We’ve focused on deals under $100K for our Bargain Buys series so far, but we could not resist checking out the 1979 Cessna Skylane RG that popped up on the listings this week. You just don’t see many 182s going for less that $150,000, so we thought we’d take a closer look. 

The combination of utility and every-pilot-can-fly-this-ness of the 182 series makes it perennially popular, and this 182RG is no exception. The owner has had this model since 2005, and they have upgraded to a Cessna P210, which provides a little more speed and altitude capability. Nevertheless less, the 182RG for sale has 4,680 hours on the airframe, and a good IFR package in the panel. 

So why is it on sale for $125,000? It’s been flown well past TBO on the engine (3,256 hours!) so you will probably need to budget for a new one. That will add roughly $60K to $75K for a new Lycoming O-540 powerplant unless you go for a less expensive option. It also has a bit of damage history, a gear-up landing in 1984 that is accounted for in the airframe and engine logs.

But for the right buyer, this could be a reasonable way into Skylane ownership.

READ MORE: Why the Cessna 182 Skylane Is a Top Used Plane

Interested in more deals like this? Check out AircraftForSale.com and our new PlanePrice feature that gives you a window into the opportunities that are out there.

Need help financing your dream? Visit our professional team at FLYING Finance for the best way to back your aircraft acquisition plan.

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Cessna introduced the follow on to its 206 with the 210 in 1960, retaining the struts of its predecessor to make it instantly discernible from its later strutless brethren on the ramp. The early models retained the IO-470 engine at 260 hp, but with plenty of oomph to perform well in a variety of missions.

This classic 210 comes with only 119 hours SMOH on its engine, but stands ready for a panel upgrade, befitting its bargain status. Based in Placerville, California, the 210 has 5,086 hours on it, and 1,076 pound of useful load to work with.

Rated a good deal, it’s priced at $74,500.

READ MORE: Cessna 210 Centurion

Interested in more deals like this? Check out AircraftForSale.com and our new PlanePrice feature that gives you a window into the opportunities that are out there.

Need help financing your dream? Visit our professional team at FLYING Finance for the best way to back your aircraft acquisition plan.

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1959 Cessna 310C

The current owner says it well: “The 1959 Cessna 310 airframe embodies the enduring legacy of the Cessna 310 series, known for its robust construction and reliable performance. With its classic design and sturdy build, this airframe continues to capture the essence of aviation history, appealing to enthusiasts and collectors alike.”

This particular 310 has mid-time engines matched at 1,219 hours a side since major overhaul, and an Aspen Pro 1000C up front along with a Garmin GNS 530W. With a total airframe time of 3,841, it’s open for a twin pilot ready to take on the shepherding of a vintage airplane, 

And with the recent price drop to $69,900, it’s priced to move.

READ MORE: Cessna 310

Interested in more deals like this? Check out AircraftForSale.com and our new PlanePrice feature that gives you a window into the opportunities that are out there.

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1979 Cessna 172G Cutlass

The common line in aircraft design remains: To get more speed out of an airframe, one way is to tuck up the gear. Cessna gained about 5 to 10 knots on its popular Skyhawk model when it installed its uniquely folding retractable gear and created the Cutlass. Once the darling of flight school flight lines, these 172RGs are now hitting a relatively soft market as training operations no longer need them for the complex portion of a commercial pilot certificate.

This good deal is running about $20,000 less than the average for the model, with high airframe hours (7,372) but a mid-time Lycoming O-360 180-hp engine at 660 hours since major overhaul.

At $99,900, the panel is ready for upgrades, with a Garmin GMA 340 audio panel and uAvionix SkyBeacon ADS-B Out to comply with that mandate.

READ MORE: Organize Your Flight Like a Pro

Interested in more deals like this? Check out AircraftForSale.com and our new PlanePrice feature that gives you a window into the opportunities that are out there. 

Need help financing your dream? Visit our professional team at FLYING Finance for the best way to back your aircraft acquisition plan.

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Like so many others, my journey toward a career in aviation began in the left seat of a shiny, polished, aluminum-and-red 1959 Cessna 150. N5709E was the prize possession of the Virginia Tech aviation department and carried me and my friends on our first flights, first solos, and private pilot check rides, and then on to a career in military or commercial aviation. We were not alone. The Cessna 150 taught the post-1950s world to fly. So, how did this remarkable little airplane come to be such a success?

Those pilots who subscribe to the axiom “never fly the A model of anything” will be pleased to know the first model of this small but sturdy aircraft was simply the Cessna 150. Spanning the 1959 and 1960 model years, the original was an extensive update of the successful Cessna 120/140 line. Cessna 140 production had ended in 1951 as the postwar aviation boom flagged. However, by the end of the decade, the training market was beginning to heat up, and Cessna decided to get into the game.

The Cessna 150 prototype squared off the wingtips and tail surfaces of the 140, featured a straight, windowless tail cone, manual 40-degree Fowler flaps, and most important for the training market, tricycle landing gear. The systems were simple and even a bit rudimentary. The stout little Continental O-200A, 100 hp four-banger was started by pulling on a shiny “T” handle at the top of the minimal instrument panel. The handle tugged a cable that engaged the starter. Venturis powered the basic vacuum system, and the generator was driven directly off the accessory drive, eliminating the need for a drive belt.

Of the first Cessna 150 model, 683 were produced in 1959 to ’60, and they are, by most accounts, the lightest, fastest and, many will say, most fun to fly. Three models were offered—the standard, trainer, and intercity commuter. The latter added luxuries such as a vacuum pump, attitude indicator, and rotating beacon. The major shortfall of the tiny Cessna was its narrow cabin. Advertisements of the time usually featured what appeared to be 7/8-scale pilots and passengers sitting happily side by side with their luggage neatly behind the seats. In reality, two standard FAA 170-pound occupants would find the cockpit a bit cramped, and extensive crew coordination was often required for simple acts such as putting on a jacket.

However, none of this really matters because the Cessna 150 remains to this day a delight to fly. It cruises at 90 mph (78 knots), stalls at 47 mph (41 knots), and the manually actuated, 40-degree flaps allow for very precise short-field performance. Its 22.5-gallon fuel tanks and 6-gallon-per-hour fuel consumption allow for a realistic no-reserve range near 300 nm. Control forces are light and visibility is good, as long as a wing is lifted before each turn, and the spring steel “Land-O-Matic” main landing gear forgives the wide variety of student pilot landings. To top it off, the secret to the longevity of the Cessna 150 was its ability to be upgraded, modernized, and adapted to the needs of newer generations of pilots.

The Cessna 150A, introduced in 1961, increased the size of the rear side windows and moved the main landing gear legs rearward by 2 inches. This counteracted the original’s disturbing habit of settling on its tail.

The next big upgrade occurred in 1964. The Cessna 150D model introduced the ubiquitous “Omni-Vision” rear window. Both the 1964 D model and 1965 E model combined the manually activated 40-degree flaps and the straight vertical tail from the earlier models, making them a favorite of the National Intercollegiate Flight Association’s (NIFA) annual precision landing competition. By 1965, the F Model introduced a 35-degree swept vertical tail, electric flaps, and a list of aerodynamic improvements, including a standard spinner in all models.

One of the most welcome additions arrived in 1967 with the 150G model’s curved entry doors, which provided an additional 3 inches of cabin width. Not to be outdone, the 1970 model heralded the introduction of the Cessna 150K Aerobat. The Aerobat—with its six positive and three negative G limits, shoulder harnesses, distinctive checkerboard paint, and dual skylights—was an instant hit. Still powered by the 100 hp Continental O-200A, the Aerobat is no Pitts Special or Extra 300, but it provides a great platform for basic aerobatic training, and spin and upset recovery, as well as energy management training.

The Cessna 150 proved to be an international success too. Nearly 2,000 Cessna 150 models were constructed in Reims, France. While these aircraft usually mirrored their stateside models, many featured the Rolls-Royce-built Continental O-240 variant that increased horsepower by 30 percent.

The Cessna 150 enjoys many aftermarket modifications to the Cessna 150. At least two supplemental type certificates (STCs) allow for the installation of the Lycoming O-320 or O-360 in place of the original Continental. This mod increases fuel consumption and reduces range significantly, but it dramatically increases performance at high and hot airports. And in a return to its Cessna 120/140 roots, the “Texas Taildragger” conversion puts the Cessna 150 back on conventional gear, providing the added benefit of reduced drag and weight associated with the removal of the nose landing gear.

By 1977, the final year of Cessna 150 production, the reduced availability of 80 octane fuel and a nearly 150-pound empty weight increase over the original Cessna 150 necessitated a change to the Lycoming O-235. Designated the Cessna 152, power increased modestly to 108 hp and, because of concerns about full-flap go-arounds, the electric flaps were limited to 30 degrees. Approximately 7,500 Cessna 152s were produced in the U.S. and France during its 10-year production run that ended in 1988.

When production halted, the company had built 31,471 Cessna 150/152s, placing the 150 in fifth on the list of most produced aircraft, just behind the entire Piper PA-28 line and just ahead of the Cessna 182. As to that original question—“Why not just restart the production line?”—you will have to ask Cessna. It may be increased production costs, an effort to avoid clashing with its incredibly successful Cessna 172 (the most produced airplane in the world), or competition from the growing LSA market, just to name a few. In any event, the Cessna 150 stands out as the definitive two-seat trainer of its time with nearly 23,000 registered around the world.

Oh, and how about N5709E? Lovingly restored to its 1959 livery, it is still on the active rolls and can be seen flying to various events where classics are appreciated. So, next time you talk to your pilot friends, ask them about their first airplane. You might be surprised how many got their start in the sturdy Cessna 150. 

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

The post Incredible Plane: Cessna 150 appeared first on Plane & Pilot Magazine.

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.

Much has been made of the longevity of the legendary DC-3 and the ageless C-130 and B-52. However, one overlooked icon in this group is a general aviation-inspired jet that taught pilots to fly for over 50 years! The year is 1952, and the U.S. Air Force is in the middle of a transition into the Jet Age. However, pilots brought up on more forgiving seat-of-the-pants trainers like the venerable AT-6 Texan are not prepared for the speeds and altitudes envisioned in the new all-jet Air Force. 

But who to turn to for this new basic trainer? As it turns out, Cessna Aircraft, which had a growing reputation for producing reliable, sturdy and docile training and observation aircraft, answered the call. The specification for the “Trainer Experimental” (TX) program called for a two-seat, jet-powered, basic-training aircraft that would be easy to maintain, strong enough to withstand the punishment meted out by student pilots, and forgiving of their inevitable mistakes. 

Cessna’s design for the TX program, the XT-37, called for a compact monoplane with a cruciform tail, powered by two Continental J69 turbojets. Originally produced under license from the French aerospace company Turbomeca, these J69s were compact, reliable and eventually generated approximately 1,000 pounds of thrust each. However, the J69 had a centrifugal flow compressor section, similar to the original Whittle turbojets and the sirens used by fire departments. The little jet produced an unforgettable high-pitched whine, especially as the power was increased out of idle, giving rise to the T-37’s moniker, the “6,000-pound dog whistle.” 

A critical requirement was that the new jet trainer be able to spin and recover, no mean feat at a time when most jet aircraft were susceptible to engine flameout, flat spins or unrecoverable rotations if spun. Using its general aviation experience, Cessna approached this problem by equipping the XT-37 prototype with stubby straight wings and a cruciform tail that would remain effective in the spin cycle. Even with these design features, the original prototype crashed during spin testing. As a result, long spin strakes were added on each side of the nose, the tail enlarged and the problem solved. 

The Tweet, as it would come to be known, weighed in at 6,500 pounds and sat on a retractable landing gear set a whopping 14 feet apart. The instructor and student sat side by side in ejection seats under a clear canopy!

The airplane that emerged, referred to by Cessna as the Model 318, was similar in size to the typical piston-engine single. It had a wingspan of 33 feet and a length of 29 feet and was 9 feet tall at the tail. The Tweet, as it would come to be known, weighed in at 6,500 pounds and sat on a retractable landing gear set a whopping 14 feet apart. The instructor and student sat side by side in ejection seats under a clear canopy! 

The result: a jet aircraft that pilots with a few hours of flight screening time in their logbooks could solo in less than 15 hours. It was fully aerobatic and IFR equipped. Budding U.S. Air Force and NATO pilots would spend nearly 90 flight hours in the Tweety Bird while mastering aerobatics, earning their IFR rating, and becoming formation qualified. The T-37 would take all the abuse that students could mete out and was very forgiving of errors, and the side-by-side seating provided an excellent working environment for instructors and students. The T-37 was produced in several variants for nearly 20 years, with the fleet eventually numbering over 1,200 strong. All the USAF versions were eventually modified to the T-37B specification. 

However, during the Vietnam War, a call went out for a light attack aircraft that could be exported to allies. The A-37 Dragonfly, as it was called, took the basic T-37 airframe, shoehorned 2,800-pound thrust J-85 Axial Flow turbojets from the T-38 Talon and added tip tanks, hardpoints and an internal minigun. Maximum takeoff weight increased dramatically from 6,500 pounds to 14,000 pounds, and its service ceiling increased from 35,000 feet to 41,000 feet. Nearly 600 A-37B “Super Tweets,” as they were often called, were operated by USAF active and reserve units as well as several South American countries, South Korea, Thailand and, of course, south Vietnam. 

From its introduction in 1956 until the last T-37 was retired in 2009, the Tweet was the primary trainer for Air Force pilots. For those who flew it, it’s an unforgettable bird. 

It had its shortcomings, though. While the T-37 boasted a service ceiling of 35,000 feet, it was limited by regulation to 25,000 feet by its unpressurized cockpit. A very capable aerobatic performer, if a little underpowered, the Tweet could perform beautiful loops, rolls and Cuban Eights in the hands of students with barely 30 hours in their logbooks. As an instrument platform, the 1950 vintage instruments, including the venerable J8 attitude indicator, would seem a bit antique today. However, by the time pilots moved on to the Supersonic T-38 Talon, they had a solid base in basic and advanced instrument flying. 

The one feature that every pilot who flew the T-37 remembers was the spins. Unlike the spins familiarization training administered to Certified Flight Instructors today, T-37 student pilots were trained to enter and recover from a multitude of attitudes and enter and recover from spins on their check rides. And the Tweet was up to the task. However, unlike modern spin recovery techniques, the T-37 pilot’s first two action items were to pull the throttles to idle and the stick abruptly full aft. This would recover the Tweet from an inadvertent inverted spin and then allow the pilot to release back pressure and recover normally. 

Ask anyone who has flown the T-37, and they will tell you it was fun to fly, sturdy and a great place to learn to fly. In this age where we expect budding airline pilots to obtain 1,500 flight hours before they transition to jet aircraft, T-37 Tweety Bird alumni will attest that it can be done a lot sooner than that. And if you have the time and money, at least one surviving Tweet graces the pages of Trade a Plane. Kudos to Cessna for developing the T-37 Tweet that taught pilots around the world to fly for nearly 50 years. It truly is an incredible plane. 

Learn about another Incredible Plane, the Helio Courier here.

The post The Cessna T-37 Tweety Bird appeared first on Plane & Pilot Magazine.

Despite these built-in challenges, designers in decades past succeeded in creating a handful of excellent family planes; that is, ones that are roomy enough for everyone in the modestly sized clan, are fast enough to get somewhere and have good enough range to cover a lot of ground between fuel stops.

Here’s our list of some great used planes for pilots looking to fly the fam.

Grumman Tiger

This is one plane you probably didn’t expect to see here, but it is a great family plane—so long as the kids are still little, that is. It’s easy to fly, has fantastic visibility, has room for bags (so long as the packing planners are prudent), and is both fast enough, around 135 knots, in my experience, and comfortable enough to make a good cross-country platform. This type was, in fact, the first family plane I ever flew, and I flew it a lot. For our typical missions, which were to take two grownups up front and two little kids in back, on trips of 500 to 750 nm for vacation or a quick trip to see relatives, the Tiger was ideal. The visibility is to die for, the fuel economy with a Lycoming O-360 is just fine, and the interior is plenty roomy. Plus, the Tiger is a relatively affordable buy in today’s high-priced used plane marketplace. Alternatives: Cessna 172RG; Diamond DA40.

Piper Cherokee Six/Lance/Saratoga

Piper’s six-seater, introduced in the 1960s, looked pretty much like what it was, a stretched-out version of one of Piper’s wildly popular, four-seat PA-28s. And then some. The “then some” part is critical here because Piper designed the plane right. Instead of merely giving it a stretched fuselage and a couple more seats, Piper’s designers gave the PA-32 a big double door in back, which made loading passengers and gear that much easier. They also added the club seating option, so the second and third row of seats faced each other instead of all facing forward, which is ideal for hauling stuff around, even without removing the rear row of seats, or for an adult in one of the rear-facing seats to keep an eye on the young’uns. The PA-32 was a popular plane and one that came in a variety of flavors over the years. There was the original 260-hp, all-forward-facing-seats version; the 300-hp model with and without club seating; a retractable gear model; and a T-tail version, too. The retractable gear models are fast, around 160 knots, compared with closer to 145 for the 300-hp fixed-gear Cherokee Six, and as is the case with many Piper models, the production run of the PA-32 spanned the era of the fat, squared-off wing (the Hershey bar wing) and the later, tapered airfoil. Regardless, all of them are excellent family flyers, which, again, I know from experience, as we flew PA-32s for years (including one that we owned with a couple of partners) and traveled far and wide with it as the kids got bigger. Alternatives: Beechcraft A36 Bonanza; Cessna 206.

Cessna 182 Skylane

So much has been written about the Skylane, and for good reason. It is one of the most popular planes in the history of aviation, both in terms of numbers built and capability. There’s very little the Cessna 182 can’t do, and one of the things it excels at is hauling a good load, doing it with decent speed and excellent flying manners. While Cessna introduced the stretched, six-seat 206 Stationair for those who needed even more room and hauling ability, for many families (ours included), the Skylane was plenty of airplane. It’s not the fastest plane out there—I used to flight plan for 135 knots and be pleasantly surprised if it was closer to 140—and so long as the load was balanced, it handled like a charm even when loaded to right around max takeoff weight. Earlier Skylanes were outfitted with the six-cylinder Continental O-235, and later ones are powered by six-cylinder Lycoming IO-540; they’re both great engines. If you can make do with four seats instead of six, the Skylane is a tough plane to beat for economical family flying. Alternatives: Piper PA-28-235 Dakota/Pathfinder; Beech V35 Bonanza; Maule MX-7.

Beechcraft A36 Bonanza

For many years, Beechcraft singles were the epitome of high-end personal flying, and with the introduction in the mid-1960s of the six-seat A36 model, Beechcraft (today owned by Textron Aviation) created what might be the perfect piston-powered family transportation plane. The A36 Bonanza simply checks all the boxes. Like the Cherokee Six, it features a sizable side door for rear-seating passengers to get into and back out of the plane. Club seating is standard; it’s roomy for the first four seats and passably roomy for the back two, and it’s both fast (around 170 knots) and long-legged, with a max range with the larger fuel tanks topping 800 nm. And the Bonanza just exudes a sense of high style while putting in the work. The A36 was never a cheap option for those looking for six-seat family cruisers; it just might have been the best one. Alternatives: Piper Saratoga, Piper Malibu.

Cirrus SR22

Even though not many pilots think of the Cirrus SR22 as a family plane, a lot of Cirrus pilots do, and their missions back up the belief. This is well known to the company, which markets its planes through its “Cirrus Life” brand initiative. The idea is that when you buy a Cirrus, you’re not just buying a plane but also a lifestyle. The program clearly resonates. The SR22, after all, has been the best-selling plane in the world for many years in a row now, and part of that is that it gets flown a lot. Just listen on center or approach frequencies for the small planes flying about; a lot of them are Cirrus SR22s. The plane is fast, remarkably roomy and sophisticated to beat the band. It also, and this should not be underestimated, features a whole-airplane recovery parachute system, a feature that clearly gives other family members enhanced confidence in the experience. SR22s are not, however, cheap. With brand-new ones going for around a cool million, they are a premium product, but they make good on that purchase price by delivering a premium experience. Alternatives: Cessna TTx; Mooney Ovation.

TBM

While we’re talking high-end singles here, we’d be remiss to not mention the TBM series of pressurized, single-engine turboprop planes. These are extremely expensive planes, both to buy and to operate. But the rewards are breathtaking. The configuration of the TBM series is very much like an upsized version of the Bonanza A36 or Piper Cherokee Six, with two seats in front and four seats in back in a club-seating configuration. But apart from the basic layout, the TBM is a whole other animal. It is a much more complex aircraft to fly, with systems that don’t exist on any of the other planes in this roundup. Those include (but are not limited to) pressurization and a turboprop engine, and the cost of upkeep and fuel is much greater than the priciest piston single. But the rewards again. A cruise speed, depending on the model, of between 285 and 335 knots, the ability to tool along at the flight levels in pressurized comfort, luxurious interiors and, in later models, sophisticated electronics. If you can handle writing those checks, what’s not to love? Alternatives: Piper Meridian; Piper M600.

Valuable flying lesson learned: Pilot Experiences Engine Failure on Family Vacation

Going Direct:  The Future of The Light GA and The Four-Seat Family Plane

Our Top 25 Planes Of All Time: Is yours on the list?

The post The Best Family Planes appeared first on Plane & Pilot Magazine.

Not everyone believes that beauty is a mystery. For the past couple of decades, mathematicians have been attempting to quantify what we find beautiful, notably in human faces, by probing the relationship of parts and their arrangement to the whole and trying to arrive at some kind of equation of beauty. Other scientists who are interested in the question of what we find beautiful are teaching computers to learn to replicate the judgments we make in finding things beautiful, so far mostly in photos of nature and people’s faces and not airplanes. At least not yet.

In the process, we’ve surely picked a few that hardly anyone would disagree with. You’ll see. At the same time, it’s almost certain that we’ve picked a couple that you might disagree with, perhaps strongly.

And as you’ll notice, too, we’ve only selected conventionally certificated GA planes, so you won’t see any P-51s, Constellations or Lancairs here, even if they are sometimes under the GA umbrella. We’ve also stuck to piston-powered planes, so bear that in mind, as well. 

So, without further ado, we present nine of the most beautiful airplanes in GA history.

Cessna Cardinal

One of the most beloved singles in the company’s long history, the Cessna model 177 Cardinal is proof that beauty isn’t necessarily synonymous with utility. Cessna introduced the Cardinal as a replacement for the somewhat ungainly-looking 172 Skyhawk, but it never came close to that, in part because the Skyhawk is a remarkable airplane, though admittedly one that didn’t win many beauty contests. The Cardinal, on the other hand, is the opposite: a gorgeous plane that’s limited in terms of utility. Like its older Cessna hangar mate, the Cessna 195, the Cardinal makes use of a cantilever wing, and while the Cardinal was intended by Cessna to be the replacement for the 172 Skyhawk, the plane never came close to competing with the Skyhawk as a do-everything flyer. Instead, the 177 became an iconic personal airplane, one that’s adored as much (or more) for its beauty as it is for its utility.

While the wing is definitely the thing that sets the Cardinal apart, Cessna designers did a masterful job of integrating the silky-smooth lines of the wing into the rest of the bird, to the point that the tail on early models was pretty but not particularly effective. Other distinctive features include the forward placement of the front seats, the low-slung gear, the wraparound windows—the Cardinal is perhaps the best sightseeing Cessna ever—and the cool wheelpants. The retractable-gear version, while a bit busy-looking on the ramp, is a true beauty once airborne, and opinions vary on which of the models is the prettier.

Cessna 195

The Cessna 195 is one of the oldest planes in our lineup, and its beauty is inextricably tied both to the technology of the era and Cessna engineers’ ingenious attempts to find ways around those technologies. The look of the Cessna 195—dubbed by the company the “Businessliner”—is dominated by a handful of features that are impossible to miss. First is the big seven-cylinder Jacobs 300 radial engine up front (and the gorgeous annular cowling that surrounds it), which gave the plane a lot of juice and a serious attitude. Second, the plane is unmistakably and unapologetically a taildragger, which was by the mid-1940s, when the nosewheel began to dominate, as much a statement of philosophy as a configuration choice.

Though inspired by designs from the 1930s, the 195 didn’t fly until after the war, in 1945. As such, it’s an amalgam of prewar thinking and WWII-era materials. Despite its vintage (even then) radial engine and taildragger configuration, the plane features modern sheet-metal construction both inside and out. Another signature feature of the 195 is its beautiful cantilever (strut-less) wing, the last high-wing Cessna to go without struts until the Cessna Cardinal in the late 1960s. While the ’40s were giving birth to new music and new fashions, the interior design of the 195 is Art Deco classic. Featuring beautiful branding details and a number of luxury-level flourishes, the generous cabin of the 195 is done up with an eye to craftsmanship and beauty as opposed to the bare-bones look of Cessnas to come.

Luscombe Silvaire

The Luscombe Model 8 Silvaire was produced in an era where there was no shortage of affordable two-seat light planes, including the prototypical example, the Cub. The Silvaire was different, though. In terms of configuration, the plane is nothing unusual. A two-seat taildragger with cozy side-by-side seating, the Silvaire, if anything, was a bit harder to land than its close competitors, thanks to its narrow gear and slightly higher center of gravity. Still, with its sheet-metal design (the wings were originally covered in fabric), the Silvaire was slipperier than its rivals by as much as 20 knots. People loved the plane and flocked to it—nearly 6,000 were built over the years—though its attraction wasn’t just for its performance, and it certainly wasn’t for the elbow room.

For many Luscombe Silvaire lovers, it was the beauty of the thing. The Silvaire name resonated, and while many were bare metal birds, and hence were literally silver, many others were painted, and fans of the model make convincing arguments for each approach. Either way, the beauty is undeniable, though admittedly it’s hard to know just where to give credit. The plane is just a beautifully balanced delight, a shiny sheet-metal dragonfly of a plane, light, agile, silvery and!timeless.

Beechcraft Duke

A pressurized twin with good speed and great range, it filled a coveted niche and competed directly against Cessna’s pretty 421 Golden Eagle. The pilots who bought a Duke were inspired by its looks. They were the kind of customer who might have a Porsche 911 in the garage at home. They were people who liked fast machines that also looked fast. Designers of the Duke achieved its striking look by taking the concept of “swept back” and applying it everywhere, and it worked. The combination of the swept tail, swept winglets, elongated pointy nose—like that of a hypersonic jet—and angular windows created a look that sold many a Duke before the buyer even climbed inside.

Cessna 310

It’s hard to make a twin look pretty. By definition you’ve got to hang those engines somewhere, and sticking them on the wing is about the only thing that makes practical sense with a piston-powered multi-engine model. So the design achievement of Cessna with its archetypal 310 light twin is remarkable. Unlike some models, the 310, which was produced from 1954 until 1980, seemed to look better with each passing model upgrade. The long, low-engine nacelles, the pointed nose and rakish tail all added to the allure. Like many twins, the early 310 suffered from a lack of range, so tip tanks were added.

As opposed to some planes, on which wingtip-mounted tanks look like tacked-on afterthoughts—which they pretty much are—on the 310, the effect is pleasing. They somehow improve the appearance of the plane. Even more, the effect is to take the Buck Rogers spacecraft feel of the 310 and amplify it, making it one of the slickest-looking planes you’ll ever meet on the ramp, even with those engines hanging off all over the wings. Inside the 310 is arguably even cooler, at least those rare ones with their original interiors intact. Over the years, Cessna interior designers worked their magic on the plane like none other in the inventory. There were plaid interiors, Western-themed ones and even butterscotch tweed versions. Many of those masterful time capsules have been sewn over in the intervening years, covered with simulated leather for what is perhaps a more saleable used plane but one that lacks the time stamp and personality of the original.

Globe Swift

The genesis of the Globe Swift is an odd one. Developed from an existing design, the Culver Cadet, the Swift somehow bore only a passing resemblance to its inspiration. While the Cadet was a decent-looking airplane, the Swift is a true beauty. Introduced in the postwar era, the Swift was, in a few important ways, the embodiment of the most famous fighters of the day in a miniaturized, and to be honest, an underpowered, package. An all-metal taildragger with a sleek low wing, the Swift mimicked the shape and style of planes like the American P-51 Mustang or British Supermarine Spitfire. And the Swift was up for the comparison.

Though it wasn’t intended to go fast—the first model had an engine of just 85 hp—the Swift had a lot of style. With spry handling qualities and a big glass canopy (that looked like a sliding canopy even if it wasn’t), the Swift is an airplane that makes it easy to check your six, if you’re so inclined. In the end, Globe, with the help of fellow manufacturer TEMCO, built more than a thousand of the little two-seaters, though within a few short years it was building far more of them than it could sell. Today, the Swift is a hot used plane for pilots looking for flying fun on the cheap. Many modify it with a true sliding canopy and a more powerful engine while swapping out, in true warbird fashion, the classic yokes for arguably even more classic sticks.

Beechcraft Bonanza

What a difference a few years make, especially when those years were the era of World War II and the world had changed irrevocably. In terms of aircraft design, there’s no better dichotomy to illustrate the change than two Beechcraft products separated by about a decade in calendar time but by eons in terms of approach, mission and aesthetics. When it created the Staggerwing in the early 1930s, the design team at Beechcraft came out with an Art Deco masterpiece, all finely figured wood and excess. The Bonanza, in contrast, was minimalism, efficiency and performance personified. The all-metal speedster was and is beautiful, but in such a different way than the Staggerwing that it seems impossible the two came from the same century, never mind the same side of Wichita, Kansas.

With its all-metal design (there was a little fabric on the early models), cool V-tail and retractable nosewheel landing gear, the Bonanza was more modern than any production light plane that would appear for the next decade. It didn’t rival the most modern automotive design standards; it foresaw future approaches. On the Bonanza, the V-tail is the defining component. Indeed, it’s hard to come up with another aircraft feature that so immediately confers the essence of the machine. The tail isn’t without its critics, though few find fault with its style. When Beech came out with the straight-tailed Debonair model in the early 1960s, some pilots went in that direction while others pointed at the vertical tail of the new offshoot, shook their heads and pronounced, “That’s not a Bonanza.”

Staggerwing Beech

Technically designated the Beech Model 17, this beauty from a bygone era is known almost universally as the Staggerwing Beech. As only a few other planes, it’s named after a design feature—the placing of the lower wing staggered ahead of the upper one. Designed way back in 1933, the plane was born during the era of high-stakes air racing, where speed was pursued at all costs. The Staggerwing, with its dramatic lines and short-coupled fuselage, looked for all the world like it would be right at home at the Cleveland Air Races, rounding pylons with the fastest air racers of the day.

Unlike some designs with radial engines, the Staggerwing’s look wasn’t dominated by the radial engine—the plane was outfitted with a number of different radial engines, from 280 to 710 hp, over its lifetime. If anything, the shape of the plane underplayed the powerplant, making it something other than the driving element of the look of the craft. With small, short-rise windows, the fuselage, as was common in the day, looks more like a fortress than an observatory, but again, somehow that adds to the mystery and intrigue of the design. Some think of the Staggerwing as a rare bird, but Beechcraft actually sold nearly 800 of the planes in its lifetime, which stretched out until the last delivery, in 1949. Beauty dies hard.

Piper J-3 Cub

You might be asking why we would choose the Piper Cub as one of the most beautiful GA airplanes ever. Good question. By all objective metrics, the Piper J-3 is all knees and elbows, a plane that looks like it was designed by committee, with a boxy fuselage, a too-long wing, its belly low to the ground and its nose sporting engine parts sticking out here and there. But when pilots see a Cub, we see a thing of beauty, and that might be because the plane is so central to our identity as pilots, whether we’ve flown one of them or not.

And the parts, far from looking thrown together, complement each other, the big, long glider wing providing shade for a pair of seats set in tandem, its horizontal Dutch door providing as much a maze and obstacle as a portal, and the cowling not ill-designed but intentionally showing off its buried treasure, 65 horses of just the right kind of sound. And then there’s the best part, the Cub yellow, the lightning bolt, the little Cub logo, all of which are odd on their own but blend together to create an identity that sings like a clear Pennsylvania morning as the tires clip through the tall grass headed airborne. Beautiful? Beautiful beyond description.

Now it’s your turn! Tell us which beautiful GA plane we missed by leaving a comment or emailing us at editor@planeandpilotmag.com.

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The post The 9 Most Beautiful GA Airplanes appeared first on Plane & Pilot Magazine.

Notwithstanding a 10-year hiatus during the late ’80s and early ’90s, the old 182 has been in production since 1956; with 55 years to pad its numbers, it’s the third-most-popular GA airplane, right after two siblings, the 172 and 150/152. It’s earned its popularity; it is arguably the most sought-after used plane in the marketplace. It seems like everybody is looking for a good 182. 

The Skylane

The Skylane stands alone as a simple-to-fly, high-performance, four-seat answer for pilots wanting to step up from a Cessna Skyhawk or Piper Warrior and Archer. To compete, Piper tried to market a 235-hp big-engine version of the Cherokee from 1964 to 1994, but it never caught on, mostly because the Cherokee Six was only a little further up the ladder, leaving the Cherokee 235/Pathfinder/Dakota to be always the bridesmaid, never the bride.

What the Skylane offers is a no-compromises version of the Skyhawk. Its only additions to a 172 pilot’s skillset are managing the constant-speed propeller and cowl flaps. While its heavier wing-loading demands more attention to managing sink rate on final, and the nosegear needs to be carefully protected due to the 500-pound engine sitting atop it, about five hours of transition training will probably suffice to turn a diligent Skyhawk or Cherokee pilot loose in a Skylane.

What makes

What makes the 182 Skylane so versatile is its abundant power; the constant-speed prop means its full 230-hp is on tap for takeoff versus the 90 or 100 hp available with the fixed-pitch propeller on lesser planes. After a Skyhawk lifts off, it has to pause and catch its breath before deciding to climb. The Skylane, on the other hand, accelerates past Vy without reluctance. Lightly loaded, it’ll deliver an initial 1000-fpm climb rate and readily move up to 10,000 feet MSL or higher, an altitude where Skyhawks fear to tread.

Settled into cruise, the average Skylane produces 130 knots and burns about 12 gph; with 84 gallons on board, you can stay there for five hours or more with beaucoup reserves, and the large cabin and stable ride keep everyone comfortable. If you want to land on a short grass airstrip, there’s no tender retractable gear to worry about, and the Skylane’s docile 50-knot stalling speed is only five knots or so greater than a Skyhawk’s.

The Power

For 31 years, the O-470 Continental six-cylinder engine was particularly well-suited to the 182 airframe. It was just big enough to satisfy a 172 driver’s lust without requiring a huge cowling, could econo-cruise at 9-10 gph if desired and had no fuel-injection maintenance and starting issues. It’s this happy marriage of engine and airframe that makes the mid-1960s to late 1970s Skylanes the most sought-after airplanes in the used-aircraft market.

After shutting down piston-plane production in 1986 over the triple threats of product liability exposure, slow sales and excess used-plane inventory, Cessna began building Skylanes again in 1997 but recertified with a 230-hp version of the Lycoming O-540 engine. Therefore, one divides Skylanes into 1956-1986 Continental-powered airplanes and the 1997 and onward Lycoming-engined “restart” models, with the latter series further sub-divided by the glass-panel Skylanes introduced in 2006.

The Skylane‘s Development

The history of the Cessna 182 actually begins with the 1953 “Golden Year” Cessna 180, introduced during the 50th anniversary of the birth of powered flight, the last new airplane company founder Clyde Cessna got to see before his death. Conceived as a businessman’s airplane to replace the still-extant 195, the sleek 180 took the light four-seat 170’s concept into high-performance territory with its 225-hp O-470 engine and constant-speed propeller. As with the 170B, it had huge semi-slotted flaps borrowed from the L-19 military liaison plane and a pair of 3-foot-wide doors. The 180 differed, however, in such details as a squared-off vertical fin, trimming with an adjustable stabilizer instead of an elevator tab, relocating the battery to the tail cone and using rubber fuel bladders instead of aluminum tanks.

As good as the 180 turned out to be, it was obvious after its first couple of years that the market, driven by Piper’s Tri-Pacer, had a growing preference for tricycle landing gear. Plans were already underway to make a trike out of the 170, so the 180 was a logical co-candidate. The 172 was certified on Nov. 4, 1955, and the 182 followed on March 2, 1956. Hedging its bets, Cessna kept the 170 and 180 tailwheel models in production, but the 170 lasted only one more year; the 180 quietly settled into a utility bushplane role.

The Cessna nosegear was a masterpiece; attached to the firewall rather than the engine mount, it could withstand abuse without transferring shock to the engine’s frame. It was steerable through springs, tailgear style, preventing interference with crosswind landings and lessening feedback to the rudder pedals on rough ground. Because it carried relatively little weight, a smaller 5.00 x 5 nosewheel was sufficient. On the 182, however, the extra moment of the larger engine carried a risk of wrinkling the firewall in a hard landing, an expensive repair best avoided by proper flying technique. The early 182 nosegear forks required replacement with a beefier version, dictated by an Airworthiness Directive back in the 1960s.

Like most first-year airplanes, the rushed-to-production 1956 Cessna 182 wasn’t all it should have been. It was perched too high on the 180’s maingear legs, so the 1957 182A had its gear widened 5.4 inches and lowered by 4 inches, changing the level ground attitude to 7 degrees nose-up to improve landing handling vastly in a crosswind. The steel spring’s thickness was also increased from 11/16 to 3/4 of an inch. The now-familiar Cessna parking brake handle under the dash was introduced, the direct-reading fuel gauges in the wingroot became electric panel gauges, an extra 5 gallons of gas were found (although usable fuel remained at 55 gallons) and 100 pounds were added to the gross weight. The old prop-open window frame was changed to today’s spring-open method, and the baggage door acquired its own external handle. The cabin door’s latch was given an over-center deadbolt to reduce wind noise, and a confirmation ratchet-click was added to the stabilizer trim wheel. Despite its funky one-year-only engine instruments cluster, the 182A was a vast improvement over the straight 182.

To finish out

To finish out the straight-tail 182s, the 1958 182A added a rudder trim bungee to relieve leg pressure in long climbs, and the 1959 182B introduced cowl flaps, which the 180 had always had. It was in 1958 that the first “Skylane” deluxe version of the 182 was offered, featuring all-over paint, a full-gyro panel and spiffy new wheel pants; the standard partially painted 182 was still available until 1975, but hardly any were sold.

For 1960, swept tails came into vogue; at Cessna, only the 150 and 180 retained their straight-up fins. For two years, Cessna built the 182C and D, which carried a swept fin and a third side window but kept the straight-back fuselage. For 1961, a twist-key starter replaced the earlier push button. However, it was time for a major makeover.

In 1962, the Skylane as most of us know it was introduced. The cabin was widened by 4 inches, an electric flap switch and fuel valve/trim pedestal replaced the old manual flap handle and floor tunnel, and a back window was fitted into a cut-away aft fuselage. The new flat-floor interior was so spacious I could slide my teenage body between the front seats in flight to reach the back seats. To restore stability with the enlarged cabin, an elevator downspring was needed, and a conventional elevator trim tab replaced the adjustable stabilizer. Optional 84-gallon fuel tanks were made available, quickly supplanting the old 65-gallon tanks. For 1962 and 1963, the 182E and F had a two-piece rear window; from 1964 and on, today’s single-pane rear window and teardrop side windows were used.

With the Skylane’s interior and exterior styling now firmly established, gradual improvements were made to the airplane through the 1960s and 1970s; 1965 brought a 10-inch wider tail, 1966 introduced a rams-horn control wheel, 1967 Skylanes had a shorter nosegear strut and smaller flashing beacon, 1968 introduced a preselect flap switch and standard-T flight instruments, and 1969 had optional electroluminescent panel lighting.

In 1970, stylish drooped wingtips reduced wingspan by 4 inches, and takeoff weight was raised to 2,950 pounds. However, the maximum landing weight remained 2,800 pounds, so it was necessary to burn off 25 gallons of fuel before attempting a touchdown. For 1971, an enlarged 200-pound baggage area was created, and in 1972, the landing lights were moved to the nose, a lower and wider tubular-strut maingear was used, allowing the landing weight to be raised to 2,950 pounds, and a cambered leading edge was added to the wings. The 1973 Skylane had a slightly longer dorsal fin, and in 1975, an aft shelf was added to the baggage compartment, and 5 mph more cruise speed was achieved by adding brake fairings and other clean-ups. For 1976, the primary airspeed indications and limitations were changed from mph to knots.

A major change occurred in 1977 with the introduction of a high-compression, low-rpm O-470-U engine, using 100-octane fuel. To maintain the 230-hp rating, maximum rpm was reduced from 2,600 rpm to 2,400, rendering the propeller control rather superfluous. For 1978, a 28-volt electrical system was introduced, and in 1979, a 92-gallon wet wing integral fuel tank system replaced the 84-gallon bladder tanks. The 1981 182R saw gross weight increase again, to 3,100 pounds, with landing weight restricted to 2,950 pounds, and an upper latch pin was added to the doors. In 1983, the recommended TBO of the O-470-U engine was raised from 1,500 hours to 2,000 hours to better compete with the competition’s robust Lycoming engines. The 1985 Skylane had a standard rear-seat shoulder harness (front-seat harness had been standard since 1971) and a standby vacuum system was required for IFR certification. The 1986 Skylane, of which only a few were built before a 10-year pause in production, carried a base price of $80,950, which we thought was scandalous at the time.

The Other Skylanes

Having foreseen the demise of the Cardinal RG, Cessna introduced the retractable-gear Skylane RG in 1978 as an alternative to the six-seat Centurion. The Skylane RG used an electrically driven hydraulic power-pack like the Centurion and Cardinal RG, with small-diameter 15-6.00 x 6 tires nestling into open maingear wheel wells. 

It had been determined that any future Cessna single-engine designs would use Lycoming engines, which had found a happy home in the Skyhawk and Cardinal 10 years earlier. The only alternative for the new limber-leg Skylane was a derated parallel-valve Lycoming O-540 of 235 horsepower, which required a beefier cowl to enclose the big Lyc’s front-mounted starter. My visit to Wichita in late 1977 to fly the Skylane RG prototype was delayed at first because Cessna Chairman Dwane Wallace had objected to the plane’s vibration level, necessitating some redesign work.

In 1979, a follow-on Turbo Skylane RG, the TR182, was introduced, using a manually controlled wastegate for the turbo attached to the carbureted O-540. This system was also used on the fixed-gear Turbo Skylane built from 1981 to 1985. These T182Rs should not be confused with the 2001 reintroduction of a T182T, which used the fuel-injected TIO-540-AK1A engine with an automatic wastegate.

Cessna sold its own avionics packages in the 1960s and 1970s, supplied by its Aircraft Radio Corporation division; while workable units, the captive “Cessna” radios weren’t terribly innovative. By 1985, ARC was sold off to Sperry Corporation. The Cessna Nav-Pak suites were obviously never popular with independent radio shops, so most used Skylanes have been retrofitted with Bendix/King and Garmin gear.

After production peaked at over 1,000 units in 1973, Skylane’s numbers dropped off in the 1980s; there were 826 182s sold in 1977, 425 in 1980 and 101 in 1983, ending up with 39 in 1986. The rose’s bloom was clearly dropping its petals. After the 1986 model year, Cessna threw in the towel, citing unsustainable product liability insurance costs attached to too-few units. 

In the meanwhile, Textron Corporation purchased Cessna in 1992. Having owned Lycoming since 1985, Textron further cemented the relationship between Cessna airplanes and Lycoming engines with the acquisition. 

Restarting The Skylane

After passage of the General Aviation Revitalization Act of 1994 that granted some relief from never-ending liability, Cessna management kept its promise to restart piston-engine production. Because the Wichita Skylane plant had been converted to other purposes during the interim, a new factory was built in Independence, Kansas, where production resumed in 1997. Not surprisingly, the retail price of a new Skylane had essentially doubled by then.

These 182S and 182T Skylanes are not your father’s 182. Their hulking Lycoming IO-540 engines maintain the 230-hp certification limit and feature fuel injection to remove the carburetor icing risk. A three-blade propeller, while listed as optional, was essentially standard, and there were more substantial crashworthy seats, extra ventilation and dual vacuum pumps. The landing lights were moved back to the leading edge of the left wing, and the fuel tanks were peppered with five quick-drains each (plus three under the belly).

The introduction of the 182T in 2001 saw few changes over the 182S, but it did mark the arrival of a turbocharged sibling in that year. Painted trim stripes replaced the vinyl appliqués used previously. A more significant milestone was the 2006 introduction of the Garmin G1000 avionics suite for the Skylane, followed by the G1000 Skyhawk a year later. The competition from the flashy Cirrus airplanes required major shifts in the equipage of the staid old Cessna singles. Cessna attempted to compete with Cirrus with the Columbia/Corvalis/TTx airplane, leaving the Skylane in its all-around step-up role.

Weight Versus Performance

Over the years, the Skylane’s empty weight and takeoff weight rose, reflecting demand for more fuel and equipment. From a 2,550-pound gross in 1956, the 182 went to 2,650 pounds in 1957, then 2,800 pounds with the 1962 widebody model. The 1970 182N grossed at 2,950 pounds, while the 1981 182Q went to 3,100 pounds (maximum landing weight was the former 2,950-pound gross weight). The standard empty weight of the 182S was nearly 400 pounds heavier than the first-model 182.

The Skylane was always known for being able to take off out of any place you could land it; the stopping distance was greater than the distance required for a short-field departure. 

As the gross weights were raised, parity was eventually achieved, and with the 3,100-pound takeoff weight, the Skylane required 200 feet more ground roll to lift off than its rollout room. 

Flying The Skylane

The Skylane is best approached with a bit of seasoning time spent in a Skyhawk. That said, 172 pilots need to be aware that the 182 is a lot more airplane. Preflight and boarding procedures are similar, with a lot of shared details. The O-470 engine has an oil filler cap, separate from the dipstick, that needs to be checked for security during the walkaround. It holds 12 quarts but is happy with nine or 10 on the dipstick; readings can be biased by nose strut extension and ramp slope. 

Sampling of the fuel quick-drains should not be taken lightly. Few pilots are likely to regularly use all of the drains in the “restart” fuel system, but it is important to get a generous sample from the lowest point of each tank (the rear inboard one) and the strainer bowl at the firewall. The fuel selector may have a drain as well as it sits slightly lower than the gascolator.

Skylanes have a crouching ground attitude and a tall glareshield, so if you’re vertically challenged, you’ll want to crank up the adjustable seat height to maximize forward visibility, best done before putting your weight in the saddle. Move your seat forward enough to assure full rudder control; you’ll learn the true meaning of P-factor in a Skylane.

Cowl flaps are usually open for ground operations. Put the fuel selector on “both” if it’s not already there. There’s no need for a fuel boost pump with the Continental engine; the never-failing force of gravity suffices for a backup. Whatever engine you have, follow the handbook’s priming instructions.

With the aft-mounted battery, you’ll want to get the big motor started with minimal cranking. It’s a long way from the tail cone to the starter, so you want to maintain good cable connections and keep a strong battery, particularly with the 12-volt models. It’s not uncommon to see the starter struggle to turn the engine over. Be patient; all you need is to crank it through one compression stroke. There’s nothing sweeter than the sound of an O-470 loping seductively at idle (other than a radial).

There are no surprises in taxi, steering with light pedal pressures. Skylanes can be a little hard on brakes with their heavier weight, so pull the throttle back and let the six-cylinder engine loaf smoothly rather than having to ride the brake pedals. The pre-takeoff check is standard Cessna, adding only a confirmation of the cowl flap control and exercising the prop pitch knob. Takeoff does not require using wing flaps, although many Skylane pilots habitually use 10 degrees for takeoff.

Up, Up And Away”€¦

The Skylane was STOL before there was such a term. Stock out of the box, it delivered abundant takeoff performance and was the basis for many add-on mods to embolden 182 pilots to push the envelope, things like leading-edge cuffs, curved wingtips, stall fences and drooping ailerons to match the flap extension. Unless you’re into extreme flying, they aren’t needed. If you really want a Boss Skylane, find one with a Peterson forward-wing conversion.

Line up, ease the throttle open and hang on; the Skylane moves out with aplomb. Have your right leg ready to help track the centerline and be ready to initiate liftoff at 50-60 knots. Don’t waste a Skylane’s energy on an 80-knot wheelbarrowing takeoff roll. Keep the nose up and try to catch 90 knots for a Vy climbout. As part of a Skylane checkout, I always include a maximum performance takeoff, per the POH, using a 20-degree flap setting and a 60-knot obstacle-clearing climb-out. At low-elevation airports, this will put you at traffic pattern altitude before reaching the departure end of the runway. “Oh, yeah!” is the typical response. Don’t do it with first-time passengers.

You’ll probably want to dial in two or three swipes of right rudder trim for the climb, using 100 to 110 knots to improve forward visibility. Most high-performance transition courses establish a cruise-climb after leaving the pattern, perhaps reducing manifold pressure and bringing rpm back to a quieter setting. The Skylane will be tolerant if you just leave it wide open for the climb; from 1977 on, the prop governor is set to 2,400 rpm max, and if your takeoff airport is above 3,000 feet or so, the manifold pressure will already be reduced naturally. If flying a 1976 or earlier Skylane, you can climb sedately at 23 inches and 2,450 rpm, which is 75% power. If you need to grab some altitude to clear mountains, the older Skylanes will happily take you to 12,000 feet at 500 fpm. The heavy 3,100-pound airplanes can’t do quite as well until they burn off some fuel.

Settling In For The Long Haul

Long-distance cruise is the Skylane’s forte; with 79 usable gallons and burning 12 gph at 65% power, it can cover 500 to 700 miles in still air. Skylanes like to be flown at 7,000 feet or so, picking up an extra 6 to 10 knots over lower altitudes. Forgetting to close the cowl flaps at top-of-climb will cost 5 knots of speed. I like to pull the prop back to 2,300 rpm in the early Skylanes, and with the O-470-U, I’ll cruise at 2,200 rpm. I find that a Skylane will tend to “hunt” up and down 100 feet or so during cruise, even in smooth air; just expect it and ignore it. The carbureted O-470 engine has notoriously poor mixture distribution, so don’t waste your money and time on a six-cylinder EGT for cruise control. Just tune your single-probe EGT to 100 degrees rich of peak or smooth operation.

With its heavier controls, a Skylane is not an airplane you’d choose for throwing around in training maneuvers. However, if you want to practice slow flight, stalls and steep turns, you’ll find it doesn’t have a mean bone in its body. The indicated airspeed will drop off the scale before the nose finally breaks in a stall shudder, recovering promptly. Otherwise, just keep it trimmed appropriately and use it as designed.

Starting down, 15 to 17 inches of manifold pressure can generate a comfortable rate of descent or, if the air’s smooth, you can knock a couple of inches off the cruise power setting and let the airspeed build up, adding some left rudder trim. If you’re new to the game, don’t forget to take off an inch of MP every thousand feet as you descend.

If you leave the power at its descent setting as you enter the traffic pattern, the Skylane will fit right into the trainer traffic; most 182s have a 140-knot callout for the first 10 degrees of flaps, with 95 knots the limit for further extension. Retain 10 to 12 inches of manifold pressure as you enter the approach glide, adding half-flap and slowing to 80 knots for base leg. Then use full flaps and 70 knots on final. 

Unlike a Skyhawk, the Skylane should be landed with 40 degrees of flap because it needs the drag for stopping. Don’t carry extra speed into the landing; 65 knots across the fence is plenty, and be prepared to get the yoke way back into your lap for the touchdown at 50-55 knots. You don’t want to let the nosewheel touch until the mains are solidly down. Avoid bringing the throttle to idle until you’re about ready to flare out of the glide; a Skylane is heavy and will develop a high rate of sink out there on final with power off, causing a hard landing if you’re not careful.

As we said at the beginning, Skylanes are great all-around performers. That’s the reason everyone is trying to find a good used one. 

Read more about used Cessna 182 Skylanes here.

The Infamous Bladder Fuel Tanks and the Killer Fuel Caps

The Infamous Bladder Fuel Tanks and the Killer Fuel Caps

Keeping water out of aircraft fuel systems is high on our list of “must-do” items. Over the years, much has been made of the Skylane’s rubber bladder fuel tanks, ostensibly because they get wrinkles in the bottom and trap water from getting to the drain sump. Big Cessna, always a tempting target, has been sued with considerable success over this claimed design flaw. Yet second-hand Skylanes continue to be highly sought after in the marketplace.

There’s absolutely nothing wrong with the concept of rubber cells to hold fuel; they’ve been used since before World War II in military airplanes, they hold up well in crashes, and they can be squeezed through small spaces and unfolded, making them easier to install than a metal tank. Bonanzas use them, twin Cessnas have them, big transport planes have them. They do require on-condition replacement as they age out and start leaking, but that can be after decades of service. So why were the Cessna 182’s tanks a problem?

It was the “trapping water” issue. Once water was introduced into the tank, it was difficult to get out, particularly if the tank might have an uneven bottom surface, keeping the heavier water from moving to the drain. Compounding the problem, Cessna used flush folding-tab caps in the 1960s and ’70s, which could allow rain and wash water to leak into the tank. By Airworthiness Directive, the caps were eventually replaced with “umbrella” caps that do a better job of keeping water out, and another AD addressed the “bladder wrinkle” issue with an inspection and smoothing-out of the tank bottom.

Did it do any good? The easier-to-maintain replacement caps were more reliable, and maybe some tank wrinkles were found and removed. Nevertheless, Cessna gave up and went to a bonded-construction wing with integral wet-wing fuel bays in 1979, gaining a few gallons of capacity. Sealant can deteriorate over time in integral tanks, so time will tell if the later Skylanes will hold up.

However, in my experience, no matter how the tank is made, once you get water in there, it can take months to get rid of it. Droplets of the stuff keep showing up long after you think you’ve drained it all out. And once you introduce lawyers into a fuel system, it can take years to get rid of them. 

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