Lesson 4 Ground Effect & Stability

Continuing to pump the lessons out. (I'm actually working on processing Lessons 8 and 9 on the computer as I post this). You wouldn't believe how long it takes to get a good take of a lesson - with all the goof-ups, getting tongue-tied halfway through, forgetting where I was going, going around in circles, and the worst: realizing I've been saying something that makes absolutely no sense. So the record button on my iPad screen gets a good workout (huh?) as I start and restart the filming. But in the end, I am quite certain that I've gotten a lot closer to mastery in teaching my subject than when I got started. And when things finally go (almost) as planned, I have the pleasure of letting you watch another edition of SkyBound: On the Ground. So here it is; enjoy!

Lesson 3 Aerodynamics - the Dark Side of Lift

Alright, here is the next video in my SkyBound: On the Ground series, and in it we discover that sometimes producing lift also produces other, less desirable things as well. So enjoy it the video (and sorry for the thumbnail that Youtube grabbed - makes me look like I'm explaining a toothache to the dentist).

Lesson 2

Here is the next installment in my in-progress online Groundschool!

Back With You!

I suppose the reason I haven't written much here since the big day back in October is because there hasn't been much happening in the way of flying since then. Actually, I haven't been Pilot in Command in 6 months now! But there's a reasonable reason... Between sinus surgery, traveling, and a host of other things, I have been slowly working on the ground preparation for eventual flight instructor training.

Since flight instructors need to know how to teach, I have begun practicing just that. The plan is to tape and upload a series of ground school lessons, taught by yours truly. The benefit is mainly for myself - figuring out how to present and explain and make things interesting. And most importantly, know the material. So here is the first one - hope you enjoy it. Feedback is very welcome as well.

Roadblocks in the Sky Part 3, Finale

This is it! - we hope.

I seem to have a thing for taking checkrides at any place but my home airport. When I took my private pilot exam, I had to fly myself 60 nm north to Chico to meet the examiner and take the practical test. A year later I was ready to get my instrument ticket and this time it was down to Sacramento’s Mather airport to meet an examiner who was available during my limited window of time. Naturally by now I was feeling it would be nice to simply drive to Auburn and take a flight test right there and not to have to go somewhere else.

But with the latest development, I had a choice: have Rick, my examiner, come back up to Auburn the following week and pay him the full retest fee—or accept his offer for a generous discount if I would fly myself over to his home airport in Cameron Park... So much for staying local. I picked the obvious choice.

Probably the worst thing about discontinuing the test was coming back home and bumping into all my friends who were very excited to know the results. Thankfully the week went by quickly, and pretty soon I was staring down my checkride day again. I got word that the plane was back in service, so I went out for a good long session, practicing the navigation, landings, high work, and familiarizing myself with the area around Cameron Park.

The landing gear was working flawlessly. That wasn’t the only thing Bob had fixed. Apparently the pilot’s seat had been sagging, so he straightened that problem out. Of course, I hadn’t even noticed the seat was broken—until it was fixed. I wished he would have done that after my checkride.

Everything seemed to stay together as I headed back to Auburn. It was a bit disconcerting to have some small birds appear in front of the plane and flash past the window. They managed to make it out of the way and a few moments later I touched down with a plane that was as flaw-free as any 44 year-old plane can be. Next flight on the schedule: a hop down Cameron Park the next morning to see Rick again.

Since we were meeting at noon, I didn’t have to be up hours before dawn getting ready. I was enjoying my leisurely morning a bit too much, however, and I found myself scrambling at the last minute plugging in newly adjusted headings in my navlog. Finally getting it all together, I headed out the door, hoping that this time I would return with a brand-new Temporary Airman Certificate.

Bad attitude. Ok, that's an old joke. Wasn't funny at the time.

The flight to Cameron Park in the Arrow was short, barely 12 minutes long. I was thrilled when I took off to find the attitude indicator (artificial horizon) all out of whack, indicating a 60-degree bank while in straight-and-level flight. Just the day it would decide to break. Since it's not a required instrument for VFR flight, I got out a sticky note and pasted "Inop" over the dial's face. Halfway through the brief flight, the instrument mysteriously revived.

Entering the pattern, I decided to do warm up for the day by arriving with a short-field landing. As I descended down final I could see a figure standing in the transient parking, watching. I flared…and floated, finally settling down with a thud beyond my aiming point. So much for that.

Rick was the person waiting in the parking area. We went inside the local maintenance hangar’s office and did the online paperwork. We were both grateful the government shutdown had just ended, because that meant the bugs with IACRA (the FAA’s online certification website) had been fixed. No oral to do today; it was just a short briefing from Rick on what the “plan of action” for the flight was, and then back to the plane to go do it.

First up on the to-do list after taking off was cross-country navigation. I picked up a course from Cameron Park that followed Highway 50 toward South Lake Tahoe. The VOR at Placerville gave me the opportunity to demonstrate my ability to use electronic navigation, and the pilotage and dead reckoning also worked out quite well. It helps when your checkpoints aren’t 50 miles apart.

After about ten minutes it was time to move on to the next part of the scenario. “Okay Michael, let’s say we don’t like the look of the weather up ahead and I hear they make some good hot chocolate down at Rancho Murieta. Take me there.” Righto, time to demonstrate diversions. Do some quick plotting and calculations, turn to the new heading, and advise the examiner of the ETA. A  few minutes later, bingo! Right over the field, right on time.

Demonstrating lazy-eights between other no-so-lazy tasks.

Maneuvers were next. Steep turns, lazy eights, slow flight, power off stalls, power on stalls, accelerated stalls (did I mention stalls?). The next part was fun: a simulated engine fire, necessitating a rapid descent. That led to the next emergency procedure of demonstrating an approach to landing in a field of my choice. Eights-on-pylons rounded off the maneuvers and then it was time to start on landings back at Rancho Murieta.

Somehow a “normal” landing doesn’t always come off as well for me as some of the other, more technical landing techniques. In this case a bit of crosswind combined with a tense hand on the yoke resulted in a touchdown left of centerline. I was more concerned with setting down in the mandatory 200-ft window, so I wasn’t even thinking about the centerline until I heard Rick’s voice in my headset. “Michael, see those white lines? We’re supposed to be over there.” I stiffened, and got on the rudder pedals to realign the plane in the middle of the runway.

A soft-field take-off and landing followed. Touchdown seemed a bit squirrelly, but I met the main objective of holding the nose wheel off the ground as long as possible. Needless to say, I was also quite concentrated on that centerline. Returning to the beginning of the runway we took off again for the most dreaded maneuver of the commercial checkride: the power-off 180 degree accuracy landing.

“This is it. Remember, you have one shot at this. Show me you can put the plane down on the mark.” Though I was well aware of the high stakes, I didn’t find this maneuver that intimidating. Maybe I should have. I think I was just dreading the short-field landing back at Cameron Park more than this.

All set up on downwind, I pulled the throttle back and started my arcing turn for the runway, making sure to focus on my aiming point. Right away I realized the lower-than-usual traffic pattern altitude had thrown me a curve ball and I was already getting too low. Time to pull back the blue knob. Trees and buildings were passing rather closely below the plane now as I continued making a beeline for the tarmac. I could see Rick start to stiffen up out of the corner of my eye. As I steepened the bank a couple hundred feet above the ground to line up with the runway, I wondered if he was going to call the game for my rather low maneuvering. But no, on we sailed, now with the aiming point definitely within reach.

Prop control forward, full flaps, bring it in. Start to flare…oh, we’re going to float. I pulled out my last trick, reaching down and smoothly lowering the flap handle to the floor. The flaps retracted, dumping lift from the wings, and we settled firmly onto the runway inside the 200-ft window. And dead on centerline.

Now for that last landing. I powered up the plane, took off, and headed back to Cameron Park. Rick directed me on the specifics of how locals fly the traffic pattern so as to airport neighbors happy. “Make a dogleg from base to final here. We don’t fly over that person’s house because they tend to get upset and call the airport manager,” he said, pointing at a building on the ridge to our right.

I was on final now, looking at the runway beyond a very long displaced threshold. I was a bit high and a bit fast. Not good things. I pulled power and got back on what looked like a good glide-path. The runway loomed. I flared. And ballooned.

The plane came back down, hitting the main gears rather solidly, but I couldn't tell if I had landed within the prescribed window. Somewhat distracted as I wondered where I had touched down I was late on the brakes, and then completely forgot to retract the flaps to maximize braking effectiveness (although it’s not a requirement). I felt very warm and uncomfortable as I taxied back to the parking ramp.

I shut the engine down and Rick asked me about what to do post-flight. He mentioned a pilot he knew who lost his job because he failed to check the business jet after landing. When he returned the next day to fly the boss, they saw the plane had actually been damaged in flight by a bird strike. What could have been fixed overnight resulted in the boss being late and the pilot getting fired.

We pushed the plane into its parking spot as he continued to share little snippets of information. Then, almost as a forgotten gesture, he stuck out his hand and grasped mine in a quick a handshake. “Oh, congratulations, by the way,” he interjected. I felt slightly weak. I almost didn’t dare to believe it. I had passed.

Debriefing back in the office was helpful. He went over the stronger and the weaker points of the flight, and then managed to wrangle IACRA into producing a printable certificate. Finally, there it was in black and white: Temporary Airman Certificate, Commercial Pilot, issued October 17, 2013.

I think this picture says it best.

I managed to get a quick snapshot with Rick and my certificate back out at the plane before we said goodbye and went our separate ways. I climbed into the Arrow and slowly began setting up the cockpit for the return flight. I took my time, trying to process the past hour and a half. My brain felt completely saturated; somehow this felt like the toughest test yet. But by the grace of God I had passed. One thin piece of paper. One huge milestone in the path to the mission field. One sweaty commercial pilot.

Amazing what we'll go through for something from an inkjet printer.

Roadblocks in the Sky Part 2

Looking for those silver linings.

With the Arrow down for maintenance for the umpteenth time, I was starting to get anxious. Monday, the day before my stage check, I had done a practice flight and I really hadn’t impressed myself. Now I had lost another much-needed chance to practice, and I had no idea if the plane would be back in service early enough to get in one last flight before the checkride. Whatever was going to happen, it was going to be close.

I left the airport and went home to do some more reading for the oral. My hard work of studying ahead for my EMT class had paid off, so I didn’t have to spend the afternoon slogging through medical reading. I still had to go to class though. I’ve been quite blessed to be able to take EMT training this semester for very little expense, but the drawback for me has been two “late” nights a week (I consider going to be after 10:00 p.m. to be late for me). I was not looking forward to another late night, especially this week, and especially since my sister had been sneezing and hacking away at home with a full-blown cold. I tend to get sick much easier if I don’t get to bed early enough, and of course that’s just what I needed this week.

Somehow, though, I had a sense that God was going to work something special out. I wasn’t disappointed. Arriving at class, I joined the shuffle of students as we got together in the classroom to get our group assignments for the evening. Rob the instructor gave the order of events. “Alright guys, we’ve got four stations to rotate through like usual, but we’re going to make them quick rotations tonight. We’ll do a half hour at each station, so if you’re moving quickly, we’ll get out of here early tonight.” A collective cheer went up, and I smiled. Lord, You have a plan.

The second best thing to flying a real airplane.

Wednesday I did my best to concentrate on reading the Federal Aviation Regulations and getting my flight plan in order, but I kept having the nagging thought of What if the plane isn’t ready until tomorrow? I finally came to the conclusion that if I couldn’t practice today, I definitely didn’t want to get my practice in tomorrow with the examiner in the right seat. I would have to be able to fly today, otherwise it would be best to postpone.

Sometime after lunch I felt my pocket vibrate. I pulled out my phone and saw my instructor’s name on the screen. “Hello, Beau?”

“Hi Michael. Just wanted to let you know the part’s in and we’re getting ready to pull the plane out of the hangar.” My pulse quickened. “That means I’m coming out there to fly it. See you in a few minutes!”

A look of blithe, short-lived optimism as I head out.

This was what I had been waiting for. The last piece to fall into place—and I was sincerely hoping it wouldn’t fall right back out, perhaps in the form of another component on the plane failing. I grabbed my flight bag and headed out the door.

The baby blue-colored plane was waiting for me as it sat on the ramp in the afternoon sun. Everything about the exterior appeared to check out, so I climbed in to get the machine going and see how it was working. Following a normal takeoff, the gear retracted, all the appropriate lights extinguished and we were on our way.

First off I picked up a heading to simulate flying my cross-country assignment to Mammoth. After a few minutes of following the heading and identifying checkpoints along the way it was time to practice diverting to another airport. I picked Placerville and quickly plotted a new course and estimated the ETA. With the new numbers I turned to the airport and got ready to do some pattern work.

It's considered rude when this gauge waves at you.

On climbout after the first touch-and-go I raised the landing gear and then began hearing some high pitching whining in my headphones. I checked the electric loadmeter. The needle was pulsating, indicating something was using electrical current. Probably the landing gear motor cycling for some reason. I lowered and raised the gear again and the noise disappeared. Hmmm, not sure if I like that.

I flew several more patterns at Placerville, with intermittent repeats of the oscillating whine in my headset, before I headed to Mather airport in Sacramento to do some landings there. Coming up on a 2-mile final for runway 22R, I got my clearance from the tower and prepared the plane for landing. I grasped the landing gear handle and selected the down position. Nothing. No familiar hum of the gear motor with the usual bumping sensations of the wheels dropping down.The landing gear was not extending. I must say that was a unique feeling for me as a pilot, to expect a very necessary mechanical operation to occur, and to have it fail right to perform right before my very eyes.

I wasn’t the least bit frightened however. Most airplanes have a backup system for extending the landing gear, and in the case of the Piper Arrow, the wheels aren’t even locked up in the retracted position—they’re just held up by hydraulic pressure. Simply pulling the pump circuit breaker and pushing a lever to dump the pressure lets the gear fall right out.

Of course I was interested in doing a little bit of troubleshooting to try and get the system working again, so after using the backup system I reset the circuit breaker and tried. The hum of the landing gear mechanism sounded and I felt the vibration of the wheels swinging back up into place. Alright, let’s lower them again. Normal operation again. Very strange. The apprehension was building again in my mind. No, the plane wasn’t dangerous; but I was starting to doubt whether the plane itself could pass the checkride.

Getting back on the ground at Auburn I pulled out my phone and gave Beau a call. He had an answer for each of my concerns. “Are you sure you got the landing gear handle all the way in the detent? I didn’t get it in once and I thought the gear system had failed.” Well, I wasn’t quite sure. I guess I didn’t try it twice before using the backup system. And as far as the gear pump cycling repeatedly, well just recycle the gear if that happens. I shrugged as I hung up the call. Not much left we can do. Tomorrow is showtime!

The old chart joke: what is that grey line? Yes, Rick asked me.

Thursday morning was another beautiful California fall day. I had been up well before sunrise, getting in my morning run, devotions, breakfast, and obtaining my weather briefing. Rick was going to meet me at 0800 at Mach 5. I collected my things and myself, took one last look at my to-do list to make sure I hadn't forgotten anything, and then stepped out the door. This was it.

Bob was coming in from the hangar when he saw me enter the Mach 5 office. Rick was at the counter making himself a cup of coffee. “Aha—your victim is here!” Bob joked. “No, not victim. This is my partner,” Rick corrected him. I liked the sound of that better.

Beau popped in to say hi and then we were left by ourselves in one of the empty classrooms. Rick began with the requisite preliminaries. “As you know, there are three possible outcomes to a checkride: 1—you pass; 2—you get a letter of disapproval; 3—you get a letter of discontinuance. The letter of discontinuance is kind of like a ‘timeout’. It doesn’t mean you’ve failed, it just means that for some reason—maybe the plane breaks—you had to stop the test and you will continue it later. Sound good?” I nodded. “Ok then,” Rick said, looking at the clock. “Let’s say that the exam has officially started now.”

The next two hours didn’t feel like two hours. The time went by quickly as Rick checked me off on the different topics in the oral one by one. My confidence levels were ready to go through the roof by the time we were finishing the oral exam. Then Beau poked his head in. “Did they tell you?” he said with an uncomfortable look on his face.

Always a first for everything - including getting one of these

Oh no, tell us what? “Another instructor and student were out flying the Arrow and the landing gear pump started cycling again. Well it cycled so much that it overloaded the electrical system and blew the circuit breaker, so they had to come back.” It was an unreal feeling, to be listening to this latest piece of news. “Bob is calling around right now to find a replacement power pack, but it'll take a few days to get it.” Not again. Rick started rummaging in his duffel case, as I sat there in quiet incredulity. He pulled out a form and began filling it out. The letters at the top of the piece of paper spelled out that third possible outcome. Letter of Discontinuance.

Roadblocks in the Sky Part 1

An increasingly familiar, yet unwelcome sight.

Well, I think it’s time to continue the story, isn’t it? With my solo excursion to Lompoc, I had filled almost all the requirements to be able to take the checkride. The only thing I still had to do, other than practice maneuvers until I was proficient, was fly a 2-hr day cross country and a 2-hr night cross country with my instructor. I suppose the FAA feels that a commercial pilot should have some additional instruction on going places, since that’s eventually what a commercial pilot does.

We planned our flight to Visalia, in the lower central California valley. I liked the idea my instructor suggested of taking the cheaper Piper Warrior, since we weren't going to be practicing maneuvers anyway on this flight.

Fellowshipping aloft as we swap mission trip stories.

To get the 2 hours daytime, we left Auburn at 5:30 p.m., landing just after sunset (day-time is considered to go for up to about a half hour after sunset). As you probably guessed, all we had to do to get the 2 hours of nighttime was turn right around after refueling and head back to Auburn. The flight couldn’t have been timed more perfectly: exactly 2.0 hours for each leg, meaning no extra flight time I had to pay for. “I think that Someone had that one planned out,” my instructor remarked happily. I agreed.

With the last requirement out of the way, the reality started sinking in that the only step remaining now was the checkride itself. But getting to take that checkride was going to prove to be more of a challenge than I thought. Looking at my neatly penciled 3-week schedule, I could see where it had already been necessary to rearrange several things and cut out others. But I was still making progress, maintaining my momentum of studying hard and flying regularly, and I had even made sure to reserve the plane for my target checkride date of October 3. I hadn’t reserved an examiner yet, however.

It quickly became painfully clear that it could be more weeks than I could afford before an examiner would be available. You see, examiners are very busy people and failing to get something scheduled early on put me in a tough place. The problem that a student on a budget faces is how to achieve a peak level of proficiency and maintain that long enough to get the test over with. Become good at something and then fail to practice for several weeks and you’ll feel almost like you’ve forgotten how to fly a plane the next time you go aloft. Or get good at something and pay big bucks to keep that skill level by going out to rehearse again and again. Naturally, once you’re nailing the maneuvers, you want to take the checkride as soon as possible and be done.

October 3 wasn’t going to happen though. After calling the examiner that I wanted to fly with and talking with him a bit more, we came up with a plan for the 10^th, one week later. “But if we’re scheduling, just be sure you’re really ready because I have a lot of people cancel on me last minute,” he cautioned. I assured him that I wanted to plan on that date, while I shifted uncomfortably on my end of the phone. I might not be ready today…but I’m going to make sure I’m ready by the 10^th!

Taxiing for another pattern pounding session.

And so it was the final sprint. Up and down in the plane, back and forth from the airport. Wake up, exercise, have devotions and breakfast, take care of household chores and then hit the books. I was actually glad for the extra week to study for the oral, and my spreadsheet estimates made it look like there would be just enough funds for the additional flying.

When I showed up one morning to fly with my instructor, he had some good news for me. “I just talked with Rick and he’s going to be able to do a stage check with you on the 8^th.” A stage check with an examiner is basically a mock checkride, and is a valuable tool for preparing for the real thing. My busy examiner had been freed up a bit and now I would have the benefit of doing some ground and flight time with him before the big day. Both my instructor and I could see God’s hand working.

October 8 dawned bright and clear. The California climate was being true to its nature and things were shaping up wonderfully for the checkride two days away. I got to the airport and met Rick the examiner, who had flown his plane over from his home airport. My instructor saw me coming through the door and gave me a bit of ribbing. “You must be pretty confident, as I don't see you carrying a ton of books!” Yeah, sure.

Looking for the source of the latest trouble.

We sat down and started going over the highlights of regulations, flight planning, systems, and all the other pertinent topics. I took notes as we came upon unfamiliar questions, soaking up Rick’s knowledge and insight. Things were going swimmingly until my instructor showed up again. He had just returned from a flight with another commercial student. They were pulling the plane into the shop to get it up on jacks because the Gear In Transit light wasn’t turning off when the wheels were retracted. I groaned.

After poking around, Bob the mechanic figured out that a bad nose gear microswitch was causing the problem. They would overnight the part, and as for my examiner and I…well, we would just fly on checkride day.