removal of visible and hidden contaminants from the exterior finish, creating a blemish-free shine to the painted surfaces. Detailing the interior deep-cleans the seats, glass and plastics and is just a step below refurbishing, which could include leather replacement, new paint, new avionics, and new panel plastics and the like. 

Refinishing, which is a significant effort undertaken by professionals, begins by removing the aircraft of all its flight controls, prepping the surfaces by stripping them down to the base aluminum (utilizing a chemical called methyl ethyl ketone) and then repainting. Since repainting adds additional weight, the aircraft will need to be rebalanced; everything then gets reassembled and control surfaces tested. Then tested again. This entire process is time consuming, requires skilled technicians and is an expensive proposition. The result, however, is an aircraft that looks like it just rolled off the showroom floor. 

The Pro Treatment

As aircraft owners, we are used to outsourcing many aspects of our ownership experience. Instead of taking the do-it-yourself approach to aircraft detailing, you might want to go the professional route and hire a specialist. You likely do so already with aircraft maintenance as well as fueling, hangar movements and the like. So, why not aircraft cleaning? Doing so on a regular basis will preserve your aircraft finish, always giving you a shiny aircraft to fly, and you might even pick up an extra knot or two of speed without lifting a finger (except while writing the check, of course). 

You may think that outsourcing aircraft detailing is a guilty pleasure. Kind of like listening to Nickelback. But the truth is that some of us do not have the desire, knowledge or time to detail an aircraft. For those who fall into that category, find yourself a reputable aircraft detailer and reap the benefits of professional expertise. 

Additional professional detailing services include paint correction, which effectively removes oxidation, minor scratches and swirl marks. In most cases, this restorative service will also extend the life of the paint. Depending on the condition of the aircraft, expect to invest between $2,000-$3,000 for paint correction services by a professional aircraft detailer. This generally is a one-time cost, typically associated with an aircraft that hasn’t had the luxury of being hangared out of the sun. 

These experts have seen it all and understand the idiosyncrasies of aircraft detailing. From detailing around button-head rivets to working in a well-lit space, their expertise will assure a safe, damage-free outcome that can be easily appreciated. 

Know Your Subject

Most aircraft flying today are comprised of aluminum, composite or fabric. While the latter requires special consideration to maintain the integrity of the fabric, aluminum or composite can generally use the same types of certified cleaning materials without concern. Major certifications for cleaning products are those certified by Boeing, AMS or SMI. Industry experts also recommend referring to your specific manufacturer for any special considerations for recommended cleaning products. 

For those who fly fabric-covered aircraft but still want to keep their bird clean and shiny, it’s recommended to use the least-abrasive cleaners available. Most fabric is painted with a plasticized lacquer, commonly referred to in the aircraft world as “dope.” (Not to be confused by today’s Gen Z definition of dope, which is anything cool and good in life. Although, one could argue that those who fly fabric-covered aircraft are pretty dope as well.) 

By utilizing the least-abrasive cleaners for your fabric airplane, you will minimize the risk of damaging the finish. In fact, many professionals simply wipe down the aircraft with a damp cloth and a mild dish soap like Dawn. Once all the dirt, dust, oil and grease have been removed by this method, then spray on a wash and wax-type product, which will restore the luster to the finish of your fabric airplane. 

No matter what you fly, keep in mind that you will want to tape off some critical areas before beginning the detailing process. Those include static ports and pitot tubes (pros suggest using a large piece of painter’s tape over those ports, which prevents contamination from chemicals and cleaners). It’s also a good idea to tape a long streamer in that place to mark the ports so that those critical areas are not inadvertently left covered after the cleaning process. Not doing so has caused preventable accidents in the past. These “Remove Before Flight” streamers are easily spotted during your walkaround and are a good way to prevent instrument errors caused by covered static ports and pitot tubes when taking the first flight after detailing. 

Most professional detailers will also exclude cleaning under the cowling. There is simply too much that can go wrong while attempting to degrease and clean the engine compartment area. If your engine is dirty and greasy, it is suggested that you speak with an A&P prior to doing any degreasing and cleaning work under the cowl. 

DIY It! 

So, you’ve decided to go the sweat equity route. But where does one start? The good news and the bad news is, there’s more to it than you might think. 

If you are the weekend warrior type, you could break out the proverbial bucket, soap and hose and attempt to do it yourself. Unfortunately, if you treat your aircraft like your car, at the very least, you may be disappointed in the results. 

However, if you approach the do-it-yourself airplane detailing properly, with the proper prep, tools and knowledge, your results will be well worth the elbow grease effort of tackling this as a do-it-yourself task. 

As William Graves from Midwest Aircraft Detailers tells Plane & Pilot, “The do-it-yourselfer should understand the difference between aircraft paint and automobile finishes. It’s important to use the correct cleaning products, along with the correct steps for a positive outcome.” 

Using the dry washing method as outlined provides the most flexibility on where you can undertake the do-it-yourself detailing. Most airports will allow you to do this in your own leased hangar. 

However, if you will be doing “wet washing,” you may find more restrictions on where you are allowed to do so. Each airport has different rules for this type of washing. Some airports have designated areas, referred to as “wash bays,” for wet washing. Others simply prohibit this activity. Check with your airport management for your specific location.

“If you approach the do-it-yourself airplane detailing properly, with the proper prep, tools and knowledge, your results will be well worth the elbow grease effort of tackling this as a do-it-yourself task.”

Inside Clean

When tackling the interior during your detailing journey, you will want to have plenty of microfiber towels, leather cleaner and conditioner, steam, carpet extractor and extractor soap, a detailing brush and a small horse hair brush for getting the dust out of those hard-to-reach places.

It’s best to try to stay away from leather cleaners that contain alcohol or solvents. They can lift the dye and damage the seats beyond repair, especially on those interiors that have been re-dyed. Care must also be taken when using steam to clean. Always test the process in an inconspicuous place on the interior, just to be certain no damage to the original dyed color will occur during the cleaning process.

For fabric interiors, utilize a good-quality fabric cleaner while using a medium bristle brush to scrub the surface of the seat. Any set-in stains can be lifted by using a stain extractor (similar to removing a stain from your shirt). However, it’s best to avoid aggressive deep cleaning of older fabrics, as damage to the fabric can occur, based on the age and condition of the fabric.

If you’ve never attempted to wash or wax an airplane, it’s guaranteed that you’ll be surprised at the amount of surface area and resultant time that it takes to complete the job. 

So, what steps are best undertaken when washing and detailing your aircraft? It all starts with an oxymoron called “dry washing,” which begins with a degreaser to remove any bugs who had the unfortunate timing to be in the same airspace in all three dimensions at the same time as you. In addition to bug removal, a good-quality degreaser will also remove any heavy dust and hard contaminates from the aircraft surface. 

The next step is the utilization of the dry wash chemical. While the dry wash is not actually dry, it’s a special chemical that is safe on most types of aircraft finishes, with results that leave your aircraft looking clean and spiffy. Spray on, wipe off. Sounds easy. And it is. Mostly. Make sure you have plenty of high-quality microfiber towels available during this process. 

At this point, the dry wash will remove any residual remnants of the degreaser and ready the airplane for the next step in your aircraft spa process, the Clay Bar, which is just what it sounds like, a bar of clay specially designed for detailing: a simple hand-held, old-fashioned, typically synthetic cleaning bar that will lift any remaining contaminates, such as industrial fallout, tree sap and the like from the surface of the aircraft, leaving a contaminate-free, smooth surface. As with every step we describe here, test this on a small, inconspicuous area.

Once you have completed the above steps, your aircraft will have that showroom-shine, new-aircraft look. To preserve that shine, you could put the finishing touches on a job well done by adding a ceramic coating or polyreactive sealant. 

One important thing to remember for any product that you choose to use during your do-it-yourself detailing is to utilize cleaning products certified by an aerospace manufacturer. Most industry experts say the most common and one of the most respected certifications for these products is those “Boeing-certified.” Look at the product label for any approved certifications. If you do not see any certifications listed on the bottle, it is not a certified product.

One safety issue to consider with ceramic coatings is static, which can build up more quickly on some planes with this treatment. Check with your aircraft manufacturer to be sure that a ceramic coating will not create any issues with your avionics. Specifically, trade professionals tell Plane & Pilot that static created by the aircraft with no static wicks, especially those flying in instrument meteorological conditions, may be more prone to avionics issues after a ceramic coating is applied. As always, check your POH or manufacturer recommendations for specifics about your aircraft.

After the initial professional dry wash and detailing, the cost of having this service completed on a regular basis will not only provide the satisfaction of enjoying a clean aircraft but also the payback of completing this cosmetic service will preserve the finish and paint quality, allowing for long-lasting enjoyment and prolonging any need to repaint. Depending on your geographic location, budget between $650-$900 for this professional exterior detail.

How often should you have your aircraft detailed? While it truly depends on the type of aircraft and your mission, most professionals recommend every 25-30 flight hours on a typical single-engine aircraft. For turboprop aircraft on 135 certificates such as a King Air, where they are pampered and wiped down after every flight, the recommendation is an annual full detail, with any necessary paint correction with a ceramic or poly coating.

Keep in mind that some aircraft that have spent their entire decades of life in the hot south or southwest sun may not have enough base paint (as determined by a paint thickness measurement test tool) to allow for paint correction. While this is rare, your detailing expert can make a definitive decision on whether paint correction is a viable alternative to a repaint. 

Like anything else, learning how to best detail your plane takes some practice, and it will almost surely be a frustrating experience at times. However, using the right product in the right environment with plenty of time will most likely assure a nice shiny result, money saved and the satisfaction of knowing that your hard work and elbow grease have very visible results. 

Of course, for the rest of us, hiring the professional aircraft detailer and leaving it to the experts is an alternative that not only will save you time but also will give you the peace of mind knowing that your aircraft investment will be well preserved 

Visit the Ownership section of our website for more tips and advice to keep your plane in top condition.

The post How to Detail Your Plane appeared first on Plane & Pilot Magazine.

One of the lesser-known regulations regarding maintenance on pilot-owned aircraft is the ability of the owner to complete certain non-complex, preventive maintenance tasks. This may include changing lightbulbs, tire maintenance, oil changes and other rudimentary, simple tasks. In addition, assisting with annual maintenance by helping your A&P remove seats, access panels and the like could also help your bottom line, if nothing else than by cutting down on shop hours needed to do the inspection.

Other than the potential to save some hard-earned cash, why would an owner want to take on some of the maintenance items? Perhaps the best reason is to learn more about your airplane. Or to give you an insight into the multitude of moving parts that creates a symphony allowing you to defy the laws of gravity and fly safely. Maybe it’s just to be a better pilot leveraging your improved understanding of the intricate operation of your aircraft. Whatever your motivation, here’s a guide to help you navigate the magenta line of pilot owner maintenance.

Show And Tell

Before you throw on your coveralls and start turning wrenches, it’s best to get some advice from your willing A&P on how to perform some basic maintenance on your aircraft. And the best way to do that is to work with your mechanic during your next maintenance cycle. Whether it’s for a routine oil change or more complex work, ask them if they would be willing to allow you the opportunity to observe and partake in the process. 

While some shops, especially those designated as a Repair Station, may be hesitant to allow you this chance, many independent shops will be more than willing to offer this experience. Not only will this provide some important education that can prepare you for your first sortie into the owner-pilot maintenance world, but also it will give you an opportunity to see firsthand some of the complexities that can be associated with aircraft maintenance.

However, keep in mind that in doing so, it’s likely that the effort of labor, and therefore the cost, for this maintenance learning session will increase, since your A&P will likely be spending additional time answering your questions, showing by example, and moving a little slower than they would if they were working in their normal independent fashion. Once completed, depending on your comfort level, you may want to complete a second “show and tell” session prior to beginning any owner maintenance solo. That decision will be entirely up to you, based on your level of comfort and confidence. One thing is certain. This step is critical and should not be taken lightly. The time, effort and additional expense to participate in these maintenance sessions as you ready yourself for owner-pilot maintenance will be returned many times over with confidence and cost savings going forward. 

The Tools Of The Trade

It’s been said that when all you have is a hammer, every problem looks like a nail. That analogy is never truer than when you are about to embark on owner-pilot maintenance. Having the right tools for the job not only saves time, money and effort but, in fact, could save your life. In speaking with A&Ps familiar with owner-pilot maintenance, we heard the same theme over and over. Get the right tools for the right job. That is to say, plan on investing in the more popular tools of the trade as you take off on your maintenance journey. 

Depending on the type of maintenance you plan on doing, your tool shopping list should include, at a minimum, a good-quality socket wrench set, various screwdrivers, pliers and related hand tools. In addition, don’t skimp on a good-quality torque wrench, safety wire pliers and safety wire in various gauges, along with mirrors for seeing in those hard-to-reach, hard-to-see places. Plan on budgeting somewhere between $500-$1,000 for the purchase of the requisite tools. And, if you don’t already have one, a good-quality air compressor is a must. For those with higher ambitions, jacks and jack stands with the proper adapters, tail stands, tail weights and the like should be part of your airplane maintenance tool inventory. (Keep in mind, there is a newly published liberal interpretation of the regulations that govern owner-pilot maintenance, which gives you more freedom to work legally on more aspects of your aircraft. More on this later.)

So, now that you have your maintenance training sessions under your belt, and you’ve scoured the earth and purchased the best tools for the job, with your tool chests lined up neatly against your hangar wall, it’s time to get your hands dirty, put those tools to work, and schedule out your first owner-pilot maintenance item.

The consensus among A&Ps familiar with this type of maintenance is that pilots new to the game should start small and work their way up to the bigger jobs. Of course, all of it has to be compliant with Part 43 of the regs (see our partial list of allowable preventive owner-pilot maintenance in the sidebar). 

A good place to start is with an oil change. While the task is certainly more complex than that of changing the oil in your 20-year-old Ford, with the right tools, training and basic mechanical skills, you will be well on your way to being an expert with the black gold, bubbling crude crowd. Whatever your first maintenance task is, by all means, take your time. Like when you eat too quickly, you should get ready for some heartburn if you try to speed through your work. You certainly don’t want to be cruising along, soaring with the eagles, and wondering if you put the safety wire on the oil filter. Taking your time and working with the maintenance checklist you developed during your training sessions will give you peace of mind, without the necessity to chew on an antacid.  

Legal Interpretations

But what are you legally allowed to do with regards to maintenance? Okay, so here is where we list the numeric, alphabet soup legalese that permeates the FAA regulations and is as exciting to read as the ingredients on a bottle of ketchup. According to 14 CFR Part 43, Maintenance, Preventive Maintenance, Rebuilding and Alteration, the holder of a pilot certificate issued under 14 CFR Part 61 (that’s most of you) may perform specified preventive maintenance on any aircraft owned or operated by that pilot, as long as the aircraft is not used under 14 CFR Part 121 (Regularly Scheduled Air Carrier, most likely not you). 

In summary, pilot-owned preventive maintenance is allowed. Keep in mind that preventive maintenance cannot involve complex assembly operations. The sidebar illustrates some of the preventive maintenance items that you are allowed to perform. However, just because you can doesn’t mean that you should. Whatever you decide to tackle, it should be well thought out and, at a minimum, preceded by a show-and-tell working session with your A&P, and most importantly, it should fall within your level of expertise, capability and confidence in completing the work at a level that will not compromise safe flight.

Also, keep in mind that once you successfully complete the maintenance, the job isn’t done until you make the requisite logbook entries. The entry needs to include a description of the work performed, the date of completion, the signature, certificate number and type of certificate held by the person performing the work. It’s important to note that your signature constitutes approval for return to service only for the work performed and not for unrelated issues.

Why Do It?

If your primary motivation for embarking on the owner-pilot maintenance journey is to save money, you may want to give pause and rethink it. While you might save some money, thriftiness should be merely a contributing factor and not the primary reason to turn wrenches on your plane. I’d argue that a better reason is getting your hands dirty will give you a greater understanding of your airplane’s systems and how they interact. It might even help you foresee potential catastrophic failures by tipping you off to subtle changes in operation that you might have missed had you not become intimately familiar with your bird. And yes, it might help keep your shop bill a little smaller, too. 

The Assisted Annual

What’s it like to be an assistant and an extra set of hands for your A&P when it’s time for that required annual inspection? In the best of worlds, your presence will provide some of the manual labor to assist your A&P with multiple, repetitive tasks such as removing inspection plates, removing seats for access to pulleys, cables and controls, and the like. 

The keyword here is “assisted.” Your presence during the assisted annual is to provide help and support on the non-complex labor-intensive tasks, not to be the perceived subject matter expert. Let your mechanic utilize their skills and expertise, concentrating on the complex tasks as efficiently as possible, reducing the overall labor hours with your contribution, which, in turn, will allow you to save some greenbacks. 

Read “Owner-Assisted Annual” to learn more about how you can help your A&P.

Is It Worth It?

Only you can answer that question. To most owner-pilots who take on some of the allowable maintenance items, the answer is a resounding “yes.” If you are so inclined, possess a reasonable degree of mechanical aptitude, and have followed these guidelines, you could be that rare pilot who not only can handle a crosswind but can also turn a pretty mean wrench. 

To read more about annual inspections, check out “4 Ways To Avoid A Nightmare Annual” and “Going Direct: Annual Airplane Anxiety (And The Daily Kind, Too).”

The post Airplane Owner-Assisted Maintenance appeared first on Plane & Pilot Magazine.

Here are seven engines—and one motor—that changed the game. 

READ MORE: Rotax 912

Gnome/Le Rhône Rotary

Even by the start of the 1910s, it had long been known that weight is the enemy of flight. Power, conversely, was an airplane’s best friend. So, the quest to build ever-lighter and more powerful engines was the critical pursuit as designers around the world sought to create engines to power new, truly practical aircraft. 

Liberty L-12

The Liberty L-12, which emerged toward the end of WWI as a real player, is a fork-in-the-road product, one that marks the divergence of lower-powered engines from engines that would get bigger and more powerful. The L-12 is actually a family of engines, with six- and eight-cylinder models produced, as well. But it was the L-12, a water-cooled, V-12 engine that opened people’s eyes to the potential of gas piston engines. With an engine able to produce 400 horsepower, nearly four times that of the most popular rotary engines of the day, it became clear to designers that the future of aviation power and, hence, aviation itself, was boundless.  

Wright Whirlwind

In light aviation before the era of the air-cooled opposed aero engine, the radial engine was the dominant engine type. This is in part because United States military planners voted strongly for the type, and their hunch paid off handsomely, as a number of radial engines from relatively compact to staggeringly powerful were installed in aircraft from trainers and personal travelers to the biggest bombers. If you want to understand the difference between the potential of the engine types, just picture a radial-engine-powered Beech Staggerwing of 1945 next to an opposed four-cylinder Beech Bonanza of 1945.  

The radial engine that started a flurry of development of this still-much-beloved-but-now-largely obsolete engine type, the Wright Whirlwind was a radial engine whose development dates back to the early 1920s, when the Navy forced Wright’s hand into developing this type. It started as a nine-cylinder radial, but the company soon started building lower-power, lower-weight models of five and seven cylinders, too, for lighter aircraft. 

The advantage of the radial engine was that it was air-cooled, and with the cylinders right out there in the open, they naturally got plenty of air, which eliminated a dangerous failure mode, the loss of liquid cooling, whereas air cooling had no such risk factor; as long as you were flying, the airflow was there. 

There were disadvantages, too. Radial engines have a big footprint, so they are inherently more draggy than inline or V-configuration engines, and as they got larger and more powerful, they were forced toward larger applications, too.

Radials by Pratt & Whitney (the Wasp Junior), Continental, Jacobs and Wright itself, with its Cyclone series, were all mass produced for aircraft between the wars and, at a lesser rate, beyond, being outfitted into some of the most beautiful and prized light aircraft ever built before giving way to opposed engines and a new, more modern world of light personal flying. 

Continental A40 Piper Cub Engine

The increasingly urgent need for greater speed and payload demanded that commercial and military applications go with large radial engines or, less frequently, inline or V-configuration designs. But for light aircraft, those layouts didn’t translate well, as they were relatively heavy, complex and expensive to produce. The engines that caught on were the series of four-cylinder opposed, air-cooled models built by Continental Motors and based on the Piper (nee Taylor) Cub. The 40-hp, magneto-spark engine weighed around 155 pounds, and its compact shape made it the perfect small engine to power what would be known within a few years as a groundbreaking design, C.G. Taylor’s E2 Cub, which morphed into the much-beloved Piper J-3 Cub. 

It was clear from early on that 40-hp was passable but not ideal, so the A40 grew into ever-increasingly powerful and only slightly heavier versions, the ultimate expression of which were the 90-100-hp C-90 and A-200 models, which produced an additional 50-60 horsepower for only an additional 15-25 pounds of dry weight. 

A very similar engine, the Lycoming O-145, emerged shortly thereafter, and it, like its Continental competitors, was perfectly suited for the light planes of the day, including the Piper Cub, into which the Lycoming was also fitted. It’s hard to find details on how many of these engines were produced during their heyday, but the numbers likely are far greater than 100,000, perhaps, apiece. 

Together, the two companies dominated the light plane engine marketplace for decades, and they still provide most of the engines for new-manufacture light aircraft today, all of which are based on these original designs. 

Lycoming 540/Continental 520/550-Series Engines

It might seem odd to break off the Continental and Lycoming six-cylinder engine models from the four-cylinder air-cooled opposed models they were based upon, but their impact on light aviation has been huge. The two companies’ star engines, the 550-series for Continental Aerospace Technologies and the 540-series for Lycoming, have given developers of high-performance single- and twin-engine aircraft a go-to motor for delivering reliable power for some of the most noteworthy aircraft of the modern era, including the Beech Bonanza, the Cessna 210 Centurion and the Cirrus SR22. While conventional wisdom holds that these engines have stood still as time progressed, that’s not really true. The technology behind them, including turbocharging and greatly improved manufacturing processes, have made them more reliable and powerful over the years. 

Rotax 912

One of the most revolutionary engines in light aircraft history, the Rotax 912 has gone into hundreds of different models of certificated and sport aircraft. A four-cylinder, hybrid cooling (air and liquid) engine, the first 912, introduced in 1989, boasted 80 horsepower of smooth, efficient power that helped catapult sport aviation to another level. Previously, two-stroke engines, many of them manufactured by Rotax, ruled the segment. The company has manufactured an estimated 75,000 aircraft engines, many of them derived from their popular engines for snowmobiles. 

The 912 was launched the same year, 1989, as a new, advanced two-stroke design, the 582, which is still in production. It was the pinnacle of Rotax’s line of two-stroke engines designed for ultralight and very light sport aircraft. It has been standard equipment on more than 225 different ultralight and very light aircraft. 

Producing 65 horsepower, the engine is a tidy fit for two-seat ultralights (most of which are simply small Experimental aircraft and not technically “ultralights” at all). For those who don’t want to mix oil and fuel, the 582 features optional oil injection. The liquid-cooled engine has an integral reduction drive because its normal rpm range of power—max power is delivered at 6,500 rmp—is far too fast for prop efficiency. 

The introduction of the 582 gave developers of very light aircraft a low-maintenance, more reliable and more powerful alternative to existing small engines, and in so doing, it helped launch the Light Sport Aircraft segment and regulations. 

But it was the 912 that helped deliver on the promise of sport aviation. Since 1989, the company has developed follow-on models, including more powerful naturally aspirated and turbocharged models that today with the 915 iS go up to around 150-hp. 

The 912 is around 33% more efficient than conventional gas piston engines, and it can run on auto fuel, as well as 100LL. 

Thielert Centurion 1.7

The latest update to light GA aircraft that has had much impact was the Thielert Centurion 1.7, introduced by Diamond aircraft in its DA42 (then called the Twin Star) in the early 2000s. The engine is an extensive conversion of a Mercedes automobile engine. It was the first successful diesel aero engine, though in this case, “success” is a word to be used with numerous qualifications. 

The four-cylinder, 135-hp, turbocharged, Jet-A-burning engine has numerous advantages, but its most compelling is its great fuel efficiency, in many applications up to 40% more efficient than gas piston engines of similar power rating. It also, as you just read, uses Jet-A fuel, which is widely available around the world and in many places far cheaper than avgas, not to mention that Jet-A is naturally unleaded. And because it’s turbocharged, the engine maintains its rated power to far higher altitudes than its gas piston competitors can. 

But the introduction of the engine was a disaster, with low time-before-overhaul times for critical components, poor reliability on top of that and spotty support, at least initially, from the airframe maker. Thielert itself declared insolvency, and Diamond took the extraordinary step of creating its own engine manufacturing subsidiary, Austro Engines. Thielert engines, now much improved, are produced in the United States by Continental Aerospace Technologies, though they have not had a strong uptake rate in the retrofit market, at least not yet. But given the aero diesel engine’s promise and demonstrated advantages over gas piston engines, many still believe its day will come at last. 

Electric Engines

At least to some degree, it’s not accurate to call electric propulsive devices “engines.” They are actually “motors” because, unlike engines, they don’t produce the energy that they convert into motion. Then again, the terms have become almost interchangeable, to the point that MIT’s guidance on the subject is that the two terms are, for all intents and purposes, interchangeable these days.  

The future of flight at this point looks to be electrically driven, so it would stand to reason that electric motors will be the new objects of study and fascination for pilots in the same way that Merlins and Double Wasps have been up to now. But it’s not likely to happen. Electric motors take electricity that’s stored elsewhere and translate it to a spinning prop. They are dirt-simple compared to even the most rudimentary gas piston engine. Maybe the new figureheads of aviation will be awesome new technology batteries? Yeah, that’s not likely to happen either, though it doesn’t mean we won’t be happy to have them in our lives. 

Six Modern High-Performance Piston Singles

The post Our Top 8 Game-Changing Airplane Engines appeared first on Plane & Pilot Magazine.

That question led to another: How could I become knowledgeable enough to make my own assessment? The answer that came to me was to become an Airframe and Powerplane mechanic, or A&P. If I did, then could I not only do my own assessment, but I could perform a lot of the maintenance on my fantasy aircraft. This sort of thinking sat in the back of my mind a few years ago until I actually started to investigate where I might be able to work on an A&P.

I ran across the Gavilan Junior College A&P program at an informational booth at a local airshow. California’s junior college programs offer students low-cost vocational training or academic training covering the first two years of college. Students can earn either an associate degree or vocational certification or transfer to four-year colleges and universities.

Gavilan College is the nearest junior college to me with an A&P program. Its main campus is in Gilroy, and its aviation maintenance program is at the San Martin Airport, a few miles north of the main campus. After attending a pilots’ meeting at their facility and securing my family’s support, I began juggling my work schedule to begin classes in the fall semester.

The Gavilan aviation maintenance A&P program has three basic components that align with the FAA’s requirements in the General, Airframe and Powerplant categories. Certificates of completion are issued for each of these areas that allow the student to ultimately become a licensed A&P. Students normally take General and Airframe during the first year and Powerplant the second year. All of the programs combine formal study and hands-on shop learning on a daily basis.

At the end of the first year, a student can take the FAA General and Airframe written and practical exams and begin working as a certificated Airframe mechanic. The reality of the job market, however, is that the complete A&P is required for most maintenance jobs. The time demands of all courses are precisely recorded daily on electronic and physical time clocks to ensure FAA training requirements are met.

In the first-year General course, I learned to safety-wire, identify and order parts properly, research the AD package for an aircraft, and basic electrical skills. The shop work focused on simple hand-tool tasks, such as cutting threads, tube flaring, precision measurements and other skills that, for me, were either pretty rusty, or I had never seen before.

This past year, I took Powerplant in the fall semester because it accommodated my work schedule. Having now completed the first semester of Powerplant, which covers reciprocating engines, I really feel a sense of accomplishment. The second semester of Powerplant covers turbine engines. The classroom phase covers the fundamentals of reciprocating engine cycles, fuels, lubrication, cooling, spark generation, generators and alternators—all the things that are needed for an engine to run properly.

However, it was the lab work that was quite dramatic and what I really came for. In the accompanying photograph is the Lycoming O-320-D2A engine that was completely mine to tear down, measure, reassemble and get into running status. This project took about six weeks and was followed by teardowns and reassembly of starters, magnetos, generators, alternators, and float and pressure carburetors.

The learning curve was fast and steep, but our instructor’s continuous guidance and hands-on help made it work. All students completely disassembled their own engines. Figure 2 shows my engine with the case split. Inspection according to the Lycoming engine repair manual showed several parts were out of dimensional tolerance. Since these were unairworthy exercise engines, students researched various parts catalogs to determine the appropriate replacement parts that would be needed if restoring airworthiness were the goal. In addition, students determined AD compliance for their engines.

After reassembly, with fortunately no parts left over, I mounted my engine on a test stand. Next, I added spark plugs that I had cleaned and gap checked, bolted on a test prop, timed the magnetos, added oil, and moved the stand to a location where the engine could be safely test run. It actually started as well as similar Lycoming engines I’ve used in rental 172s.

Further short test runs were made to check magneto drops, engine fluids and more. Rolling the test stand back to the hangar was immensely gratifying. This may all sound easy, but not everything went smoothly. On my first remating of the case, I left out one bearing half, necessitating re-splitting the case and going through the remating again. Surprisingly significant amounts of brute force were needed to accomplish some of the reassembly efforts on the cylinders. This was all part of the learning. I was continually afraid to exert a lot of force in tasks I hadn’t tried before. This probably results from a lifelong tendency to overtorque, overtighten and break things. It became an area where the instructor’s guidance was invaluable.

In two years, students become aviation professionals under the guidance of Department Chair Herb Spenner, who instructs the General and Airframe courses, and Powerplant instructor Paul Agaliotis. Both are long-term A&Ps and previous graduates of the Gavilan program. Spenner completed his A&P after significant management positions as an electrical engineer, so he brings an added dimension to electrical work. In addition, Spenner serves as an FAA-Designated Examiner. Agaliotis’ prior career at a major air carrier also adds significantly to the real-world knowledge he brings to the students.

With the current hot job market for A&Ps, there have been recurrent visits to the school by major carriers, helicopter operators and the business aircraft market, which offer great opportunities to the Gavilan graduates for well-paying jobs with good futures. Although Gavilan and other programs make continual outreach efforts, it has proven a challenge to convince high school counselors to help students think outside the typical college track.

So, now I know a lot about what’s under the cowling. More importantly, I’ve gained skills that will make me a better pilot and a much more knowledgeable communicator to maintenance personnel in the future. Whether I can complete the A&P at an extended pace is an open issue, but I am very glad to have come so far with the aid of Gavilan, Spenner and Agaliotis.

If you’re interested in exploring A&P training programs, you can check with your local FSDO, or simply use Google to research what’s available. Like Gavilan, most programs will probably be more than willing to show you their facilities and explain your options.

The post A Pilot Takes An Engine Course appeared first on Plane & Pilot Magazine.

Whether you’re affected by a shelter-in-place order, or as in some countries where pleasure flight is prohibited for the moment, there are some special considerations you might want to take—or avoid taking—for your airplane as it endures an unanticipated and longer-than-usual period of time on the ground.  

Turn The Prop? This common and well-intentioned action could actually hurt your airplane. When I was a kid, there was an old-timer who would turn the props on his friends’ aircraft from time to time if they were sitting for any length of time. “Don’t want their engines to seize up,” he said, opining that by turning the prop a few blades now and then, it would move oil around the engine and keep the moving parts from sticking in place. He meant well, but it didn’t help. In fact, he was scraping any protective layers of oil from cylinder walls that may have been left at the last shutdown, when the engine had been turning fast enough to pump oil throughout its entire system. Lycoming specifically discourages such behavior, saying that pulling an engine through two or three times without starting it will have removed the protective coating from the valve train, camshaft and followers, and cylinder walls, and that starting the engine in such a condition would cause scuffing and scoring of parts, “resulting in excessive wear.”

Run It Up? Then there’s the “I’ll run it up and give it a workout on the ground” crowd. On the surface, that also seems like a fine idea to many—you’d get the engine warmed up and the oil would be circulating at a volume and pressure to properly protect the engine. What happens, though, is the combination of temperature and time isn’t enough to burn off all the condensation in the oil. In order to do a ground run long enough to really achieve this goal, you’d bake the cylinders on many engine-aircraft combinations that don’t get proper cooling airflow until you’ve reached flying speed.

Pickle it? There are proper methods for short-term storage of an aircraft engine, for pilots and aircraft owners who want to care for their airplanes in this downtime. Lycoming and Continental both have guidance on how to set their engines up for short-term storage. Continental owners will want to consult Service Information Letter 99-1; Lycoming folks will need Service Letter 180 B.

There are differences between the manufacturers’ letters, but the big steps involved are similar. Drain the old oil, install a new filter and service with the grade of oil directed by the respective engine brand’s direction in the letter. Continental directs flying for an hour; Lycoming simply says to operate long enough to get temperatures stabilized at the normal range. After shutdown, technicians are directed to remove the top spark plugs, spray the cylinders with a preservative oil, and add desiccants as needed in humid areas. Desiccant plugs in place of spark plugs can also help. A big red flag (an actual flag!) should be attached to anything used in the pickling process that is not to be used in flight.

Once “pickled,” a placard on the propeller should warn anyone against rotating it, to protect the coated surfaces.

Lycoming is clear their guidance is just that—not a firm directive and that can be adapted to individual situations depending on time to be parked and the climate where the airplane is situated. Both manufacturers also have guidance for returning engines to service after being preserved, or for extending preservation beyond the short-term timeframe.

Bug Prevention: While the engine is a big concern for most, other parts of the plane deserve some consideration as well. A good pitot cover should not need mentioning, but you might also want to come up with protection for static ports to ensure no bugs find their way into these tiny aluminum, steel, and plastic caves to make a nest. As with the desiccant bags, very vivid markings should be employed. A trip around the patch with an impaired pitot-static system is bad enough when we are sharp, it’s even worse if we’ve been out of the saddle as pilots, and compounded by embarrassment if we caused the failure ourselves.

Tires: Some museum pieces and long-term projects are parked with the tires jacked just above the ground to keep tires from going completely flat and damaging the sidewalls. But the threat of a pinched tire tube and damaged sidewall should be weighed against the possibility of your plane falling off the jacks if one jack fails or some outside force comes into play, such as an earthquake, or someone unwittingly bumping your plane.

Fuel: You’ll likely want to top off your fuel system to keep condensation in your fuel system to a minimum. And sump the daylights out of your tanks when it’s time to fly again. Fuel vents, like static ports, would be a good place to seal off and very visibly flag for safety.

Batteries? Aircraft batteries don’tt like to sit for long periods between use and charging. If your airplane has an external power plug, you may consider doing your first start from an external power source. For aircraft without a plug, owners may want to pull their battery and charge it prior to the first run after storage. There is an option some owners use for airplanes that do not fly often: A low-current charger that keeps batteries at peak voltage. These battery tenders can be used via clips removed prior to flight. Some owners install a pigtail to the battery terminals allowing a simple plug-in when the aircraft is parked. Those same owners often receive their pigtails in an envelope from their mechanics after an annual inspection, often with a scowl and a gentle reminder that equipment purchased from the local auto parts store isn’t really the sort of things that insurance companies or FAA examiners would smile upon discovering at a crash site or during a ramp check.

A word of caution, though. Electrical things left untended at a hangar have the potential to go horribly wrong when nobody is around with a fire extinguisher. Years ago, the FBO hangar at Carrollton, Georgia burned down. There were a number of versions of the story told, from a copier or air compressor that caught fire, to arson—which was the final ruling, to the heartbreak of many with airplanes in the hangar whose insurance policies did not pay off. The hangar blaze destroyed, among other aircraft, an irreplaceable antique Bücker Jungmann biplane. Those who were around when it happened, or those of us who grew up hearing the story told again and again, have a hard time leaving anything plugged in when we leave our hangars.

On a personal note, our Mooney is in a hangar where we parked it before things got ugly, and is an hour’s drive away. The hangar has an apartment attached with an elderly friend living there. His health vulnerability trumps my need to fly or put a wrench to the gray bird right now. It has sat for months throughout its life before without significant problems. Another month or so if needed won’t be the longest spell of being parked that it has ever seen. Machines, after all, are usually a lot easier to fix than people who fall ill.

Jeremy King is an A&P mechanic, an airline pilot and the proud owner of a 1965 Mooney M20C.

The post Helping Your Airplane Shelter in Place appeared first on Plane & Pilot Magazine.

Ideally, everything that’s part of our plane is supposed to be working before we go flying. Planes are designed with a minimum of extras to increase reliability and save weight. In the design of an airplane, each item has to do its part, and all superfluous pieces are (hopefully) engineered away. “Simplicate and then add lightness,” said one great designer. Therefore, because every part of a plane has a larger-than-life importance, compared to many machines, aircraft must not be allowed to operate with something not working. So, does it follow that all of its parts are essential and must be present and working before flight?

Well, that’s what the FAA thinks. To be in airworthy condition, our airplane must conform to the condition in which it was certificated originally or as specified by AD or a Supplemental Type Certificate. That means, if a part was installed and working when it left the factory, or has been functionally replaced under STC, it has to be operational for flight. Relief from such regulatory overkill can only be granted with approval contained in an Approved Minimum Equipment List, or if the inoperative item was shown as “optional” on the original paperwork.

“Oh, sure,” derides the resident airport sage. “There ain’t no such thing as a perfect airplane.” As our aerial steeds age, things tend to wear out or break. Most planes more than few years old will have a bent piece of trim or a cracked fairing. And sometimes a burned-out lamp or balding tire is allowed to wait until the next scheduled maintenance is due or the shop has time to work it in. Many mechanics will suggest letting minor flaws wait until the next shop visit, to save the owner money and keep the floor clear for scheduled work. Meanwhile, the owner opts to fly with it “as is,” justifying deferment of the repair or replacement as “no big deal.”

As a fleet manager, I know airplanes break, and I know that taking the same plane out of service every week or so to fix something is a real hassle. Maintainers often wonder if the plane incurs more wear and tear in taking off the cowlings than by routine operation. At some point, however, we have to decide whether or not it’s okay to fly with something in less than perfect order. So what if the decorative plastic instrument panel cover is cracked? Can’t the plane be flown without it while it’s getting fixed, with the instruments laid bare?

The short answer is “maybe;” if there’s a required factory-supplied placard on the cover that contains some information about the aircraft’s limitations, you can’t fly without it. In that case, it’s supposed to be there, for the pilot’s enlightenment, although one might be able to fly if a replacement limitations placard is installed on the bare panel while the cover is off. But if the panel cover is purely decorative in nature, devoid of placards, it’s okay to fly without it.

“As a fleet manager, I know airplanes break, and I know that taking the same plane out of service every week or so to fix something is a real hassle.”

How do you determine what kinds of things you can fly without if they’re broken? At the heart of the matter are the specified items in FAR Part 91, Subpart C, paragraph 91.205. In addition, items noted in the Type Certificate Data Sheet and items listed as “required” in the aircraft’s equipment list have to be installed and operational. Beyond that, one gets into the “gray areas” reverting to the installed equipment that was on the aircraft when it received its certification. If you’re not sure, get it fixed before flying.

How about making a flight with the heater control stuck in “off” position? Sure, it’s summer, but what if you encounter a cold front and the cabin gets chilly, or you need the defroster to keep the windshield clear? I’m pretty sure the FAA would say the heater has to be operational. In any event, placarding and forgetting is inviting risk in the door. Putting an advisory placard on an inoperative item, to remind yourself or the next pilot that it’s broken, is a wise, but potentially touchy, practice. Just make sure the item isn’t something required for flight, like one of the two radios. You can’t just placard a required piece of equipment and keep flying, in most cases.

Too Many Glitches

At some point, deferring maintenance gets out of hand. We may decide to let something go until the next oil change is due or the plane goes in for annual. Pretty soon, there will be two or three items that need fixing, and then a half-dozen, and then we start to forget what’s working and what isn’t. Old junk airplanes, of which I’ve flown a great many, are no fun to fly because they’re ready to surprise you with a forgotten glitch. I hate having to remember to slam a baggage door into latching by holding it in a certain way. Or that this N-number has a weak left brake, while its sister ship has a soft one on the right.

Is it legal to fly with something not working as it should? The FAA takes a simple approach; any deficiencies must be fixed before flight. Even a test hop to see if the repairs were effective could be deemed illegal if the pilot knows there’s a chance that something still isn’t working at 100%. And the paperwork must be signed off before flight; saying “you can come back and pick the logbooks up later” is putting the pilot at risk of a violation.

But in the real world, the aircraft owner, and the pilot, must often make a judgment call. How soft a brake is “too soft,” and how cracked is “too cracked?” Regardless, it had better be an informed judgment call, that is, not just to weigh the airplane’s legal airworthiness but to ensure real airworthiness. Some things are more important than you think; if in doubt about whether or not an item is really necessary, you should ask a trusted source, someone who is willing to fly in the airplane with you on the strength of their advice. The owner is at risk for allowing the airplane to be flown with a deficiency, and the pilot has ultimate responsibility for making sure the aircraft is airworthy before flying it.

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Make A Squawk List

How is this assurance of airworthiness to be done? A simple preflight inspection doesn’t reveal more than the major, obvious shortcomings. You have to track maintenance requirements, and the status of any deferred items waiting to be given attention, in a manner that ensures nothing gets overlooked to the point of compromising safety. I like to maintain “squawk lists,” even though keeping such a list invites litigious exposure if it is discovered after an accident. “Squawks” are write-ups left by a pilot who discovered something was not working, for the benefit of maintenance personnel and the next pilot who might try to fly the plane. Even if you’re the only one who flies the aircraft, keep a list of things you want to get taken care of so you won’t forget them.

Some squawks will be pretty minor but annoying, like a missing non-skid tread on a boarding step. Others are serious, like a tire that’s nearly worn down to bare, and some, such as a missing fuel cap, effectively ground the aircraft. Keep the squawk list handy where you can make a note immediately upon discovery. Review it often, so you won’t let it grow lengthy from neglect. Permitting one thing to pile up after another soon leads to an airplane that’s so unfriendly to fly that you hate to take it out of the hangar. I’ve seen airplanes sit unused for just that reason.

The nature of the mission sometimes determines whether a squawk is minor or grounding in nature. Maybe you’re fine with taking the airplane around the pattern to shoot a few landings around the uncontrolled field when a radio is acting up, but hopefully you wouldn’t be comfortable leaving on a 500-mile trip into a high-density traffic area with such a glitch. You might make a breakfast flight without a working landing light but not a family visit that runs the risk of coming home in the dark. A non-functioning DME may be an annoyance for an iPad-guided flight in VMC, but it might be totally unacceptable for filing IFR in actual conditions, unless you can substitute an IFR-certificated GPS for it.

If a squawked item becomes more than annoying, it can move up the list toward “serious” status. Let’s say the nosegear shimmied during one of your less-stellar landings in a strong crosswind. You’ll probably write it down as something to be checked out at the first opportunity, since it only did it once. But if the shimmy occurs on the next flight, with the wind blowing down the runway or without any wind at all, and it does it entirely without provocation by the pilot, you had better get it fixed before flying again.

Putting something on the “to do” list requires that you know an abnormality exists. Make it a habit to check seldom-used items for proper operation. I have three airplanes with panel-mounted quartz clocks frozen in immobility. I’ve never had a pilot complain about those clocks; I suppose they habitually look at their phone if they want to check the time. Yet an installed clock must be operational for the airplane to be legal for IFR flight. Obviously, the stopped clock belongs on the squawk list, even though it may not be considered a serious shortcoming for most, if any, trips.

And be sure to keep an eye on the status of critical systems, making special note of changing trends, like the oil temperature needle that no longer sits in the middle of the green arc. Note where the “new normal” is indicating, and see if it moves further as the flight progresses. Log the tach reading when you add a quart of oil to bring the level back up to the usual amount; if you see the interval getting shorter, squawk the oil consumption for attention at the next shop visit.

Similarly, jot down some specifics when squawking avionics problems. The frequency being used might be important, and how long the radio had been on when it failed could be of significance. Did the audio problem occur with both speaker and headphones selected or with just one or the other? About how far were you from the station when the course indicator froze or the “off” flag came on? Did it work okay in GPS mode but not VOR/LOC? Troubleshooting issues, especially intermittent ones, is tough when the technician has little to go on.

Don’t rely on memory alone to keep track of the busted items on your airplane. If you’re going to defer maintenance for the sake of convenience, make sure it’s an allowable, not-required component. Whatever it is, write it up on the squawk list and keep the list current. Never, ever allow the safety of a flight to be compromised by flying with a non-functioning part. In the FAA’s dream world, aircraft are never flown with an inoperative, or partially working, component. That’s a good goal, but some pilots are put in a position where they need to insist “it was working” when they left.

Sure, there’s no such thing as a perfect airplane. Just remember, as you’re managing the flaws of yours, don’t let the length of that deferred list, or the seriousness of the items squawked, to get out of hand because far more is at stake than just the legality of it.

The post Flying Broken Airplanes: The Substantial Risks Of Deferring Maintenance appeared first on Plane & Pilot Magazine.

As an aviation community, we make a lot of noise about getting a good pre-buy inspection and thoroughly reviewing aircraft logbooks before making the leap into aircraft ownership. But can we say the same about encouraging our fellow owner/pilots to be meticulous in maintaining their planes?

We do an even worse job of educating new owners on the subject of deferred maintenance. Renting a safe, well-maintained airplane from your local FBO does not adequately prepare you for ownership, as I found out during that first year or two of aircraft ownership.

I learned only through trial and error—I made the errors, and it was a trial on my patience, not to mention my bank account. Some of the mistakes I made were on the conservative side of the coin, having the shop fix optional items out of ignorance and concern for safety, when, in reality, they weren’t really safety issues at all.

Older airframes need expensive maintenance. It is reality. I have owned three aircraft from the 1970s (one as a partnership) and operated out of an airport near the ocean. My 1970s-era airplanes had their share of corrosion problems, and on more than one occasion taking care of it wasn’t cheap.

I’ve been reviewing the amount of money I spent on my Cessna 182, which I sold recently, trying to understand why my shop’s bills were what they were. I’ll admit to being particular about how I maintain my airplanes, and over the four years I owned the Skylane, I don’t recall ever having an annual where I did not do at least a few “optional” items.

While everyone has their perspective on maintenance, I got to thinking of the times I have chosen to defer maintenance and what I’ve learned from that decision.

As every airplane owner knows, these optional items are typically the ones the mechanic tells you would be great to make but wouldn’t stop the plane from getting its signoff. One thing I discovered is that these “optional” items tend to move inexorably toward “required” if left alone long enough. In the example of my Cessna 182, corrosion issues caused me finally to act and replace the flap and aileron skins. The sheer volume of spot treatments in addressing the issue spot by spot was really adding up. So I bit the bullet and had the skins replaced. Likewise, cracked wheel leg fairings worsened to a point where it was prudent to swap them out, too, though I could have deferred.

There is no shortage of tough decisions to be made as an aircraft owner; deferred maintenance is one of those hard calls to make. While it feels as though it’s saving money by putting off the repair or fixing it little by little, in the long run, in most cases it drives up the cost.  

The post Why Deferred Maintenance Could Cost You Big Bucks appeared first on Plane & Pilot Magazine.

It’s probably not all that often that an airplane owner brings their plane in for an annual inspection and leaves with a smile. However, for seven years I was lucky enough to have that experience. During that time, I lived in Delaware, and the shop I used for my annual was located a short flight away in an adjoining state. The shop owner and IA retired from a major airline and was widely viewed in the area as one of the nicest people you would ever meet. I agreed with that assessment. I also agreed with his general philosophy on airplane maintenance, namely, if it’s not broken, don’t fix it. There are exceptions to this, of course, when it comes to safety-related items and FAA regulations, and I have always been proactive in that regard.

Unfortunately, my annual inspection “experience” changed dramatically this year. In 2016, after living for just under 20 years in Delaware, my wife and I decided to satisfy her longing to move back to where she grew up in Massachusetts. I knew the move would affect my flying experience due to differences in the weather and leaving the flying friends I had made in Wilmington. However, I completely underestimated one key point—the importance of having a nearby maintenance shop that I trusted both from the standpoint of making me feel safe but also from the standpoint of being able to accomplish maintenance work in a timely and cost-effective manner. After moving to Massachusetts in the fall of 2016, I decided that I would fly the 400-plus miles to my “old” shop for my 2017 annual. As in previous annuals, that one was relatively uneventful. However, when the time came for the annual in 2018, I made a decision I regret. I decided to give a shop near where I now live a chance to do the annual.

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The airplane in question for this inspection was a 1973 Cessna 177b (Cardinal) with 1970 tach hours and the same number of total hours on the airframe. I had owned this plane since 2010. The plane was always hangared and, despite having the original paint job and interior, it still looked great. The truth is, I learned to fly in this plane; it felt like a trusted friend and I loved owning it.

When I bought the plane, it had only 1,165 hours on engine and airframe. I had fully expected to overhaul the then-37-year-old engine immediately. However, compression tests, bore scoping, oil analysis and numerous discussions with trusted friends, mechanics and an engine data analysis service convinced me to hold off. In the end, I am convinced that was the right decision because eight years after purchase, compression tests, oil analysis and data from the on-board engine analyzer all continued to look good.

However, here is when the story takes an unfortunate turn. As opposed to a couple weeks of down time and a typical bill hovering around $3,000, my 2018 annual inspection took three months to complete at a cost of $20,200. I took the plane into the new shop the last day of April with a promise that the work would be started the first week of May, but that immediately slipped to mid-May. When mid-May came and went and the plane hadn’t even been pulled into the shop yet, I started to get concerned. Thankfully, by the last week in May, they had finally begun the work, and I thought we were close to being done. Little did I know that we were not even a third of the way through the ordeal. I didn’t hear anything further from them for nearly three weeks (mid-June), and what I heard knocked me off my chair because it was a 16-page discrepancy list. Reading the list, I felt like a member of my family was being insulted. What do you mean there are all these things wrong with my baby? She’s perfect! Not only that, but if every item listed were to be taken at face value, I would have to believe that I had been flying an unsafe plane for years. I didn’t believe that.

In terms of specifics, on the itemized discrepancy list there were 131 items shown, 82 relating to the airframe and 49 to the engine. Of the airframe discrepancies, 50 were listed as being required repairs, while for the engine 36 were listed as required. In the end, after a little bit of clarification and haggling, I agreed to nearly all the items listed as required and agreed to a few of the optional items.

Most of the items listed as required discrepancies were routine and not expensive. For example, for the engine, compression test, oil and filter change, cut and inspect oil filter, check primer ops/leak check, clean ignition leads and plug wells, inspect and replace induction air filter and vacuum wear inspection, were all listed as required but really were included as part of the basic inspection or were inexpensive fixes. There were other items that each required a couple hours of labor and inexpensive parts, such as valve covers leaking, an alternator attachment U-bracket that was cracked and a carb heat valve arm that was loose on the shaft.

The big-ticket item related to the prop. The IA listed dressing and painting the prop as required and estimated four hours to complete this task. However, he stated that he wasn’t looking forward to doing this work and that he was hesitant to “pass” the existing prop without sending it out to a prop shop for inspection and potential overhaul.

For the airframe squawks, like those for the engine, most that were required were routine and included ELT check, checking exterior lighting, checking cable tensions, lubing the interior and exterior and de-greasing the belly. The big-ticket items listed as required on the airframe included six hours of labor to treat light to moderate surface corrosion on the spar carry through, eight hours of labor to treat significant corrosion aft of the battery vent on the belly and two hours to clean, torque and torque seal elevator hinge bracket bolts. The shop also argued strongly for 11 hours of labor to replace some rusting cabin air intake scat hoses and cabin overhead scat hoses, even though they were listed as optional.

By now, it was more than six weeks into this annual inspection, but I still hadn’t decided what to do about the prop, so I requested that the shop provide an estimate to do the agreed required work and the optional scat tube replacements, and I finally received the estimate for the work a couple days later at $10,273. The plan was that once that estimate was in hand, I would decide about the prop.

This is the point in the process that I will admit that I made a couple of mistakes. Prior to the annual inspection, I had already been considering selling the plane. Although the engine was still running strong I knew it would only be a matter of time before I would have to face the inevitable overhaul of the engine due to its tach time and age. Although I liked the “retro” feel of the original 1970s paint and interior, I also expected that I would want new paint and interior sooner than later. The estimates I received for all three generally were coming in at $50,000-$60,000, so an expense that big was a factor. However, an even bigger factor in my mind was all the downtime that would be required to get all this work done as well as the logistical challenges. In any case, back to the prop story. What I should have done if I was ready to sell the plane was get the minimum done, namely dress and paint the prop. However, when I received an estimate of $3,100 to overhaul the prop, I agreed to have it done.

Like every other part of this story though, things didn’t go to plan. The shop was certain that the prop blades would not pass muster, but when it was sent out, the report came back that the blades were okay but the hub had some corrosion and needed to be replaced. The options I was offered were:

1) Prop overhaul with reconditioned used hub for $5,800

2) Prop overhaul with new hub for $7,700

3) A brand new two-blade McCauley direct replacement for approximately $8,600
4) A new STCed three-blade Scimitar prop from Hartzell or McCauley for approximately $11,000

As noted above, the original estimate was $10,273, and when I went along with the prop overhaul for $3,100, I expected that the final total would be a little over $13,000. However, by the time I chose option No. 1 to account for the replacement prop hub, the whole process was starting to feel like a runaway train. Adding in the reconditioned hub with the prop overhaul, the new estimate was now 50 percent more than the original quote. I wish I could tell you that this was the end of the story, but it’s not.

Eight weeks into the annual inspection, I received a message from the shop that they had found another issue that needed to be addressed. In reviewing the logs, they were unable to confirm that the oil pump gear kit installed in 1981 satisfied the requirements of AD 96-09-10. Basically, what they found was that the oil pump had an aluminum oil pump gear still installed that was subsequently found to be unsafe and should have been replaced no later than July 15, 2001. Since there was no record of compliance with this AD, it was necessary to replace the aluminum gear for an additional $1,888. At this point, the estimate for the annual was $12,161 plus $5,803 for the prop overhaul.

This felt like the final straw, but we still weren’t done because, according to the shop, while they had the accessory case off for the oil pump gears, the idler/spur gear that links the crankshaft gear to the camshaft gear jumped one tooth. When they put everything back together, they had difficulties starting the plane and when it did start, it ran poorly. By now it was just a week short of three months in the shop, and it took another week for them to figure out what had happened and correct it.

Long story short, by the time the annual was finally complete, it had been in the shop a full three months and I was presented with a final invoice for $20,700. Since the invoice from the prop shop came back exactly as estimated, this meant the other repairs were nearly 25 percent over the estimate of $12,161.

There is much to be said about why this annual took so long and cost so much. However, as the plane owner, I can point to a few factors that made it particularly hard to endure. The first is that for the shop that I had used for all the previous annuals prior to this year, I had developed a relationship that felt like a partnership. I had complete trust in the prior IA’s judgement about airworthiness issues and with his willingness to work with me to find cost-effective solutions to repair issues.

There are undoubtedly some who will read this article and conclude that significant maintenance items had been missed in previous years, but I don’t believe that. Furthermore, there were many items in the squawk list that were marked as required that I question. One is it taking an estimated two hours to repair leaking valve covers. Sure, leaking oil is not good, but old planes leak some oil, as anyone knows who has spent time around hangars, so this could have been deferred. Also, 0.7 hours to glue an existing compass card onto the panel? I could provide a lot more details here, but the cumulative effect of the squawk list as presented felt more like an exercise in finding billable items that could somehow be justified rather than what I view as the more desirable repair on fault approach. Given the fact that maintenance-induced failures are not uncommon, one could argue that this “shock and awe” approach is risky, as evidenced by the idler/spur gear jump.

As a related point, an EAA webinar by Mike Busch refers to three things that you should be able to expect from a shop doing your annual inspection, namely, competence, communication and cooperation. With respect to competence, I don’t have any doubt that the IA for this inspection has good understanding about aircraft maintenance, but one aspect of competence is accomplishing tasks in the agreed timeframe.

It’s the other two C’s, however, where I take issue. What is a reasonable amount of time to accomplish an annual inspection? Clearly, I had agreed to quite a bit of work, more than could reasonably be accomplished in a week or two, but communication on progress was largely non-existent. And 3 months? When questioned about why the communication wasn’t better, particularly considering the significant overage in the final bill, the IA’s response was, “I could spend hours a day just calling and emailing people on these many small issues endlessly updating estimates etc., or I could spend all that time turning wrenches getting their airplane done that much faster.” Huh? Of the three C’s, the hardest pill for me to swallow related to cooperation.

So with the goal of trying to prevent others from repeating the annual inspection experience I had this year, here are a few points to consider:

1) If you have worked with a shop for previous annuals and you like and trust them, don’t change. In my case, I could have flown the 400 miles to my old shop and almost certainly would have been happier with the outcome.

2) Understand your goals/plans for your plane: Is this your forever plane, or do you plan to sell it soon? If it’s the former, doing optional repairs might be justified, but if it’s going to for sale soon, doing the minimum that will keep you safe is the wiser choice.

3) If you must choose a new shop, do your homework. Handing over your plane for annual inspection is a big decision. Learn what you can about the shop’s reputation. If you can, prior to the annual, start with some small repair items to get a sense for how they do business. Is their communication good? Do they deliver on time? Are their costs close to estimates? Do you get the sense that they want to scour your logbooks not so much to ensure that everything was done correctly but more as an excuse to run up the bill? If you begin the conversations with the new shop and you feel like you are at a restaurant where the waiter is trying to upsell you on the surf, turf and caviar special, run.

4) Even after you have begun the annual, fight the feeling that you are being held hostage and that you have no control. In the worst-case scenario, if the experience goes completely south, getting a ferry permit could be an option.

The end of this story is that knowing there is not a shop nearby that I trust resulted in me listing the plane for sale during the three months the plane was out of commission. I really wasn’t sure whether I wanted to sell but thought I would just test the waters. In the end, I was convinced to sell it largely because, despite all the work that was done, there is more to do.

Among the many calls I had in response to the advertisement, one was an A&P who convinced me the plane would be going to a good home. So, for the first in many years, I am without a plane of my own. One thing I do know is that when I go through my first annual inspection with my next plane, I will be a lot better informed than I was this time around!

The post 4 Ways To Avoid A Nightmare Annual appeared first on Plane & Pilot Magazine.

Worried about getting stuck somewhere with a dead battery and no way to get going again, I set out to solve my starting issues. At annual inspection time, I sat down with my friendly neighborhood A&P and discussed my problem. I knew that the battery in my Cherokee was located all the way behind the baggage area bulkhead. I suspected that this might be the cause of the slow starter.

Because of their light weight and cheap cost, aluminum battery cables were used by a number of aircraft manufacturers. While aluminum is a great conductor, over time aluminum battery cables can develop corrosion of the wires and connectors. Once the corrosion sets in, the cable becomes an inline series resistor and, combined with the high starter current, develops a significant voltage drop along your battery cable. This reduces the voltage that is available for the starter motor and slows down the starter. Adding to the problem, the undesirable resistance becomes a heat source and could eventually cause bigger problems.

Over the years, most of my cables had already been replaced with copper, but the long run from the Master solenoid to the Starter solenoid on the firewall was still aluminum. After some discussion of what needed to be done and how to do it, I was given the “go-ahead” to tackle the job. I was under the supervision of a qualified A&P mechanic throughout the task.

For a step-by-step look at the process, see the Replacing Your Battery Cables photo gallery.

Believe it or not, you can also make your own custom cables, which, since I’m a hands-on kind of guy, was my solution. I started by carefully removing all of the interior panels necessary for access to the battery cable. My seats were already out, since we were performing the annual inspection. A lot of parts bags, and several different right-angle screwdrivers, were necessary to carefully remove all of the interior trim and panels. Making sure to bag every screw and then tying them off to the appropriate interior piece makes reassembly much easier.

The parts department ordered 20 feet of aviation-grade AN-2 copper wire as specified in the Service Bulletin, as well as several terminals. I studied the routing of the existing cable and noted the locations of any clamps used to secure the cable. The cable passes through an opening in the lower left firewall into the engine compartment. This pass-through is sealed and must be resealed with an appropriate caulk after the cable is installed.

I started in the middle of the run, cutting the existing cable and pulling it through the airframe. As I pulled the old cable out, I pushed the new cable through its path, first toward the rear of the airplane, then toward the front. After adjusting the slack in the cable, front and rear, I cut the cable. I was left with cable ends ready for terminals at the Master solenoid and the Starter solenoid. When I cut the cable, I provided enough slack to replace the terminal connections, if it ever became necessary.

Preparing the cable for the terminal is fairly simple, but you must use care to minimize damage on the copper strands when you strip the wire. This prevents fatigue failure of the outer layer of copper strands. Once you have the end stripped and ready for a terminal, you need to test fit the cable one more time. A trick I learned is to determine the position of the terminal on the cable that places minimal strain on the connection, and put a mark on both the cable and terminal with a marker to allow you to crimp the terminal in the correct orientation, finishing it with shrink-wrap.

Crimping the cable is done with a large crimping tool. Borrow one if you can. Good ones aren’t cheap. Luckily, our shop has one that looks old but does a great job. It has a knurled knob that adjusts the stroke of the crimper. Find the location that matches your cable size, make the adjustment, and it is ready to go. Line up your marks, make sure the shrink-wrap is in place, and crimp away. While it could probably be done solo, it sure helps to have someone help with this operation.

Once both ends are done, all that is left is to secure the cable at both ends and replace the interior pieces.

So, was it worth it? The first time I hit the starter, it turned over like a new airplane. The airport owner asked me afterward if I installed a new starter. We were both amazed at the difference. The increased cranking speed also results in easier starts, since the magnetos are spinning faster and produce a higher cranking voltage, making for consistently happy starts.

Denny Kotz is a retired mechanical engineer who, after a lifetime of dreaming about flying, earned his certificate at the age of 63. A native of Sandusky, Ohio, he has lived in North Augusta, South Carolina, since 1981. Another one of his passions is performing music, and he is a member of the Flying Musicians Association.

Want more stories and information about buying, owning, and maintaining your own airplane? Check out our Aircraft Ownership Archive.

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