Weekend Warriors

Join the queue. When the weekend comes, so do the pilots.

With all the flying I've been doing lately in preparation for my commercial checkride, I get to see what the Auburn airport looks like at different times of the week. It hasn't taken long for me to recognize a pattern. Three basic variables seem to largely determine the number of planes in the traffic pattern: time of day, day of the week, and weather.

Understandably, there are not very many guys out flying mid-week, probably because they're at work, in school, or both. Those who do come out tend to get their flying in during the morning, because the bright California sun during this time of year makes little cockpits without air conditioners very uncomfortable. Then of course, if it's just lousy weather outside, more people are going to stay home, or perhaps hang out indoors at the airport swapping tall flying stories.

I could have expected the airspace to be somewhat busier than the past few days when I headed out to the airport yesterday, but I didn't quite anticipate how crowded things would be. But, after all, it was the perfect Sunday morning for everyone and his dog (yes, I know of a guy who keeps a logbook for his dog) to hop in a plane and charge off into the cool, crystal clear skies.

After days of smoke-filled skies, it's hard to resist this.

The pattern had quieted down a bit when I pulled onto the runway to takeoff toward the practice area, but when I returned an hour later it was buzzing again. Usually I like to get in several landings on a practice flight, so after the initial landing, I headed back up the taxiway to takeoff again. This time I joined a line of two other planes waiting for another two planes to land. Sitting there twiddling my thumbs, I turned to Joel in the right seat (the 15 year-old aspiring pilot who finally got to take his first general aviation plane ride) and told him we would just do one pattern and then call it a day.

"Otherwise we'll be spending more time on the ground than in the air," I chuckled. By now the tail-wheel Skylane ahead of us was lifting off the runway, and it was our turn to take off. I waited a little bit longer, knowing that our zippy Arrow would catch up very quickly to the other airplanes making their way around the pattern. As I applied full power and sped down the runway, I heard an Experimental plane announcing its takeoff right behind us.

Just a few seconds after takeoff I started to see just how crowded the pattern was becoming. Off to my left I spotted two Cessnas on the downwind, flying side-by-side with just a few hundred feet between them. "Aircraft on the downwind, you guys are flying parallel," I warned over the radio.

"Roger, we'll do a 360 for spacing and re-enter the pattern," the pilot in the outer plane replied, banking to the right. "Arrow 90J is extending our upwind for traffic and we'll be number 3 when we turn on downwind," I announced.

"See and avoid" - sometimes both very challenging tasks.

Beginning my left turn to crosswind, another plane seemed to appear out of nowhere, just ahead and to the left, cutting in front of us into the traffic pattern. I couldn't remember hearing this guy announcing his presence, but then again, maybe I just lost his voice in the constant radio chatter. Adjusting my turn to try and come in behind the slower plane, I suddenly caught sight of the Experimental closing in from behind us. The pilot was droning something garbled over his radio, but the only thing registering was all these airplanes - and all way too close together! Feeling very boxed in, I started to turn for clearer skies.

I keyed the mic, "Experimental, did you say you were going over us?" "Yes," came the crackly reply. I wasn't thrilled with his method of traffic avoidance, but at least he knew where I was. I banked to re-enter the traffic pattern, this time as airplane number 4 in line for the runway. Flying along at 100 mph with gear down, I watched as each plane took its own sweet time descending toward the tarmac. Finally it was us touching down, and as I cleared the runway, I was happier than usual to be heading for the parking ramp.

I can't blame the Weekend Warriors for getting out to enjoy such a lovely flying day - after all, Sunday flying was all I was doing up until recently. But though it's good for everyone to be able to enjoy the miracle of flight, I prefer when everyone isn't doing it all at the same time!

More than Words

If a picture speaks a thousand words, what might a moving picture communicate? Decide for yourself by checking out this latest release from Lombart Productions! Last post I wrote about the joys of power-off 180 accuracy approaches, and I had so much fun practicing them that I decided to film one of my sessions and cut a video. So here it is! Thanks to my buddy Josh Dietrich who rode along and manned the Canon. Enjoy!

Powered Up for Power-Off's

Pick a runway stripe. Now land on it.

Just over 15 hours in my logbook now, flying the Arrow (or "Juliet", as Gretchen, the new receptionist, likes to call the plane, owing to it's tail number N7690J). Today was one of those better days flying, where you walk away from the flight with a sense of accomplishment and satisfaction, knowing you made progress and you're moving forward. Not that there really are any bad days flying - some are just especially rewarding.

Last time I went up a couple weeks ago with my instructor Beau, he introduced me to the power-off 180 accuracy approach, which involves gliding the plane to a spot landing without the help of the throttle. My commercial training has been following the typical pattern of riding with Beau for a flight to get introduced to a maneuver, followed by a couple solo flights where I go out and practice what he showed me.

Contrary to my somewhat larger-than-life reputation for smooth flying, power-off 180's did not go so smooth the first couple times Beau had me try them. Everything happens so quickly and I just had my hands full getting the plane to the runway. Putting the thing on a specific runway stripe seemed next to impossible because invariably the plane would either be much to high and sailing right past, or hundreds of feet too early with no altitude or airspeed left. After I did several attempts, Beau hopped out on the taxiway and told me to go up and practice Lazy Eight's and Chandelles by myself, but to wait for now on power-off 180's.

Yesterday I got back in the plane for some solo practice, after my nearly 2-week hiatus from flying (due to the broken beacon and travel), and one of the things I worked on was... you guessed it, the power-off 180. No, I didn't disobey my instructor - I just took the maneuver to a safer environment, namely the Lincoln airport, with it's 6,000 foot runway and flat terrain. Flying pattern after pattern, chopping the power abeam the aiming point and trying to land closer to it each time, really helped me start to get a feel of where the plane was headed during the approach. By the time I was done, I felt a lot better prepared to revisit the maneuver with Beau.

My to-do list that I keep in my pocket, soaked in sweat.

So up we went today, to beat up the traffic pattern. It was sweltering, but as Beau remarked, there is an upside to that - the pattern was virtually empty since no one wants to fly in that heat. My first approach was not too shabby. I landed too short of the stripe, but the approach itself was very controlled and stable. The next time around, with Beau's last-minute coaching, I nailed the edge of the aiming point zone. A couple more approaches and Beau felt comfortable letting me do the maneuver by myself in the Auburn traffic pattern.

"Alright, I'll get off and you can go up and play. Just be safe," he said, stepping out of the cabin after we pulled onto the taxiway. So off I went, and boy was it fun. Reaching pattern altitude, I got ready for the first power-off 180: Gear down, run the GUMPS check (Gas, Undercarriage, Mixture, Prop, Seatbelts), chop the power, and start heading for the runway.

Once that throttle comes back, that's the last it's moving.

As soon as the throttle comes to idle, the plane starts dropping quickly. To make sure you make it to the runway, you have to immediately begin one continuous turn in that direction. From this point to touchdown, it's all about plugging in flaps at the right time, stretching the glide by pulling back the prop control, or slipping to come down quicker.

Quickly I realized I was coming in low, so I pulled back the prop control and felt the plane ease forward. That did the trick, and more than I needed, so forward went the prop control and now it was time to add the flaps. I continued my bank to line up with the runway, rolling wings level just about a hundred off the ground. The stripe I was aiming for loomed in the windshield - and then started passing underneath the plane. I was now flying in ground effect, the mysterious zone of air just above the runway where an airplane glides a lot more efficiently, and I knew the plane just wasn't going to touch down for another couple hundred feet. So I pulled out one last trick.

With the plane floating down the runway, 3 or 4 feet off the ground, I grabbed the flap handle and began smoothly lowering it to the cabin floor. It worked like magic. As the flaps retracted, the wings lost their extra lift, and the plane settled firmly to the runway - right on the mark. A big grin worked itself across my face. That felt really good.

As I opened the cabin door back at the parking ramp after several more landings, a cool breeze hit my face. Next to a great landing, that's the second best feeling in the world.

Light Bulbs Aloft

Generally, light bulbs are only useful when functioning.

They say it's the little things that make or break it for you. Whether those small things are something you can't control but they still affect you, or if it's the way you make little choices and decisions, small can have big power.

A time-honored ritual of the flying experience is the preflight inspection. Simply put, you check the airplane to make sure it's not broken and that it will fly. That means looking for the obvious (perhaps a big concave indentation on the fuselage left by a truck driver who didn't have good situational awareness) as well as the not so visible (like checking the fuel tanks to see how much gas you've got). Finding something seemingly small can be just as important if not more so as spotting something large.

Provided you do a thorough job, and avoid developing mental tunnel vision (Oh, there was a pool of oil on the ground underneath the cowling? I guess I was focused on checking the other stuff, so I must not have noticed that...), the preflight greatly improves your odds of catching problems on the ground so that they don't become problems in the air. If everything checks out, then it's time to hop in, and away you go.

A couple weeks ago I was getting ready to go up with a friend to practice my commercial maneuvers. It was a lovely Sunday morning, a lot cooler than recent days, and I guessed it was going to be a perfect day for flying. It probably would have been too, if we could have gone up. But the results of my preflight dictated otherwise.

Turns out a little rotating beacon light - also known as an anticollision light system - on top of the tail fin was not lighting up like it usually did. Of course it was full daylight, and who's going to narrowly avoid hitting my plane in the air just because they saw the slow-flashing red light at the last moment? Even though it seems insignificant, that little red light had the power to ground me. Something I had learned during groundschool studies drifted to the surface of my memory - something about needing to have that thing working during all operations, regardless of the time of day. (Check out CFR 14 FAR 91.209 (b) - and no, I was not reciting that specific code number when I was deliberating.)

So, when the mechanic's verdict came a few minutes later, after he unscrewed the assembly and found a part that was quite ready to be replaced, I had to declare my verdict and scrub the flight. Naturally I was a little disappointed, although not nearly so as my 15 year-old friend who was looking forward to his first ride in a small plane. But why kick up all that fuss, grounding myself and the airplane, just because a light wouldn't blink? It would have been quite easy to just ignore the problem and head off, and the risk would have most likely been negligible.

It all boils down to the little things. Making that small choice, not necessarily because you want to, but because you know it's the right thing to do. I'm not trying to say that I'm the perfect guy who never messes up - I've broken my share of the rules in the heat of the moment. But there's one thing I've come to appreciate, and it's summed up best in the words of a 19th century Christian author: "Every right action prepares the way for its repetition."¹ 

Each time you act from principle, you reinforce the neural pathways involved in such choice-making actions, making it easier to do the right thing next time. And that investment is important, especially when you're in high-pressure situations.

Wow. All that from a faulty light system! Just goes to show you that flying encompasses a lot more than just up-and-down whoop-dee-doo stuff. If there's one thing that you do more than anything while operating an aircraft, it is making decisions. Not a bad skill to refine for life in general.

I'm happy the problem has been fixed and I got to go aloft again today, this time with an illumined rotating beacon. As it turns out, I may not have gotten airborne anyway that day, because the next guy to try and fly it after the beacon was fixed found the starter had given up the ghost. But I gained a unique little lesson, with some important large applications.

¹Ellen White, Testimonies for the Church, Volume 5, p. 18.

Back with you

Piper Arrow: My latest toy (well, I wish it were mine...).

Wow, I didn't realize it had been quite that long since I'd posted last! Nearly 9 months have elapsed between posts, which is quite unacceptable. But after a prolonged period of radio silence, I'm back to give you the latest on happenings, both aerial and terrestrial.

A lot happens in 3/4 of a year, but to give you the short story I traveled and recorded with the JAMES4 quartet that I sing in, went to the Middle East with my classmates on a health education trip, graduated from college, learned how to be a stucco man, attempted to climb Mt. Whitney in a day (stopped half a mile short of the summit to go down with my buddies who were feeling sick), scored the grade I was aiming for on the commercial knowledge test, and learned how to fly a Piper Arrow. Oh yes, and I applied to be a pilot for Adventist World Aviation. 

Ok, so applying to AWA doesn't mean I'm off to the mission field tomorrow. But I am definitely making progress toward that long-term goal. Getting to the point where I'm ready to deploy will be quite a process, one that I've been learning more about during conversations with AWA personnel. A considerable amount of the work is building a base of support - friends and church family (and blog followers) who will chip in to support me and my project during the term of service. 

While the launching goal is being raised, advanced flight training, Institute of Frontier Missions, and site visits to the actual country I will be working in will keep things interesting. Yup, plenty to look forward to. However, I still have a couple qualifications to pick up before I can start all that, so that's what I'm hard at work on right now. 

A very important piece of paper.

Two weeks ago I passed the FAA written test for the commercial license and now I'm a good way into the flight training. It's really fun stuff too! Whereas the instrument rating was all about managing a collection of needles and dials on the panel, and was almost purely a cerebral exercise, the type of flying done on the commercial checkride is more akin to aerial artwork. It's all visual, very kinetic, and very fun!

Take for instance the Lazy Eight - what my instructor says is one of the most difficult of the commercial maneuvers to master. The graceful maneuver consists of 180 degree turns in which the nose comes up above the horizon during the first half of the turn, and then dips below the horizon in the second half. After the 180 is complete, you roll into another 180 degree turn in the other direction, repeating the same movements. Watching the arcs the nose inscribes, you would realize it looks like an eight on its side, sort of like ∞. It looks so easy when it's done right, and a passenger sitting next to you would hardly be able to even detect you moving the controls - the reason it's called a Lazy Eight. If there's one word that describes the skill set a commercial student has to develop, it's finesse: elegant ability and dexterity.¹

 

Other maneuvers that I am learning include Chandelles (maximum performance climbing turns), steep spirals, and power-out 180 accuracy landings. Oh man, those accuracy landings are going to be the biggest challenge. On the checkride, I will have to successfully glide the airplane from the downwind leg to a spot landing, touching down either on the specified mark or no further than 200 feet beyond. That's the distance from the beginning of one runway stripe to the next. With no touching the throttle. And only one chance to do it right. Well, what's the saying? Practice makes perfect...

It feels good to be back at the keyboard, tapping out updates so you can see how things are progressing with this future mission pilot. It's all so surreal - being an actual college graduate now, within weeks of getting my commercial license, and with the goal of becoming a mission pilot becoming an increasing reality. Stay tuned because it's only going to get more exciting from here on out!

¹Encarta World Dictionary

Windows on the Future

Air Mike Flight #65     

One of California's epic sights out the window of the plane:

Mt. Shasta, standing 14,179 ft tall.

One of the big benefits of flying airplanes is the fact that they can get you somewhere a lot quicker than cars can. In fact the main reason we pilots fly, apart from the pure fun of being up in the air, is to get something or someone somewhere. Up until recently, the fastest I could get anywhere in a plane was at the impressive speed of 110 knots, or 125 mph. That could cut the usual time it takes to travel by car in half. With my recent training in the C182TR, I now have the ability to clip along at 145 knots—165 mph. Which means its time to start going places!

Monterey was a great flight to whet my appetite for extending my forays afield. But that was with an instructor on board. My first flight as sole PIC (pilot in command) came a couple weeks after getting signed off in the new plane. Dr. Nedley, the president of Weimar Center, where I go to school, was needing a ride to Mt. Shasta, California. Himself a private pilot, he much preferred the idea of flying an hour and a half up to this mountain town rather than ride in a car for four hours. I, of course, jumped at the chance to be the pilot to fly him there. And of course, the busy college student that I am, I am constantly trying to find a way out of studying.

David catches a nap in the backseat of the 182.

 We departed Auburn in the early afternoon right at max gross weight—with books to sell and David Daum, a Nedley Clinic employee to help sell them, in the backseat. It didn’t take long for David to fall asleep as we set up for cruise to Shasta. The scenery of the Northern Sacramento valley, flanked by the Eastern Sierra foothills slowly gave way to more rugged terrain as we approached the top end of California. Straight in front, a white-capped mountain grew in size as we approached the volcano called Mt. Shasta.

Our destination was a small airstrip just outside of the town of Mt. Shasta: Dunsmuir-Mott Field. This would be the shortest runway yet for me, at 2700 feet. But this is the kind of flying that 182s are made for.

Wearing the Flyer's Grin. Both Dr. Nedley and I are private

pilots, and David recently soloed. 

The approach to the field was quite visually impressive, to say the least. Zipping over the last ridge, the small airport came in sight, situated on the east side of a valley, with the south end of its runway overlooking a dropoff. Still needing to lose quite a bit of altitude, I elected to fly up the valley, turn around and land on runway 14. With a route to lower terrain, a go-around from that direction looked a bit more forgiving if I didn’t like my approach.

So that’s what I set up for, forgetting to glance downward at the wind sock as we passed over the field. Turns out, it’s a good thing I picked that direction, as the wind was a good 10 knots and blowing straight down runway 14. Final approach was flown just above 60 knots with full flaps, and keen as I was on making a good short-field landing, I think I actually touched down on the displaced threshold. At least it was smooth pavement. Needless to say, it was a good feeling to have made a successful flight into this beautiful, somewhat more challenging mountain strip.

On the ground at Dunsmuir-Mott 0O6, with a brisk afternoon

breeze.

The local Adventist pastor came to pick up my passengers and I got ready to head down to Redding. I was not keen on navigating those mountains under a moonless, pitch-black sky for the return trip, so the plan was for Dr. Nedley and David to be dropped off at Redding after the seminar was done in the evening. The flight back to Auburn from Redding would be mainly over flatlands and foothills.

I got the plane started, waved at the couple who had been surprised to see an airplane at this small field when they showed up for a picnic, and then headed out to the runway. What I was thought was flaps 20 for short-field takeoff actually turned out to be only flaps 10, but with just me in the plane I probably didn’t need flaps at all. The plane was in the sky practically before you could "flaps 10" ten times.

I was on the way back to Redding when I realized I hadn't

yet taken a picture of Mt. Shasta. So I turned around to get

some shots.

It was my first time being solo in that plane. With over 200 hours of flight time, barely one sixth has been by myself. I like to fly with people. But I’ll admit, being up over that incredible scenery, with just me and that plane, was a pretty neat feeling.

The joy of flying was temporarily suspended once I arrived at Redding. I had brought along my A&P textbook and I needed to get at least some studying done. So I sat down in the pilot’s lounge and gave myself a headache over the next few hours, reading the miniscule descriptions in the chapter on bones. At least the chairs were comfortable.

This pilot's lounge took a little customizing - I had to turn off

the football game on the TV, and plug in the lamp.

It was dark when my crew arrived. This was one reason I had made sure to get night current again when I was getting checked out in the plane. Flight time was just about an hour back to Auburn. During the trip back I got a chance to hear about the success of the afternoon’s seminar.

“There were several people who had questions about the Sabbath after I mentioned the body’s circaseptan rhythm,” Dr. Nedley told me over the intercom. “One person was talking with a church member afterward and when the member offered to give Bible studies on the topic, they accepted.” It was exciting to hear. Through his seminar, people had once again been impressed by the way that science points back to the Bible.

“That’s really the whole point of coming out and doing this, isn’t it!” I remarked. He agreed. And the neat thing was that I got to be part of it. With the plane. As a pilot. You see, this is just a taste of what the years to come have in store. Flying to places to give people the opportunity to know God and His plan for their lives is what I'm going to be doing for a living. In reality, this could have very well been my first mission as a missionary pilot. And by God’s grace, it by far won’t be the last!

More Plane, More Power

The new beast. Photo credit: Cami Martin

Time to break the six-month stretch of silence. With the roar of an airplane engine perhaps? I suppose one reason for the lack of fresh content on here would be the fact I didn’t do a whole lot of flying during the summer. Instead, I was busy working as a student literature evangelist, selling Christian books door-to-door to pay for school. That was a success, as well as serious character building work. Now I’m back at Weimar College and though it’s hard to believe, it’s my last year of college—for now. I’ll be graduating in the spring and then who knows what’s next? I guess we’ll see…

Meanwhile, what’s been happening recently has been quite the ride. I had just gotten back to flying, building time for my commercial ticket hour by hour in the 150 and 172 when a new opportunity presented itself. I’ll write more on that later, but what I will say now is that I found out it’s time to start moving up again in the aviation world. Enough toodling along in fixed-gear, fixed-pitch planes. Time to get my complex and high performance endorsements!

The timing couldn’t have been better. A week off from school was coming up, so I seized the chance to knock out the endorsements and aircraft checkout in one go. For the plane I was going to start flying—a turbocharged, retractable gear Cessna 182—I was going to need 10 hours of dual instruction in order to be able to rent it solo. So I scheduled in my lessons and got down to learning how to fly the next biggest sibling in the Cessna family.

We started off with the basics—slow flight, stalls—and then moved on to the new features. As a boy, part of what makes flying fun for me is the buttons, knobs, and levers. Getting a complex aircraft endorsement meant getting another lever to play with: the landing gear handle. As we began pounding the pattern at Lincoln, the previously-annoying GUMP check finally became relevant for me: Gas—still a pointless item when flying a Cessna that feeds fuel from both tanks simultaneously; Undercarriage—now I have gear to lower, and I’d better remember to do it too!; Mixture—still the same; Prop—yay, another knob I get to move!

I also got to try my hand at using the emergency gear extension pump. If for some reason the wheels don’t come down like they’re supposed to, perhaps because the electrical system gave up the ghost, or the gear motors croaked, a backup system gives at least a chance at getting those wheels down so you have something to land on. Practicing for such an event was quite simple. Pull the landing gear pump circuit breaker, put the gear handle in the “Down” position, slid out a red telescoping rod handle from just in front of the seats, and begin pumping. It didn’t take too many pumps before I could start feeling a lot of resistance in the handle.

“I see wheels appearing,” my instructor was saying as he looked out the side window. The resistance was building as the hydraulic pressure was pressing the gear outward and into its locked position. A moment later a green light flashed on, indicating the wheels were down and locked. Nothing to it. Provided you haven’t had a hydraulic leak.

Getting ready to go to Monterey. Photo credit: Cami Martin

As well as gear systems, I learned how to use such things as a prop control, and cowl flaps. I also learned that full throttle is not the way to go in this turbocharged plane, as overboosting is something that will happen if you push that black knob all the way in. Learning how to fly this new plane was lots of fun, but the most fun I had was on the final lesson.

Since I wanted to get instrument and night current again, and since this airplane is meant to go places, my instructor suggested we fly to Monterey for dinner and fly back at night. I was definitely down for the idea, and to meet one more objective that I had—to fly the plane fully loaded—I recruited a couple passengers to go along.

The flight got off to a less-than-routine start when I noticed oil droplets rapidly puddling up on my windscreen during departure. “Did you put the oil cap back on?” John, my instructor asked. Oh duh. After landing and taking care of the greasy problem, we were on our way to the coast. I was quite excited because from the weather reports, we were going to be getting in a real instrument approach!

We began with a localizer approach to Monterey Regional Airport. The entire approach path was clear, so I had to create my own “clouds” by wearing the Foggles. But when we set up for the localizer at Watsonville, it was clear we were going to get the real thing. Turning onto final, I remembered to take my Foggles off. “That would have been a shame, to have flown the whole approach with those on,” John laughed.

The sight was gorgeous. The late afternoon sun was diffusing its light across a flat sea of fluffy white cloud. Our craft descended to meet the cotton below and I couldn’t help but exclaim at the spectacular scene as we dipped lower and lower into the fleecy pond. It’s times like these that stand apart from the rest of flying, with all its procedures, rules, and regulations. You almost forget about the gauges and the course you’re flying. For a short moment you’re simply lost in the beauty.

A moment later we were “in the soup,” descending along an electronically defined path toward an airport we could not yet see. Several hundred feet more and then the blank outside turned to a dark shade of gray before a landscape materialized. We broke out of the overcast with the runway in sight, right where it was supposed to be. Needless to say, the feeling was exhilarating.

After dinner, during which I remembered that we forgot to cancel IFR upon arrival (oops), it was time to head home. Departure was in the dark under IFR until we climbed out over the cloud deck where we went VFR. Then it was straight back to Auburn for my three night full-stop landings. When we finally pulled in, everyone was pretty much done for the day. 3.4 hours on the Hobbs meter. But I was now instrument current, night current, and most importantly…qualified to fly the C182TR solo!

Stay tuned to see where this new aircraft takes Air Mike!